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It’d been exactly four years, five months, and thirty days since Satoru had last seen Suguru.
Not that he was counting.
He’d gotten home from a mission late into the night—around eleven o’clock. Too late to order anything for delivery, but still, he was hungry. Flicking on the TV, soft blue light spilling across his small joined living room and kitchen. Satoru threw on a pot of water, tasking himself with the hardest decision of which packet of ramen he was going to make (the same as he always did). A brief newscast flashed over the screen and a female reporter spoke very measuredly about a series of deaths in the countryside. All happening within one home. It hardly made Satoru pause until details were shared that after the small family was murdered, their house subsequently burned down, disguising most of the assailant’s evidence in the rubble.
Freak accidents were expected within the jujitsu world. Sorcery lent itself to injuries, but civilian casualties were kept to a minimum. As much as he or any well-trained sorcerer could manage. It would be far too messy to handle and Satoru knew he had it easy when it came to avoiding hurting onlookers. Curses were relentless, but stray deaths did not have to come at his hand.
The reporter mentioned that the murders were connected to another small series of deaths in a different town, not far from the initial attack. While investigators were searching for evidence of the culprit, they suggested the reason for the freak murders was a cult that had passed through
Satoru’s eyes narrowed at the screen. A cult . To his knowledge, there was only one around there nearby. Led by none other than Geto Suguru himself.
To say he didn’t keep up with cycles of information about Suguru since their split would be a lie. Of course he did. He had to assassinate him, after all. At least, that was what he told himself after spending hours scrolling on websites and tracking the movements of his group and their latest reported numbers. Satoru could make a well-educated guess on the whereabouts of his cult based off of activity. Off of pockets of cursed energy surges. And Suguru didn’t necessarily have a massive following, but they were devoted. They were powerful. As was he. He always had been.
His skill in close combat was far more fluid and graceful than Satoru’s. The muscles spanning his back and thighs were thicker than Satoru’s. Handling nunchucks or a blade with ease, mesmerized by the way weapons became fragments of his own body, wielding them like he did curses.
Satoru had spent too many hours thinking about Suguru; late at night with his hair damp from a shower, flopped on his back in bed. Staring up at the ceiling and listening to the white noise of his fan whirring. He should have been done with Suguru when he slowly faded away from him, thinner and pale faced and radicalized with the blood of his own parents dripping from his fingers. He should have gotten over him the moment he turned away on that street in Shinjuku, fists vibrating with anger and desperation. Words fizzling out on his tongue in the bustle of the crowd.
Maybe Yaga knew that something was still going on between them, even when apart. Maybe that was why he never gave Satoru a set date to kill Suguru. He just had to do it. One day. How? It wasn’t specified. It just needed to be done.
Shoko picked up on it, but she always knew that what they had was untouchable and unshakeable. Their time in school together and sleepovers and baseball games and late nights cut Satoru open. Bleeding and vulnerable for Suguru to latch onto. A bond that was so uniquely theirs; forged like fingerprints pressed into ink and smeared across paper.
For four years he had been wondering if it was even possible to move on from Suguru. To truly move forward in a world where they weren’t together. If it was, he hadn’t been able to find it yet.
Satoru grabbed his food and threw it in a bowl, taking out a can of peach chūhai from his fridge. He tragically ran out of soda, but the fizzy liquor was the closest thing he had. For once, he didn’t really care about the alcoholic content—usually wrinkling his nose at it—but he needed it tonight. His head was throbbing from working so late, from being on high alert for hours and hours at a time. Exhausted in both body and mind.
He slurped his noodles down while glued to his TV, watching the news and flipping around to try to distract himself from it. Hoping, at least, that there would be an update and they would have discovered their findings were all wrong. That it was really some crazed arsonist collecting an old debt with the yakuza who killed that family and not the work of Suguru. But nothing new came. Detectives were investigating and Satoru was finishing his first drink.
Too lazy to wash his bowl, he left it in the sink and grabbed two more cans of chūhai—peach and strawberry—and found his way to the couch. The satisfying carbonated pop of him opening the tab echoed through the apartment.
While he was busy with work and with looking after Megumi most nights, Satoru was lonely. Megumi was old enough to take care of himself for the most part, especially when Satoru was out late or away for days at a time on missions. Much like tonight, Megumi was fast asleep in his room, his homework stacked haphazardly on the coffee table next to his open backpack for school in the morning. He would never accept the compliments, but Megumi was a good kid. Disciplined and painfully smart and witty. He accepted every hug begrudgingly and even through bitching and complaining, he didn’t pull away from Satoru anymore. He must have been doing something right.
A loud commercial blaring on the TV made Satoru jump, drinking his can a little too quickly. He always was a lightweight, but tonight he didn’t have much of a care about it. Far too consumed with the news and unanswered questions. Where was Suguru? Was he okay? Were those murders premeditated or was it like that village when they were seventeen? Some thoughts were more selfish than that, unrelated to the tragedy plastered over the media. Did he ever think about Satoru? Did he have nightmares of losing him, too? Did he stay up late into the morning replaying conversations and wishing he could change them?
Pathetic. Satoru knew it was. And pointless, but he couldn’t help but wonder.
His phone felt like it was carving a hole through his pocket. Vision a little blurry, he grabbed it and flipped it open. Fingers moving on their own, he found Suguru’s contact with dozens of unanswered texts Satoru had sent over the years. Always on Christmas and his birthday. Always. And maybe some (many) others that he sent in between.
He started to draft a text. Aiming for something far more composed than: “i’m thinking about you. i know it’s late. but i’m here to talk. i always will be. i miss you”. But the words swam through his head unmoored. Unfocused. This was always how drunk texting Suguru went—fretting over what to send (if Suguru even would read it), dumping his heart out over the phone before he inevitably dialed his number, waiting until it would reach voicemail, and then leaving a message that would never get returned.
He did just that. Followed his own routine of sorts.
His text was the same sort of jumbled and tearful mess as all the others, but he couldn’t get himself to send it, resigning himself to clicking the call button under Suguru’s contact.
It rang. And rang. And rang. Satoru was expecting the familiar sound of Suguru’s polite voicemail message when the call was picked up.
