Chapter Text
When Suguru first meets Gojo, he thinks Gojo’s kind of an insufferable prick. Gojo’s from one of the most influential clans in jujutsu society, the exact opposite to Suguru’s much humbler background. Gojo had immediately gotten off on the wrong foot with Suguru when he had commented, disparagingly, on how quaint Suguru’s rural upbringing was. Gojo is rude and irritating, and all evidence points to him being a stuck-up rich kid with little to no care for anyone else. Suguru tries his best not to let his distaste show, though. He’s painfully aware that he’s going to be spending the next several years in close company with this guy, so he doesn’t want to create any bad blood. Suguru likes his other classmate much more. Ieri is a little blunt, but not unbearably so. He gets along with her fine, though they’re not close; she’s been keeping to herself for the most part. That’s to be expected, as it has only been a few weeks since the term started.
He doesn’t mind being a sorcerer so far. Swallowing curses sucks, but he’s been familiar with the feeling ever since his technique manifested. At five years old he’d been a fan of the X-men comics, and, fancying himself a righteous hero like one of the characters in the pages he pored over, he’d been outraged when he found an evil looking critter pestering the family cat, a doddling old tabby with long, dusty grey fur and a permanently displeased expression on its face. Suguru didn’t really have a plan, but he tried the first thing that came to his mind-- stretching his arm out towards the creature and imagining crushing it. To his surprise, the creature had actually reacted, writhing around and making an awful screeching sound as it folded in on itself grotesquely. It left behind a shiny black orb, a marble with ink and smoke swirling around beneath its surface. The urge to eat it had quickly eclipsed all other thoughts; he knew innately what he was meant to do. Seven years later, a woman in a suit had knocked on his parents' door, had asked them does your son ever talk about seeing things that aren’t there?
Suguru’s actually quite excited at the prospect of helping people. He’s always wanted a meaningful life. The only thing that’s less than ideal is the fact that on the first day of class, their teacher, Yaga, had informed him that for the foreseeable future he and Gojo will be assigned on all missions together. You’re both strong, he’d said, but not quite strong enough yet to be sent out alone. Suguru would never talk back to his teacher, but he does wonder if the man has a personal vendetta against him. Suguru’s already dreading the next few years spent constantly in Gojo’s company. He wonders if the both of them will even manage to make it to graduation without killing each other.
─── ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ───── ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ───
Ieri comes with them on missions sometimes, to get practice for on field applications of her technique, but as a general rule she spends most of her time in the infirmary. This time she stayed behind, and Suguru’s come back with an injury for her to heal. It’s not anything severe, just a gash on his arm that would be annoying to heal on its own. And besides, if one has access to magical healing, why not use it?
She directs him to raise his arm up and hovers her hands awkwardly beside it. The glowing, translucent white energy that’s characteristic of reverse cursed technique flows from her hands like silk in the wind, and he can feel the magic stitching together his wound. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it is a strange feeling. It almost tickles.
‘Thanks, Ieri,’ he says, relieved. He didn’t realise how much it was bothering him until the dull pain that had been pulsing in his arm was gone.
‘It’s alright. And you can just call me Shoko. There are only three of us in this year, so I don’t see the need of being so formal all the time’
‘I guess so. I forget how small this school is.’
‘I hope the population doesn’t dwindle any further. Did you hear about what happened to last year’s first years? I mean, I’m probably not in any danger because I stay relegated to the infirmary. And you and Gojo wouldn’t go down easily. So, it’ll probably be fine,’ she sighs, ‘But you never know.’
‘Do you like this kind of work?’ he asks, attempting to draw the conversation away from the morbid topics she seems to gravitate towards.
‘It’s alright. Can’t complain much. It seems as if any job to do with sorcery kinda sucks in its own way. But its not like I can really do anything else, and I don’t really mind it.’
‘If you wanted to leave, couldn’t you work as a doctor for normal people?’
‘I guess so, but it’s basically the same job when it comes to the workload. Plus, I rely on RCT to heal for the most part, I don’t think I would have much luck doing surgeries without extensive training, and that just seems tedious. Also, I can’t deal with standardised tests. I cheated my way through middle school.’
‘At least this is fun sometimes.’ She gestures at an extremely disfigured corpse lying on a table in the corner of the room. It looks like it was human, once, but it has been bloated and contorted, and it appears to be oozing some kind of pus from what Suguru assumes used to be a face.
‘That’s a transfigured human,’ she says, probably having noticed his disgusted expression, ‘It’s actually kinda cool what happens to their insides, they get all twisted and stuff. Want to see?’
‘Uh, no thanks,’ he replies hastily.
Shoko shrugs.
‘Suit yourself.’
─── ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ───── ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ───
It’s been at least an hour since their meeting with the higher ups was supposed to start. Suguru and Gojo have been going stir-crazy milling around in the waiting room waiting for them to get their act together. Gojo is fidgety; bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers, pacing around the room and complaining loudly about the wait time. Suguru is struggling immensely to remain cordial.
