Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The room was quiet, save for the sound of a white noise machine. A simple and rather boring clock hung on the wall. Its slow ticking dragged on as though intent on taunting him. Stereotypical art hung on the wall, some of which contained unbearably cheesy inspirational quotes. One in particular stood out, ‘Embracing Vulnerability Will Set You Free.’

Internally, he scoffed. In their world, vulnerability got you killed. He’d seen it happen firsthand more times than he could count. So, no, vulnerability wasn’t a path to freedom, not when it meant the difference between life and death.

He didn’t understand how a non-sorcerer was supposed to help them. Shoko told him that Kanna was the relative of a sorcerer from Okinawa, and thus, was intimately familiar with their world and the stressors that came with it. She’d claimed Kanna was more than qualified. Suguru has his doubts, but, in a moment of desperation, he'd agreed.

Before they could start couples’ sessions, they first had to meet individually with their therapist. Kanna had said it was so she could better understand them each as individuals before she learned about them as a whole.

To Suguru's immense relief, Satoru had volunteered to meet with her first. But now, it was Suguru’s turn.

He hadn’t said a single word in 15 minutes. He turned his gaze back toward Kanna. She smiled at him encouragingly. Her eyes were warm and full of understanding. His stomach twinged.

Her patience was astounding. She had remained steadfast as she waited for him to answer her initial question. He’d tried to speak, but couldn’t. Every time he opened his mouth, she would lean forward, ready to listen, and each time, his words failed, caught in his throat like a curse.

“What motivated you to seek out couple’s therapy?”

He didn’t know how to answer. Not really. It should've been simple, but it wasn’t.

How could he explain the anger that lived deep in his gut? How it caused him to breathe out fire when he desperately desired to speak with softness and care? How he wished his words and actions could match what lived in his heart?

This was a bad idea.

“Let’s start with a different question. We can come back to this one later,” His gut flooded with shame. He didn’t need her pity, “Do you want to improve your relationship with Satoru?”

A lightning strike of indignation cut through him. Now, mobilized by spite, he tersely said, “Of course, I do.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Suguru straightened his posture and narrowed his eyes. Typically, he was polite to strangers, saving his irritation and vitriol strictly for the higher ups, and now, more often than not, for Satoru. But already, his walls were up. He felt like a street dog, baring his fangs at the most neutral of stimuli.

She frowned, “I can see that this is really hard for you to talk about. There’s so much pain behind your words.”

Suguru couldn't look at her sad eyes anymore. He turned his attention to the bookshelf beside him. This did not provide the relief he was seeking.

Blissed Out: A Guide to Having Better Sex for Married Couples

Leaning into Love: Embracing Emotional Vulnerability in Your Marriage to Improve Connection and Intimacy

Why Can’t We Get Along? A Couple’s Workbook to Help You Communicate Better and Navigate Conflict with Compassion

Defensive No More: How to Shed Your Defenses, Embrace Mutual Respect, and Maintain Accountability in Your Relationship

Divorcing with Dignity: Steps for Respectfully Navigating Your Separation

He forced his gaze onto the floor. He couldn’t read any more titles; they mocked him.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

He hated how kind her voice was; how it was laced with understanding. He didn’t deserve it. Not with how he spoke to her before, not with how he’d treated Satoru every day as of late.

“There’s not much to say.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your work? I imagine it’s quite stressful being a sorcerer.”

He wanted to laugh, but instead, he felt the all too familiar burn in his throat. He couldn’t cry. Not now. He forced the feeling down, deep, storing it alongside the curses he consumed; feeding them with his own misery. Their glee was palpable.

“It can be. But Satoru and I are the strongest.”

“That sounds like a heavy mantle to carry.”

Suguru ran his fingers through his hair, trying to focus on anything but her face, “When… when things were good, it wasn’t. Or maybe I just didn’t feel it as much.”

“When things were good with Satoru?”

“Yeah,” He exhaled.

“What was it like when it was good?”

Suguru laughed, humorlessly, “It was perfect.”

“What made it so?”

“We… really understood one another. When we fought beside each other, we didn’t need words. He could anticipate my movements, and I, his. We went on actual dates...to the aquarium, the arcade, restaurants. We were inseparable,” Suguru blinked back tears. His face felt hot and his throat ached. He hated this. He hated himself. He didn’t know how he was going to ‘go deeper’ if he couldn’t even make it through sharing basic information without crying.

Before Kanna can inquire further, the timer on her desk goes off. A wave of gratitude rushes over him as he realizes he’s saved from elaborating. Truthfully, he’s not even sure that he could have. He regrets having wasted his own time by refusing to comply and taking so long to answer the questions.

He feels raw, in a way he didn’t expect to, despite their therapist telling him that it was normal to experience intense emotions, before, during, and even after sessions.

Before he walks into the waiting room, he takes a deep breath and exhales. Satoru comes into view, playing a game on his phone, his foot giggling impatiently while he waits.

For a moment, Suguru allows himself to observe his husband. Satoru looked beautiful in his sky-blue sweater and navy slacks. This was nothing new; Satoru always looked beautiful. But even so, Suguru stood transfixed.

The words he wishes to say remain trapped in his throat. Instead, a gruff, “Let’s go,” exits from his lips.

Satoru tenses at the sound of his voice, his lips downturn as he pockets his phone and stiffly rises. Wordlessly, he follows behind Suguru.

Suguru unlocked the car, and waits for Satoru to buckle his seatbelt. They drive in complete silence. Usually, even on their worst days, Satoru tries to fill it. Satoru loved listening to music and radio talk shows in the car, and had even once called in and correctly guessed the answer to the question posed. He’d won free crepes for a week. Suguru was certain he’d never seen Satoru so happy, not even on their wedding day. Satoru had vehemently disagreed, though the crumbs dappled across his face said otherwise. Suguru’s heart ached. They hadn’t laughed together in what felt like years, though he knew that couldn’t actually be true.

Now, Satoru’s arms were crossed as he looked out the window. He hadn’t spared him a single glance.

Suguru couldn’t wait to be home. He wanted to shower; it was the only place he could cry without Satoru knowing. He didn’t know when he’d started hiding his pain from Satoru, only that he had, until it got to a point where he didn’t know how to show Satoru any part of him anymore.

As he pulled into their building’s garage, he couldn’t stop one incessant, painful thought from repeating: I don't know if there is a relationship left to be saved.

Chapter Text

Nerves tangled in the pit of Suguru’s stomach as he parked outside of Heart and Soul Counseling.

Today was their first joint session, and Suguru had no idea what to expect from it. Kanna had briefly prepped him during their individual meeting last week, but Suguru hadn’t retained much of the information. He'd been too consumed by a sense of impending doom and lingering despair.

He and Satoru had hardly spoken in the past week, in part, because Satoru was away for half of it, on yet another mission assigned by the higher ups. When they had talked, it was tense and full of misunderstanding, so they’d mostly floated past one another, speaking only when absolutely necessary.

He’d hoped they would be able to drive over together, but when he’d offered to pick Satoru up via text, Satoru had declined with a single reply of: I’ll be there.

Which had promptly pissed Suguru off. Because Suguru could be petty too, he’d texted back: Will you be taking yourself back home after therapy as well? Or do you expect a ride after? Are you even planning on coming home?

He knew he was being unfair and that his questions dripped with accusation rather than curiosity and care. He regretted sending them, but it was too late now.

Even before things soured between them, Satoru rarely accepted rides. When asked about it, Satoru expressed that he did not want to inconvenience Suguru by making him drive long distances to remote, uncharted coordinates. Suguru understood and appreciated the consideration, and yet, he’d told Satoru that it was no hardship if it meant seeing Satoru was the end result. Satoru'd blushed rather beautifully in response to Suguru’s words. Suguru’s heart ached. He longed for what they once had.

This time, he was certain, Satoru’s refusal had a very different motive: avoidance.

He couldn’t truly fault Satoru for evading him. Suguru hadn’t been particularly pleasant to be around as of late, and truthfully, he wasn’t sure how to move forward, how to fix what was broken between them.

Consuming curses was miserable, but it was straightforward. Rebuilding a relationship in ruins…well, he didn’t even know where to start. Suguru wasn’t sure if their foundation was faulty, or if there was a piece in need of removal, like rotting wood eroding what was once stable and slowly spreading malady throughout.

He removed the key from the ignition, and upon exiting the car, he stretched, in a pointless attempt at releasing tension.

Satoru was already in the waiting room. He looked bored scrolling on his phone. He didn’t look up when Suguru entered, but Suguru knew his husband had registered his presence, evidenced by the sudden uptick in speed of his left leg jittering.

Wordlessly, Suguru sat in the chair beside him and stared at the clock, which read 10:59 am. He was thankful that their session would start within the next minute or so. He wasn’t sure he could handle the painful silence between them.

Kanna smiled warmly as they sat across from her. The couch was big enough that they could comfortably sit without touching one another. While the distance between them was mere inches, to Suguru, it felt infinite.

“Why don’t we start with the story of how you two met and fell in love?”

“We met at Jujutsu High. Fell in love there, too,” Suguru knew he sounded stilted, robotic even, but he couldn't touch the memories from before. Their softness felt far too fragile. He feared they’d become mangled and bloodied as they exited his lips.

Satoru’s foot tapped against the floor, and he huffed loudly. Suguru could feel his husband’s glare boring into the side of his face. He kept his eyes trained on Kanna, who was watching them, curiously.

“Wow, Suguru, you really know how to make it sound romantic,” Satoru's sarcasm settled between them; instantly making the single couch cushion dividing them feel like far too little space.

Suguru knew he’d said it the most unromantic way possible, but he wasn’t feeling particularly affectionate or sentimental at the moment. So, he doubled down, “Why don’t you elaborate then, Satoru? Since apparently, I’m incapable of romance. ”

“I didn't say that,” Satoru sounded petulant. Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru could see Satoru had crossed his arms over his chest. Suguru fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m going to ask you both to pause.”

Suguru whipped his head toward Kanna, surprised to hear her typically gentle voice sound firm. She hadn’t yelled, hadn’t even raised her voice, but it rang with a clear authority.

“Moving forward, I’m inviting the two of you to try your best to speak to one another from a place of respect. I know you’re both deeply hurt right now, and that things are tough. I want to honor those feelings; however, I will call attention to sarcasm and criticism, and as well as any other patterns of communication that will fuel the predicament you’re in. Does that sound fair to you both?”

He’d lied earlier. He would rather sit in hellish, uncomfortable silence with Satoru in the waiting room than do this.

Satoru sighed, “Ok, but if he’s bitchy to me first-“

She looked at Satoru, completely unimpressed, and Satoru paused, properly chastised, and nodded at her. As she turned to face Suguru, Satoru pouted. Suguru wanted to laugh, but knew he was about to face the same, so he bit the inside of his cheek, and kept his expression neutral.

“Works for me,” Suguru confirmed, though it didn’t, at all. Kanna's eye's roved over his face. He thought she looked suspicious, but chalked it up to his own paranoia.

“Let’s try this again, tell me how you met.”

“We met when we were 14. We were friends for many years before we got together. We didn’t officially start dating until we were 18,” Suguru felt this was as diplomatic as he could be.

Satoru appeared visibly uncomfortable, and Kanna clearly thought so too, “What’s coming up for you right now, Satoru?”

“You know how we met already. I told you last week.”

“You did, and I want you to tell it together.”

Suguru fidgeted with the hair tie on his wrist. The skin beneath it was pink; it was too tight. Ignoring his discomfort.

He agreed. He didn’t see the point in this, “We’re not here to talk about our past.”

“The past informs the present. I need to know where you started to better understand where you are now.”

Suguru pursed his lips, annoyed, but he had no rebuttal. She wasn’t wrong. He sighed, speaking once more, “Truthfully Kanna, despite Satoru’s protest, how we got together wasn’t very romantic. We were just two kids who were traumatized and exhausted.”

Satoru said nothing. His leg had long stopped jiggling; he was eerily still. It unsettled Suguru. He tried to subtly assess his husband’s mood, but Satoru was masterful at masking his true feelings, even from him.

Kanna waited, and after more than five minutes passed, she said, “I’m sensing that this topic is one neither of you are feeling particularly comfortable sharing about today. So, I’d like for us to shift our focus for the remainder of our session. I do hope that with time we’re able to return to your love story. You both seem to care immensely for one another, yet it’s evident you’re unable to move past the tension and conflict that have come between you.”

“So, how do we do that?”

“I promise we will get to concrete strategies for the two of you to use, but first, I want you each to rate these 7 items on a scale of 1-5, 1 being completely awful and meaning this needs to change and 5 being content; no changes desired,” She stood, grabbed two clipboards and pens from her desk, then walked over, “Please take your time and once completed, I’ll ask you both to share.”

Suguru uncapped his pen and looked down at the assessment in front of him. He stared, frozen, waves of overwhelm and despair intermingled within his chest.

Communication: ___
Non-Sexual Intimacy: ___
Sexual Intimacy: ___
Conflict Resolution: ___
Trust:___
Respect: ___
Shared Values:___

He was scared to know Satoru’s answers; to see how badly he’d failed his husband, how badly they’d failed each other. He forced himself to consider each category and answered honestly, ignoring the growing pool of shame settling in the pit of his stomach.

Communication: 1
Non-Sexual Intimacy: 1
Sexual Intimacy: 4
Conflict Resolution: 1
Trust: 4
Respect: 2
Shared Values: 4

When Kanna took back their assessments, Suguru was surprised to see a genuinely happy smile across her face.

Satoru seemed equally bewildered, and leaned forward, “What is it?”

“Your answers are exactly the same.”