He froze.
“Satoru?” Suguru’s voice was the same as the day he last saw him. Pitched a little differently through the receiver on his phone. But there was no denying that it was him. “Satoru?”
Satoru hadn’t realized he was still quiet. Liquor burned through his skin, weighing down his tongue. Sentences flooded his mind in a dizzying torrent. Have you been eating? I miss you. I love you. Why can’t you come back home?
But he resorted himself to clearing his throat. “Suguru. You answered.”
“You called.”
Satoru pressed his lips together, trying to memorize every syllable in Suguru’s voice. Even with the few words he offered him. “You never pick up.”
He heard the rustling of fabric on the other end of the line, like he was shifting to a seated position from laying down. Suguru hummed. “I wanted to hear what you had to say this time.”
This time . So he did listen to every voicemail Satoru left him. Part of him hoped that Suguru would, but another part of him was embarrassed to even think about it. But he heard the messages of him cursing Suguru out for leaving, of him sniffling through broken tears, of his voice breaking in a distant sadness. Some were fueled by drinking, but many were of Satoru’s own sober volition.
Satoru ran a desperate hand through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he swallowed. Glancing around his living room to almost find something more eloquent to say, but he landed on a question. “Can I see you? Just for tonight.”
A beat of silence met him on the other end. Fuck. He half expected to hear the line go dead as Suguru hung up on him for asking such a foolish thing. Though, Satoru wouldn’t have blamed him.
“Okay,” Suguru said, voice quiet and contemplative. “Sure.”
“Yeah?” He tried not to sound too surprised or eager, voice lifting in curiosity.
He heard Suguru hum. “Come straight to my door. It’s late and I don’t want to wake the girls. See you soon.”
Right. Somehow early parenthood found the both of them in their time apart, inheriting or adopting children who had no one else to care for them.
Just as he was going to ask for an address, or at least the general area of where he was currently residing, Suguru hung up. In truth, he could find Suguru with his eyes closed, literally speaking. He would know the sound of his gentle footsteps and his scent anywhere. All he ever did was commit every inch and curve of him to memory.
Words of goodbye faded as he snapped his phone closed and shoved it in his pocket. An analog clock across the room blinked at him. A quarter after midnight. He was in no shape to meet with Suguru, even if it was a ridiculous late night call. He quickly finished his drink and told himself that any mess could be cleaned in the morning when he came home. Even with alcohol drifting through his body, he still had the wherewithal to wash up, taking the quickest shower he could manage and changing into lounge clothes that were at least a smidge more presentable than a dirty uniform.
It was stupid. Satoru knew it was. Even as he was putting his jacket on and not bothering to kick off his house slippers. But he left his apartment anyway, stepping into the hallway to teleport across Japan to Suguru. He followed the irresistible tug of cursed energy—addictive and enthralling as it always was. A signature that was so perfectly Suguru pulled him in, flashing through time and space to appear at the threshold of Suguru’s room.
He was in the hallway of a home, not an apartment building. A more traditional Japanese minka from the layout. Long hallways, shoji windows, clean wooden floors. Beautiful landscape tapestries dangled from the walls.
Satoru lifted a hand and knocked on the doorframe—two quick hits.
Suguru slid the door open and stood in front of him. “Satoru.”
Unobstructed by his black sunglasses or a blindfold, he met Suguru’s gaze. Even with a dash of liquid courage, he still wasn’t prepared to see him. His black hair tumbling free to the top of his chest ( when did it get that long? ). But those stubborn bangs dangled against his cheek, just like they did four years ago. His shoulders were broader, though a little slumped. His eyes carried tired circles. They were subtle, but Satoru noticed them. He had some, too. He imagined how much older he must look to Suguru, even though it hadn’t been long, but life wasn’t exactly kind to either of them. Satoru buried himself in work when Suguru left. It was the only thing he could do: be at Yaga’s disposal, throw himself at curse after curse, choke it all down as if there wasn’t a permanent ache flanking him everywhere he went.
Megumi made it lighter, at least. The amount of spunk in that kid was a challenge. He was Satoru’s karma, he was certain, but even as everything was crumbling, he had to keep his shit together for someone. It was enough of a distraction. Sometimes. Enough to make him turn the other way from the impossible mission he was tasked with.
And then, even with Suguru standing in front of him in loose fitting sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, as defenseless as he could have ever been, he couldn’t follow through.
He could never kill Suguru.
Alcohol ran through his bloodstream with a slow haze, glancing over Suguru’s shoulder at his bedroom before asking, “Is it alright if I come in?”
A horrifying moment of silence followed. Suguru only studied him quietly, and then he nodded and stepped aside. Shutting the door behind Satoru as he crossed the threshold.
His bedroom felt very much like him—a neutral bedspread on his futon and simple light brown nightstands. A desk was in the corner, hosting a laptop and a slightly messy stack of papers. His room was neat, tidy, as he usually was. There was some clutter on his dresser and beside his bed: a cup of water, a book, a box of tissues. Satoru always used to marvel at how clean his dorm was when they were in school together.
It seemed that not much had changed.
“Thank you,” Satoru said, standing in the middle of the room, “for inviting me.”
Suguru swallowed, looking at Satoru with an unreadable expression. “I get all your messages so….”
He tapered off and Satoru shrugged, brushing the undercut at the nape of his neck. “I—Sorry I call so much. I want you to know that I don’t—I haven’t—”
“I know.” Suguru cleared his throat, dropping his gaze to stare at Satoru’s purple house slippers.
Satoru let out an exhale, breath tight in his chest. “I’m sorry if I’ve been too… much.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Suguru said. “I mean. You were drunk—or sounded like it—for some of them.”
“Not all of them,” Satoru said too quickly. “Some were just… me.”
Suguru hummed in recognition, as if tucking that information away into the back of his mind.
He shouldn’t have come here and imposed. It was too vulnerable. Too raw of a confession to make so quickly. Skipping small talk and pleasantries expected around a reunion and cutting straight to Satoru bleeding all over Suguru’s clean floors. It shouldn’t be so easy for him to bleed, but around Suguru he always did.