Last week, the two of them were pulled aside after class and told that they’re going to start being sent out on missions that are normally restricted to adult sorcerers. They are both currently classed as grade one, but both are quickly proving themselves to have abilities far beyond that-- the two of them will almost certainly end up special grades. The meeting was called to have them officially agree to the change. Clearly, it’s not a priority for the higher ups. They’re all so ancient, Suguru wonders why they don’t have a little more urgency. The chances of one of them dropping dead during their dawdling before they ever get to the task at hand seems pretty high.
Yaga decided to kill two birds with one stone and send them both in to talk to the higher ups at the same time. Or maybe he just doesn’t trust Gojo to behave himself. Suguru does have a sneaking suspicion that Yaga is hoping Suguru will be good influence on Gojo and stop him being quite so unruly. Yaga should probably manage his expectations.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a woman approaching the one bench in the room where they’re sitting. She’s tall, with long straight blond hair and short wisps framing her face. She’s wearing motorcycle leathers and a slightly damaged helmet with goggles attached. After a few more seconds, he recognises her as Yuki Tsukumo, the elusive special grade sorcerer known for not taking missions and living on her own terms. People say she’s lazy, but Suguru doubts that that’s all there is to her. She clearly has a goal she’s working towards, and he wouldn’t be shocked if the higher ups are just angry that she doesn’t side with them. If Suguru had a strong conviction and was powerful enough to follow any path he wanted without fear, he thinks he would do the same thing.
‘You’re those new first years, aren’t you? You know, people talk about you guys a lot. They say you’re both well on your way to becoming special grades, too.’
Suguru is mildly upset at being lumped in with Gojo, but he smiles politely in response anyway.
‘Why are you here?’ Gojo asks. Brash and unsociable as always. Yuki doesn’t seem to mind it much, though.
‘Oh, you know. I haven’t been back in Japan for a few years; I like to come back every once in a while, just to see how everything is going. It’s good to check up on everyone occasionally.’
‘You guys waiting to speak to the higher ups? I don’t envy you for having to deal with them. Those old geezers suck. Honestly, I’m kinda hoping someone gets rid of them eventually. They’re such pests.’ Yuki speaks in rapid fire, not giving either of them time to respond.
‘Anyway, what kind of girl is your type?’ she asks in a complete non sequitur, waving a hand between them vaguely.
‘...What?’ Suguru manages.
‘It’s just a question I ask everyone I meet. It’s like a personality test of sorts.’
‘How does that have anything to do with personality?’ Gojo asks.
‘You’d be surprised, to be honest. So? Do tell.’
‘It’s not something I’ve ever really thought about.’ Gojo responds, sounding, for the first time since Suguru met him, unsure of how to react in a certain situation.
‘Boring. Though I guess you have time to become less dull. What about you?’ she asks, turning her gaze towards Suguru.
‘Uh.’
Suguru doesn’t like girls. He’s known that about himself since he was a little kid. He and he’d noticed early on that he didn’t go googly eyed over photos of actresses and idols like the other boys, there
At first he’d talk about it openly. His parents didn’t mind- Suguru is their only child, and he thinks there’s probably nothing he could do that would turn them away from him. That fact did not hold true for the rest of the world, however. He learned in primary school that he that the fact he didn’t like girls wasn’t something the other kids reacted well to, and it was better kept hidden away.
He wasn’t bullied exactly, mostly because they knew he could fight back. Even as a young kid he had been unafraid of getting in fights and standing up for himself. It was more that the few people who found out about his secret treated him as if he was a leper, like just being around him would sully them in some way.
When he got to middle school, a new place with nobody from primary school in attendance, as Suguru’s family had moved towns, he kept it very quiet. He was accepted, even well liked, because he knew how to blend in and shift his personality to accommodate others. He took great care to ensure that nobody knew. Unfortunately, his growing popularity in middle school came with surge of romantic interest from girls towards him. His “crush” that he’d told his friends about to dodge suspicion ended up reciprocating, landing him in a sticky situation. He narrowly managed to manoeuvre his way out of it with a made up dating ban imposed on him by his parents. After that he made sure to often complain about his parents’ stringent rules to explain away any further questions about why he hadn’t had a girlfriend yet. He could have sucked it up and started dating, but he was never able to bring himself to. It would be unfair for whatever poor girl he ended up with to have a boyfriend who, through no fault of her own, was be incapable of liking her the way he was meant to. And deep down, he’s always been a bit of a romantic. When he let himself dream, he’d picture a syrupy sweet romance with a companion who knew and loved every part of him. The partner was always faceless, a missing puzzle piece
Hiding such a huge part of himself in order to be included meant he bore witness to the way his friends and classmates spoke so disparagingly about people like him. They called him disgusting and backwards, all the while unaware of the fact they were insulting their friend, and not a faceless boogyman. Did they ever truly like Suguru for who he was as a person, or did they just like the character he was playing?
