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Suguru Geto isn’t the type to make drastic changes.
His hair is always the same: long, dark, swept back with that almost infuriating calm that makes him look like he never gets a single strand out of place, no matter what. It’s part of his image. Part of his control. At least, that’s what Satoru assumes.
Which is exactly why, when Suguru shows up that morning with his bangs falling over his forehead, framing his face in a way that’s somehow even more devastating than Satoru ever thought possible…
Satoru Gojo stops functioning as a human being.
“What… what the hell is that?” he asks, pointing like Suguru just walked in holding a loaded gun.
Suguru arches an eyebrow, clearly amused.
“My hair?”
“No, no…” Satoru takes a step closer, horrified. “What the fuck did you do to your bangs?”
“Oh, that,” the dark-haired man replies with that same infuriating calm that screams he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I got tired of always wearing them swept to the side. Wanted to try something different.”
He shrugs, like the tiny change isn’t a big deal. Like it hasn’t just tilted Satoru’s entire world off its axis.
Satoru is honestly surprised he’s still standing upright.
“Mmm…” he mumbles, trying to sound less unhinged than he feels.
Everything’s fine. It’s just a stupid haircut. A stupid. Straight-across. Bang. Framing Suguru’s gorgeous face. Everything’s fine. Satoru isn’t internally screaming or anything.
“It looks ridiculous,” he finally adds, because too many seconds have passed in silence. Just… staring at Suguru’s bangs. Like that’s normal.
Is it normal to stare at your friend’s straight bangs for more than ten seconds? Satoru figures it should be. It’s not hurting anyone. Except maybe himself.
Suguru gives him a look that says he doesn’t buy it for a second. Or maybe he just doesn’t care enough about Satoru’s opinion on his stupid (beautiful) straight bangs. He just watches him for one more beat, like he’s waiting for Satoru to say something smart.
“It looks ridiculous,” Suguru echoes at last.
He brushes two fingers through the bangs and lets out a small huff that sounds suspiciously like a scoff.
“Hm, I thought you’d say something else.”
“Like what?” Satoru blurts, too fast, too loud.
The dark-haired man smiles slowly.
“You tell me.”
Suguru looks at him with that same calm expression from before, and Satoru realizes, horrified, that the bangs make his face look softer. More angelic. More…
No. No. No.
“I’m hungry,” Satoru announces abruptly.
Suguru blinks.
“What?”
“The dining hall. Let’s go. Now. I need… food. Yeah. Urgent. Survival purposes.”
Satoru thinks he catches a flash of pure bewilderment on Suguru’s face, but when he looks again, it’s back to the usual: calm, mildly entertained.
“You sure it’s hunger you’re feeling?”
Satoru nearly trips over his own feet.
“Shut up.”
Suguru laughs, and oh god, his eyes crinkling with the smile have never been framed like this before. So soft… so pretty.
Yeah. Satoru’s hungry.
Mei Mei always calls Suguru “pretty boy” whenever she comes to Tokyo. It’s annoying, but Satoru gets it, in a way. Suguru thinks it’s stupid. He told her once.
“But she’s not wrong,” Satoru had said back then, because it was true. “You are pretty.”
And Suguru had turned tomato-red.
Shoko laughed so hard she nearly choked on her cigarette smoke. Rude.
Suguru probably had a fever or something, but Shoko refused to even check.
Back to the present: Satoru really should’ve seen this coming. That he wouldn’t stay immune to Suguru’s beauty forever. God knows he tried.
What he never expected was that other people, besides him and Mei Mei, would notice too.
Except they do.
“Suguru-senpai!” Haibara exclaims brightly. His full-toothed grin is blinding. “Did you do something to your hair? You look really good!”
Suguru, being the damn saint he is, gives him a smile that could rival Haibara’s.
“Something like that. Just a trim here and there. Shoko helped.”
Satoru whips around to stare at Shoko, who’s sitting beside him pretending they don’t exist, as usual. He shoots her the most scandalized look he can manage with just his eyes.
"You did that to him?” he demands, offended.
He probably looks ridiculous, getting this worked up over something so small. It’s not even his business. But he doesn’t care. He stopped caring the moment the entire Jujutsu High seemed determined to point out how good Suguru looks.
“You’re welcome,” Shoko replies, exhaling smoke.
At the same time, Suguru says:
“So you really think it looks ridiculous?”