He should be furious. In a way, he still felt that old rage trembling underneath his skin. But it gave way to something far worse—hurt. Sadness. Alcohol numbed him some, but seeing Suguru stand in front of him did nothing for the simmering ache that swirled around his stomach. Being inebriated aside, he had a clearer head tonight than their last meeting. He was young then, hopped up on anger and betrayal. Clawing desperately at anything and everything to convince Suguru to come back when his mind was already made up. He could still feel the phantom sensation of his thumb shaking as it threatened to touch his middle finger and fire at Suguru in front of a street of civilians.
“How’ve you been?” Suguru’s question cut through the room, padding over to his bed to take a seat.
Satoru blinked at that, but then said, “Fine.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “Work’s been stressful. Yaga’s workin’ me hard and throwing missions at me left and right. I don’t have much time to myself anymore.”
It felt too natural to let Suguru back into his life. To talk as if no time had passed at all.
Suguru watched him with careful eyes, attentive if not a little sad. “How’s Megumi? Is he okay?”
That caught him more off guard than he would care to admit. Even while wrapped up in the rhetoric of his own cult, Suguru took the time to think about him and the wellbeing of the child he inherited after Toji’s death.
“He’s okay.” Satoru let a small smile poke at his mouth. “He’s a tough kid. Seen too much for someone his age. A bit of a brat and stubborn, too, but he’s good.”
Something that sounded like an airy laugh rose from Suguru’s chest. A weak grin on his lips as he said, “Sounds a lot like his guardian.”
Satoru glanced down at his feet, taking an interest in the lines and grooves in the floor. “Maybe you’re right about that.” He met Suguru’s gaze again. “How are the girls? Mimiko and Nanako, right?”
Suguru hummed and nodded his head, a similar recognition coloring his face at Satoru’s inquisition. His expression softened at the edges. “They’re alright. They’re fiercely smart and witty. I have my hands full with the two of them, but I’m grateful they have one another. They don’t talk much about their life before. I can’t say I blame them, either. They do know how to twist my arm to get what they want, though. I admittedly have a hard time saying no. Don’t ever tell them that.”
Satoru shook his head. “My lips are sealed.”
Somewhere in Satoru’s head he never imagined life turning out this way. Hitting new steps of life separately instead of together. If he was asked about his future when he was sixteen, he would have said Suguru would have been in it. At his side. Creating a path that was theirs and theirs alone. Whether that was teaching together and sharing students, or living together and sharing parenthood. Not like this—fractured and living parallel lives. Catching glimpses of their day to day routines through short conversation.
As familiar as he was, so much of Suguru felt like he was speaking to a stranger. He supposed he was, in a way. It was difficult to reconcile. Did he look after the girls like he did Amanai? Did he see her in them the way Satoru saw her in Megumi? Energetic and wild, carrying a burden no child should have to shoulder.
Silence fell between them. Heavy and intrusive.
Where should they start?
Satoru crossed the room and sat beside Suguru, keeping some space between their legs. Awkward in nature, but he treated Suguru like a skittish cat. Open to receiving some attention, but affection was probably off the table. A step too close could send him running and throwing Satoru out the door with hardly a goodbye.
Satoru’s hands found his knees, pressing and pushing at them through the fabric of his sweatpants. He looked over at Suguru, growing bold, cutting straight to the core of their meeting. “What made you answer me this time?”
Suguru pressed his lips to a thin line in thought, eyes falling to his own lap where his fingers were intertwined. Painted black nails were a stark contrast against his fair skin. “I don’t know.”
Satoru cocked his head. “I didn’t even send a text. I couldn’t.” He sighed and fiddled with the loose fabric over his thighs. “I saw the news. The homicide was your work, I’m guessing?”
Suguru nodded, still not looking at Satoru. “How did you know?”
“I know you.” Satoru shrugged. “It reminded me of the village. The reporter said it could be cult related, so, it had to have been you.”
He swallowed and finally met Satoru’s gaze. Face shifting from its previously calm expression to one much harder. Firmer. A spark of anger in his eyes. “They were torturing their own children. Did the news say that? The family was already falling apart before I got there. Cigarette burns covered their bodies. The children were malnourished. Disgusting excuses of parents. They begged me to leave them alone, but I couldn’t.”
“What happened to the kids?” Satoru was almost afraid to ask him.
“They’re in the hospital. A trusted member is going to look after them until they’re old enough to take care of themselves. They’re not as young as my girls, but they’re sorcerers like them.”
A small flutter of relief left Satoru’s chest. In his madness, Suguru had killed over one hundred civilians to save the lives of Mimiko and Nanako. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he killed that entire family—abused children included—if it meant pursuing his mission. At least these children would be safe, even if it meant a cult had a hand in raising them. He supposed it could be worse.
He shouldn’t have expected Suguru to have changed. So entrenched in his ideology, his goal of creating a world catered to sorcerers that it tainted much of his worldview. It did when they were seventeen, before any kind of power started to get to his head. This fictitious image of Suguru he had built in his brain—one that would abandon his delusions and drop everything to return to Satoru—never existed. And would never exist. They were trapped on opposing sides and they forever would be until their deaths.
And even still, Satoru wanted him.
“I’m glad they’re safe now,” was all Satoru could mutter. The tone of their conversation had turned colder than he expected.
Suguru threaded a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs out of his face only for them to fall right back. “I think that’s why I answered your call.”
“Hm?” Satoru didn’t follow.
“The kids. I thought of you. Of Megumi,” Suguru said, voice low. “Of Amanai, too. I missed your voice.”
Satoru could only stare at him in shock. “You… could have replayed a voicemail. Why didn’t you?”
“Because I missed you,” Suguru uttered it like it was a secret to be kept, treasured and hidden away. “I knew you were probably drunk, but I didn’t care.”
Satoru didn’t feel drunk enough. Tongue loose, hard feelings rising to the surface, ripe and open for the taking. That was all it took to break down any walls he still had surrounding him. Entirely disarmed by a confession he had hoped for four long years. Knowing that Suguru missed him, too.