He doesn’t want a repeat of that, he decides. Even if it means being ostracised. He would prefer that over the sinking feeling he always got when someone he saw as a friend
He hopes that it will be different here. Shoko doesn’t seem like the type to care, plus Suguru is pretty sure that she’s like him, too. When the school exchange event had happened earlier that month, she had been staring a little too closely at one of the older girls from the other school for it to be just plain observation. And some of the posters in her rooms are not exactly the kind a heterosexual girl would typically have. He’s not really sure about Gojo. The guy is irritating and kind of an arsehole, sure. He’s from an ancient clan that’s definitely traditional and set in their ways. But he’s heard whispers of rebellion, rumours that Gojo is his clan’s black sheep.
Either way, he’s sick of hiding it. Plus, if anyone does really have a problem with it, he has a growing army of curses that he’s now well versed in using in combat.
‘I don’t like girls.’ It’s the first time he’s said it out loud in years. It’s not as scary as he thought it would be.
‘Well, that’s fine too. What kind of guy is your type, then?’ Yuki is thoroughly unbothered by it. That makes sense, he supposes. Yuki is non-conventional in almost every other way to begin with. Suguru feels a surge of relief.
He considers his answer. He doesn’t want to sound superficial, especially not in front of Gojo. Not that he cares what Gojo thinks of him, or anything.
‘I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it that hard,’ he says after a brief pause. ‘Uh, attractive? Not evil?’
‘Hm. Boring. Well. I should go before the higher ups catch me here and try to lecture me again.’ She shudders. ‘Good luck!’
Once she’s gone, Suguru turns to Gojo to gauge his reaction to Suguru’s reveal. Gojo doesn’t look completely disgusted, which Suguru supposes is a positive. He does look slightly weirded out, though, which isn’t a great sign.
‘Do you have a problem with it?’ Suguru asks flatly. It’s probably not the best idea to start an argument, but he finds himself unable to completely prevent disdain– residual bitterness from his past experiences with his classmates-- from seeping into his tone of voice.
At that statement, Gojo does something weird. He looks panicked, briefly, before his expression shifts to cover it. Suguru must have been misreading his face, though. Gojo has shown time and time again he doesn’t value anyone’s opinion but his own. Why would the thought of Suguru being cross with him make him upset?
‘No, I don’t have a problem with it. I just didn’t know that was a thing, I guess,’ Gojo says.
‘You don’t know what... being gay is?’ Suguru asks incredulously. He supposes it’s not impossible. Gojo’s parents were probably old-fashioned, the type to keep their children from being exposed to people like Suguru. It’s still weird, though, because Tokyo is a super metropolitan area with a wide range of different kinds of people. Even if a person is sheltered, they should surely end up aware of the existence of homosexuality, even if its just through playground gossip. It paints a vaguely concerning image of Gojo as someone who’s never spent any meaningful time with people his own age.
‘I don’t think so, no.’
‘Well, it’s not that hard to wrap your head around. I like guys the way most guys like girls. The way you do. It’s not that different at the end of the day.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone like that.’ Gojo says thoughtfully.
‘I mean, I was never really around people close to my age. So I guess I’ve just never had the opportunity. I grew up spending pretty much all my time on the Gojo clan’s grounds. I didn’t really leave except for the few times when I managed to escape from my handlers.’
So Suguru was right, then. Gojo’s just kind of sheltered. Also, handlers?
‘Or maybe I’m just above those things,’ Satoru adds, grinning at Suguru and quickly removing any shred of sympathy Suguru feels for him.
‘Besides, two people of the same sex can’t have children, anyway. So, I don’t see the point.’
‘People get in relationships for more than just reproducing, you know,’ Suguru says sounding perhaps a little too defensive.
‘Maybe in the rest of the world, but not in my clan. People just end up pushed into arranged marriages to produce children. I guess there’s the rare times where the relationship works out, but that’s not the norm. It’s just a task people get assigned.’
‘That’s a really depressing way to see the world.’
Satoru shrugs.
‘It’s whatever. Can’t complain about the cards you’re dealt.’
─── ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ───── ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ───
When Suguru walks past the open door common room later that evening, he overhears the tail end of a conversation Gojo is having on the phone.
‘Yes. Yes, I’m very well aware, thank you. No, I’m not slacking off. No. No, can you stop pestering me about that? Okay. Yeah. Goodbye.’
‘Who was that?’ Suguru hears Shoko’s voice pipe up.
‘Just one of the elders. He wanted an update on my progress in training. If I don’t improve fast enough, they’ll withdraw me, and I’ll have to go back to training at the clan. Which would be so dull. I’ve already spent, like, 13 years doing that. So, I have to figure out something new. I’ve been working on infinity, and I guess if I figure out how to sustain it for long periods of time that’ll satisfy them for a bit. So tedious. You’re lucky your parents are non-sorcerers,’ Gojo laments, and Suguru can picture the exact expression he’s probably making- head tilted to the side with a lazy pout.