The tone sends a shiver down Satoru’s spine for some reason he can’t place. It doesn’t sound like his usual self. If he had to guess… Suguru sounds… angry? Insecure?
But Suguru is never insecure. He must be imagining it.
Fuck. What a pretty face like Suguru’s can do even to a god.
Satoru’s palms are sweating, so he shoves his hands into his pockets. Clenches his fists. Takes a deep breath. Answers with exaggerated cockiness:
“Horribly. It’s awful. Should we sue Shoko…?”
He’s about to drop another joke, but Suguru cuts him off by shooting to his feet. It almost makes Satoru flinch.
“Very funny,” he snaps, in the coldest voice Satoru has heard from him since first year. Back when they still weren’t inseparable.
Back when Suguru hated him.
Satoru doesn’t even have time to respond before Suguru is already disappearing down the hallway. Haibara hurries after him, looking worried. What the hell?
Satoru is so thrown he doesn’t make a sound for several long seconds.
When Shoko finishes her cigarette, she walks over and plucks his sunglasses off. That’s the only thing that snaps him back.
“What the hell was that?” he hears himself say.
Shoko just shakes her head. She looks sad, annoyed, and bored. All at once.
“You two are gonna drive me insane.”
Suguru ignores him after that. It’s concerning.
Their rooms are close enough that they usually run into each other in the mornings. But since the incident, it’s like Suguru figured out how to teleport before Satoru even wakes up. He’s nowhere.
Not in the morning. Not in the afternoon. Not at night.
The whole weekend drags like slow torture until Satoru finally corners him in class. No matter how much he might hate him right now, Suguru never skips. His attendance is flawless.
He tries talking to him during the lesson, but Yaga-sensei is droning on as usual, so what happens is this:
“…If you channel cursed energy over too wide an area, the damage multiplies. Imagine you have a 300-joule burst and you scatter it without control… what happens to the structure?” Yaga asks, scribbling numbers on the board.
Satoru leans toward Suguru, muttering:
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“…That’s why control is essential to prevent large-scale damage,” Yaga continues. “A technique without precision is just destruction.”
“Satoru, not now,” Suguru whispers, not looking at him. “We’re in class.”
“I didn’t see you all weekend. Where the hell were you?”
“So,” Yaga says, turning around, “if the impact spreads over a five-meter radius instead of one… what’s the difference in pressure?”
Suguru’s jaw tightens.
“Why do you even care?”
“Suguru, what the fuck?”
“SATORU GOJO.”
Yaga-sensei’s voice booms through the room.
For a second Satoru forgets where he is. Who he’s with. He shoots his teacher an irritated look.
“What?”
Yaga looks like he’s physically restraining himself from strangling him.
“Did you even hear my question? This is applied physics, not a teenage soap opera.”
Satoru fires back instantly:
“The pressure would be twenty-five times lower if the area increases squared.”
Yaga blinks, caught off guard.
Satoru turns back to Suguru, desperation in every movement.
“Suguru. Come on, dude."
Suguru looks like he’s two seconds from bolting out the door, perfect attendance be damned. Like he wants nothing more than distance between them.
Which… fair. Understandable. Nobody wanted to hang around him before.
It just hurts a little that it’s Suguru.
Okay, it hurts a lot.
“Satoru,” Yaga says after an uncomfortable silence, still baffled. “That answer is… correct. Still, I’d like both of you to pay more attention in my class.”
Suguru doesn’t even glance his way.
“Why do we even have to take stupid physics anyway?” Satoru spits, bitter. “We’re sorcerers. We-"
“Oh my god,” Suguru finally looks at him. Satoru almost wishes he hadn’t. He’s staring like it physically pains him to do so. “Why do you always have to be so rude?”
Yaga raises both hands like he’s surrendering.
“Boys, let’s-”
But Satoru’s patience is already gone.
“Excuse me? When have I ever been rude to you?” he demands, voice rising. He can barely hear himself over the sound of his pride shattering piece by piece.
Suguru steps so close Satoru feels the ridiculous urge to back away, tackle him, cover his face, hide, touch him.
“You’re seriously asking me that? Of course you couldn’t stop for one minute to think about what you say…”
“Oh! Sorry for not being trained in your perfect little standards of friendship, Suguru! I was busy being raised as the chosen one since birth!”
Since neither of them is listening to warnings, Yaga physically steps between them, separating them with his bulk.
