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Suguru is in the third grade of elementary school when girls crowd him, asking him about his hair and brushing it with shy deliberation. Seconds later, a group of boys barges in and tugs at the subject of the conversation, their sweaty hands a reckless driver on a highway.
Ew, they say, you're a boy, Suguru, why do you look like a girl?
He's heard the same sentiments verbalized as concern when his parents are fighting. You're too lenient with him, his father would yell, he looks like a girl. Don't you know other kids will bully him for that? He's already weird enough, what with him saying he can see ghosts.
There was that one time his father frightened him by coming at him with scissors, only held back by his mother's pleas that they should let Suguru do what Suguru wants. Suguru compromises and ties up his hair.
His mother's pleas echo in his ears as he smiles at the boys despite the pain pulling at his scalp. The lack of reaction unnerves them, just as it does for his father; they back off, mumbling about Suguru being a weird homo.
And, well, Suguru will do what Suguru wants. He may be hurting these people with his existence, but he justifies it by protecting them from ghosts they can't see, ghosts that he swallows down with taste like the bitterness that accompany the hair pulling. He decides there's meaning in that.
His mother tells him to cut his hair. He learns that these aren't ghosts. He pierces his ears and accepts the offer to a school for freaks like him. Far, far away from people who want to tell him what Suguru should be.
It doesn't stop him from bending himself into a shape that serves others. It hurtles him toward a boy who also made the same choice, but refuses to bend while apologizing to no one.
It's only been two weeks since Suguru met his classmates when Satoru opens his big mouth, out of the blue.
"It's weird how every girl wants to be a guy."
Suguru lowers his leg at the end of a kata. It's an absurd statement, one that shouldn't warrant a response, but Suguru bites anyway since Shoko obviously isn't indulging in his majesty. It's not the first time Satoru blabbed such nonsense anyway. "What makes you say so?"
"Well, guys are just better than girls," Satoru prattles on. "Girls are always talking about dumb shit. They're weak."
Suguru doesn't mention that Satoru himself is talking about dumb shit, and glances at Shoko. She could kill a man right now. "What about Shoko?"
"Shoko's what I mean when I say every girl! Every sane girl, that is. Shoko, don't you wanna be a guy?"
They both stare at Shoko, who stares back. Suguru doesn't think she needs it, but he signs at her if he should throttle Satoru. She shakes her head.
"Gojo, if you're calling me sane, you have a warped definition of the word."
"You're the sanest girl I've met."
"Then you need to talk to more girls."
"I've talked to plenty of girls."
"Like who?" She counts on her hand. "Your mom? Your servants? Me?"
Satoru looks at the offending fingers for too long. He's already lost and he knows it. "I have three servants, you know."
"Had. You left them back in Kyoto, dumbass. And I doubt any of them wants to be a guy."
"Well that's because they're insane, unlike you."
Satoru is sulking. It's apparent when he has his arms out, all straight across his knobby knees. Shoko sighs and doesn't talk to him again, until a fallout after a mission three days later forces Satoru in close proximity with her in the clinic. Suguru is banned from there as always when it comes to Satoru so he spends the rare time he's not glued to Satoru at the hip in his martial arts studies.
Something seems to change in Satoru afterwards; he no longer spouts random sexist bullshit. Suguru is grateful because while he understands Satoru comes from a clan where such outdated notions are common, he's also getting tired of correcting Satoru. Every question or statement Satoru blurts out about gender puts Suguru in an awkward position of talking about men and women in a way that he never feels comfortable about.
As curious as Suguru is about what happened to make Satoru shut up, whatever they talked about is up to Shoko to disclose.
It doesn't even occur to him that it was up to Satoru all along until a year later.
"Shoko, can you cut these off?"
Suguru stops abruptly in his tracks to his usual smoking spot with Shoko. It's rare that Satoru is here since he hates the smell. His reaction to Satoru's request is just about the same as Shoko's: an uncomprehending silence, cigarette dipping from her slack jaw, before she gathers her wits.