Gojo’s upbringing was clearly miles different to Suguru’s, he can’t imagine having such a clinical relationship with his family. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining things, but while he talking about his clan Gojo calculated seems-- not dejected, per se, but definitely more subdued than he usually is. The picture painted of Gojo’s past isn’t a happy one.
He wonders if Gojo even sees a problem with what he describes at all. He mustn’t, if the blasé way he talks about it says anything. The fact he sometimes seems years ahead of the rest of them when it comes to jujutsu, Suguru realises, may be partly due to the fact that he literally has been training for as long as he could walk. The kind of people willing to do that to a kid do also seem likely to neglect to teach said child social skills. The isolated childhood he describes, along with the distance from his parents, couldn’t been conducive to normal social development.
Gojo might just be more like a poorly socialised feral cat that hisses at everyone and everything because it was never taught how to interact with others. Maybe the reason Gojo seems to be incapable of carrying a conversation without making fun of someone or cracking a joke is because he just doesn’t know how to really interact with people.
He thinks back to that split second expression of unease from Gojo. Was that a crack in his mask?
─── ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ───── ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ───
The mission for this week took much longer than it usually does, mostly because it was logged as a grade one but had actually turned out to be another special grade, only the second one the two of them have faced.
The site was a hospital, so it makes sense that the curse- born from the fear of cancer- was medical in nature. While it wasn’t as close of a battle as the last time, it took them at least an hour to defeat it and the whole battle was under the full force of the late summer sun.
Immediately after the long drive back, Gojo had taken off to the dorms without even starting to fill the mission report that they are meant to have in by the end of the day. It’s already five o’clock. And maybe Suguru’s not being totally fair. The report isn’t that important. Yaga would most likely let them turn in the report late if they asked. But the irrational part of Suguru wants someone to blame, some way to let out the annoyance.
Suguru is a little irritable already from the aforementioned special grade curse he just consumed, and the full force of it hasn’t even started hitting him yet. He’s sure this night and tomorrow morning will be hellish for him, and he would really like it if his partner would get off his high horse and helped out for once.
He’s on his way to give Gojo a piece of his mind. It’s easy to locate the other boy’s dorm, because their dorms are directly opposite each other. Suguru can see the lights in Gojo’s room are on through the gap at the bottom of his door.
He knocks sharply, already dreading what he’s sure will be a supremely tedious conversation. Would switching schools be too difficult at this point? He’s always wanted to visit Kyoto. The knock elicits no response, which he sort of expected. He’s gearing up to have to run around in circles arguing with Gojo.
He knocks again, still internally stewing about how sick he is of Gojo. Who does he think he is, leaving Suguru to do all the work like he’s a servant?
When he still gets no response, he turns the handle of the door experimentally, revealing that it isn’t locked. He pushes it open and steps into the room, half expecting to be hit by a wayward Blue.
‘Hello?’
Looking around the room, he doesn’t see where Gojo is for a moment, until he looks to the left. Gojo is sitting slumped on the floor against the wall by the door, hands folded in his lap. He looks like he’d closed the door and immediately slid to the ground, All the fight drains from Suguru in an instant. He is completely nonplussed as to how to deal with this- is it one of Gojo’s pranks or is he actually hurt?
‘Hey,’ he continues, quieter this time, more unsure, ‘Are you okay?’
Gojo doesn’t respond at all, no quips or comebacks, just more silence that grows eerier by the second.
Suguru mind starts to run through different possibilities- Has he been poisoned? Is he having a seizure? Was he affected by an unknown cursed technique? Maybe Suguru should get help, call a teacher or something, but he can’t just leave Gojo in this state.
Suguru mentally rewinds through the mission- Gojo was never alone, and they only had one opponent. The curse had a self-duplicating technique that created an ever-increasing number of clones they had to fight off, which was exhausting, sure, but it was nothing that would affect the mental state of the person fighting it to this degree. Did it have two techniques? Suguru feels completely fine, and it is exceptionally rare for a cursed spirit to have several different types of abilities. Still, it’s not impossible, and it seems to be the most likely explanation for such an out of character display.
Suguru crouches by Gojo’s side, still completely lost. Now that he’s on the same level as Gojo, he can see that Gojo’s face is completely blank, and his eyes are unfocused, staring off into the distance. His breathing is shallow but steady, though it’s a little faster than normal. He doesn’t look to be sweating, or anything else that would be a sign of poisoning. Up close, he can see now that Gojo’s hands aren’t folded-- he’s tugging at his sleeves slightly, like he’s absentmindedly trying to get out of his jacket. His hands have a slight tremor.
Suguru waves a hand across Gojo’s face awkwardly, hoping for some kind of response or sign of life.