“Really?” Suguru’s voice shook. He’d expected Satoru to rate all measures as either a two or a one. He didn’t understand their therapist’s apparent pleasure with these results. They seemed pretty bleak to him.

“Yes,” She nodded, taking time to look at each of them earnestly.

“I don’t get why you’re smiling… We've got three 1’s and no 5’s. Isn’t that a bad thing?” Satoru asked, voicing their shared skepticism.

“I’m smiling, because you agree with each other on where your 1’s are and where your strengths are. You both told me you used to be in-sync with each other, but that somewhere along the way you lost it. Yet this tells me it’s still there.”

Suguru was speechless. He’d never considered that agreeing on their weaknesses could be a strength, but he supposed it was not untrue. He could see how it might be more complicated had their ratings differed extremely. A small ember of hope started to flicker.

“That’s true,” Satoru sounded surprised.

“I’d really like to know more about the three you scored highest. And why you scored them that way. Is one of you willing to share first?”

Satoru replied, “We both care about changing Jujutsu society for future sorcerers. We don’t want young sorcerers to face what we did. It’s important to both of us, and we’ve fought hard to make real change.”

“We have,” Suguru nodded.

“And trust?”

“I trust Suguru with my life.”

Kanna turned and faced Suguru, expectant.

“He’s the only person I trust completely.”

“Is it fair to say that despite all else between you, the two of you have mutual faith in one another and shared goals you hope to achieve together?”

“I’d say so, yeah,” Satoru nodded in agreement.

For Suguru, this was the easiest question to answer thus far, “Yes.”

Kanna smiled, before her face returned to a neutral expression once more, “Before I ask about your other scores, I’d like for you both to name one thing you like about your husband.”

Suguru felt the brief moment of ease between them dissipate once more. Silence encompassed the room as neither of them responded.

“Suguru?” Kanna prompted.

He didn’t know why he felt compelled to be petty. Instead of allowing himself to be genuine, he let his anger win, and snidely remarked, “I like that he’s being quiet right now.”

“Hey!” Satoru narrowed his eyes, his sunglasses slid down his nose as he glared at Suguru, his eyebrow twitching. Even when he was annoyed, Satoru was stunning to look at. It was infuriating.

“Suguru, let’s try that again, without passive aggression.”

“My apologies, Kanna. I do not have an answer to your question.”

“Satoru?”

“If he won’t participate then neither will I,” Satoru huffed.

“What was it like for you to hear Suguru’s response, Satoru?”

“It makes me wonder why we’re even here. He clearly doesn’t want to be, and yet, he’s the one who insisted we come. But honestly, Kanna, we wouldn’t even need to be here if Suguru didn’t hide everything he feels from me.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Satoru. You act like you’re fine all the time when you obviously aren’t.”

“It sounds like it’s really hard for the two of you to genuinely share how you’re feeling, despite wanting to. We will come back to difficulties in communicating your feelings to each other. But first, I do want us to try saying one positive thing about the other person.”

“He’s hot,” Satoru said flippantly.

“Ok, Satoru, you find Suguru attractive. Suguru, how does it feel to hear Satoru say that?”

“Sexual attraction has never been a problem in our relationship. I’m not surprised to hear him say that because honestly it’s the only thing working between us.”

“So, you’d say your sex life is good?”

“Good? It’s great.” Satoru said confidently.

“Suguru?” Kanna questioned.

“He’s right.”

“Is it great because you both like sex in general or because you like sex with each other specifically?”

“I’d say it’s both. We’ve only ever been with each other,” Satoru shrugged.

“Have you ever considered opening your relationship?”

“No, and it’s not an option,” Suguru answered immediately. The very thought of someone else touching Satoru made him irrationally jealous. He’d unleash every curse he had if anyone so much as tried. Satoru was his.

Kanna’s eyebrows furrowed at his gruff response. He watched as she looked at Satoru, face ripe with concern. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, Satoru vehemently agreed, “Never.”

Another spark, born of pleasure, joined the slow growing ember in his chest.

“If sex is the part of your relationship that feels good, let’s try it this way, what’s one thing you like about each other when you’re having sex?”

Suguru watched as Satoru scratched at the back of neck. His husband only did this when he was feeling particularly shy or bashful.

“Um… isn’t that rather personal?” Satoru blushed. If Suguru wasn’t so furious with him, it would be cute. Fuck, Satoru was cute regardless.

“It is personal, and you don’t have to answer. I’m asking so that we can find some positive ground to stand on. It’s important for me to know what your strengths are and what you like about each other, so that we can rely on those positives as we navigate more emotionally charged and challenging topics.”

“Fine.” Satoru whined, then quietly, “I really like how Suguru talks to me… during… when… I like how he talks to me when we do that...” Satoru was now a vibrant shade of red. Suguru wanted to touch his cheek, feel the heat against his fingertips. Instead, he forced his fingernails to press sharply against his palms.

“How does he talk to you?”

Satoru looked down, “Like I’m precious to him.”

Suguru’s lips parted. He didn't know what he’d expected, but he hadn’t expected such a raw and candid response.

“Suguru, can you tell Satoru what you think?”

“You are precious to me,” Suguru choked out.

For the first time all day, Satoru looks at him, his blue eyes wide with surprise, “I am?”

“Of course you are,” Surugu was baffled. This wasn’t something he thought he needed to clarify. He’d thought it was quite obvious.

“Oh ok, well, good,” Satoru quickly looked away, evidently embarrassed and uncomfortable.

Suguru wanted to clasp their hands together, tell him it was okay. He planted his hands firmly against his thighs; could feel his palms sweating through his loose fitted pants.

“Suguru, it’s your turn to share.”

Suguru was mortified at how easily Kanna could talk about the sex lives of strangers, though he supposed, as a couple’s therapist, this was a central part of her work. She’d have to be comfortable, or learn to be, fairly quickly. Nonetheless, Suguru did not want to, but if it meant things would improve between him and Satoru, he would try. He sighed. He wasn’t sure he could be as vulnerable as Satoru. His answer was true, though it wasn’t what he loved most about their intimacy, “I like it when you run your fingers through my hair.”

“I do too,” Satoru’s response was quiet.

There was so much more Suguru wanted to say to Satoru, but his words remained enclosed, trapped in a keyless cage. He didn’t know how to open his guarded heart to the very person who’d always been its sole protector.

“Thank you both. I appreciate you working through the discomfort and giving each other genuine feedback,” Kanna paused, glancing back at their assessment, then inquired, “I’m curious, you marked sexual intimacy as a 4, and non-sexual intimacy as a 1, can either of you say more about this discrepancy?”

He’d been dreading discussing non-sexual intimacy just as much as, if not more than, than sexual intimacy.

How was he supposed to explain that sex was easy, but all other touch felt far too intimate? How sex didn’t inspire fear, like forehead kisses, eye contact, or holding hands did?

He longed for the gentle brushing of their fingertips as they walked side by side. Missed leaning against Satoru, bearing each other’s weight, as they laughed so hard they cried. Ached for the feeling of Satoru’s face buried against Suguru’s chest when watching horror movies together.

Suguru’s thoughts are momentarily interrupted by Satoru’s stilted reply, “Right now…sex is the only time we enjoy being around each other.”

“What do you normally do after you have sex?”

“Uh, that depends…” A lovely shade of pink blossomed across Satoru’s cheeks.

“On what?”

“What time it is and where we are.”

Suguru feels hot shame descend from the crown of his head, pouring down his body until it sits, amalgamating at the bottom of his feet. He stares at the door. His eyes dart around the room until they land on a digital clock at Kanna’s desk. It reads 11:50 am. To Suguru’s relief, they have less than 10 minutes left. He can do this.

“Suguru, do you have anything to add?” Kanna’s watching him, expectantly, as though she can sense his desire to bolt from the room.

He sighs, “If it’s nighttime, we turn away from each other and go to bed. We don’t really talk. If it’s during the day, one of us usually leaves the room, or sometimes, even the house.”

“That sounds quite lonely... going from experiencing a deep connection with one another to immediately tuning each other out.”

She was right. It was lonely. Even more so, it was awful. To be so close, yet feel miles apart. When Suguru left to sit on the couch afterwards, steps away felt more like an ocean between them.

Kanna has this look on her face. One he recognizes as pity. It simultaneously makes him want to cry, exposing the raw sadness beneath, and yell, allowing his pain, disguised as anger, free.

Instead, he smiles, knowing he’s being disingenuous, “We manage.”

“Satoru, do you think you’re managing?”

Satoru scoffed, “No, but it can’t be helped if Suguru wishes to live in a delusion world.”

Kanna silently observes both of them, and Suguru fights the urge to squirm, feeling like a bug under a microscope.

“This week, I want you to try and intentionally spend time together after sex. Non-sexual intimacy can be many things, holding each other close, talking quietly together, spooning, washing each other, curling up together and watching a movie, brushing each other’s hair. It’s sharing space with intention. These could, of course, also lead to sexual intimacy, should you wish to be intentional before sex, too. But I’d like you to focus on after. Post-sex affection helps deepen bonds, improve sexual satisfaction, and relationship satisfaction.

Suguru has heard the word sex far too many times today. He knows she isn’t wrong. He remembers a time, before, when their relationship bloomed with affection. Remembered nights overflowing with laughter in between kisses, moving from spooning to making love then back to spooning once more. He knows she’s right; has seen proof of it in what once was.

But knowing wasn’t the problem.

He wasn’t convinced they could get back to the ease from before, even if they tried.

“Does this sound like something you’d both be willing to try?”

“Sure. But don’t expect positive results from us, Kanna,” Satoru’s words were falsely chipper.

Privately, Suguru, couldn’t agree more.

Neither speak as they walk through the waiting room. Satoru follows close behind Suguru, and as they step outside, Suguru seizes his opportunity, roughly pushing Satoru against the wall of the building. He presses their lips together, desperately, and is relieved when Satoru kisses him back.

In the darkest corners of his mind, an unkind voice tells him that Satoru only responds because it’s muscle memory at this point. He banishes the thought, and instead, demands, “Teleport us home right now.”

Satoru averts his eyes, and licks his lips, “What about the car?”

Suguru shrugs, “We’ll come back for it.”

Let them give him a parking ticket. Let them tow him. He doesn’t give a flying fuck. Right now, all he cares about is being with Satoru.

“Fuck, ok.”

And in an instant, they’re home.

The bedroom is quiet save for the sound of heavy breaths slowly settling back into their usual rhythm.

The silence is not a comfortable one. Hell, it’s beyond awkward.

Suguru pushes his bangs aside, ignoring the sheen of sweat that coats his hand.

By this point, one or both of them usually have their backs to each other. He’s used to sitting in the kitchen alone, drinking matcha and staring out the window, or to Satoru leaving to play his switch on the futon.

Now, they stare at each other, neither knowing how to break the silence.

Satoru takes the leap, because of course he does. Satoru’s always been the strongest between them, “So uh, our homework… what’d you wanna do?”

Satoru’s arms were crossed protectively over his chest as he sat against their bed frame. Suguru watches as Satoru rubs his index finger and thumb together, a nervous habit that Satoru had only developed once everything soured between them. Suguru’s heart aches at the sight.

Suguru forces down his pride. If Satoru is willing to be vulnerable and put his heart on the line, then he will too. “Lay with me. Let’s watch a movie.”

They don’t have a TV in their room, but Suguru has an iPad, and that will have to do.

Satoru scoots over, cautiously. His movement is robotic in comparison to the beautiful fluidity with which he’d flowed only moments before.

Suguru mechanically places his arm around Satoru’s shoulders. Satoru tenses at the touch, but doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans in closer.

It feels forced. Neither relax and neither pay attention to the screen as a random movie, that Suguru hastily picked, starts to play.

Suguru wonders, not for the first time, how things had gotten so bad between them. This used to be their normal. Overwhelming sadness settles in his gut, and he is grateful they closed their curtains, and that the darkness will obscure the wetness forming in his eyes.

Satoru remains tense beside him, eyes focused on the screen, but Suguru can tell his heart’s not in it. Satoru usually loves movies; normally talks non-stop as he makes commentary, judges characters and their choices, delights in meet cutes that evolve into first loves. It’s unnerving for Satoru to be quiet like this.

Slowly, as the movie continues, Suguru feels Satoru start to relax. His husband sags against him, resting his head on Suguru’s shoulder, white hair tickling Suguru’s neck.

Suguru turns off the movie and listens to the sound of Satoru’s soft snores. He prefers this soundtrack, anyway. He runs his fingers through Satoru’s hair, relishing in its silk-like quality.

Satoru snuggles closer against him, and Suguru leans his head atop of Satoru’s. He trails his hand down until he clasps Satoru’s left hand, placing his thumb against Satoru’s wrist.

He counts Satoru’s heartbeats, reassured of the very proof that Satoru was alive and with him.

Satoru’s soft breaths and steady heart lull him into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

“How’d last week’s homework go?”

“We tried! But…we didn’t do very well.”

“One day was almost perfect,” His efforts to tamper his anger were in vain; Suguru knew he’d failed to hide the accusation in his tone when Kanna’s brow furrowed.

It had gone well, so well, in fact, that Suguru had, for a moment, forgotten about the state of their relationship. But by evening, the illusion was shattered, and everything had soured between them once more. Suguru thought it might even be worse now.

“What happened?”

“Well, it was great, until Suguru got all pissy at me,” Satoru’s words dripped with irritation as he side-eyed Suguru from his spot across the couch. Suguru audibly scoffed. He couldn’t believe Satoru’s audacity.

“Don’t act like you're innocent in all of this, Satoru,” Suguru fired back momentarily forgetting that they had a witness. He bit the inside of his cheek and glared.