"I thought you were okay keeping them, since you're untouchable anyway. Isn't that what you said?"
It's clear Suguru isn't privy to the topic at hand, and something about that miffs him. Shoko knowing something about Satoru that Suguru doesn't know? It unsettles Suguru enough to eavesdrop like some insecure fool.
"Well." Satoru fidgets a bit, bobbing on his heels. "Just two days ago, I wasn't untouchable."
Suguru needs to consciously hold his breath to not give himself away. His chest throbs in a cross. It's nothing, you're alright, he quickly recites to make it pass. Satoru is right there, breathing, speaking, albeit a tad high-pitched, as if rushing through his thoughts.
"That guy cut me open, and you know what my first thought was? Damn, he's gonna tell everyone. Good thing the blood covered it all up, huh?" He laughs. It's not very funny. "I just don't wanna worry anymore. Plus it's a huge pain when I sleep in Suguru's bed-"
Suguru can't help but choke at that. Satoru and Shoko immediately spot him like hawks. Oops.
Which is how Satoru simultaneously comes out to him and ropes him into Operation Exorcise the Cursed Sacks. Satoru's words, not his.
"So I'm only doing the surgery, it's a good practical experience," Shoko declares. "Geto, you're gonna be the nurse because no way I can do this alone-"
"Wait, no," interjects Satoru, "Suguru can't be there."
"Why not?"
The two snap to Suguru, who's taken aback by his own outburst. Shoko inhales a long spike of nicotine, and Satoru rubs his neck. Suguru decides to own it, crossing his arms in defiance.
"Look, I just-" Satoru starts. It's the most unsettled he's been in front of Suguru, and that carves out chunks of Suguru's bottomless stomach for curses. "...I just don't want anyone besides Shoko there."
Suguru is angry. He's angry and he doesn't know what to do because he's not angry at Satoru at all so there is nothing to do except turn it inward.
They're at a stalemate. As usual, if the dialogue doesn't devolve into a fight, Shoko resolves it. She stomps on the remainder of the cigarette she's been burning through the planning.
"Alright. I'll do it by myself. But Geto." She turns toward him, and Suguru straightens to attention. "Lend me some of your curses. You can make them listen to simple orders from others, right?" She makes a face at Satoru, whose eyes stubbornly avoid theirs. "I'll need some helping hand."
It's the best Suguru will get. He accepts eagerly.
"Also, I'm not handling your bullshit afterwards, Gojo. And Sensei can't babysit you, he has appearances to keep up. He's already holding back the higher ups from sending you morons on more missions right now. Geto will tend to you for the post-op recovery, Gojo. Or I won't do this, and that's final."
It's a grueling minute under her uncompromising glare that Satoru finally nods. Shoko promptly excuses herself to make arrangements with Yaga.
Left to themselves with the most awkward air they've breathed together, they talk about it. A bit. When they finish and grab dinner together, sliding back into their routine, Satoru looks relieved, relaxed in a way Suguru hasn't witnessed. He realizes there's always been some sort of tension in Satoru's shoulders around Suguru, in a way that's different from Suguru's that Satoru hasn't noticed so far.
Suguru doesn't want to go down that line of thought. While he chews on the croquette he split with Satoru, he ponders.
Satoru isn't entirely forthcoming with his situation, but Suguru gathers that while the Gojo clan knows, they're... extremely hush-hush about it. In fact, they were going to force Satoru to live as a man regardless as they could never accept a woman as the wielder of both Limitless and Six Eyes. Suguru feels a little sick when he remembers the nonchalant manner Satoru told him so. How hypocritical of the clan that they can't even support their future head who's been their desired gender since birth.
So Satoru was alone in this. Until he enrolled in Tokyo Jujutsu Tech, that is. Moved all the way from Kyoto to get away from his family and found surprising support in Yaga. Shoko was the next surprise when she had to discover his secret during that incident last year.