Gojo offers no response. Suguru is beginning to panic a little bit now. Though, he’s not really sure why he’s freaking out so much. He doesn’t even like Gojo. He’s not worried, it’s just weird to see probably the most boisterous person Suguru’s ever met be so quiet and out of it, he tells himself. On top of that, Suguru has never seen anyone in a state like this. He wishes Shoko were here, he’s sure she would be able to navigate this situation much better than he ever could.
‘Gojo? Hey, what’s wrong with you?’
Gojo doesn’t respond at all. He doesn’t give any sign that he even heard Suguru speak.
‘Gojo?...Satoru?’
Satoru stirs a little at the use of his first name, his eyes flickering in recognition as they move sluggishly over to blankly stare at Suguru.
So, he’s not suddenly lost his hearing, though he still doesn’t seem like he is fully aware of his surroundings.
‘Does anything hurt?’
Satoru nods minutely, motioning to his head.
Good one, Suguru. Make the guy with what is probably a splitting headache (given that Satoru just actually winced from the brief movement he made, and Suguru has seen him laugh off deep cuts that would send a normal person to a hospital) shake his head even more to answer your question.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Satoru disjointedly moves a hand up to point at the celling light, still trembling.
‘Should I turn it off? Is that what you want?’ Suguru asks tentatively.
Satoru blinks at Suguru slowly a couple of times and inclines his head to the side slightly. Suguru takes that as a yes. He stands to flick off the light, leaving the only the faint dregs of the waning sun peeking through the half-drawn curtains illuminating the room. The old plastic light switch squeaks as he switches it off and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Satoru flinch at the noise. Maybe the mystery cursed technique amped up Satoru’s nervous system somehow, made him experience everyday noises and sensations so intensely that it’s painful.
When he turns back around, Satoru is back to tugging at the jacket, fumbling with the buttons now. His previously completely blank face now carries a tinge of frustration as he clumsily undoes each button with incredibly slow movements.
‘Do you want me to help? Suguru questions him, feeling stupid already. It feels ridiculous, Suguru acting as if Satoru is an invalid. He’s half expecting Satoru to snap out of it, to reveal that it was just a prank the whole time, and call Suguru stupid for even thinking Satoru needs his help. Then Satoru would make fun of Suguru for being worried and Suguru could go back to being annoyed at him instead of concerned.
But Satoru doesn’t snap out of it. Instead, he does that half nod again, making a funny looking face that on anyone else Suguru would say looked pleading.
Suguru sits down by Satoru’s side again and starts to undo the buttons as quickly as he can. Suguru manoeuvres him forward, one hand stabilising Satoru to keep him upright, and gently pulls the jacket down over his shoulders and fully off. Satoru just lets him do it, face slipping back into that absent expression.
This is the weirdest situation he’s been in since he joined the school, and that’s saying something, given that two weeks ago he had to fight a sentient Russian doll.
When he starts to stand up and throw the jacket over a chair, Satoru uncoordinatedly grabs one of Suguru’s wrists with both hands, wincing at the movement.
‘I should stay?’ Suguru asks, unsure.
Satoru’s hands tighten and Suguru gets the message. Satoru clearly wants him to stay here for some reason. Probably another side effect of the curse, he decides. Satoru’s tremor is almost gone now, which surely is a sign that whatever this is is wearing off. Suguru sits down again in front of Satoru.
Satoru’s grip on his wrist tightens further, small pinpricks of blood welling up as his nails dig in to Suguru’s skin. Suguru moves his free hand over to gently pry Satoru’s hands away, but Satoru’s grip doesn’t loosen.
‘That hurts,’ Suguru says, ‘C’mon Satoru, let go.’
He isn’t expecting any response or acknowledgment from Satoru that he heard what Suguru was saying, but to his surprise Satoru drops Suguru’s wrist like it’s red hot. Before Suguru can react, Satoru is scooting back across the floor and shies away from him.
Now sat a few metres away, half sprawled across the floor, Satoru meets his gaze again. His pupils are blown wide in-- fear? His eyes are now even hazier than before, and although he’s staring right at Suguru, Suguru gets the impression he’s seeing someone else entirely. Is it yet another side effect of whatever cursed technique is causing all this?
‘Sorry,’ Satoru speaks, finally. His voice is soft, almost meek. Suguru doesn’t like that. Satoru’s not supposed to sound meek.
‘Sorry, I’ll--’ he cuts himself off, letting out a shuddering breath. Frenzied, he stands up off the ground, stumbling as he retreats backwards.
Suguru stands up too, slowly, as if Satoru is a spooked deer. For the second time this evening, he is at a loss for what to do. He watches as Satoru backs away, shrinking into a defensive posture.
‘I’m supposed to--,’ Satoru furrows his eyebrows in confusion, ‘I’m meant to be doing something, what am I…’ he trails off, wringing his hands. Suguru doesn’t know where Satoru thinks he is, but it can’t be here.
Satoru’s breaths are coming faster and faster as he darts his gaze around, wild eyes scanning the room. Like he’s planning to try to make a break for it. Which, actually-- Suguru thinks, watching Satoru inch closer towards the open window-- Satoru might be planning on doing. Suguru cannot let that happen- a delirious Satoru is a liabilty.