“Go on, Suguru. When have I been rude to you?”
Suguru manages to glare at him over Yaga’s massive shoulders.
“‘Your bangs look ridiculous’?” he quotes, furious.
“T-that’s not-”
“‘Horribly. It’s awful’?”
“Boys, enough-”
Satoru can’t keep his mouth shut anymore.
“Your stupid bangs look fucking beautiful!"he roars.
He even feels his Infinity flicker on for a split second.
Suguru stops struggling against their teacher. Goes completely still.
“What?” For a moment he just looks stunned.
Yaga-sensei has clearly had enough. He releases them both with a huge groan.
“Dear god, you kids…” He pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to keep it attached. “Out of my classroom. Now.”
Satoru and Suguru stare at each other, still processing.
“Quickly,” Yaga adds. “Before I change my mind and make you scrub all seven hundred stairs down to Tokyo.”
They’re out the door before he finishes the sentence.
It’s so fucking awkward.
They’re in the dorm hallway because they walked there together. In silence. Dead silence. Satoru can’t remember the last time he stayed quiet this long. Probably in the womb.
A few steps ahead is Suguru’s room, but he hasn’t moved toward it. Hasn’t twitched. Hasn’t looked at him… but Satoru hasn’t either, so he can’t be that hurt about it.
They’re just standing there. In the hallway. Avoiding eye contact. In silence.
It’s ridiculous.
“I’m sorry, I…” Satoru starts at the exact same moment Suguru murmurs:
“Listen…”
They both shut up almost in sync.
It’s driving Satoru insane that they do things like this. Get mad like this. Fix things like this. Sync up like this. Makes him think they’re soulmates or some nonsense.
“It's almost like we're connected or some shit” Satoru mutters after a few seconds, because apparently he has no filter.
Suguru finally looks him straight in the eyes for the first time in three days.
There’s something deep in that gaze. It’s not just the stupid bangs or the hallway light catching in his pupils. It’s more.
Something that twists Satoru’s guts until he feels like he might throw up.
“You think my bangs are beautiful?”
The question echoes around them, pinning him like a butterfly to a board. Satoru thinks he might start shaking any second.
He swallows hard.
“Uh, yeah. I mean… uh, they look… um…” He stammers, apparently forgetting how to speak for the second time today. “How do I put it? Good. They look… really good, actually.”
Suguru looks almost sadistic. Like a vampire who just smelled fresh blood on Satoru’s neck. Those eyes wouldn’t fool anyone.
“Just ‘good’? Not ‘fucking beautiful’?”
What. The. Fuck. Satoru can feel his face heating up.
“You’re… you’re being rude.”
Suguru narrows his eyes, crosses his arms and oh. Oh no. Those are his pecs. Okay. Fine. Satoru can handle the view. He has Six Eyes, after all. He won’t let himself get distracted.
“You were rude to me,” Suguru says. “You called my bangs ‘ridiculous.’ ‘Horrible,’ if I remember right.”
Satoru blurts:
“Suguru, I’m sorry. Really. I’m so sorry. I don’t think they look ridiculous, I just… I was…”
God. He can’t do this.
He tries to look away, but it’s like Suguru’s eyes have him hypnotized.
“That stupid fringe is…” he mutters. “God, it’s so frustrating. I can’t stop looking at it. It look so…”
Suguru raises an eyebrow, amused.
“Beautiful?” he finishes for him. And even though he tries to play it off like a tease, his voice sounds exactly like it did two days ago.
Neutral.
Unsure.
And it’s that raised brow, that sharp gaze directed only at him. It’s just them, alone, in a quiet hallway. It’s even the three days without touching, maybe.
Satoru steps toward Suguru like he’s being pulled by something bigger than himself.
“Fucking beautiful,” he says, voice steady, deeper than he expected.
He can see Suguru’s pupils dilate, like a cat’s. He goes so still he might as well be a statue, except Satoru can feel heat rolling off him in waves, calling him closer.
“I really thought you hated it,” Suguru confesses quietly after a moment, leaning in just slightly. Like a magnet drawn to another. Like he can’t help it. Like he barely notices he’s doing it.
“I’m sorry,” Satoru repeats.
And then he does what he’s wanted to do since the second he saw Suguru walk out that morning with those bangs falling over his forehead.
He reaches up and brushes his fingertips through them, gently, the way you’d touch a lover.