The revelation makes all sorts of sense now--why he had asked those nonsensical questions with a strange underlying frustration, why he bans everyone from entering the medical wing when Shoko is treating him, why he leaves in the middle of the night when he falls asleep in Suguru's bed, why he always has a shirt around Suguru despite the latter being openly on display, why he wore one too many layers in Okinawa, why his voice hasn't cracked yet. Suguru didn't pry about those things, and that's probably why Satoru was friends with him in the first place. It's the same for Suguru himself, after all; he doesn't want people asking after his choices. He wants to be, but unquestioned.
But it still eats at Suguru when he realizes he is the last to know, when he thought all along that he was the first to know Satoru. It makes him feel as though his role in the Operation is dire in proving Satoru wrong for not divulging his secret.
Suguru regrets his role immediately.
"For the last time, Satoru, your nipple is not going to fall off."
"But Suguru," Satoru insists, abusing the name for five seconds longer than it needs, "it literally feels like it's falling off! Wanna see?"
No, Suguru most definitely does not want to see Satoru's nipples. At least not when they're like...that. The look of disgust that passes his face should be enough to communicate this, but Satoru is still shoving his chest forward, hands scrabbling around for an opening to the vest and the bandages underneath confining said nipples.
"Hey, Shoko told you not to take that off!" Suguru exclaims, grabbing Satoru's wrists, which flex in fingery frustration. "Stop moving your arms so much either! You want it to heal wrong? She'll kill you if she needs to do the surgery again! Or make corrections because you don't know how to be a recovering patient!"
"You don't understand, it's so goddamn itchy!" whines Satoru. "I can just heal it with reverse cursed technique anyway--"
"The whole point of you going through this is that you're not allowed to heal yourself. Shoko will-"
"-heal me at a slower pace so that we don't accidentally grow them back, I know, I know." Satoru rolls his eyes. "Can a dude complain about how itchy his fake nipples are though?"
Suguru tries to keep his grin off his face with an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, a dude may, though it doesn't change the fact that the dude is being a big baby."
An extremely big baby. Thanks to Shoko, Satoru will only take a week to fully recover from the process, which is already months shorter than usual. But it's just day one, and Satoru hasn't stopped complaining for what feels like complaining's sake ever since he emerged from the anesthesia. Would Suguru be a bad friend if he admits that he wishes he hadn't overheard Satoru talking to Shoko about this whole thing?
No, no, Suguru is trying to prove something, remember?
"Anyway, stop moving, you don't want your scar to look bad."
"What scar? Reverse cursed technique is gonna make it look flawless." Satoru blows his fringes since his hands are occupied, showcasing his forehead. "See? Flawless."
That makes Suguru pause. "You...don't want to keep the scar?"
Satoru dons the did-the-curse-you-eat-go-down-wrong look. "No? Why would I?"
Why would Satoru? It's a question Suguru has an answer for, but it's a baseless conjecture. It's baseless because some part of Suguru is...envious?
Why was he envious?
"I guess," he starts slowly, unsure if he could even properly put words to his feelings. His earlobes suddenly hang heavy. "I thought...if it were me. I'd like to have reminders on my body, if it went through changes like that."
Yep, Satoru's doubtful look has pivoted to I-knew-eating-that-curse-was-no-good. Satoru activates Infinity just to escape the hold on his wrists and lifts up Suguru's shirt in the same instant.
"Hey, that's cheating- what're you-?"
"Shoko erased the scars from your fight, Mr. I Want To Keep My Scars!" Satoru exclaims, indignant.
"That and this are completely different!" hisses Suguru, flustered from the sudden indecency. It's not that he's body-shy around Satoru, but--Satoru's the one undressing him. Suguru pulls it back down; it's not very hard with Satoru still fatigued from the surgery. In fact, Satoru should be lying down, sleeping on painkillers but of course he's hyperactive like the colossal anomaly he is.
"How are they different!" Satoru walks away, all the warnings against using his arms be damned as he gesticulates angrily. "They're all the same imperfections." His hands still. "Reminders of things that went wrong."