A part of Suguru that he’s been trying to suppress for months cries out mayday! at the sight of the immense distress Satoru is displaying.
‘Hey, listen, it’s ok. You can go back to holding my wrist,’ Suguru tries, ‘It’s not- I wasn’t, like, mad at you, I just wanted you to stop gripping quite so tightly.’
Unfortunately, his attempt at reassurance has the opposite effect. Satoru’s eyes flick down to Suguru’s outstretched hand, staring horrified at faint smears of blood, the crimson stark against the pale skin of his wrist.
‘I hurt you,’ Satoru says miserably.
‘I’m not hurt,’ Suguru urges, ‘Someone squeezing my wrist a bit too hard is nothing. Remember that mission a couple weeks ago? That special grade curse tried to rip my arms off and I was completely fine in the end. You remember that, don’t you? You dragged me to an ice cream shop after the mission and you bought that keyring,’ Suguru says, pointing at the jellyfish keyring that’s now hanging on a nail in the wall above Satoru’s desk, pride of place.
Satoru’s eyes follow to where Suguru is pointing, and fix on the stupid keyring. Suguru doesn’t know if what he’s saying will help, but he thinks maybe jogging Satoru’s memory might help to snap him out of it. He’s not being entirely honest, however. That mission freaked him out a lot more than Satoru noticed.
Satoru’s gaze remains fixed on the keyring. He blinks a few times and then he turns back to Suguru. Some of the fog in Satoru’s eyes has cleared, and he looks at Suguru like he actually recognises him again.
‘Suguru,’ he mumbles.
‘Yeah,’ Suguru says, and he can’t hide the relieved smile that spreads across his face.
‘I lied. Didn’t care about the ice cream. Was an excuse. I dunno. Thought a distraction’d make you feel better. You were all spooked after the fight. Thought I’d try and distract you from it. I’m not good at--’ Satoru waves a hand around vaguely, ‘--that stuff. But I tried,’ he says sadly.
Suguru feels a little bit like he was just dunked in ice cold water. Satoru is several orders of magnitude more perceptive than Suguru thought he was. Satoru had picked up on how Suguru was feeling, and refused to let him dwell on it. Suguru almost laughs. Of course Satoru wouldn’t know how to approach comforting someone directly, of course he would come up with an elaborate scheme instead.
Satoru begins to back away again, the dejected look on his face showing that he’s taken Suguru’s silence as a confirmation.
‘It did work,’ Suguru says hastily, ‘It was- yeah, distracting me was a really good idea. I had no idea realise you’d noticed, is all.’
‘I helped?’ Satoru tilts his head, brimming with hope.
Suguru nods, unable to speak, and something flutters in his chest as he watches Satoru’s face light up.
Taking an experimental half step towards Satoru, Suguru holds out a hand again. This time Satoru takes it, though Suguru notices that his grip isn’t quite so tight.
Satoru allows himself to be led across the room He slumps back against the headboard, but he still doesn’t drop Suguru’s hand. Instead he tugs Suguru towards the bed. Suguru decides to go along with it, considering how Satoru reacted to a perceived rejection last time. It’s clear that whatever it is that’s wrong with him, being close to another person helps him cope better.
Suguru sits down on the bed, right beside Satoru again. He looks over at Satoru just as Satoru shifts his whole body towards Suguru’s before slumping over to the side. He pulls his knees up and curls into Suguru, legs now half resting in Suguru’s lap. Suguru sits frozen, his heart racing so fast he’s sure Satoru can hear it. Tufts of hair brush the underside of Suguru’s jaw as as Satoru drops his head down, turning to the side to bury his face in Suguru’s neck. That causes Suguru to experience a heart palpitation, for some reason. He chooses not to analyse it any further. Cursed technique. Addled brain, he reminds himself as Satoru nestles even closer to him.
All the movement from before, if Suguru’s theory about heightened sensory input is true, would have surely made his headache worse.
‘Does your head still hurt?’ he whispers.
‘No,’ Satoru says quietly, but Suguru can feel him wincing in pain as he presses his face further into the crook of Suguru’s neck.
Suguru doesn’t know what he can do to make Satoru feel any better- it’s not as if he even knows what caused the problem in the first place. But, he figures, given that Satoru has been seeking it out, the physical content must be helping him somehow. He wraps an arm around Satoru, pulling him close. Sure enough, Satoru immediately takes it as an invitation to gravitate even closer to Suguru. Satoru shifts over until he’s sat in Suguru’s lap, winding both his arms around Suguru’s torso and clinging to him. He tucks his head back under Suguru’s chin.
Now fully situated, he can feel Satoru’s breathing as it slows down and evens out. Satoru relaxes further in his hold, sighing softly. Suguru is reminded of a boa constrictor winding itself around prey to immobilise it. Or, he considers, a cat curling up in a warm patch on sunlight. But Suguru’s not about to start mentally associating Satoru with cute fluffy animals. That’s a dangerous endeavour.