Satoru crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned forward, “Funny, I didn’t say anything about myself, now did I, Suguru?” Satoru smirked, but as Suguru cataloged the details of Satoru’s face, Satoru's eyes looked vacant; his smile strained. It looked wrong.

“That’s enough. I want you both to try again. This time, let’s stick to the facts. Not what you felt, but facts as to what happened. Each of you share your recollection of what occurred, and then we will focus on sharing feelings more effectively and without blame.”

Satoru huffed.

Suguru grimaced.

Satoru started counting off what they did, “We kissed, had sex, showered, ate breakfast, and after that, we watched a movie.”

Suguru couldn’t remember the last time Satoru had washed his hair; he’d leaned into Satoru’s touch, enjoying the feel of strong fingers massaging his scalp, loved the feel of Satoru’s body pressed close to his. He’d missed it so much. He wanted to return to that moment now, if only to pretend for a little bit longer.

Satoru had ruined everything.

He got a call, because he always got a call. Despite everything he and Satoru had done for Jujutsu, the higher ups never respected their time, especially not Satoru’s. But then again, neither did Satoru.

“Then Satoru picked up the phone, and left on a mission.”

“Kanna, you don’t know Suguru like I do, but he’s irrationally pissed about this, even though it’s a normal part of our lives. He got called and left on a mission yesterday. But it’s only a problem when I do it.”

Suguru’s anger rose in his chest, flooded his body. “No.”

“No?” Kanna questioned.

Satoru looked dumbfounded, “What’d you mean no? We’re sorcerers and teachers. We have missions all the time. You went to Hokkaido last night!”

Suguru was shaking, he grasped his hands together, his fingernails digging into his palms. He tried to steady his breathing.

“Suguru, I can see that this is really upsetting you.”

He was not about to cry in front of her, or Satoru. “I’m more than upset,” his voice came out little more than a whisper.

“What is it that you’re feeling?”

“I’m furious.”

Satoru’s lips parted, as if to speak, but Kanna held her hand to pause him, “Satoru, please let him finish. I will come back to you,” Satoru pouted, but Kanna ignored him and turned her attention back toward Suguru, “Can you say more about why you’re feeling this way?”

“It was our day off.”

Kanna’s eyes widened, and he knew it clicked for her. She was too damn perceptive. It was unnerving.

“Seriously, Suguru?”

“Yes, seriously, Satoru,” His tone sounded venomous, even to himself. He forced out a shaky breath as he tried to reign in his anger. It was pointless. Satoru would never understand. It would absolutely destroy the shaky foundation holding up his ego.

“It was an emergency situation!”

“It always is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You claim to hate the higher ups and what they stand for, yet you continously allow them to treat you like shit.”

Satoru gaped at him, “What?”

“They knew you were off. They could have asked someone else.”

“There wasn’t anyone else available.”

“I don’t care. That’s their problem to solve.”

“What about protecting people?”

“Not everyone can be saved.”

“What’re you saying, Suguru?”

“I didn’t come back to jujutsu just to watch you lose yourself to it, Satoru!”

“I’m not!”

“It was our fucking day off, Satoru. We hardly speak to each other and for once things were good and then you left!” Suguru didn’t remember standing up. His chest heaved as he stared at Satoru, whose mouth was agape, his eyes widened as he stared at Suguru. Kanna looked concerned and like she was ready to intervene. Suguru shook his head and forced himself to sit back down. Embarrassment coursed through him. He hated that his face felt hot. He hated that he’d let himself get so angry. He hated this

“Suguru…”

“Suguru, can you try to tell Satoru what you needed from him at that moment?”

“He knows.”

“Does he? Have you told him?”

Suguru averted his gaze, “I haven’t.”

“Ok, so, tell him now. Tell him how you felt, and the behavior that bothered you, rather than accusing or blaming.”

“Fine,” he turned and faced Satoru, “I felt like you… I feel like I’m not enough for you anymore.”

“What? Suguru-“

“I feel like we have different priorities. I would’ve said no. I wouldn’t have left. You left.”

“Suguru, it was a mission. I came home that same night. I didn't leave you.”

“But you did. Did that day mean nothing to you? Do you even want this?”

“Of course I want this! It meant everything to me! I don’t like how things are between us either, Suguru, regardless of what you may think. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”

“You don’t act like it.”

“Neither do you! I’m honestly shocked you wanted me to say no to them. You never said anything or asked me not to go! I figured you’d want a break from me after all that time together!”

Suguru laughed humorlessly, “Why would I want that? We’ve been miserable in each other's company for months… Why would I want a break from you during the one time we’re actually getting along?”

Satoru balked.

“When you left… you never think, Satoru. You just take action. You don’t consider the consequences or the impact of your actions. You just do, and that’s the problem. You always think that everything will work out for you.”

Kanna interjected, “Less ‘you’ focused statements, please. Focus on your feelings and behaviors you like or don’t like.”

“I have nothing else to say,” Suguru’s throat ached, as he fought the urge to cry. He forced his gaze downward and stared at the patterned spiral rug under his feet. It was black and white with small flecks of blue.

“Satoru?” Kanna tilted her head.

“He’s so self-righteous, like he hasn’t been the one pestering me for years to be ‘respectful’ and act ‘proper.’ And now, when I finally am, it’s a problem! I can’t win.”

Suguru scoffed, “Don’t pull that, Satoru. You don’t do any of this because you respect the higher ups.”

“Oh really? Then, enlighten us on why I do, Suguru, if you’re so wise and all-knowing?”

“To you, saying no would be to reject being the strongest, and you can’t stand the thought. You don’t know how to be anything else other than the strongest. So, like a desperate dog, eager to please its owner, you follow the higher up’s orders, ignorant to how they use and disrespect you. But how could you be anything else, you were bred and groomed for it, were you not?”

Suguru immediately regretted his words as he took in Satoru’s face. He looked equal parts devastated and furious. Suguru had never seen that expression on Satoru’s face before. Suguru’s stomach aches. Self-revulsion crawls across his skin and settles deep in his core. He’d gone too far.

“Dog!? I’m-”

“Ok, that is enough. From this moment forward, we are setting clearly defined ground rules. We’re going to focus on practicing nonviolent communication in every session. Non-violent communication asks both parties involved to clearly express how ‘I am’ without blame or criticism, and to listen, with empathy, to how ‘you are’ without assumption of blame or criticism. It is to both speak and listen from a place of non-defense, to speak of observations, feelings, needs, and requests from a place of mutual respect and care. If you both truly wish to mend what is broken, then we must begin operating with the assumption of mutual interest in strengthening your relationship.”

Kanna paused, and turned her attention toward him. She looked disappointed and Suguru involuntarily leaned backwards until his head bumped against the wall painfully.

He forced his face to remain as neutral as possible and returned her gaze, “Suguru, I understand how hurt you are, and when we’re hurting, our words can turn into weapons as we attempt to conceal very real and deep pain and push others away. It never feels good when we feel abandoned by those we love. I appreciate you sharing how you’ve been feeling and your experience within your relationship with Satoru. Satoru, like you, is also coming from a place of pain and hurt, too, so, with that in mind, I’d like to invite you to apologize to Satoru, not for your feelings, but for your unkind words to him. ”

Suguru swallowed. His chest tightened. His hand, reflexively, landed on his chest. He didn’t want to. He knew she was right, because, of course, she was. He bites his lip and tries to speak, only for words to fail. He’s floundering. He can feel Kanna and Satoru’s expectant gazes trained on him, which only makes him sink further.

It’s an all too familiar feeling. As of late, misery has become his closest companion. It’s not a friendship he wishes to keep, but it’s too risky to abandon now.

“Don’t bother, Kanna, I don’t need an apology from him. I finally know what Suguru really thinks of me now,” Satoru’s smile was saccharine.

“Satoru,” Suguru sounded pathetic even to himself; his voice was hardly more than a whisper.

“Suguru, don’t. Just don’t.”

“Satoru, can you tell me what’s coming up for you right now? It seems like you’re not ready to hear Suguru’s apology, and I want to honor that, so I’ll ask that you pause on apologizing for the moment, Suguru,” She then turned back toward Satoru, “ I think if you’re able to, it would be important for Suguru to hear why.”

“He’s gonna spout some proper BS apology to look good in front of you and because it’s the ‘morally right’ thing to do or whatever, when he doesn’t even mean it.”

Suguru bit his tongue, hard. He’d never pretend to apologize, at least not to Satoru, never with Satoru. With anyone else? Absolutely. He’d done as much with Yaga two days ago.

“It sounds like it’s hard for you to trust Suguru’s words.”

Satoru laughed, it verged on the edge of hysterical. Suguru kept his gaze trained on his shoes. He didn’t want to see Satoru’s face when he heard his worst fears confirmed.

“That’s because I don’t.”

Kanna sighed, “I hate to do this, but we’ve only got 3 minutes left. Next week, my clinical recommendation is that I meet with you individually before our next couple’s session. In fact, I think we need to do that moving forward for the foreseeable future.”

Suguru’s stomach plummeted. This wasn’t good news at all.

“Why?” Satoru sounded as skeptical as Suguru felt.

“It’s obvious to me that the issues within your relationship are far deeper than I realized. It’s important that each of you have your own unfiltered space to share concerns and feelings without the other present. Plus, it will allow for me to individualize skills to teach each of you and support me in coaching you through our couple’s conversations more effectively.”

He couldn’t find any errors in her logic. They both would have to do better and learn how to communicate in healthier ways if they truly wished to move forward together. He had to do this for Satoru.

Suguru unclenched his fists, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Kanna clarified.

“Yes.”

“Satoru?”

“Alright, fine, if you think it’s best.”

“Great. I know this is hard. Believe me, I do. But I hope, through our work together, we can get you both to a place where you’re feeling connected and content again. Now, let’s talk scheduling-”

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Good evening Suguru,

Since we ran out of time today during our session, I didn’t get a chance to assign either of you your homework. This week, I’m assigning work for your respective individual sessions.

Here is yours:

See you on Wednesday at 9 am!

Best,
Kanna

Chapter Text

Suguru fiddles with the scrap of paper he’d tucked away in his pants pocket. Its contents had long ceased legibility. Obsessive unfolding and refolding paired with clammy hands served as equal culprits in smudging the ink. He didn’t need to be able to read the note; he’d memorized what it said..

“Why’d you ask me to make a list?”

“You seem to be quite angry with Satoru, though I suspect your feelings are far more complex than anger alone.”

“I mean no disrespect, Kanna, but I just don’t see why making a list would help with that. It only made me angrier.”

“The purpose of therapy is not to expect the absence of anger, but to learn to acknowledge and validate your own feelings while also finding healthier ways to respond to others when you’re angry.”

“So… you’re saying I should be angry?”

“I’m saying you’re allowed to be angry, and that your anger can tell us important information. Think of your anger as the tip of an iceberg, with your underlying feelings hidden beneath its surface. Anger often serves as a protector for other emotions, typically, ones that feel less safe and harder to express.”

“You don’t think I’m actually angry? And you think that I don’t feel safe?” Skeptical didn’t feel adequate enough to describe how he felt.

“I do think you’re angry. It doesn’t seem like you feel comfortable expressing your pain openly. I think we ought to explore what’s really fueling your anger.”

“And if I were to refuse?”

“Then you’d refuse and we’d move on. This is a completely voluntary process,” Kanna paused, appearing conflicted, before she spoke again, “Suguru, I do advise that you try. In the two couple’s sessions we’ve had, you’ve appeared quite distressed. You seem to be at war within yourself. This isn’t a battle you have to fight on your own.”

It was unsettling to be seen. He didn’t like that she’d so easily pinned him down. He fought the urge to deny her words; instead he, pursed his lips and nodded noncommittally.

“Why are you angry at Satoru?”

“Because he’s an arrogant bastard.”

Kanna looked unimpressed. She stared at him; he stared back. Five minutes of silence passed. Suguru knew he couldn’t win against her. He huffed, “Fine. You already know that I’m angry because he doesn’t value our time together. I’m angry that he’s always risking his life and acting like he’s invincible just because he’s stronger than everyone else. His arrogance is going to kill him one day. He always seems to conveniently forget that he already died once before. I’m angry that he doesn’t stand up to the higher ups when it matters. I’m angry that he convinced me to stay at Jujutsu High yet he leaves more than ever while I stay behind. I’m angry at myself for being angry at him and for every awful thing I’ve said to him. Usually, he just takes it most of the time, too. He was understanding for so long, but now, I’ve completely shut him down. Satoru deserves so much better than me.”

He startled at the sensation of wetness against skin. A single tear blooms across the back of his hand, until it meets the junction between his knuckles. He watches, detached, as water droplets land on his sweater, instantly darkening the material. Suguru blinks, causing more to fall. He hadn’t realized he was crying, but now he can’t stop.

Kanna’s face was a blur in front of him. She was quiet. This silence wasn’t oppressive, it was far from it. It was a relief; one he hadn’t known he needed.

Suguru isn’t sure how much time passes, even if he wanted to look, he wouldn’t be able to see the digital clock as yet another onslaught of tears pool against his lashes.

He parts his lips in an attempt to speak; taste of salt permeates his tongue as tears travel along his lips and down his chin. Ignoring his physical discomfort, he forced out a quiet confession, “I didn’t write an apology. I just… couldn’t do it. I’ve failed Satoru so many times. Too many to count. I don’t even know why we’re doing this. I don’t see any reason for him to stay. He’d be happier without me.”

“Has he told you that?”

Suguru chokes out a pathetic, “No.”

“Then how do you know he’s better off without you?”

Suguru scoffed, though he’s certain its impact is dampened by the tear stains and snot on his face; he begrudgingly acknowledges, “I don’t.”