But what was the point? What was it all for? Just to sit side by side and hardly look at each other? Hope that the shadows would swallow them whole every time a long lapse of silence filtered between them?
Suguru’s words trickled down into his chest, warming it alongside the liquor. Satoru reached for him, cautiously, then. Fingers lifting from his thigh to brush at Suguru’s knee. Carefully toeing a line he no longer knew how to cross. He lingered there, for a moment or two. Emboldened, he rested his palm on Suguru’s kneecap, touch light and unobtrusive.
Suguru wrapped his hand around Satoru’s wrist, stopping him from moving any further. He looked at where Satoru’s long fingers sat. He didn’t push him away immediately. Just held him. Their first point of contact all evening. His skin practically vibrated under Suguru’s firm grip.
“Satoru. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I do.”
“Then you should know that none of this is a good idea,” Suguru said, disengaging from him. Swiftly getting to his feet to walk over to his window, staring through the shades at the night sky. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“How do you know what I want?” Satoru frowned.
Suguru shot him a look over his shoulder, brows pressed together, eyes set. “Because I can see it all over your face.”
“Then tell me you don’t want it, too.” Satoru rested his elbows on his knees, staring at Suguru. His words almost came out as a plea: “Tell me you want me to go and I’ll go.”
Suguru bit his bottom lip, eyes raking over Satoru’s long legs, his fingers where they were interlaced, the slope of his neck before reaching his face. It happened so quickly that if Satoru wasn’t already looking, he would have missed it. Missed Suguru’s quiet curiosity. Knowing that he wasn’t the only one still riddled with a confusing tangle of feelings bursting at his chest.
“I can’t.” Suguru turned away, face now shielded by his hair.
“Then what if I stay the night?” Satoru asked before he could think twice.
“What?”
“This is the only thing I’ll ask of you, I promise. Just let me stay tonight and then I’ll be gone. You’ll never see me again.”
His throat constricted at that. It was a lie and they both knew that.
Suguru stood with his back to him, arms crossed. It was impossible to read what could be flying through his mind. He looked stronger from here, muscles hidden by his loose fitting t-shirt, more imposing.
When he asked to see Suguru, he didn’t think much of what they would do. What they would talk about. If they would even talk at all. He had his own hopes, of course. That their tearful reunion would somehow be Suguru’s redemption. That being with Satoru could save him.
Perhaps it was foolish to want.
Suguru sighed like it came from the very depths of him, looking back over his shoulder at Satoru. He was beautiful. Face highlighted by the low lamp light in his bedroom, shadows making his features look sharper. He looked worn from there. Far too tired for someone who was only twenty one. “‘Toru…”
His old nickname tore into him like sharpened claws, raking down his chest right over his heart. So often used as a term of endearment, muttered in a hushed voice to check in on Satoru after he had a rough fight, finding him closed up in his room with the shades drawn shut and a blindfold tied securely over his eyes to try to defeat a wicked migraine. Used as a means to dote on Satoru, brushing his unruly hair from his face when they were both breathless and intertwined under sheets, caressing his cheekbones with a softness saved just for him.
Part of him couldn’t handle the thought of Suguru rejecting him then and there. He came all that way—Suguru answered the phone and invited him in. Surely, that couldn’t be it. There was so much he still wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell Suguru. Like how he had zaru soba the other night and thought of him. And how he purposefully still watched reruns of shows they used to love to share just to try to stay close to him.
God did he want him to himself. Just for a little while. Even if it ended.
“Please… Suguru,” Satoru mumbled, blue irises glistening and swimming with drink, carving him open.
Suguru met his gaze and offered him a weak nod. “Fine. Only until dawn.”
Satoru nodded and got to his feet, stepping forward into Suguru’s space with his hands in his pockets. Shoulders slightly hunched as Satoru faced him. Their height difference was more noticeable now than ever before. Where Satoru grew leaner, Suguru filled out. Far healthier than in those last months when Satoru was too involved with himself and his own power to notice Suguru withering. Something that he feared he would regret for the rest of his life.
His hands lifted to brush at Suguru’s shoulder blades, feeling the tension spanning his muscles. It was hesitant, not taking it to heart when Suguru jumped slightly at the touch. He didn’t shrug him off this time. He let it stay there. Satoru’s knuckles caressed his upper back.
“I’m sorry,” Satoru said under his breath.
Suguru met his gaze cautiously. “What for?”
“For letting you go.”
Suguru clicked his tongue and exhaled. He grabbed Satoru’s hand, making him stand a little too stiffly. “I don’t blame you. If anyone is to blame, it’s the fucking higher ups and jujutsu society as an institution. Not just one person.”
“I should have said something back then,” Satoru said, staring at where their fingers were brushing. “I noticed. I could have done so much more. And maybe… maybe I would have, I don’t know—”
Suguru held a hand up, stopping his sentence in its tracks. “There was nothing you could have done, Satoru. What’s done is done. We can’t go back.”
Satoru pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew they couldn’t go back in time like in some fantasy story. They didn’t have the power to change the outcome, as much as he wanted to. This was the hand they were dealt. This is where they ended up. And that was it.
He wanted to find some way to make up for it, if he ever could. But he didn’t think Suguru would accept it. There wasn’t anything to apologize for, anyway. Just Satoru’s guilty conscience and years of grief.
“But,” Suguru continued, fingers reaching to dance along Satoru’s collarbone through his shirt, “you’re here tonight.”
Satoru leaned in closer, tugged toward him by some invisible tether. Suguru smelled like sandalwood and soap. Skin smooth as ever.
His breathing picked up a tick at the proximity. At Suguru not pulling away.
The room was still. Like a silent exhalation they hadn’t let out yet. It was growing and growing, building until Satoru’s forehead tapped Suguru’s. Their breaths mingled and noses touched. At every point, Satoru expected Suguru to shove him away and throw him out, but he only stood there with his hand poised on the left side of Satoru’s chest right beside his heart.
“I missed you,” Satoru muttered.
“I know.”
“Kiss me,” Satoru said, lips almost brushing Suguru’s. “Please.”
Whatever control Suguru was holding onto crumbled and fell away. Buckled entirely under Satoru’s words.