He brings both arms up to wrap around Satoru, holding him against Suguru’s side. His hands rest on Satoru’s back, Satoru’s grip loosening gradually as his breathing slows even further. Suguru can’t even begin to imagine how he would explain this if someone walked in at this moment. Shoko would have a field day.
Whilst he waits for Satoru to return to a full level of consciousness, Suguru uses his one free hand to text Yaga to inform him that the mission report isn’t going to be in by the end of the day. Yaga asks why and Suguru hesitates slightly. He still doesn’t know why, himself. Obviously, he can’t ask Satoru, given that the boy in question is currently passed out right beside him.
He settles for giving Yaga a brief summary of the mission over text- that it was a special grade when it was meant to be a grade one, that Satoru is incapacitated, but safe, and that Suguru is quite frankly exhausted and can’t even think about drafting out a long and wordy report doomed to be skim read and tossed in a drawer in some dusty old office. His message perhaps comes off as a little passive aggressive, but he’s had a really weird day, so he thinks he’s allowed to be a little bit snarky towards an authority figure. Yaga texts back a thumbs up. Whatever.
Now that Satoru is calm and Suguru’s mind isn’t occupied with worry for him, he’s more cognisant of the effects that the curse absorption is having on him. With special grades he’ll sometimes be nauseous for a while, or just be plagued by a feeling of impending doom. This time he feels-- fine. A little tired, but that’s hardly unmanageable. Suguru finds that having Satoru curled up on top of him is actually quite pleasant, like he’s staving off the corruption that seeps
Eventually, after about thirty minutes, Satoru lifts his head up from where it was tucked under Suguru’s chin. He stares blankly for a few seconds before his brain appears to come back online fully. He clumsily untangles himself from Suguru, shifting backwards across the mattress.
He’s bleary eyed and his hair is tousled. Unfortunately for Suguru, he does now look annoyingly like a disgruntled cat. He pushes that thought swiftly aside.
‘Are you all there now?’
Satoru glares at him, but it doesn’t have any of its usual heat.
‘Are you?’ Suguru questions again, wondering if maybe this actually is just another fluke.
‘No, I’m fine,’ Satoru says. His voice is still subdued, though it’s stronger than before, and there is no trace of the fear it once held.
‘Dude, you know can just say if you’re not feeling well. That way you don’t have to wait till you literally can’t even bring yourself to speak before you get help. Was it that curse? Did it hit you with something? You should have said, its dangerous to try to handle this stuff on your own.’
‘What? No, that wasn’t what happened at all. That whole-- episode thing, it only happens once every few weeks and I get over it after a couple hours. I don’t need special treatment or anything. If you hadn’t come in I would have been fine after a couple hours. It’s not that big of a deal,’ Satoru sounds genuinely confused and Suguru realises this isn’t just some weird ploy to further irritate him.
‘Once every few weeks? This happens all the time? How long have you been dealing with this?’
‘Yeah? Those episodes happen a lot, they’ve been a thing since I was a little kid. You got the senses things right, kinda. I’ve always been more affected by stuff like lights and sounds and... I don’t know, everything really, than most people,’ he says. His tone is begrudging, like he’s being forced to talk about his most humiliating flaw.
‘I think it’s, like, a side effect of the six eyes or something. There’s just too much information going into my mind at all times. The sunglasses help, but it all catches up after a while. The first time it happened it was during training, pretty soon after my cursed technique presented, and because I didn’t know what was going on I freaked out and lost control. I think I demolished the whole training room.’ He laughs faintly, like he’s reminiscing on a fond memory.
‘You’ve had to deal with episodes like this for years?’ Suguru asks incredulously. How could the Gojo clan, with its immense resources and influence, not have come up with a solution by now?
‘Oh no, they’re not usually that bad. This one was just rougher than usual, ‘cause I’ve been putting it off for longer than I would normally.’
At Suguru’s look of complete confusion, Satoru elaborates.
‘After the first time I had one of these episodes, they started to try and train it out of me with exposure therapy and all that stuff. But, well, obviously the training didn’t completely get rid of them. It’s just easier now for me to snap out of it if there’s something really important happening, and I can stop myself from slipping into an episode and put it off ‘til later.’
‘So yeah, it hasn’t happened around other people since I was about ten and I finished that training,’ he yawns, ‘Now I just wait until I have the time to be out of commission for a few hours, and then I let myself slip off.’ he grimaces, the same kind of face he makes when he’s assigned homework.
Suguru is suddenly reminded of the few times he’s run into an abnormally subdued Satoru in the evenings. He figured that Satoru was just prone to general crankiness when he’s tired, but he realises now that that might have been Satoru on the verge of one of these episodes. The thought that, in regular intervals all year- just across the corridor from where Suguru was probably sat in his own room doing nothing important- Satoru has been collapsed on his cold floor, trapped within his own mind, makes Suguru uneasy.