What's left unsaid slaps Suguru in the face. He wishes his friend would turn around.
"Satoru, nothing is wrong with you."
"Yeah, well." There's a smirk baked in his response but Suguru hears a wet tinge to it. "I'm glad you agree that I'm basically perfect."
Suguru doesn't pry about who might disagree. He knows Satoru wouldn't want him to.
Sighing, Suguru realizes he's hungry; he hasn't eaten all day from tending to everything Satoru needed for the recovery and helping out Shoko with the surgery prep. He's fishing out instant ramen for two out of the cabinet from habit before Shoko's warning flashes in his head: Satoru should keep to only light foods today.
Setting aside one of the cup noodles, he opens up the rice cooker instead; he scoops a small load, sprinkles some nori on top, and serves the bowl with a spoon on their small kitchen table. While the water for the ramen boils, he decides to take a quick shower, but not before informing Satoru that food is ready. Satoru doesn't grace him with an affirmative from where he's still puttering around restlessly. Whatever. His sulking is nothing new.
Cranking the showerhead, Suguru runs Shoko's instructions from the morning through his head one more time.
"Make sure he drinks plenty of water," Shoko had advised, shakily wiping the sweat off her temple. While the surgery was a success, she had only been able to practice on fresh corpses courtesy of Yaga pulling some strings. She needed a smoke, badly, to calm her reluctantly frazzled nerves. "The anesthesia is gonna make him woozy all day. Force him to rest, hydrate him, flush it out."
None of that prepares him for the sight he's greeted with upon stepping out of the bathroom: Satoru gagging on a noodle with the incriminating evidence all over the floor.
"Shoko didn't tell me she removed your brain too," Suguru deadpans while mopping the floor. "You eat my ramen. Throw it all up. Do you have a checklist for doing the opposite of what the doctor ordered? Didn't she say low sodium diet for you for this week?"
"Shut uuuuup," groans Satoru, miserable in his bed, propped up with an absurd amount of pillows that Suguru requested from the dorm mother. His speech is warbled around the bland crackers he's nibbling on to relieve his nausea. "What does it matter, she's gonna heal the swelling down anyway."
"What matters is that she can't be occupied with your kingly ass the whole time. There's other people she needs to treat almost every day, she has her limits."
"You're underestimating her," grumbles Satoru. He licks the cracker crumbs off his lips. "She learned advanced surgical techniques in a highly specialized field totally out of her purview just because I asked. Shoko's amazing."
Suguru looks up from the relentless mopping briefly before resuming. "Rare of you to say something like that."
"I-" Satoru links his fingers together; it's not a gesture Suguru associates with him at all. "I'm not really sure what I'm saying. I guess...I'm..."
Grateful? Suguru wants to supply sarcastically, but Satoru looks so pathetic trying to process weird foreign feelings. He opts to put down the mop and swings around to the bedside with a giant cup of water in tow.
"Drink up and rest up if you want to thank her."
Satoru slowly sips with a stupid pout. Suguru wants to poke his cheeks and watch the water spray back out. "I don't need to thank her."
"And that's exactly the way she'd want it."
Satoru, dare Suguru say, is contemplative. "...I know," he concludes before tipping the cup back with his arms in a sad imitation of a dinosaur.
Suguru itches to ask what he and Shoko had talked about, all the way back when. The conversations Suguru had missed, the conversations he could've had with the two of them, with Satoru; he longs to know and be part of them all. He longs to know Satoru.
He longs to be with Satoru.
It's not a novel revelation. Suguru has known since Satoru bought him a cake for his birthday earlier this year and then ate it himself, because that's just who Satoru is. It's not new, yet it burns in him more desperate than ever, while he sits here, next to Satoru confined to bed, Satoru whose eyes are off in the distance, reflecting on all the few people who helped him get here.
And Suguru is afraid he is not part of those few people. Suguru isn't strong enough. Suguru is late, yet again, too late to save Riko, too late to find Satoru.