Their mouths found each other in a crash. Hands reaching and reaching for one another, needy. Fingers threaded through Suguru’s hair, Suguru’s hand hooked around Satoru’s neck and tugged him closer. If there was any air between them, it was shared. Breathing into each other and barely parting for an exhale.
Something warm and hot flared where their bodies were pressed up against one another. A heat Satoru knew too well. A heat he hadn’t stopped thinking about; brought out by only Suguru’s calloused hands and his knowing mouth.
Oh, did Satoru want. Wanted Suguru so badly that his hands started to twitch at holding him back from stepping too far.
Suguru pressed into his mouth, earning a low groan from Satoru, parting his lips to deepen their kiss. Suguru guided Satoru backwards until his back made contact with a wall. He parted his legs for Suguru, letting him step between them, placing a thigh right up against Satoru.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Satoru’s words were smothered by Suguru’s mouth, lips against his in a hurried kiss.
“I know.”
“I should kill you.”
“Then kill me,” Suguru said. Definitive and so casually, with their bodies flushed against each other, hardly breaking away from one another to speak.
Satoru shook his head and gripped at the nape of Suguru’s neck. “You know I can’t do that.”
A dark chuckle vibrated in Suguru’s chest. “So don’t. Let me feel you.”
He punctuated his sentence with a rough grind of his hips, making Satoru inhale a quick breath. Arousal started to spread through him, trickling down into a warm pool in his stomach.
Satoru knew they were working with a ticking clock. Existing in a stolen vacuum of time that would simply fade the moment he left Suguru’s room. Despite that, it made their connection all the more dizzying, sparking hot and wild under his fingertips. He knew Suguru must have felt it, too, watching it play out on the soft curves of his face.
Suguru’s hands wandered, keeping Satoru’s back up against the wall as his fingers danced over the hem of Satoru’s shirt. He slipped under, tracing the lines and indents of the small muscles Satoru had gained since they last saw each other. He pushed up the fabric as he went, shoving it until it forced Satoru to raise his arms. Suguru yanked Satoru's shirt off and tossed it to the floor. Palms trailed over Satoru’s chest, skimming over sensitive skin, following the long scar that carved down the right side of his body from collarbone to hip. Quietly reverent in the haste of their night. Satoru thought Suguru was going to say something. Comment on the events of that day, but he stayed silent. He only kissed a line down his jaw and onto his pulse point.
Suguru tugged off his own shirt soon after and Satoru was grateful. He needed the press of skin on skin. He needed to feel the muscle definition that he knew was buried underneath his baggy clothes. Satoru used the opportunity that their lips were parted to take a quick look at him.
Suguru’s X shaped scar was still there, large and sliced into the middle of his chest. It was some kind of sick connection they shared—sporting matching marks of their own slashed into their flesh by the same man. The day they lost Amanai. The day Satoru was killed.
Satoru pushed those memories far from his mind, not wanting to revisit the past any longer than he had to, especially on a night like this. The feel of Suguru’s palm warming the skin of his abdomen helped. The tips of his fingers brushed at Satoru’s waistband.
Satoru grabbed at his wrist, making him pause, and Suguru pulled away, shooting Satoru a curious look.
“It’s okay,” Satoru said, offering reassurance as he grabbed Suguru’s waist. “I need you first.”
“Then have me.” Suguru guided Satoru’s hands down to his sweatpants, pushing them underneath them to feel at his briefs. “Take them off.”
Satoru swallowed, body responding to Suguru’s familiar control. He tugged his pants down and sank to the ground, his touch trailing down Suguru’s thighs all the way. He’d grown so much stronger from when he’d seen him last. It looked good on him.
His lips found Suguru’s hip bone, strafing over his lower stomach, leaving a wet trail over the dark line of hair that trickled down beneath the elastic waistband of his briefs. Suguru gently grabbed Suguru by the hair and positioned him over his arousal, holding him as Satoru leaned in. Breath washed over him before Suguru grew impatient and shoved his underwear down.
“Remind me of what your mouth can do,” Suguru said, eyes going half-lidded as he looked down at Satoru.
Satoru didn’t say anything at all. He only wrapped his hand around the base of Suguru’s cock and licked a long stripe underneath. Pausing at the head, he teased Suguru with the flat of his tongue before sinking down on him. Puffing air through his nose as Suguru let out a low groan and a curse under his breath.
Then Satoru started to move. His spit gave his hand a slick glide, steadily working Suguru. He started to buck into Satoru’s mouth. Needy, but not harsh. Satoru let him, affirming him with a hum that made Suguru’s hips stutter.
There was something twisted about the image—the Six Eyes himself on his knees for Suguru, the leader of a cult and a worshipper of only the strongest in their society, threading his fingers in Satoru’s hair to sink into his waiting mouth. Using Satoru as he saw fit.
Satoru glanced up at Suguru through his lashes and watched Suguru start to slip into something much more dangerous. What a sight he must be, too: big blue eyes shining, framed by white lashes, hair partially disheveled, cheeks hollowed out as Suguru sat heavy on his tongue.
He picked up his pace, sliding Suguru deeper and deeper until he choked and swiftly lifted his head. Tears poked at his vision as he took him in his mouth again and again, letting Suguru roughly give him a tug back on his cock.
“Fuck,” Suguru hissed, rolling his hips into Satoru’s mouth a few more times before pulling off of him completely.
Satoru sputtered and gasped for air. He hadn’t realized how shallow he was breathing until Suguru disengaged.
“Why’d you stop?” Satoru asked. His voice was slightly hoarse from use.
“Because,” Suguru brushed damp strands of hair away from Satoru’s forehead, “when I finish, I want it to be inside of you. Would you like that?”
Satoru nodded. Answering almost a little too quickly, but he’d missed this more than he’d cared to admit. He wouldn’t give Suguru the satisfaction, though he was sure Suguru already knew just how much he ached for him.