‘That’s awful,’ Suguru says, perhaps a little too earnestly. He sees Satoru’s defences go up, shoulders tightening as his face turns carefully blank.
‘Well yeah, I get a little bit out of it, but it’s not a big deal. It’s like how your curse absorption makes you feel like shit. It’s just the price you pay for strength,’ he says, blasé.
‘...How do you know about that?’ Suguru asks, momentarily distracted. He hasn’t ever spoken to anyone except Shoko about the horrible feeling he gets after absorbing a curse.
‘It’s a really well-known side effect of curse manipulation,’ Satoru says snidely. Clearly, he’s feeling better already if he can manage to be snarky. Suguru holds himself back from rising to Satoru’s bait. Satoru just mentioned this hasn’t happened in front of anyone else for several years, he probably feels a bit weird about someone he doesn’t know that well seeing him in that state. It makes sense that he’d be a little bit prickly.
‘Curse manipulation isn’t an inherited technique,’ Satoru continues, ‘ It’s rare, sure, but it does still pop up from time to time. With varying presentations. I think you’re actually one of the lucky ones, I read about this one guy who eventually had the curses he absorbed act like parasites. In the end, his body was completely taken over by them, ‘cause his cursed energy levels weren’t enough to hold them back. You’re strong enough that that’s not an issue for you. Although, I’m pretty sure the sickness is non-negotiable. If you figured out RCT you might be able to alleviate the symptoms a bit more.’
He’s rambling, jumping from topic to topic every few seconds, which used to annoy Suguru to no end, but he’s now just happy that Satoru is alert and capable of talking.
‘I did a few lessons about it ages ago. My instructors thought it apt to teach me about the technique in case I had to fight someone with it. And hey, that knowledge did come in handy. The assassin that tried to get me back in eighth grade was a curse manipulation user and having that backlog of knowledge on the technique was good, so I didn’t have to waste time figuring out what to do.’
Satoru talks about a childhood full of combat training and fending off assassins the same way other people talk about trips to the fair and playing with Lego. As if it’s a nostalgic memory, rather than something that sounds awfully similar to a human rights violation. The dismissive way Satoru talks about himself is different from the way he pokes fun at others, Suguru realises. It sounds a lot less teasing and a lot more genuine. He wasn’t able to make this distinction before, but the difference in tone is obvious now. Suguru doesn’t really know how to respond. Also, is Satoru trying to change the subject?
‘Why did you act like that when I asked you to let go of my wrist?’ Suguru hears himself speak before he’s even fully aware of what he’s saying. The instant the words leave his mouth he winces in regret at the bluntness of the statement.
‘..You just freaked me out a bit. Like I said, I haven’t had that happen around another person since I was ten. It was just weird to have someone try to interact with me while in that state, I guess,’ Satoru says, dodging the question. The problem was clearly not just someone interacting with him-- he had been fine with that before. The true reason he reacted so strongly to Suguru’s small rejection is something he clearly doesn’t want to talk about. Suguru lets the lie go.
‘Anyway, it’s my bad for clinging on to you like that,’ Satoru says, slightly more awkward now, ‘That must have been annoying. You should have just shoved me away. I used to do that to my handlers as a kid too. You can just push me off and leave, I get a hold of myself on my own after a while.’
Satoru sounds convincing, but Suguru doesn’t believe him. If Satoru’s other episodes are anything like this one, pushing him away does nothing but harm.
The added knowledge of Satoru’s treatment by his handlers recontextualises Satoru’s panicked reaction when Suguru asked him to let go of his hand. Suguru begins to fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle. If he’s right, Satoru had faced punishment in the past for clinging to people for comfort during episodes, and was forced to go through them alone. So when Suguru told Satoru to let go, his brain recognised it not as a request but as an instruction-- with the threat of consequence looming over him if he didn’t comply.
‘No, it’s fine. Dude, you were almost comatose, it’s not an inconvenience to help you out for a little while.’
Satoru doesn’t seem like he believes Suguru. And why would he, if his lived experience has shown him that the exact opposite is true? Suguru tries to imagine a ten year old Satoru being trained to cope in the way that was most convenient for his handlers, denied from receiving any kind of comfort. At that age Suguru was still crawling into his parents’ bed in the middle of the night after a bad dream, but Satoru hasn’t once mentioned his parents, just handlers.
Suguru doesn’t know how to convince him. Satoru’s belief that he never needs help, or perhaps never deserves it, seems so deeply embedded within him, like the grain of sand in the centre of a pearl. Oysters are funny little things. They build up hard layers of shimmering calcium carbonate around harmful foreign objects, creating beautiful little baubles out of their natural instinct to protect themselves. The valuable material produced by an oyster is created by suffering.
‘Just knock on my door or something if you need help, okay?’
‘...Maybe,’ Satoru says.
He doesn’t seem convinced.