“That’s right. Only Satoru can decide if he’s better or worse off without you, and it’s up to him to tell you how he’s feeling and what he’s thinking. That said, you seem fully convinced that he’d be happier if your relationship ceased, can you tell me why that is?”

Suguru is furious when he’s unable to prevent even more tears. He hates the feeling of dried tears, but it’s even worse to think it’s over, only for more to unexpectedly fall. He’s exhausted.

“Everyone treats him like he’s indispensable.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” For the first time, Kanna looks genuinely perplexed. Suguru suppresses a smug grin. It’s stupid, but surprising her like this makes him feel victorious. He knows therapy’s not about winning or losing, but the pettiest part of him wants to say: ‘Take that, Kanna.’

The only thing that stops him from doing so is the thought of Satoru, who he is absolutely certain would have instantly given into immaturity and responded with a retort that was equal parts bitchy and witty. The thought comforts him. He may not deserve his husband, but envisioning Satoru here with him and imagining how he’d respond helps him feel a little less alone.

“I understand how that could be confusing,” Even he can hear the twinge of bitchiness in his voice. He grimaces at her, “It’s bad, because they don’t see him as Satoru… instead they see his name and his strength. To them, he’s otherworldly and inhuman, and worse than that, invincible. And he lets them. Fuck, Satoru only ever seems to fuel those flames. I’m the only one who seems to understand that he’s so much more than what he can do for them.”

“It sounds like Satoru’s humanity isn’t appreciated, and that for you, as his partner, it is hard not only to witness from your employers and peers, but to see Satoru do the same to himself.”

He’s hit with a sense of relief; she gets it. “Yeah,” He exhales.

“That I understand. Honestly, Suguru, I’m feeling a bit confused as to how this connects to your earlier statement about Satoru being better off or happier without you. Because from what I’m hearing you say, it doesn’t sound like that’s true at all.”

“What do you mean?” Suguru hates to come across as defensive or combative, but he’s annoyed. He thought she understood.

“If everyone you work with and even Satoru himself believe he’s invulnerable and only worthy because of his skillset, then it seems to me like it would be in his best interest to be with someone who looks out for him and who recognizes his vulnerabilities and accepts them, even when he isn’t able to do so. That's important in a partnership: seeing someone as they are, their strengths and flaws, their beautiful, ugly and raw humanity. Even though things are tough between the two of you right now, you do that for Satoru.”

Damn, maybe it was him who didn’t understand. But it couldn’t be so simple.“I think you’re giving me far too much credit. You’ve seen how I treat him.”

“I have, and just like Satoru, you’re a complex person. Suguru, you’re allowed to make mistakes and say the wrong thing without that defining you entirely. I’d like for you to try and extend the compassion that you hold for Satoru to yourself as well.”

“Compassion?”

“I haven’t known you long; however, I’ve observed that themes related to injustice, especially in regards to sorcerers, are very important to you. It makes sense that you’d be upset with the higher ups, and with Satoru, because the higher ups aren’t honoring Satoru, and as you already pointed out, it feels like Satoru isn’t either. Satoru’s wellbeing and personhood matter immensely to you. Where you’re stuck is with conveying that to him in a healthier and kinder way.”

Suguru doesn’t know what to say. He wishes he’d worn one of Satoru’s hoodies today, so he could sink down into its warmth and allow the collar to hide his neck and chin, like a protective wall surrounding him. Instead, he forgot his own jacket while rushing from the car. His short-sleeve t-shirt makes him feel even more exposed.

Suguru whispers, “I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can fix what I’ve done, Kanna. You heard him- he doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“You’re going to have to be vulnerable with him, Suguru, by sharing your feelings more openly instead of hiding them behind biting remarks and sarcasm. Trust can be rebuilt. How did you gain his trust the first time?”

Suguru closes his eyes. There’s a memory, seemingly just out of reach, trying to nudge its way into his mind’s eye. He takes a deep breath, centering himself, and focuses on opening his mind. He’s grateful for the hours he’s spent meditating; he owes Shoko big time for mandating it as part of his training. She’d predicted it specifically to support sustaining his emotional and mental well-being. He’d need to treat her some time soon as a thanks.

The image that slowly blooms is one that elicits immediate fondness. Involuntarily, his lips upturned.

He pictures a much younger Satoru: arrogant, loud, confident, yet simultaneously insecure and awkward. Just around the time they’d found themselves on stable footing, about mid-way through their first year, after much trial and error.

“Suguru! Suguru, look at what I got!” Suguru reflexively catches what Satoru’s thrown his way. He looks down at a bag full of snacks, mostly sweet, though he recognizes the packaging of his favorite fruit snacks. He ignores the delight settling in his chest. It means nothing. Satoru’s just generous.

Satoru eagerly shuffles back and forth, waiting for Suguru to respond. He gestures at the bag, “Go on, Suguru!” To others, his insistent demands would appear impatient and rude, but Suguru takes it for what it is: unadulterated excitement. He knows Satoru hasn’t had a friend before, and thus doesn’t know how the ins and outs of social conventions work. Suguru has tried, but Satoru doesn’t care to know. Suguru can’t fault him- he wonders if Satoru feels free. Suguru doesn’t, but something about being around Satoru gives Suguru an inkling as to what freedom might be like.

“Thanks, Satoru, that was kind of you,” It’s rare for Suguru to be so direct and genuine. Their tentative friendship is still shaky and lacking in sincerity. Suguru’s learned to speak passively and respectfully, but with Satoru, he feels more comfortable. With Satoru, he’s allowed to speak his mind. Satoru doesn’t care that Suguru’s an asshole. He seems to like Suguru better that way, and it’s addicting, to allow himself to let go, even if just a bit. Yeah, Suguru thinks he just might be at his freest with Satoru.

He can tell Satoru wasn’t expecting softness from him. It’s cute how Satoru blushes when he’s met with kind words. But it’s sad, too. Suguru knows Satoru rarely gets praised for his personality. With most people, his power obscures all else about him. They see him as a means to an end or as a nuisance. They don’t like or want Satoru.

As soon as Suguru realized this, his opinion of the other boy shifted. And once that shift occurred, it changed everything. Suguru realized that Satoru needed a softer touch from time to time, needed someone to match him toe to toe, to challenge him and his ego. As soon as Suguru adjusted his approach, Satoru thrived. They both did.

“Why’re you being nice? Did you hit your head while training? Do we need to call Shoko? She’s gonna be seriously pissed if we interrupt her time with Utahime.” Satoru’s eyebrows rose above his glasses. Suguru had expected skepticism. He’d been working to break it, but it was deeply ingrained in his friend’s psyche. He’d learned Satoru was used to people expecting things from him without ever giving anything in return.

Suguru laughed, and pushed Satoru’s shoulder, gently, “Just cause I’m nice and actually thank other people doesn’t mean I have a head injury, Satoru, you ass.”

“Ah, there’s the snark I know and love. You know what’s funny, Suguru? Everyone always thinks I’m the asshole! But if they really knew you, they’d see that you’re a jerk too! You’re just sneaky about it.”

Suguru laughed again, then smirked, “Subtly is an art, Satoru. And it’s an artistry you’ll never master.”

“Whatever,” Satoru rolls his eyes, and shoves Suguru back good-naturedly, “Now take your snacks already and gimme mine! I’m starving, Suguru! I’m going to die if I don’t eat right now. There’s mochi desperately waiting for me.”

Suguru, because he’s 15, and possibly, maybe just a little bit in love, and most definitely a bit of a troll, opens the mochi and shoves one in his mouth. Satoru balks, and Suguru can’t stop the full body chuckle that escapes.

“Suguru!” Satoru whines, as he rushes forward and rips the bag from Suguru’s hands. “So mean! That was the only strawberry flavored one.”

If Suguru was bold and brave, which he wasn’t, he would have offered to give Satoru a taste. He’d have brushed their lips together, hoping his tongue still tasted of strawberries. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He wasn’t sure if Satoru liked boys like that. Even if there was a slim chance that Satoru did, Suguru knew the Gojo clan would never allow such a thing. But more so, Suguru wouldn’t risk their newfound friendship because of a passing crush. He’d never had a friendship like this before.

He vows to get over his feelings.Though, in the deepest recess of his mind, he knows this is a vow he will break. But perhaps, one day, he can replace it with another more important one.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Suguru promises.

Satoru grins, “Oh yeah, how?”

“I’ll watch that one Digimon movie you keep telling me about.”

Satoru’s whole face lights up. He’s breathtaking. Suguru is fucked. He’s not sure he can survive 3 years of schooling alongside Satoru. Not with the way his heart is slamming against his chest because of a simple smile. If he ever did kiss Satoru, his heart might actually stop.

“Really? We can’t waste any time, Suguru! We’re going straight to my dorm to watch!” Satoru grabs the sleeve of Suguru’s shirt and pulls him forward. Suguru lets him.

He opens his eyes, and Kanna is watching him, her expression indecipherable, her voice is gentle when she does speak, “Where did you go just now?”

“You asked me and Satoru about our love story, and I know I was dismissive and flippant toward both you and Satoru, for which I am sorry, Kanna. The truth is… I’ve been in love with Satoru for almost as long as I’ve known him. And that love was innocent and pure. He was my blue spring.”

Kanna smiles, “That’s beautiful, Suguru.”

“As soon as I knew who Satoru really was, once he let me see the layers beneath his bravado, I fell for him, and inadvertently let him in too.”

“So, how do you plan to get back to that place of mutual trust and connection?”

“I think I know where to start.”

Satoru’s away on a mission this afternoon, which makes prepping easier. Suguru’’s made kikufuku once, long before they married. His memory is a bit fuzzy on the details, but he thinks he may have made them for Satoru’s 20th birthday. What Suguru does remember is Satoru’s palpable happiness upon receiving it.

Suguru’s headphones blast some random 90’s J-pop song that Satoru must have added to their joint playlist. He can admit that his husband has good taste. He pauses the song, and switches on the food processor and watches as the edamame transforms into a paste.

There’s more edamame to peel, but he’s decided to do a trial run first. He wants it to be perfect for Satoru.

He hears their front door open, and he whips his head toward the kitchen clock. It’s 4:30 pm. Satoru’s home way earlier than expected. Suguru curses under his breath. There’s no way he can hide any of this without Satoru catching on. Disappointment settles in his chest. He’s failed yet again.

The hairs at the back of his neck prickle as Satoru steps into the room.

Quiet sits between them. Neither of them seem eager to break it.

Suguru tries not to panic. He’s not sure what to do or what to say. He could lie and dismiss Satoru. Or he could take a bet on trust and speak with honesty.

Satoru makes the decision for him as he strides purposefully across the room. Suguru refuses to turn around; he can feel Satoru close behind him; if Suguru had to guess, they’re two to three inches apart. At first, Satoru maintains this distance between them. Suguru waits, tries not to squirm as apprehension shoots down his spine. He jolts at the sensation of Satoru’s chin resting against his shoulder. The touch is light, tentative. It’s Satoru’s olive branch, and Suguru leans back to accept it, relishing in the feel of Satoru’s chest against his shoulder blades. Satoru’s arms wind around his torso, pulling him closer.

“What’re you making?” Satoru whispers. They’re both scared. Suguru knows that neither of them want to ruin this moment.

“Satoru, I’m sor-“ He stops speaking as Satoru shakes his head.

“Not right now, Suguru… let’s just be, ok? Can’t we pretend that everything is good between us? Just for tonight?”

In lieu of words, Suguru adjusts in Satoru’s arms so that he’s facing Satoru. Tentatively, he reaches up and tugs at his husband’s blindfold off. He lets it fall to the ground. Neither of them pay attention to where it lands. Suguru places his hands on Satoru’s shoulders, then encircles them around Satoru’s neck. One hand settles against Satoru’s nape. Experimentally, he runs his fingers through soft hair, a sharp exhale exits Satoru’s lips.

Satoru stares at him; Suguru stares back. The sight of Satoru’s eyes never fails to take Suguru’s breath away. They’re so damn blue.

“You didn’t answer my first question,” Satoru’s voice is rarely so gentle. He’s relieved that Satoru understood the answer to his second and that Suguru doesn’t need to clarify.

“It’s a surprise.” He purposely lowers his eyes. He knows Satoru likes when he plays coy.

“Your apron’s covered in rice flour.”

“An astute observation, Satoru,” He feels giddy. It’s been ages since he’s flirted with his husband like this. He’s simultaneously turned on and terrified.

“You’ve peeled fresh edamame.”

“Yet again, another obvious detail.”

Suguru leans closer to Satoru, allowing his lips to hover near Satoru’s cheek, but he doesn’t touch. Not yet. Satoru tenses. Suguru almost shoves him away, but he fights the desire to reject before he can be rejected. He wants tonight, too.

“Can I help?” The offer is genuine. Satoru’s giving him puppy eyes, and Suguru has never been able to deny Satoru anything.

“Yes, but only if you do as I say. Which means you need to wait until they’re done. No tasting along the way. I’m serious, Satoru. You can’t eat raw dough- it will upset your stomach.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun, Suguru,” His husband pouts, and Suguru just looks at him, “Ok, ok! I promise I won’t eat, until it’s ready.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” Suguru lightly kisses Satoru’s cheek.

Satoru chokes wordlessly; his cheeks bloom into a lovely rade of red; the color is reminiscent of the camellia flowers they had at their wedding. His husband is an idiot, but he’s Suguru’s idiot. Suguru’s never seen anyone else reduce his talkative, intelligent husband into a sputtering fool. It’s an accomplishment Suguru is genuinely proud of.

Somehow, they both end up covered in rice flour. It’s hard to tell but Suguru thinks there might even be some in Satoru’s hair.

Fifteen minutes in, and they’d devolved into two teenagers. It started with Satoru, as it usually does. He’d laughed when one of the edamame shells somehow ended up in Suguru’s hair. Satoru’s laughter was infectious, and soon Suguru couldn’t help but join him.

“Suguru, wait, stop wiggling around and let me get it out.”

Suguru stands still as Satoru runs his fingers through his hair, gently removing pieces of edamame. Suguru doesn’t care what’s in his hair anymore. All he cares about is Satoru’s touch. He misses him so much.

As Satoru starts to pull away, Suguru grabs Satoru’s hand. Satoru looks at him, perplexed and expectant, “I got it all.”

“I don’t care. Don’t stop.”

Satoru’s eyes widen. He doesn’t speak, instead, he tentatively plays with a strand of Suguru’s hair, before bringing his other hand to Suguru’s scalp, lightly scratching. Suguru melts against Satoru, who holds him steadily upright.

“Baby, do you want me to wash your hair for you? I can braid it after. Use that hair oil you like.”

He wants nothing more.

“I didn’t finish your surprise.”

“That’s okay.”

“Satoru-“

“It can wait, Suguru. I can wait. Let me take care of you for a change.”

He wants to protest. Satoru does so much for him. Satoru saved him. And Suguru… he still can’t bring himself to apologize. He shouldn’t indulge. It’s unfair to Satoru. But Suguru is weak. He wants so damn badly. He can’t recall the last time Satoru washed and conditioned his hair. Satoru’s an expert at plaiting; no one’s ever made Suguru’s hair look or feel as good.

Suguru breaths out slowly through his nose. Satoru asked to pretend, which means Satoru wants to fuel this illusion too. It’s not wrong if they both want it.

“Ok,” Suguru allows himself to be led toward their bathroom.

The unfinished kikufuku sits on the counter: forgotten.

Chapter Text

Addictive.
Invigorating.
Whimsical.
Delusional.

Each word perfectly encapsulates what it was like to pretend. Suguru wants to ignore that last one, but he’s working on being honest with himself, and last night was undeniably so.

But like all fanciful visions inevitably do, the illusion shatters. And it happens much too quickly for Suguru’s liking.

Suguru desperately wants to go back to the feeling of Satoru painstakingly detangling every strand of hair, his strong fingers massaging peppermint oil across Suguru’s scalp, leaving a tingling sensation far stronger than peppermint alone was capable of. The way Satoru kissed him; Suguru can’t remember the last time kissing felt so sensual and loving.

Now, they’re back at each other’s throats. Satoru left three hours ago. He’d made some feeble excuse about needing to complete post-mission paperwork, which they both knew was a lie. Satoru never did his paperwork, ever. Suguru hadn’t protested; there’d been no point.

Reality feels like a curse that cannot be broken.

They have therapy this afternoon, but Suguru isn’t sure they should go. He drafted an email with the intention to cancel, but he can’t bring himself to send it. He doesn’t want Kanna to see how spectacularly he’s failed trying to right his wrongs.

Beside him, his phone pings. The text tone is Satoru’s.

Meet me before therapy?

The next text is a link to a cafe two blocks away from the therapy office. It’s one they’d discussed going to before, back when their home rang with unbridled laughter and love flowed from their lips. It seems wrong to go there now; they will taint it with their mutual misery.

1:15?

I’ll be there.

When Suguru arrives, he doesn’t immediately walk toward Satoru, instead, he watches as his husband mindlessly stirs whatever sickeningly sweet concoction he’s ordered this time. It’s a foamy mixture of purple and pink, and Suguru thinks there might be edible glitter in it. Suguru would rather consume curses than imbibe the liquid sugar his husband favors.

“Satoru.”

Satoru doesn’t turn to face him, instead his eyes steadily remain fixated on the window, “Suguru.”

Suguru takes the seat across from his husband. Reflexively, he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I sensed your cursed energy and ordered you your usual.”

Satoru gently pushes a tea pot and cup toward him. Suguru hadn’t noticed its presence. Another olive branch.

As he pours, the familiar scent of green tea and the warmth of the cup against his palms helps ease his senses, “Thanks.”

The silence that settles over them isn’t a comfortable one, but it could be much worse.

Satoru breaks it first, “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Suguru lied. He would rather chug liquid sugar and chase it with the nastiest curse available than talk about this. Hot shame bubbles in his stomach. He sets his cup down. He’s not thirsty anymore.

“Satoru, do you really want to discuss this here?”

Satoru’s gaze shifts. When their eyes meet, Suguru wishes that he was the one who could teleport. Beneath Satoru’s sunglasses, Satoru’s eyes are red-rimmed.

Suguru can’t believe he didn’t hear it in Satoru’s voice. Suguru used to pride himself with his attunement to Satoru’s feelings. Satoru rarely cried. He’d once admitted to Suguru that he thought he’d destroyed his ability to cry, until he met Suguru. Satoru had said Suguru was the only person Satoru felt like he was allowed to cry in front of, and now, not only was he trying to hide it from Suguru, but Suguru was the cause.

5 hours earlier

Suguru feels sunlight peeking in through their bedroom curtains. It’s warm against his face, though much too bright for his liking. He forces his eyes shut, and groans, burying his face deeper against his pillow, seeking the respite of darkness.

Except, his pillow isn’t soft, instead, it’s made of warm muscular skin. Suguru experimentally presses his lips to what can only be Satoru’s chest. He hears his husband’s steady breaths, registers the shift in his breathing, as Satoru slowly joins him in the waking world.

His husband, still completely sleep-addled, slurs, “-guru?”

“Morning, love,” He whispers. A burst of delight flows throughout his body as he watches goosebumps rise where his breath hits Satoru’s skin.

Satoru lazily wraps an arm around him, and whines, “More sleep.”

Suguru presses a kiss against his husband’s chest, “Rest a bit longer. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Suguru, noooooo, stay,” Satoru pouts, and Suguru’s resolve crumbles.

“10 more minutes.”

Satoru’s sleepy grin is worth it. Suguru lays back down, Satoru pulls him tight against him, and in minutes his husband’s faintly snoring.

They trade kisses as they prepare breakfast together.

For a moment, Suguru wonders if all the shit that’s happened between them was actually a horribly long nightmare that he’s finally woken up from.

Satoru stretches his hand out, looks at him, expectant and happy. Suguru takes it. His husband starts swaying them throughout their kitchen.

Suguru laughs, “Satoru, what’re you doing?

“Isn’t it obvious, Suguru? I’m dancing with my husband,” Satoru grins. His eyes are bright and warm.

Before Suguru can respond, he’s involuntarily yelping as Satoru starts spinning him. Suguru grins across from Satoru, and leans into it; they spin and spin. They don’t need music when laughter is their soundtrack.

But all too quickly, Satoru’s phone is ringing, instantly disrupting their song.

Suguru doesn’t stop to think. He pushes Satoru away, and ignores the confused and dejected look on his husband’s face, “If you go right now, don’t bother coming back tonight.”

“Huh?! You can not be serious right now, Suguru!”

“Did you hear anything I said to you in therapy last week?”

“Oh! Do you mean when you called me a dog? Or when you implied that I was ‘groomed’ to be used as a weapon? Or how about when you implied I’m nothing more than my strength? How could I forget when you had so many nice things to say about me, Suguru?”

“Satoru-“

“I don’t have a mission today. If you’d bother to try actually talking to me, you’d know I asked for today off, because we’ve got therapy. But I just remembered I have paperwork to finish, so, I’ll see you later, or is doing paperwork considered an offense now, too? You know what, don’t worry about it, I’ll pack a bag.”

Satoru’s voice comes out monotone, “Answer the question, Suguru. Did you?” It’s eerie to hear him speak this way. Suguru’s only heard Satoru like this once before, when Amanai died.

“In the moment… yes, but that’s not what I really want, Satoru.”

“So, are you gonna punish me every time my phone rings? What if it had been a spam call? Or a real emergency?” Satoru’s voice cracks, and Suguru feels like the worst person in the world.

“I’m sorry, Satoru. It was wrong of me to speak to you like that. I just… I hate how often they take you away from me.”

Satoru sighs, “I don’t understand, Suguru… you get calls from the higher ups and go on missions, too. What do you want me to do?”

“It’s not the same.”

“How?”

“I should have used kinder words… but I meant what I said in therapy, Satoru. They don’t treat you like a person, and sometimes, you don’t treat yourself like one either. I know it’s been hard for you to separate yourself from being strong, but it’s not all that you are. I’ve never thought so.”

Satoru closes his eyes and sips his drink. He’s so quiet, it’s painful. Suguru isn’t sure when his husband started talking less. Throughout the entire span of their friendship and relationship, Satoru’s so rarely been silent. Suguru knows it’s his fault. He made Satoru this way. Last night and this morning, he caught glimpses of who his husband used to be.

Satoru may be sitting right in front of him, and yet, l Suguru’s never missed him more than he does right now. Awkward nights turned away from each other, days spent all alone, long arguments; none of those moments feel quite as lonely as this one does.

In lieu of responding to Suguru’s confession, Satoru rises, “Let’s go.”

Suguru abruptly stands, causing his chair to screech loudly against the linoleum floor. The calm atmosphere of the cafe shifts as others attempt to covertly stare at them.

Satoru exits first, either blissfully ignorant or completely unfazed by Suguru’s blunder.

For two blocks, Suguru walks behind him. Suguru’s anguish is palpable. He needs to reign himself in. His cursed energy is oozing waves of self-contempt, and with the way other pedestrians keep a wide distance from him, it’s evident that the non-sorcerers sense it too.

Satoru stops abruptly. Once Suguru is by Satoru’s side, he resumes his brisk pace. This only makes Suguru feel worse. Satoru’s always protecting him, always looking out for him. And all Suguru seems to do is make Satoru sad.

They walk in sync. Their fingers brush. It’s fleeting. Suguru assumes it’s accidental, until it happens again. He looks at Satoru, who keeps his gaze straight ahead as they maneuver down the busy street.

Suguru purposefully brushes the back of his hand against Satoru’s. Satoru’s stride falters momentarily. It’s so fast that no one else would notice. But Suguru does.

With his heart beating rapidly in his chest, Suguru takes the leap and tentatively links their pinkies together, extending an olive branch of his own.

Satoru interlocks their fingers. Now, it’s Suguru’s turn to stumble, but he isn’t scared of falling. He knows that just like the sun always rises in the East, Satoru will always catch him.

As soon as they sit down across from Kanna, Suguru knows she’s clocked that something’s off. When neither of them speak, she gently asks, “What happened?” Her gaze shifts between them, as if waiting to see who will crack first.

“You might not have us as clients for much longer, Kanna. I think Suguru is close to being done with me.”

She looks equal parts disappointed and confused. He understands why she’s baffled. His individual session yesterday alongside this statement made little sense.

“What do you mean, Satoru?” She probes.

Suguru’s anger jumps against his ribs. He’s furious with Satoru for refusing to speak with him and then immediately making such a claim, “I’m not done with him.” He grumbles.

“Are you sure? This morning, you told me not to come back.”

“I just told you I didn’t mean it, Satoru! Why’d you ask me to meet you before if you weren’t going to actually talk to me? Was all of this so you can look good in front of our therapist, while I look like an asshole?”

“I waited for therapy, because I don’t think we can figure this out on our own, Suguru. You’re doing a pretty good job of being an asshole on your own. I don’t think you need my help with that,” Satoru snarks.

Suguru bites his tongue and forces air out through his nose. He doesn’t want to be like this. Before he discounts her words, he needs to try what Kanna’s been suggesting.

“Satoru, Suguru, please, tell me what happened?” Kanna’s eyebrows are narrowed. She’s clicking her pen. Suguru wonders if it’s a nervous tic. “Suguru, can you elaborate on what you said to Satoru?”

Suguru shrinks back; his defenses build a wall around him, but he fights his way through them, “We had a great night and morning… well it started out good, too, but I fucked up.”

Satoru’s eyes widened. Suguru fights the urge to smirk; he can still surprise his husband. But now is not the time to celebrate, not if he wants his husband to stay.

“How so?”

“Satoru’s phone rang. And I told him not to bother coming home if he left.”

Suguru knows it’s bad when Kanna doesn’t even try to hide her disappointment.

“I wasn’t going to!” Satoru protests.

“I know that now.”

“Satoru, if the two of you discussed this already, why did you bring this topic to session? You said you didn’t think you could figure it out on your own, what do you need help with?”

Satoru looks shamefaced. The pettiest part of Suguru is glad the fire is off of him.Though he’s not arrogant enough to think it won’t return for him. For now, he’s going to enjoy watching Satoru squirm in the hot seat.

Satoru purses his lips, “We didn’t exactly discuss it… I sort of shut down.” Satoru petulantly admits, “Suguru did apologize.”

“What did you notice when you were shutting down?”

Satoru’s leg is giggling so fast that Suguru can feel the movement from his place across the couch. He knows his husband would love to be anywhere else right now.

“It feels like I’m held to a double standard.”

“Can you say more about that?”

To Suguru’s surprise, Satoru shifts his attention toward him, “I know I don’t have the best boundaries when it comes to work, and I don’t think you’re wrong about me or the higher ups. Not really.”

Surprise isn’t adequate enough to describe how he feels. Suguru’s lips part, but no words exit from his lip. He can feel his palms sweating, as the desire to flee overwhelms him. He licks his lips; they’re dry and cracked. He wonders how Satoru could even kiss him like this; he knows he hasn’t been taking very good care of himself lately.