Satoru finishes the cup. Suguru has to finish his own overflowing with inadequacy. Otherwise he's going to be late when he's finally here. He takes the cup away and makes sure Satoru is tucked in, ignoring half-hearted complaints about being able to do it himself.
A moment of tranquility befalls them in the coming minutes, yet Suguru is a storm. Satoru's finally dozing off when Suguru checks in after all the scattered noodle bits are disposed of. And then he spends the rest of the evening scrubbing Satoru's floor clean before collapsing next to his friend.
Suguru stirs to fingers carding through his hair. He's no stranger to the feeling--Satoru has really taken to playing with his hair whenever he sleeps in Suguru's bed. He turns his head, straining to look at Satoru, who is so melted into the mass of pillows that Suguru can only see the tip of his left ear from this angle. Huffing from the exertion, Suguru settles back down, facing away from the boy.
The pillows are a new addition after Satoru made a full recovery nearly a year ago. He learned that he really, really likes being smothered by at least six pillows. The setup makes the bedspace even more cramped but Satoru actually seems to sleep better with it so Suguru has performed intense tetris with the pillows to make it work.
"I've been wondering," Satoru begins, groggy and slurred. "If your hair's this long, why do you keep it all tied up? Isn't it annoying to take care of?"
It's way too early for this. Or at least, Suguru thinks it is, sparing a peek at the window. The amount of sun sneaking through proves his suspicions wrong, but he's grateful that they can have a lazy morning like this for once these days.
"I don't know," Suguru croaks and coughs to clear his throat. "I like the bun."
With some difficulty, Satoru's hands pool up as much of Suguru's hair as they can, collecting it in a large bun.
"It's like a nikuman, holy shit."
"I'm going to kill you."
"Wait, wait, but look, you still have so much hair left."
"I mean, I do, and I think I'd maybe like to wear it differently--let my hair down--but..." Suguru runs his own fingers through his hair, grazing Satoru's pinkie. Why is he remembering his mother's pleas now? "I guess some part of me is holding me back."
"But you're still growing it."
"Yeah."
Satoru simply goes "Huh," and continues caressing Suguru's hair. The sensation is about to lull Suguru back to sleep when Satoru cuts in again.
"You know, your hair's the first thing I noticed about you."
Suguru doesn't know how to respond, so he waits. Satoru's fingers take a stroll up the strands and curl around the front.
"Bangs. Then the bun. Then the earrings. You even had eyeliner on. I was like, what the hell, I have two girls in my class?"
Suguru laughs, the idea warming him better than the pile of blankets his legs are tangled in.
"You know most guys would get mad at that, right?" teases Satoru.
Suguru thinks about it. He thinks about the boys in his hometown. He thinks about his father. He thinks about Satoru. Most guys would. "Mm. Good thing I'm not most guys."
Satoru's fingers pause. "Yeah. You're not like other guys."
"Didn't you basically say the same thing to Shoko back then?" Suguru rolls his eyes. "Next you'll say, 'You're not like other girls.'"
There's an awkwardly prolonged silence that Suguru starts worrying if he said something wrong. Was there some other terminology he should've used? Was this part of a conversation he'd missed? His brain can't spit out possibilities fast enough.
"Yeah," Satoru interrupts Suguru's torrential thoughts, his voice unraveling into a question no one has ever asked him, in the form of an observation. "You're not like other girls, either."
Suguru feels profoundly naked in that moment, goosebumps vibrating in his ribs.
He doesn't reply, and Satoru doesn't pursue it, despite the unspoken understanding between them.
A month later, Satoru does not pursue Suguru when they wear their hair differently; when they are fully realized; when they are fully committed. Reborn from conversations without Satoru that Suguru has been having with themself.
When Suguru saves those children, it is with conviction. When Suguru silences their mother's pleas and frees their hair, it is with catharsis. And when Suguru walks away from Satoru, it is with that unspoken understanding between each other, despite the lack of understanding elsewhere.
In this, Suguru is known to one and only person. That's enough for them.