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    Suguru had let it go too far with Satoru. But what else was he supposed to do when Satoru was right there, looking at him in the beautiful way he always looked at people? What else was he supposed to do when he could feel Satoru’s body heat from across the bed? Or when their hands accidentally brushed as they walked through the hallways at school? Suguru’s heart broke within him, reconstructing, swelling, bleeding, and breaking again each time Satoru’s eyes met his, looking at him in the beautiful way he really only looked at Suguru.

    Or (in a less poetic version): the coming-of-age American high school trope but it's Satosugu

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    07 Aug 2025

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  2. Public Bookmark *

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    "You don't know what you're talking about," Suguru says dismissively, his voice laced with quiet indifference and a hint of irritation. The deliberate clink of books and pens echoes in the stillness, a subtle reminder of the distance he’s putting between them. His gaze flickers toward Satoru. "And get off my desk."

    Satoru’s lips curl into a smug smile as he rolls his tongue over the lollipop hanging lazily from his mouth. Unbothered, his eyes sparkle with mischief. "Or what, Professor?"

    OR

    Gojo Satoru knew nothing about love when he started playing his game. He knew nothing of its gifts and its sorrows and its consequences. There were only two things that he was sure about: for one, he was obsessed with space, and for another, he wanted Geto Suguru to notice him.

    The rest, all of the things that Satoru wasn't prepared for, came long after he began to play.

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    07 Aug 2025