There was freedom in letting go. In fully slipping underneath Suguru’s guiding hand. In letting himself feel desire, hunger. Not retreating or smothering it in sweets or alcohol or work. Indulging in the taboo of their meeting, in the high of Suguru’s taste and scent. It didn’t matter if he was still a little intoxicated. He knew what he wanted. He knew he should have been figuring out how many ways he could take Suguru down in this vulnerable and unassuming state, but all he could do was imagine how it would be to feel Suguru press his back into the mattress again. His body responded to the image immediately.
Satoru got to his feet, slowly, and captured Suguru in a searing kiss, all tongues and teeth. Suguru started to pull off Satoru’s pants and underwear in one go, palming at him as he did so.
“Is all of this for me?” Suguru smirked into his lips.
“What do you think?” Satoru shot back.
Suguru snorted. “Are you giving me attitude?”
“So what if I am?” Satoru smiled, arousal flaring.
A snicker followed, along with Suguru taking Satoru in his hand and giving him a few torturous strokes. “Don’t be a fucking brat.”
“You missed it, didn’t you?”
Suguru swiped the pad of his thumb over Satoru’s tip and Satoru gasped. “You missed me putting you in your place. Is that right?”
Satoru, attempting to play coy, only grinned. The curl of his mouth gave him away immediately, as did the playful twinkle in his eyes. Staring at Suguru with barely contained anticipation. Even as Suguru released him in favor of slipping a hand over the back of Satoru’s neck, making him lean down a little. He spoke into the shell of Satoru’s ear, “Get on the bed, Satoru.”
Stepping out of the rest of his clothes, he sat down on Suguru’s futon, scooting back until his head hit the top. The mattress was slightly firm, as were the pillows, but it made sense for Suguru.
Suguru climbed over him and Satoru could only reach for him. Cradling the side of his face and jaw as he guided Suguru’s lips down onto his. Their hips grinded against one another, jumping at the sharp wave of friction. Suguru brushed into Satoru with purpose, breaking their kiss to hear the quiet moans that started to tumble from Satoru. A rhythm started between the two of them, bodies rolling, chasing the heat that began to burn where they made contact. It was rough and clumsy and Satoru didn’t care. He just needed Suguru, needed whatever he offered.
Suguru’s hands were stained with blood, splattered with remnants of his own loving parents, innocent citizens, and followers. But so were Satoru’s. Even as he let them wander down the sides of Suguru’s throat, sliding down to his torso, coating his ribs and obliques in smears of invisible crimson, surely tracking evidence of the deaths they carried as he went. He was certain Suguru’s sheets would be soiled by the time he left, but he didn’t care. Not at all. It didn’t make him love Suguru any less, as pathetic of an admission as it was.
Suguru’s lips nipped down the column of Satoru’s neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks behind whenever his teeth latched onto soft skin. His tongue swiped over Satoru’s chest, peering up at him through dark lashes. “Have you fucked anyone else after me?”
Satoru shook his head, feeling Suguru’s fingers start to creep lower, brushing over his Adonis belt and his neatly trimmed white happy trail.
A floppy smirk tugged at Suguru’s lips. Grinning like that was all that he wanted to hear, as if he had staked some claim on Satoru years ago and marked him as only his. Suguru flicked his tongue out over a nipple, just to hear the immediate inhale from Satoru. “Good.”
Satoru swallowed, weaving his hand through Suguru’s hair, staring at it as it dangled over his abdomen in a soft wave. He brushed some of it back, but mostly was looking for something sturdy to hold onto. His heart skipped as anxiety churned in his gut. “What about you?”
“I’m clean,” Suguru said. “I tried. They weren’t you.”
The rise and fall of Satoru’s chest made Suguru shift, continuing the downward path of his palm as if he didn’t say something that made Satoru feel like he could melt into the bed. They weren’t you.
Suguru brushed over Satoru’s length again, but with more purpose this time. More energy. He caressed Satoru as if no time had passed. Remembering just how to glide up and down with a confident ease. His hold was loose, steady, and Satoru was vocal in affirming his pace. Tightening his hand in Suguru’s hair and pushing out messy exhales.
“Suguru. More.”
Suguru listened and pushed himself off of Satoru, blindly reaching for his nightstand. Satoru couldn’t take his eyes off of Suguru. The concentrated pull of his brows and the light blush of arousal on his cheeks. Suguru’s hair resting on his bare chest. He looked beautiful, though he always did. But more so now that their time was fleeting. Satoru tracked him as if to commit every small detail to memory.
Suguru produced a small bottle of lube from the drawer, opening the top with a small pop and taking a moment to warm some in his hand. Gently, he reached back between Satoru’s legs, slicking over the length of him once before letting his fingers slip lower.
Satoru felt him press into him with a low sigh, body slipping into routine and relaxing at the familiar touch. It had been some time since someone had touched him, since hands that weren’t his own had ghosted over sensitive skin, pushing and searching for pleasure. Satoru gave himself over to it completely, letting his legs fall open for Suguru to settle in between. Suguru’s fingers moved slowly, gently. Testing the waters as he added a second finger and thrusted. Satoru bit his lip through a moan. Suguru shushed him, though a little smile tugged at his lips as he crooked his fingers, watching how Satoru’s hips jumped.
It didn’t take long for Satoru’s body to reacclimate to Suguru, his consistent touch worked him open until Satoru felt his thighs start to shake under the intentional brushing of a third finger. His mouth fell open, gripping Suguru’s shoulder so tightly he was certain there would be a mark the following day.
“Can you handle one more?” Suguru asked, not yet pulling his hand away.
Satoru struggled to catch his breath. “No. Suguru…. Just fuck me.”
“You sure you can do it?” There was a cheeky bite to his question.
Satoru nodded, roughly rolling his hips onto Suguru’s hand, forcing his fingers to hit as deep as he wanted. His arms linked behind Suguru’s neck, lips hovering over Suguru’s as he let out another small moan. “Need you.”
Suguru closed the gap between them, meeting him with a similar desperation. He made quick work of preparing himself, removing his hand to fish around for more lube, never once breaking their kiss as he coated himself generously. Satoru felt like he was getting tugged along happily. Following wherever Suguru went. Moving as Suguru wanted him to move. Lifting his hips and accepting a pillow that Suguru slid underneath him. Feeling over the hardened lines of Suguru’s biceps as Suguru took his place above him, bracketing Satoru between his forearms.