“Obviously, I’ve got stuff I need to work on. But Suguru, you’re not innocent in this either. You brush me off whenever I try to encourage you to take a break from consuming curses. I know it makes you feel sick, yet you expect me to ignore it and watch you force yourself to suffer needlessly. How’s allowing yourself to become physically and mentally depleted any different than what I’m doing?”

“It’s not the same, it’s not even close.”

“Then enlighten me, Suguru, because I don’t think it is.”

Suguru forces down the urge to spit back words laced with vitriol. He can’t believe Satoru’s bringing this up now and with a witness present. Some things are so personal that they’re meant to be left untouched. Satoru knows this, or at least, Suguru thought he did.

“If you don’t know, then you never really understood.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Satoru throws his hands up, then presses a finger right between his eyes and rubs. Irritation seeps into Satoru’s voice, “I know your technique isn’t pleasant, Suguru. You might not think that I do, but I understand that the powers we’ve been granted can’t be compared. That’s exactly what I’m trying to say, though! Yours hurts you!”

“So, you’re saying that there’s never been a time where your technique hasn’t hurt or failed you?” It’s a low blow, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care anymore. This is pointless. Their kiss and cuddle filled morning feels like it happened eons ago.

Suguru’s never seen Satoru look so betrayed. The laugh that escapes from Satoru’s lips is a broken one, “Seriously? I… I can’t believe you.”

Horror replaces apathy as Suguru watches Satoru fight back tears. He made Satoru cry twice today. He’s never wished to turn the clock back more than he wishes to have that power now.

“Satoru, no… I’m sorry, ok? That was completely uncalled for.”

Suguru briefly chances a glance toward Kanna, who's watching them with rapt attention. She looks ready to pounce should intervention be necessary. In their intake, she’d told him that there would be times where she would give them space to work out concerns with minimal direction from her. He guessed this must be one of those moments, though he desperately wished she’d save him from this hell. But it seemed the best punishment would be to endure the consequences of his own actions.

“You think I don’t know my own limits? Riko and Kuroi died, because I wasn’t strong enough. And you nearly did, too. You think I’d ever let myself forget that, Suguru? I’m well aware of my failures.” Satoru stands, “I’m sorry, Kanna, but I’m done for today. I’ll see you on Friday.”

And with that Satoru swiftly exits the room.

“Suguru-”

Suguru ignores Kanna and runs out of the building after Satoru. He attempts to grab Satoru’s hand, but is met with limitless. Suguru drops his hand, shocked. The lack of sensation is completely foreign to him.

“Please don’t leave, Satoru. Please, come home with me.”

Satoru looks at him, but doesn’t answer, and in an instant, he’s gone.

Suguru slides down the wall and lowers his head to his knees; he doesn’t bother trying to hide his tears. Kanna finds him staring listlessly at the spot Satoru once occupied.

He’d never once considered that Satoru would be the one to walk away.

Chapter Text

4:55 pm

Suguru’s completely lost track of time.

He checks his phone: it’s dead. He stares at his feet: his shoes are still on. He never made it past the genkan. He doesn’t get up; he doesn’t want to miss the moment Satoru walks through the door.

7:21 pm

It’s dark outside, and his body aches, so he knows it’s at least been a few hours since he first sank onto the floor in a puddle of misery. His eyes are strained and keep drooping, but he forces them open. He’s not sleeping until Satoru’s back. Suguru doesn’t deserve such luxury.

10:56 pm

A part of him, that’s insidiously unkind, whispers his worst fears: He’s not coming back. He’s going to leave you for good. It’s about time Satoru found someone who’s less angry, broken and mean. You’re no match for him.

But another part of him is there too, fighting quite fiercely against his darkest and ugliest thoughts. It’s a part of him that never really flourished, that is until Satoru Gojo came along. Satoru continually nourished it , and thus, its voice more closely matched his husband’s candance rather than his own: Suguru, I love you. You’re my heart and my soul, forever. No matter what happens, I will always come back to you.

Or maybe that’s the dehydration talking. Suguru doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. If being dehydrated means he gets to hear Satoru’s voice, then he will gladly never drink again.

1:07 am

At some point, Suguru falls asleep; it’s far from restful, as he wakes on and off. His one solace is that he doesn’t dream that night. He’s sure that if he did, he’d have been plagued with nightmares. Though, night terrors would likely be more comforting than reality.

6:45 am

He blinks open his eyes, and abruptly shuts them at the onslaught of light. Suguru jolts upright.

The sun has risen.

Suguru tosses his shoes off, hastily grabs his phone and rushes to plug it in at the charger beside their couch. Slowly, his phone boots back to life. Suguru checks every room while he waits. Maybe Satoru teleported directly into their bedroom. He thrusts the door open. Their bed is untouched.

The house is empty.

Satoru didn’t come home.

Suguru runs back into their living room and dives onto the couch. He scrambles for his phone. He’s got one missed call from Kanna. There are no notifications from Satoru.

Suguru’s lost Satoru for good. He’s sure of it. He wants to text and call Satoru, to beg him to come home. He forces himself to leave his phone behind as he heads to their bedroom. He wonders how long he’ll be able to refer to it as theirs, or if he should even call it theirs anymore.

The color of their bedroom wall is dull. He’d never noticed how lifeless beige could be. Somehow, without Satoru around, all colors have become desaturated. The walls are as empty as he feels. He should have listened to Satoru when he suggested they put up photographs or art.

Suguru's ruined his life, and all he can do is stare. How pathetic.

Their bedroom window rattles, as harsh winds paired with steady rainfall relentlessly crash against it. Suguru hopes Satoru is safe. Satoru didn’t bring an umbrella with him, not that he needs one, but Suguru thinks Satoru should carry it as a precaution. He knows, logically, that Satoru doesn’t need to expend copious energy anymore after perfecting and automatizing his technique. But even still, Suguru worries. Satoru’s near death experience has left a permanent mark on Suguru’s nerves.

Regret sinks deep into the pit of his stomach, squeezing hot shame up through his throat. He can’t believe he threw such vile words at Satoru. Suguru spent years fighting self-contempt. If only Suguru had been stronger, then Riko and Kuroi would still be alive.

He’d never faulted Satoru or considered that Satoru might blame himself for their deaths. It seems obvious now, because, of course, Satoru does. His Satoru, who works so damn hard, and who takes on every special grade mission possible, in part to fuel his ego, but also, to protect others. Suguru’s under no delusion that his husband is completely altruistic in his motives, but he’s unfairly accused Satoru of solely seeking to glorify and promote his strength. He’d forgotten how insidious envy is in its ability to masterfully weave its way into his heart.

Suguru wonders if Satoru’s eaten. Knowing his husband, he’s probably consumed copious amounts of sweets. The thought is comforting, and Suguru finds the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. But he decides to prepare Satoru’s favorite meals just in case. What if Satoru comes home hungry while Suguru’s asleep and there’s nothing for him to eat? Unacceptable.

Suguru drags himself into the kitchen, and chops vegetables in a trancelike state.

When the phone rings, he nearly cuts off his pinky finger. He hastily throws the knife onto the counter and scrambles toward the couch, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. He’s momentarily relieved that Satoru isn’t here to witness his lack of grace.

His momentary jolt of energy subsides as disappointment takes over; it’s only Kanna.

“Hello Kanna,” Upon answering, he contorts his mouth into a smile, hoping to convincingly embody faux happiness.

“Suguru, I’m so glad you answered. How are you?”

“I’m making breakfast,” His stomach growls; he’s not actually sure when he last ate, but he doesn’t plan on eating any time soon. Despite his hunger, he’s not sure he could stomach anything even if he tried, but Kanna doesn’t need to know that. It’s none of her business.

“I know yesterday was tough. How’re you holding up?“

What a fucking understatement, “Fine.”

“I had a last minute cancellation for tomorrow at 12. How would you feel about coming in?”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Truthfully, to offer you support and space to process yesterday’s session and its aftermath.”

Suguru wants to say no. Though, he suspects, Kanna would say it’s the avoidant part of him that doesn’t want to go. And he hates to admit that she’s probably right about that. Is there even a point in going? If he does, he’s just going to sob in her office for an hour. Suguru hates crying.

“Shouldn’t you try calling Satoru?”

“I’m more than capable of helping both of you, Suguru. It’s not mutually exclusive. Right now, I’m focusing on you and what you need.”

He doesn’t mean to, but before he can stop himself, he’s quietly confessing, “Satoru didn’t come home.”

“What?”

“He’s… I haven’t seen him since he left your office.”

Faintly, he hears Kanna mutter shit. If he wasn’t oscillating between numbness and despondence, he’d find her faux pas funny. But it’s not. Shit doesn’t even begin to encompass how awful Suguru is feeling; it’s tame in comparison.

Her voice quickly returns to its usual calm professional cadence, “I’m truly so sorry to hear that, Suguru. I’d like to offer you extra time tomorrow. We can talk more about how you’re feeling and what to do.”

If meeting with her means there’s any chance that Satoru may come home, he’ll do it.

“I’ll be there.”

Once Suguru was satisfied with the food he’d prepared, he crawled into bed.

He laid on Satoru’s side for hours. Satoru's pillow smells like the fancy shampoo and lotion his husband favors. He’s wasted hours with his eyes closed and his nose pressed against it. He bathes in Satoru’s scent and nearly fools himself into believing Satoru’s here with him. Every time he opens his eyes, he’s flooded with disappointment, and each time, he forces them shut again in a desperate attempt to grasp onto the feeling of false hope.

Now, he vacantly stares out the window, watching the sun slowly setting.

Another night without Satoru.

Suguru resents younger versions of himself who took Satoru’s presence for granted. Suguru regrets every time he’s ever complained about Satoru hogging blankets or when he grumbled about Satoru waking him to tell him a theory about the universe inspired by yet another break-through about spacetime. He misses how Satoru’s hand always finds his, even as his husband sleeps soundly. Suguru’s body is buried in blankets; he's never felt so cold.

Suguru’s phone starts to ring. He struggles to untangle his legs from the pile of blankets, and as he jumps out of bed, he trips and falls onto the floor. His left knee aches; he pushes through the discomfort and forces himself up.

He stares at the screen; his mother’s photo stares back. His stomach drops. He’s never wanted to ignore a call more, “Good evening, mother.”

“Hey dear, have you and Satoru eaten dinner yet? We’re having oyakodon. Your dad wanted kakuni, but there was a better deal on chicken this week at the market.”

“We haven’t. Dad always wants kakuni,” He purposely slows each word, and forces himself to smile. She can’t see him, but he hopes this will make him sound happier than he feels. He swears his mother can sense his sorrow; it’s uncanny, and if Suguru didn’t know any better, he’d swear it was her version of a cursed technique. His mother must believe he’s fine, or she’ll worry. Suguru doesn’t like to cause her undue concern.

“Make sure to eat, ok? You’re always so busy, but it’s important. Maybe Satoru can prepare zaru soba? His is almost as good as mine.” His mother sounds so damn proud. She taught Satoru her special recipe years ago, and she’d been immediately impressed with him. A momentary flicker of elation skips across his chest. He remembers how nervous he’d been to introduce them; he needn’t have been. Satoru could be quite charming when he wanted to be. Though, he fondly remembers Satoru being so nervous he’d nearly puked. He’d never seen Satoru so anxious before; it was cute.

“He’s away on a mission tonight. I’ll find something to eat.” He has no intention of eating dinner. He’s nauseous. He’ll send her a picture of yesterday's leftovers, or maybe one of the meals he made for Satoru this afternoon would be more convincing. He’ll have to take multiple photos and see which is most believable.

How was he going to tell his mom about Satoru? Would he move back home if they got divorced? He definitely couldn’t work at Jujutsu High anymore. There’s no way he could face seeing Satoru every day if they weren’t together. Maybe he could transfer to the Kyoto school.

“When do you think you’ll visit again? Your dad and I want to go to the Mito Plum Blossom festival this year. Maybe you and Satoru can join us.”

Suguru loves that his mother speaks so fondly and openly of Satoru, like he is truly a part of their family. He knows he’s lucky to have supportive parents, when so many don’t. But he can’t listen to her continue to talk about Satoru as though everything is normal. He can feel his facade cracking, fears it will split him right open and unleash his anguish upon them, like a ugly wretched curse.

“I’d like that. I’m sorry I haven’t called in awhile. It’s been busy at the school. How’s your garden?” All he wants is to listen to his mother. Her voice is soothing. He wishes she was here with him.

“I planted the camellias like you asked. I think they’re going to produce many flowers. The sprouts are flourishing. Their abundance is a good sign for you and Satoru.”

His stomach drops. If he had eaten, he’s certain he’d be throwing it back up now. He can feel hot bile rising up his throat. He swallows; his throat burns.

“Thank you, mom.”

“I hope they’re as beautiful as the bouquets you had at your wedding. This is such a romantic gesture, Suguru. I imagine it will make Satoru very happy. I’ll let you know when they’re blooming.”

He can’t believe he’d forgotten. Something thin and soft slides against his palm. Suguru stares at strands of black hair nestled between his fingers. He doesn’t remember pulling his hair out. He vaguely registers his scalp throbbing. He throws the hair onto the floor. He’ll sweep later.

“I appreciate it. Thank you for growing them for me. Mom, I’m very sorry, but I’ve got to go. I have an early start tomorrow.” He has absolutely no plans of getting out of bed until he needs to leave for therapy, but what his mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“That’s alright, I understand. Call me tomorrow or on Friday if you can.”

“I will,” He sighs in relief when she hangs up. Suguru drags himself back into bed, shoves his face back into Satoru’s pillow and cries.

Suguru stares on the floor; it’s much easier than meeting Kanna’s knowing gaze. A rug doesn’t have pity filled eyes or downturned lips. He’d never noticed the little swirls on the rug before, like droplets of water. Its pattern includes a pair of two little fish scattered throughout, dappling blue waves with hints of white and black. The blue is not dissimilar to Satoru’s eyes.

He doesn’t feel anything. Distantly, he knows that he hurt his back and knee. He’s far too old to have slept on the floor the other night, but he hardly registers the sensation.

“Suguru?” Kanna’s voice is soft. As soon as he stepped into her office, she acted like he’s some kind of wounded animal, as though worried he’ll spook at any unexpected movement. He can’t say he fully blames her; he’s not sure what he’ll do either.

“It’s been two nights.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t come back last night either.”

He swears Kanna is pissed, but the expression is gone as fast as it appeared, so Suguru isn’t sure if he imagined it or not.

“Have you tried contacting him?”

“No…”

“Why not?”

“He has every right to be upset with me. I wasn’t… I knew what I said would hurt, and I wanted it to.” It’s a relief to admit it outloud. He’s so damn tired.

“Can you tell me more about why you wanted to?”

Suguru bites the inside of his cheek. He’s not proud of himself, “It was immature… but I hate how Satoru disregards his own well-being. His technique fuels his ego but he won’t have an ego if he’s dead.”

Kanna nods, “You’ve mentioned believing that he thinks he’s invincible.”

“He forgets that he’s not!” Suguru breathes out through his nose, “If he goes up against the wrong person and lowers his guard for even a second, he could be cut down and killed.”

“Suguru, have you ever witnessed Satoru get badly injured? Or has your experience primarily been hearing about it and witnessing its aftermath?”

“I saw him get stabbed once. But he assured me it was okay, and stayed behind to fight Toji… and then I left with Riko. After Riko was shot, the man who killed her… he told me,” Suguru can feel blood pulsing through his veins as his heartbeat skyrockets. He fights off lightheadedness. “He told me he’d killed Satoru, and I’d never felt such despair and anger as I felt at that moment.”

“I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been. I’m so sorry that happened to you, Suguru.”

He doesn’t respond, he can’t. Not when he can feel tears threatening to fall. He grits his teeth.

His actions do not warrant her kindness. He never should have accepted Kanna’s offer. He wants to go back to bed. This morning, Satoru’s pillow didn’t smell like him anymore. Suguru remedied the problem by wearing Satoru’s hoodie. It’s almost like Satoru’s holding him right now. He wonders what Kanna would think of his coping, but he’s not telling her a word of this. It’s staying between him and himself.

“How often do you think about Satoru getting hurt or dying?”

“Almost every time he goes on missions. It’s- it’s not that I don’t think he’s strong. I trust him and his abilities. He’s the strongest. I know it’s not logical for me to worry so much, especially when he’s so far ahead of me.”

“Ahead of you?”

“After Riko, Satoru’s powers flourished. He brought himself back from the dead.”

Kanna doesn’t look surprised. He wonders what her sorcerer relative’s technique is. Maybe she’s familiar with RCT. Or perhaps Satoru told her more about it in one of their sessions. They’ve never talked to each other about what they share in their own sessions. He wonders what Satoru says about him when he’s not there.

“And you?”

“Well, as you already know… I lost myself. My technique is unpleasant, but at that time, it was unbearable. The ugliness of the curses I consumed corrupted me. Sometimes, I worry that I’ll consume one too many and that they’ll take over and devour all that I am, until there’s nothing left of me, except for rage, resentment, and despair. ”

“It sounds to me like you’ve experienced and are continuing to experience some level of post-traumatic stress.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Suguru, you and Satoru lost multiple friends. You witnessed Riko’s death, and that you once believed Satoru dead, too. Now you’re telling me how your technique affected your mindset during that time as well.”

“It’s a baseless fear… It was many years ago and it hasn’t happened since.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter, or can’t affect you in the present. Grief has no timeline. Healing isn’t linear.”

“I’ve been fine for years. It’s only recently that everything’s gone to shit.”

“Have you been? Oftentimes, it’s not until we feel safe that we are truly able to start feeling what was once unsafe to feel. You and Satoru were very young when these events unfolded, and what you went through was unimaginably traumatic. You were both expected to continue on as normal, with little to no time to properly grieve or process what happened. You told me you nearly defected from Jujutsu society; that you almost wiped out an entire village. That’s not the response of someone who was mentally sound.”

His face feels hot. He’s never had anyone acknowledge what happened to them. He doesn’t know what to make of it. Everyone but him seems to be able to move on. “Satoru didn’t break. Not like I did.”

“But isn’t that the point you’ve been trying to make, Suguru? Satoru’s response is different from yours, but its origin is not dissimilar. Your takeaway from your shared trauma is that you’re not good enough, but if your observations are correct, then it’s his, too.”

“How?”

“You’ve said Satoru’s power makes him impenetrable. That it’s made him distant, unavailable, and obsessed with being strong.”

“So, you’re telling me he does this because he doesn’t think he’s good enough?”

“No, I’m saying he does it so he’ll nevernot be good enough again.”

Was that his point? He’d never considered Satoru’s obsession with strength might be fueled by the same desire he had: to be enough. But he suspected she was right in her assessment. He’d been so preoccupied with his own failings, and Satoru’s achievements that he’d been blind to the pressure his husband placed upon himself. He was an even worse partner than he’d thought. Maybe Satoru was right to leave him after all. Did Suguru even deserve to have him come back?

Suguru laughs, humorlessly, “Another way we’re in sync.”

“It would seem so.”

“Even if what you’re saying is true…I don’t know how to move forward. I don’t even know if we can.”

“Unfortunately, we’re running out of time today, but I promise that we’ll come back to moving forward and whether or not that’s possible. Would you be able to come in again tomorrow at 11 am?”

Suguru’s taken off guard by the sudden topic shift. He considers her question, and scrunches his eyebrows together, “You want me to crash Satoru’s session? Isn’t that unethical?”

Kanna laughs, a big full body laugh, “No, nothing like that. He gave me permission to invite you.”

“He did?”

“He did.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Suguru.”

“Oh,” Satoru wanted Suguru to come to his session. Delight bursts through his body; he can feel his heart pounding, as adrenaline rushes through him. He can’t wait to see Satoru.

Doubt shoves its way back into the forefront of his mind, and bombards him with an onslaught of questions he’d rather not answer: What if Satoru doesn’t show? What if Satoru wants to break up? And wants Kanna there to mediate? What if Kanna helped Satoru start writing up divorce papers? Is Satoru really better off without him? Does Satoru think so?

Suguru had always believed that the only thing that could ever separate him from Satoru was death; that they would ever voluntarily leave each other was completely unfathomable.

“Suguru, a moment ago you were happy. But your whole demeanor shifted almost immediately, what’s going on? Where’d you go in your head just now?”

“Satoru’s going to leave me.”

“While I can’t speak for Satoru, or divulge what he’s discussed with me privately, I do want to encourage you to consider Satoru’s words and actions throughout our time working together thus far.”

“I have! He left- you saw it happen. What about that do you not understand?” His tone is far bitchier than he intends, but Kanna remains unfazed. Begrudgingly, he can admit, if only to himself, that he respects her poker face.

“Why do you think he invited you to join his session tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Kanna. Why don’t you tell me since you know him so well.”

“Suguru, I know you’re hurting and scared right now. And that’s understandable. Admitting when we’ve done harm and owning it requires incredible vulnerability. It’s a brave and revolutionary act to peel back our layers of pain and shame to allow ourselves to be truly seen. That is the work. In my time as a therapist, I’ve supported countless couples, many of whom have been in your very position. Challenges, triggers, tender-spots- those are to be expected and can be worked through with intention. I can’t make you any promises about what will happen to your marriage. Ultimately, only you and Satoru can decide that. What I can confidently say is that I do believe the two of you have something very special, and that I’ve witnessed your mutual determination and devotion to each other firsthand.”

Had she purposefully emphasized the word mutual?
Or was that simply wishful thinking on his part?

Suguru isn’t sure he wants an answer.

Chapter Text

The front door has never looked as unwelcoming as it does now. It’s no different than any other day. It’s a dull shade of grey. Suguru’s never really taken the time to consider it before, but today, he’d rather stare at the door, pick off specks of dirt, and catalogue all its imperfections than go inside and sit on the couch alone. It’s easier to imagine Satoru’s behind it if he doesn’t actually go in. He’s not quite ready to shatter the illusion of hope.

Suguru takes a step forward, but makes no move to unlock it. Instead, he fiddles with the Digimon keychain on his key ring for what must be the 100th time . Satoru bought it for him. Suguru wishes he’d taken the time to ask Satoru which Digimon it was; instead, he’d kissed his husband, thanked him, and continued on with whatever meaningless task he’d been doing at the time.

He doesn’t blame Satoru for leaving. How could he, when he’d leave himself too?

Suguru’s not sure he’s strong enough to spend another night tossing and turning in their bed alone. Despite layers of blankets, Suguru hadn’t been able to truly feel warm. Everything is colder without Satoru.

Briefly, he considers fleeing to his parents’ but he doesn’t have any clothes or personal items there anymore. He hasn’t since he got married, so even if he left, it doesn’t solve the more immediate problem: he’d still have to go inside.

Maybe he can stay at the school. Principal Yaga might even let him use his old dorm. There’s definitely plenty of old uniforms he could use. He might even be able to find a toothbrush in the supply closet. Suguru grimaces, he doesn’t want to answer any unwelcome questions from the older man. And he knows there will be questions.

Suguru takes a deep breath and steadies himself. He can do one more night alone. He’s slept by himself countless times on solo missions. What’s one more time? He will see Satoru tomorrow at therapy. And after therapy? Suguru will cross that bridge when it comes.

He forces the key into the lock. Anxiety pools in his stomach, sloshes as he hastily pushes the door open. He nearly trips over himself as the sight before him stops him in his tracks. Satoru’s shoes are sitting neatly beside a pair of his own. Suguru’s throat constricts. He doesn't dare to trust his eyes. He can’t.

Instead, he throws his shoes off haphazardly and rushes into their living room and finds Satoru laying on their couch wearing one of Suguru’s sweatshirts and basketball shorts. His husband’s sucking on a lollipop; his full attention on his switch as he jams what Suguru assumes is the A button.

Playing video games is the one thing that never fails to completely absorb his husband’s attention. He loses all sense of time and awareness. It’s the only time Suguru is ever able to sneak up on or surprise his husband with his presence. Normally, it’s fun, but this time, he wishes Satoru had noticed.

“Satoru…you’re here?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but he’s starting to seriously doubt his sanity. Perhaps his desire has manifested into a corporeal form, if so, what a lovely curse his husband makes. He wonders if he’d taste sweet. He thinks Satoru would be the sole exception; Satoru Gojo always is, after all.

Satoru’s head shoots up; his switch falls onto his lap as he register’s Suguru’s presence. The lollipop Satoru was chewing on drops from his lips as his husband gaped stupidly at him. By all accounts, it shouldn’t be an attractive look, and yet, it is. Suguru involuntarily bites his lip. He’s annoyed with himself, but he’s just a man.

Suguru’s immensely grateful for his husband's sharp reflexes as Satoru catches it just before it can stain their beige futon bright blue. Suguru can’t tear his gaze away from the prominent veins on Satoru’s arm. Satoru twirls the lollipop between his dexterous fingers. Suguru is fucked.

“Oh, um, yeah… Kanna kinda made it my homework, ”Satoru scratches the back of his head awkwardly. As he tilts his head; his eyes slowly scan Suguru’s body. Suguru pinches himself. A heady giddiness courses through him. Satoru is here and looking at him like he wants to peel Suguru’s clothes off. Suguru’s delighted that his desire is mutual.

“Your homework? When did you get homework from her?”

“I saw her this morning, and damn, she really chewed me out, Suguru! Essentially told me to get my ass home and to behave like a grown adult! I guess she said it nicer than that, but I understood the implications. That woman’s scary!”

He owes Kanna big time for sending Satoru back to him.

“She can be kind of intense, can’t she?” Suguru pauses as he considers Satoru’s words, realization dawns, “That bitch. She knew you’d be here!”

“What’d you mean?”

“I just saw her. I told her you hadn’t come home, and even though she never said it outright, she seemed convinced you’d be back. Because she’d already talked with you.”

Satoru laughs, and Suguru joins him, “She played us both.”

All too quickly the moment subsides, leaving them staring awkwardly at one another.

“Suguru-”

“Satoru-”

“Go ahead,” Suguru decides that his hurt can wait; it’s time to hold space for Satoru’s.

“I’m sorry, Suguru. I shouldn’t have left like that.”

“Satoru, what I said to you was unforgivable.”

Satoru’s shoulders sag as his husband sighs, “I won’t pretend I’m okay with what you said Suguru, because I’m not.”

“I know,” Suguru’s proud when his voice comes out steady. “I don’t expect you to be. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have. I don’t blame you, you know that right? Toji’s responsible for their deaths. And if anyone’s at fault between us, it’s me. I failed when it mattered most. You’re the one who put an end to it all. This isn’t your burden to carry.”

“Suguru, we could go in endless circles about where to place blame, but the truth is more complicated. We’re both culpable to some extent, so can’t we carry that together? I mean…did we ever really have a chance at saving Riko? I’m not sure… but I know now that the higher ups should’ve never sent us on that mission. They wrote her slaughter in the stars before she was born, and in doing so, set us up to fail. You’re the one who taught me this.”

Suguru’s throat tightens. His mouth feels dry; he tries to swallow, but it doesn’t alleviate his discomfort.

Suguru doesn’t think of Riko as often as he should. He doesn’t mean to dishonor her memory, but it’s painful to imagine bright blue eyes, filled with tears of happiness as she stepped toward him, ready to place her life in his hands. If he’s being truthful, he doesn’t like to think of Riko at all. It won’t bring her back.

He knows he should properly grieve her, find ways to think of her without spiraling into darkness. Her death is his greatest failure. To think of Riko is to torture himself. It’s torment that’s well-deserved, but he’s a coward who refuses to atone. He can’t face it, because deep down, in his ugliest, rawest form, there’s a part of him that’s glad it was her who died and not Satoru.

“I want to believe you, Satoru. But you didn’t see her die. I was inches away from her, and I was powerless. My special grade status meant nothing in that moment. You stopped Toji, and unlocked your potential. All I can see is your success and my failings.”

“Suguru, if I’d defeated Toji the first time, then none of this would’ve happened! I deactivated infinity and it cost us everything!” Satoru roughly rubs at his forehead, his telltale sign that a migraine is forming, “Does it even matter?! We’ve spent years arguing about this, and look at where it’s gotten us: nowhere.”

Damn, Kanna was right. How hadn’t he seen it before? It was so clearly written across Satoru’s face, in the way he held himself, how he spoke. He’d always prided himself in his ability to read Satoru; he’d never considered that he might be reading the signs wrong.

“It matters, because you almost died, too. You didn’t let your guard down for days, Satoru. You were exhausted. You did everything you could. Don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

“But all of my power didn’t matter either. It didn’t save Riko, it barely saved me.”

“We can’t change what happened. She wouldn’t appreciate us fighting like this.”

“You know, I still remember exactly how she looked that day. She was so damn annoying and bratty.” Satoru’s voice is soft, his expression equal parts fond and somber.

“She was.”

“You were right about me, Suguru. I love jujutsu. The way it feels to fight and face a curse that poses a challenge is intoxicating. It makes me feel strong and capable. But by focusing so much on missions, I’ve been inconsiderate of your feelings and neglected my duties as your husband, and for that, I’m sorry. I will do better, Suguru.”

Suguru wants to thank Satoru for taking accountability. It feels good to hear Satoru say it out loud. He appreciates his husband’s raw honesty, but as his anxiety settles, anger bubbles back to the surface, “Why didn’t you come home? You were gone for two nights, Satoru. Two. One I could understand… But two? Really?”

Satoru has the decency to look shame-faced, “Suguru, I-”

“That first night I waited for you... Where the hell were you, Satoru?” His voice cracks. He hates how weak he feels, how Satoru can so easily do this to him.

Satoru’s lip trembles as he speaks, “I slept in one of the classrooms. It sucked. I know I should’ve come home. But what you said really fucked with my head, Suguru. I meant what I told you a few weeks ago, sometimes it feels like you don’t want me around.”

That couldn’t have been further from the truth. He wished he could peel back the layers of his heart, but even Satoru’s six eyes couldn’t see what lay beneath the surface. Buried underneath mangled words and broken promises, love remained abundant. It refused to be restrained by arbitrary and self imposed limitations. The love he held for Satoru was stronger than his self-hate.

“I know you don’t… I know my words can’t make up for the way I’ve made you feel, but I want to try, Satoru. One day, I hope you’re able to trust me when I say that I always want you by my side. Those nights without you were bleak. All I could think about was you; worrying if you were ok, if you were hungry, if you were ever coming back.”

Satoru’s lips part, as if to speak, but no words exit from his lips. Suguru tries to be patient, but as Satoru flounders, anger burns hot, igniting Suguru’s pain, “Why didn’t you call?”

Satoru's expression is one of equal outrage, “Why didn’t I?” Satoru thrusts his hands up, “Why didn’t you?! You could have called or texted! When you didn’t, I figured you didn’t want me home. I mean, you threatened me that very morning, Suguru. What was I supposed to think? That I’d be welcomed back?”

Suguru’s head feels clouded. He’s just so damn mad. But more than that, he’s hurt. He’s only ever known how to use hurt as a weapon. To weaponize his pain and cause it in return. It’s what he’s had to do to survive in this ugly world. “So what was your plan, Satoru?” It comes out too harsh.

Satoru snaps back, “What was yours, Suguru?”

Suguru pauses, takes in Satoru’s appearance. His arms crossed defensively across his chest, his lips downturned. It makes him sad to see his husband this way. Rage melts away as the fight drains out of him, “I don’t know. But I do know that I hated being apart. I don’t want to be without you, Satoru, but I don’t know how to be with you either.”

“What does that even mean?! You don’t know how to be with me?”

“I’m not proud of how I’ve acted lately, but I don’t know how to be better for you, Satoru. I’m not sure I can. The ugliness inside me feels all consuming. It feels like it is me.”

“Suguru,” Satoru somehow manages to convey so much sadness and far too much understanding by simply uttering his name.

Suguru stares at the floor. There’s a sock sticking out from beneath the couch.

The softest touch startles him, as Satoru’s hand against his cheek gently directs his gaze to Satoru’s own, “There’s nothing ugly about you.”

“That’s not true. You know it’s not.”

“I can’t see it.”

“Satoru, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Between us, I’ve got better eyesight, don’t I?” It’s so damn cheesy, but Suguru doesn’t want to fight it, not while Satoru’s looking at him with complete sincerity.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” In a moment of weakness, he leans into Satoru’s touch. Satoru rubs his thumb softly against his jaw. Suguru feels the all too familiar pinch of tears building. He forces the feeling down.

“Suguru, I love you. And that means all of you. No part of you is ugly to me.”

“That can’t be true. I’ve been awful to you, Satoru.”

“We’ve been awful to each other…but that doesn’t mean I think you’re ugly. We’re just messed up, Suguru… I miss us. I miss what we used to have. I don’t wanna be this way anymore.”

“Neither do I.”

“Suguru?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we go to bed and talk more tomorrow? I’ve honestly slept like shit the last two nights. Probably didn’t get more than 4 hours total. I don’t think I can keep my eyes open much longer. And I don’t wanna fuck up anymore than I already have.”

Suguru removes Satoru’s hand from his face and interlocks their fingers, “Let’s go to sleep, Satoru.”

There’s a huge bouquet of purple hydrangea sitting on his bedside table. And on their dresser. And in a tall vase beside their bathroom door. If Suguru had to guess, there’s likely another next to their bathroom sink. Suguru doesn’t try to fight the smile that overtakes his face. Satoru’s always had a tendency to go overboard. It’s one of Suguru’s favorite things about him.

Their meaning is not lost on him. Satoru’s use of the language of flowers is one of the most romantic things about him. It had been a pleasant and unexpected surprise early on in their courtship. An unexpected maturity settled over Satoru when he shared their various meanings with Suguru. Suguru found this almost as sweet as the gesture itself.

Suguru undresses and pulls back the covers. The blankets embrace him as he sinks into the mattress. Satoru’s still in the shower. He can’t sleep yet. Not until Satoru’s beside him.

He stares at the petals and appreciates their rich purple hue. Satoru’s partial to purple, says it reminds him of Suguru when they’re apart. It’s mortifying. It’s delightful.

The bed jostles as Satoru climbs in behind him. Satoru leans his head against Suguru’s pack. He’s startled by the unexpected cool sensation. Satoru’s hair is damp, its silky strands leave a trail of droplets against his skin.

Wordlessly, Satoru runs his fingers through Suguru’s hair. Suguru is still as deft fingers slowly braid and unbraid the same strands. The sensation is calming in its familiarity. It’s been far too long since they’ve done this.

He’s startled when water drips down his face. He raises his hand tentatively and touches his cheek, traces his fingers upward to his eyes, where tears begin to pool against his fingertips. He can’t believe he’s crying. He’s tried so hard not to. He doesn’t deserve Satoru’s gentleness, but damn does he want it.

Shame etches itself across his chest as hot, ugly tears begin falling in earnest. His entire body feels rigid as muscles tense in a useless attempt to stop himself from shaking with the weight of his sorrow. He doesn’t want Satoru to see him like this. Not now. He can’t ruin this moment between them; it’s too fragile. He needs the illusion to last longer. He’s scared to speak, lest he shatter it instantly by stumbling like an idiot over his words.

“Suguru… what? What’s wrong?” Satoru’s voice is soft, like it gets right as he’s about to fall asleep. He seems to be battling against it for Suguru’s sake.

“Nothing, love. Go to sleep, Satoru. You’re tired. It’s not good to push yourself like this,” Suguru ignores his own hypocrisy.

“Ok, if you’re sure you’re ok.”

“I”m ok.”

“Ok,” Satoru yawns loudly behind him and burrows his face against Suguru’s nape. And in what feels like an instant, Satoru’s fast asleep.

Hours pass and exhaustion permeates every part of his body.

Suguru’s eyes hurt. His face feels taut and dry. He’s thirsty but too tired to get up. If he were to move, he’d disturb Satoru’s slumber. He won’t be responsible for disrupting his husband’s rest. Satoru doesn’t sleep enough in general. He works too hard and too much. Suguru would rather be temporarily uncomfortable. He can handle it. Satoru does it for him, so why shouldn’t he be able to do the same?

Fighting sleep grows more challenging as each minute passes, but he wants to hold onto this moment. If he sleeps, then he has to face reality in the morning. He’d rather stay like this with Satoru cuddled up beside him, feel his soft breaths against his chest, anchored in comfort.

Satoru is ethereal in the moonlight, his pale skin shimmers with every breath. Not for the first time, Suguru wishes he could paint. His husband’s the perfect subject. Whilst awake, Satoru wouldn’t be able to sit for a portrait, he’d wiggle around too much. But sleep-prone like this, he’s a painter’s dream. Every brushstroke inspired.

Suguru startles when Satoru’s lips brush against his ribs, his words nothing more than a whisper of air, “Are we gonna break up?”

“Satoru, go back to sleep.”

“Suguru, please.”

Suguru’s stomach clenches. He’s regretting skipping dinner, as pangs of hunger and nausea coalesce. He holds Satoru closer, “Satoru, there isn’t a reality where I’m better off without you. But I’m scared there might be one where you’re better off without me.”

“Impossible. There isn’t a reality where I’d be satisfied without you by my side, Suguru. Ours is the only reality I want.”

Satoru means it. Despite every ugly part telling him otherwise, Suguru believes him.

This time, his tears don’t quite feel as unwelcomed.

As soon as Suguru steps foot into the therapy office, accusation bursts from his lips, “You knew!”

Kanna had the gall to smile at him, “I didn't know for sure. It was a leap of faith, Suguru. I trusted that Satoru would be brave and face you, and I trusted that you’d give him a chance to. I trusted that you’d both show up to session today, if it meant you’d get to see each other.”

“It’s too bad you’re not a sorcerer, Kanna, because I bet you’d be a brilliant and formidable strategist in battle,” Satoru’s voice was tinged with admiration.

The moment is so absurd that Suguru can hardly believe it, “That’s the highest form of praise you could receive from Satoru.”

Kanna’s grin widens, “Thank you, but I’ll stick with therapy. I don’t know that my particular skillset would work very well against curses.”

“Maybe they just need a bit of validation and to be taught non-violent communication,” Satoru quips. Kanna’s smile breaks into laughter, and Satoru joins her.

Suguru’s surprised as a deeply familiar, and Suguru finds himself reaching for him; the movement is second nature to him, so much so that Suguru doesn’t even register he’s done anything until the room goes quiet.

Satoru is staring at him, stunned; Kanna’s hand covers her mouth. She looks like she wants to cheer. He’s grateful when she doesn’t. As she drops her hand back into her lap, she smiles at him encouragingly.

A tidal wave of embarrassment crashes over him, painting his face bright red in its wake. For a millisecond, he considers pushing Satoru away from him and running out of the room. Instead, he keeps his arm firmly around Satoru’s shoulders. Satoru beams and leans into him. Satoru’s warm to the touch; no limitless today. Suguru could cry. He never wants to feel that kind of distance between them ever again.

Satoru’s cheeks have turned a lovely shade of pink; his smile is soft, conveying an openness Suguru hasn’t seen in a long time. Satoru looks almost like his teenage self again, bright-eyed and unburdened by world-weariness.

“It’s nice to see the two of you like this.”

Briefly, he considers unleashing a curse to shield him from awkwardness. He’s not used to public displays of affection; he’s never quite been able to feel comfortable outside of casual touches that had carried over from their youth. Satoru’d always respected that boundary. Suguru knew Satoru wanted more from him, desired to embrace him openly, to proudly show the world they were together. Satoru wasn’t ashamed. He didn’t know how to be.

And Suguru… well, Suguru had been able to stomach brushing their hands together as they strolled through the market, interlocking their fingers as they laid in the park. But this? This was far too much with an audience.

Suguru’s a hypocrite. A few weeks ago, he’d pushed Satoru up against the wall outside of this very building. Heartache and anguish have caused him to act in ways that felt both foreign and wrong.

Their more salacious PDA was on Suguru’s terms, never Satoru’s. Satoru might rest a hand on his shoulder and might even lean on him at Jujutsu High from time to time. It was yet another way he’d failed as a husband. Satoru didn’t ever complain; he seemed happy to receive whatever Suguru was comfortable with. But how often did Suguru extend the same? Right now, Satoru’s face is so joyous that it’s as radiant as the summer sun. It was a reflection of what Suguru could have, if he’d only allow himself to let go.

“I like seeing us like this too,” Satoru’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.

Fleetingly, Suguru imagines a curse rising from the floor, opening a dark pit beneath him and enveloping him into the void. He forces his attention back into the present moment.

His throat feels like it's lined with thorns, but he forces honesty out, he doesn’t care if comes out mangled. