Work Text:
It’s nice to see Satoru again. Nice to see his soft silver hair and his twinkly blue eyes and his stupid pretty smile. It’s nice to be back in the past, in the eternal blue spring that was their youth– the happiest time of their lives. This time without having the fate of the Jujutsu world in the palm of their hands.
He doesn’t know when he got here or how. But one moment he was defeated in battle, laying in a pool of his blood, talking to Satoru– spilling out his last ever words. And the next, he woke up here. Greeted by Haibara and Riko and Kuroi and even that damned old man who fucked everything up for him. Nanami had joined a while later, and then Satoru. It’s a weird place, this. Not heaven, because there’s no way Suguru would end up there. Maybe it’s purgatory. Maybe. Whatever it is, he’s happy to be here. And he’s happy that Satoru is now here too.
Everything is back to how things used to be. Everything is good and Suguru is happier than he’s been for a long time– maybe he’s even happier than he was while he was alive. Yes. Everything’s perfectly fine and nothing is bothering him in the slightest.
“Nanamin, don’t be so cold! I’m not done telling you about my fight with Sukuna–”
Suguru turns around just in time to watch Satoru fling himself onto Nanami, nuzzling into Nanami’s neck and purring like a goddamn cat. Nanami immediately tries to push Satoru away, scowling as Satoru proceeds to curl around him like a cat. But there’s a gentleness to his touch, something fond. And of course, Nanami is fond of Satoru. No matter how annoying and overbearing and insufferably cocky Satoru can be, he is still magnetising. Pulling people into his orbit and making Suguru watch from the sidelines.
Which is how Suguru finds himself now. Watching helplessly from the sidelines as something bitter settles in his stomach, something he knows is unadulterated vitriolic envy.
“Gojo san, you’ve already told us about the damn fight at least a hundred times,” Haibara quips in, smile wide and amused. “You haven’t stopped talking about the fight– about Sukuna– since you got here!” He reaches out and tucks his hand at Satoru’s waist, beckoning him to climb down from poor Nanami’s hips. “You gotta give it a rest, senpai.”
Peals of laughter and overdramatic whines fill the air. For a while, Suguru simply stands where he is, watching, absorbing the scene and slowly allowing himself to feel everything fully. The sun is warm– not too hot, just the right amount, like the sun is kissing his skin. The sea is in a good mood, the waves swaying towards the shore, dancing the waltz as they split into foam. Everyone stands scattered across the beach. Riko and Kuroi are in the waters, splashing around, Toji sits under a beach umbrella, reading a book on horses. Satoru, Nanami and Haibara continue to argue by the beach.
And Suguru– Suguru suddenly feels the bile rise up his throat from watching Satoru’s eyes sparkle brighter than the sun, blinding, fulfilled. It hurts somewhere deep inside him, somewhere that fills him with shame. Gulping, he turns around and walks away. The sand is heavy around his feet– like quick sand. But it’s not the sand that’s that’s heavy, it’s the weight of his stupid envy.
“What’s wrong?”
A warm hand wraps around his, tugging gently but firmly. Suguru exhales through his teeth before slowly turning around. The sun shines behind Satoru’s head, leaving his face in shadow but his eyes gleaming aquamarine. His hair flutters like tendrils of smoke, silvery and foggy and Suguru wants to reach out just to feel how softly they’re sure to spill from between his fingers.
“You’re acting weird, Suguru.” Satoru’s frowning, lips curled down into a pout that Suguru wants to kiss off– he’s never kissed Satoru before but he’s always wanted to. So many times. It’s weird that they’re in this purgatory state but his memories and his feelings and everything about him are still the same. It’s weird and he wishes it weren’t so– he wishes he weren’t here.
“You’re just imagining things, Satoru,” he tries, lamely. “I’m just tired...”
“Bullshit.” Those blue eyes flash accusingly and Suguru wants to cower in shame, guilt starting to mix with the envy in his veins. “Nobody gets tired here. It’s been god knows how long since I got here and the sun hasn’t gone down once. Our bodies– or our souls or whatever the hell it is– don’t get tired either. We’re stuck in this eternal summer so…” Satoru grins, something bittersweet, something hopeful. “So tell me what’s got your panties in a twist, man.”
“I don’t wear panties.” Suguru rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but chuckle. Satoru is as silly and insufferable as he’s always been. “I’m just…” Suguru swallows, looking down at his feet and taking a deep breath. “I’m–” he exhales shakily, slowly lifting his head up and looking Satoru straight on. “I’m jealous.”
“You’re jealous?” Satoru squints, clearly taken aback by Suguru’s admission. “What’re you jealous about? Is it because I got to live a year longer?”
“What? No. I’m... I'm jealous of Sukuna!”
For what feels like hours but is probably only a minute at most, they stare at each other, both unblinking. The sound of the waves and the people playing in the waves is an incessant buzz in the background, but the sound of Satoru’s breath hitching is thunderous.
“Huh?” He frowns before his eyes widen almost comically. Then he huffs his chest and scowls. “You’re jealous I got to fight Sukuna? Hey man, you wouldn’t have stood a chance against him. He’s like–” Satoru waves his hands about in the air in a wild gesture of what Suguru gathers is a representation of how big and powerful Sukuna is. “He’s like Skull Greymon– No, Blackwar Greymon! He’s crazy strong, man–”
“No, you idiot! I’m not jealous for Sukuna, I’m jealous of Sukuna!” Suguru rolls his eyes in exasperation, the annoyance that’s been bubbling inside him spilling out like a broken dam. “I'm jealous because he’s all that you’re talking about. He’s all that’s on your mind because you were able to give your all to a fight with him. You were able to fight him on equal ground.” Suguru gulps, throat suddenly so dry, it rasps like sandpaper. “I’m jealous it wasn’t me.”
“Suguru–”
“I’m jealous that you couldn’t face me as an equal, Satoru.” Suguru sighs, looking up at Satoru, swallowing harshly and trying to will away the nerves thundering against his eardrums. “I wanted that to be me,” he finishes lamely.
Satoru frowns, eyes glowing under the sun, hair a halo about his head, the wind teasing the thin cotton of his shirt and making it fly in the breeze like an angel’s wings. He’s beautiful like this, standing before Suguru like something ethereal, like something he can never touch, like something he can not have. Like everything he wants to have.
“It’s not like that with you, Suguru.” Satoru’s voice is soft but it rips through Suguru like a chainsaw, whirring louder than bombs. Of course, Suguru could never compare to the great Ryoumen Sukuna; of fucking course. That’s common knowledge– common sense. But it still stings to hear Satoru say it, to know that Satoru doesn’t acknowledge him like that– will never acknowledge him like that. It hurts.
“I don’t see you as an equal, Suguru.” Satoru sighs, scratching his head and looking to the side, awkwardly, listlessly, unbeknownst to the turmoil that he has wrecked in Suguru’s heart. “Let me explain it this way. If I’m Superman, Sukuna would be Batman–”
“I thought he was Skull Greymon–”
“Blackwar Greymon!” Satoru lifts his head up and scowls in genuine annoyance. It is so ridiculous how offended he is about his silly Digimon reference that Suguru almost pops a smile. Almost. “Forget Greymon. Where was I? Superman and Batman. Right.” Satoru clears his throat and if Suguru didn’t know any better, he’d think Satoru was flustered. But that can’t be. Satoru isn’t the type to get flustered over anything. “If I’m Superman, you’d be…” Satoru pauses, lips parted, cheeks a soft pink– maybe it’s the sun– eyes wide and blue like the sky and the sea and–
“I’d be what?” Suguru asks, swallowing nervously. He doesn’t know much about western superheroes but he sure hopes he’s not the useless green guy with the ring. That would break his heart. “I’d be what, Satoru?”
“You’d be that green rock thingy.”
Huh? Suguru blinks, confused and annoyed. Great. So he’s not the green guy but he’s a green rock. That’s somehow worse!
“You’d be my Kryptonite, Suguru,” Satoru whispers softly, his voice barely carrying over the wind. “That’s the rock that makes Superman weak, the rock that defeats him instantly. You’re that rock for me, Suguru. You’re not my equal because I would never be able to fight you in the first place.” Satoru sighs and it’s wistful and dreamy and it knocks Suguru’s breath right out of lungs and fills them with butterflies.
“You’re my Kryptonite, Suguru.”
“Oh.”
Suguru’s ears start to ring, deafeningly loud. He can feel his face heat up and knows how silly he must look, standing with his toes in the sand, salt in his hair and helpless adoration in his eyes. But when he looks at Satoru, it suddenly strikes him that he’s looking at all those things right back. It’s like deja vu– like he’s back in Okinawa again, all those years ago. Walking on the beach, shoulder to shoulder, fingertips brushing, but neither of them brave enough to breach that distance. Both brave enough to fight a thousand special-grade curses, but neither having the guts to cross that gate.
Nothing’s changed. They’re still just a couple of idiots who don’t know how to fucking communicate.
But they’re each other’s idiots and it’s going to be alright this time.
Fin