“Want to help me?” Suguru lightly grinded into Satoru.
Satoru reached down for him, guiding Suguru as he slowly pressed in. The motion pulled small groans from both of them, watching exhalations tumble into the small space between them. Suguru continued shifting, pushing until their bodies were flush against one another.
Satoru shifted his hips, pulling out a gasp at the feeling of Suguru seated so deeply inside of him. “Move. I’m okay.”
That was all Suguru needed. Spurred on by Satoru’s permission, he pulled back and thrusted back in, never once fully breaking their contact. He moved in long languid strokes, lazy, even. A dizzying and hypnotizing push and pull. Satoru let it tug him under. Lulled into a pool of pleasure by Suguru’s smooth rolls.
They were quiet for the most part outside of little moans, but Satoru wanted more. He always did.
“Harder, Suguru,” he groaned, hooking an arm behind Suguru’s neck for support. “I know you can give it to me.”
Suguru pressed a chaste kiss to his temple. “Flip over for me.”
Satoru moved right away, wriggling away from Suguru despite the emptiness that hit the moment he pulled out. He kept the pillow in place, turning over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his knees and elbows, staring expectantly over his shoulder at Suguru. Suguru’s eyes ripped a hot line down his body, following his spine and the delicious curve he put into his back. Pupils wide in the darkness and staring at Satoru like he wanted to swallow him up. Devour him whole. Suguru let his hands slide up the backs of Satoru’s thighs, shoving his legs open before pushing into him again.
Satoru had to bite into the back of his hand as a shiver tore through him. Suguru squeezed his backside and resumed his rhythm, hitting deeper and deeper with every thrust.
His hands were everywhere all at once. Satoru wanted him to slide over every expanse of skin and rip him apart bit by bit. Sink his nails into him and bury himself deeper until they were forever joined.
Suguru pushed a hand into the small of Satoru’s back, aiding in his arch. He slid another up his spine, lacing his fingers through the hair at Satoru’s nape and pressed his cheek down into the mattress. Satoru couldn’t help the loud moan that fell out as a response. Suguru tightened his grip at that, catching Satoru’s eyes with a frown.
He shushed him and slammed into him again. Satoru’s lips parted as another sound of pleasure slipped free. Again, Suguru sharply shushed him, and again, his hips snapped into Satoru. Satoru squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to bite back the moans tumbling onto the sheets.
“Satoru,” Suguru hissed. “Look at me.”
Suguru slowed his rhythm as if waiting for a response. Satoru blinked and met Suguru’s burning gaze, light eyebrows pulled together as he looked up at Suguru.
Suguru adjusted his hold. One hand grabbed Satoru’s hip and the other slid under his chest, lifting Satoru up from the mattress and into a kneeling position. Suguru wrapped a forearm across Satoru’s torso, keeping him upright as the other trailed up to Satoru’s jaw, grabbing it to speak into his ear around a groan. “Be quiet.”
Before Satoru could answer, Suguru picked up the pace and covered Satoru’s mouth with his palm, smothering the low moan that was involuntarily torn from him.
He felt so much more exposed like this, somehow. Being held as Suguru fucked into him and all he could do was take it. His hands found purchase on one of Suguru’s arms, the other reached behind him for Suguru’s head to cradle Suguru into his neck, fingers snaking into his loose black strands. He was able to turn his head more easily like this, maintaining eye contact while Suguru kept a firm grip on his jaw.
It was a good thing he did. Suguru started to increase his pace, pushing into him with more desperation than before. Satoru practically slumped back into his hold, only kept upright by the strength in Suguru’s arms, moaning freely into Suguru’s palm. It kept him quiet enough, despite Suguru huffing into his skin to keep his voice down.
“I can’t.” Satoru’s voice was a broken cry, straining through every rough buck of Suguru’s hips. It was overwhelming. All consuming.
“For me, you can.”
Satoru’s eyes almost rolled back into his head, hearing the lewd sounds of Suguru thrusting into him faster and faster. A hot coil of pleasure started to build low in his stomach. Only aided by Suguru adjusting his angle to hit deeper. A sharp exhale was caught by Suguru’s hand, muffling the curse Satoru yelped out.
“I missed you,” Suguru confessed and slipped a hand down to the lower stretch of Satoru’s abdomen.
Satoru hummed his reply, afraid to try to shake off Suguru’s firm grasp on his mouth in fear of forgetting to keep his voice down.
“Did you miss me? Miss this?” Suguru’s voice pitched a tone darker, tugged down by desire.
Satoru nodded, catching Suguru’s rhythm with a roll of his hips, the two of them moving in tandem.
“I thought of you,” Suguru muttered. “Late at night sometimes when I was alone. I didn’t care if you hated me. All I wanted to do was go to you, but I couldn’t. No one feels as good as you.”
A higher whine left Satoru’s mouth, whimpering into Suguru’s hand, desperate and blissed out. It was all too much. He yanked on Suguru’s hair and earned a quick moan in response, feeling Suguru bury his nose into the crook of Satoru’s shoulder. “Fuck, Satoru.”
Satoru tried to keep up. The stimulation was proving to be too much for him. His thighs started to quake, the muscles spasming from overuse, but Suguru never let up.
“I—Suguru,” Satoru choked out through Suguru’s fingers. “Fuck. I can’t. ‘M gonna finish.”
Suguru slid his hand lower at last, taking Satoru in his palm and matched his strokes to his rhythm, coaxing him closer to the end. “C’mon, ‘Toru. Come for me.”
Something in Satoru’s vision fissured. Body twitching, every inch of skin tingling, closing his eyes as he came with a silent cry. It felt like Suguru had lit his flesh on fire. He felt him finish in Suguru’s hand, spilling over his fingers and onto the sheets below him. Suguru didn’t seem to care, hardly pausing the steady pace of his thrusts until he bit down on Satoru’s shoulder to finish with a series of lofting groans.
Satoru didn’t know who slumped forward first. Maybe it was Satoru, catching himself on his forearms as he gasped for breath, mouth now free from Suguru’s hold. Maybe it was Suguru releasing him to fall to his side, panting and pushing sweaty hair off of his forehead. All he remembered was the shift of the mattress as Suguru left him, though not for long. He returned from his adjoining bathroom with a warm, damp towel, crawling over Satoru to swipe it over his still vibrating sensitive skin, cleaning up any mess he made diligently, but gently. He was careful to avoid anything that was too overstimulating, knowing well how easy it was to overwhelm Satoru.
Suguru unceremoniously threw the towel near his hamper, discarding it in favor of slumping beside Satoru. His touch was welcome, a familiar weight over his hip as he tugged Satoru closer. Both of them were sticky, but Satoru didn’t care. He curled into Suguru, nuzzled under his chin, and kissed his sharp collarbone. Searching to melt into him further if it were possible.
The two of them didn’t speak. Consumed with the natural quiet that settled over the room. It had happened plenty of times when they were together, though rare due to Satoru’s stubbornly chatty nature. It took quite a bit of exertion on Suguru’s part to shut him up.
A wave of emotion washed through his chest, slipping and knotting around his ribcage. It was tight. It was expected, but he pushed it down. He had to. He couldn’t pull Suguru out of whatever it was he was locked into. He couldn’t take him home. He agreed to this the moment he accepted Suguru’s invitation. So he closed his eyes and breathed, pulling Suguru deeper into his lungs.
They laid there in silence, arms and legs tangled up together, a thin layer of sweat drying over their bodies. It was messy, but they were content.
There was so much Satoru wished he could say, to confess now that they were finished. Endorphins and hormones were super charged and consumed entirely by thoughts of Suguru. He wanted to ask to see him again. Wanted to know if it would ever be possible for Suguru to take a break from the cult, even for a little bit. He knew that the answer would be a prompt and swift no, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want Suguru to know he was thinking of him. Or considering a future for them outside of their new lives.
It was impossible, and this he knew well. But Satoru liked to dream.
At some point they must have dozed off—Satoru wrapped up in Suguru’s secure embrace with his head to his chest. The soothing beat of his heart lulled him to sleep. Suguru woke him with a light squeeze around his waist where his arms were looped. Shaking him a little to help him stir.
“Satoru.” His gentle voice cut through the stillness. “It’s almost dawn.”
Satoru grumbled, always the more cranky one out of the two when waking. “Is it?”
“Mm,” Suguru hummed and nodded his head. “I’m afraid you have to go.”
Satoru sighed, long and deep. A lump of tears clawed at the back of his throat and he tried to swallow it down. He knew it was inevitable. That eventually he would have to return home and pretend this never happened, but that didn’t make it any better. He would carry this night—Suguru’s rough hands and careful words, whatever fractions of love that still lingered—until they met one another again.
“I know.” Satoru struggled to disengage from Suguru, slowly adjusting to a seated position. His fingers traced along Suguru’s scar. “I can’t stay longer.”
Suguru shook his head. “The girls are going to come and wake me soon and I don’t want them to see you.”
“I’ll gather my things.”
“Wait,” Suguru said, grabbing Satoru’s face to tug him down for a long kiss, lips soft and inviting. He poured everything he had into it; every tear that started to well in his eyes, every I love you please stay he was too scared to whisper.
Satoru was the one to break away first, starting to feel his throat constrict and he couldn’t bear crying in front of Suguru. Not tonight. He sniffled and turned away, shoulders slumping as he inched off the bed, searching for his clothes in little discarded piles all over the floor. He almost grabbed Suguru’s briefs instead of his own, and a small voice in his head thought it would have been funny to leave with them. Maybe it would give him a reason to show up again and pay him a visit, but he decided against it.
His legs were a little wobbly as he moved, throwing on his shirt and pants before toeing his slippers on. Suguru slid out of bed after him, not bothering to put his shirt back on. He only stepped into his underwear and sweatpants, running a hand through his slightly knotted hair.
“Do you have everything?” Suguru asked, walking towards his door as Satoru straightened out his t-shirt.
Satoru nodded with a small hum. “I think so. I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t even come here with my phone.”
Suguru snorted. “Good.”
Satoru stood with his back to the door, one hand poised on the handle, letting his gaze travel over Suguru’s face one last time. Taking in the stray black strands dangling onto his cheek and falling out of place. The small tired lines framing his eyes. The gentle slope of his nose and the curve of his lips.
“I—”
“Satoru,” Suguru cut him off. “Please. You don’t have to say anything. It makes it easier if you don’t.”
Satoru shut his mouth. Releasing the door, he reached for Suguru, trailing his fingers over his bicep to his shoulder. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”
“It is.” Suguru tried to hide the way he leaned into Satoru’s touch.
Satoru let his hand travel to his nape, guiding him into a hug. Suguru assented willingly and wrapped his arms tightly around Satoru’s waist, squeezing him to his chest. Satoru buried his face into the crook of Suguru’s neck and breathed him in one last time. Lips hovering over his skin, voice low as he muttered, “Thank you.”
“Be well, Satoru,” Suguru said beside his ear. “Goodnight.”
With another deep breath, Satoru straightened up. Pulling away from him was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Unspooling his arms from around Suguru’s body and releasing him for the last time, he offered Suguru a sad smile. “Goodnight.”
He didn’t wait for Suguru to respond, if he even did. Satoru closed his eyes and teleported, focusing all his energy on finding his apartment, locating the familiar small energy signature of Megumi and using it as a guide. He didn’t always need the help, but with how distracted he was, he had to be careful he wouldn’t end up back at Suguru’s door.
He touched foot in his living room, just like he left. The TV was still on, playing some low program and casting multicolored lights into the empty room. Megumi was in his room asleep. Satoru’s dishes were in the sink. He left them unwashed once again and dragged himself into his bedroom. Collapsing onto his bed, he crawled under his sheets, and forced himself to rest until Megumi inevitably would come in to wake him before he had to go to school.
A small part of him smiled at how similar his morning was going to be to Suguru’s, consumed with parenting instead of his own aching chest. Knowing that they would be existing side by side kilometers apart, moving in tandem as they always did. Though they weren’t together, maybe that was enough.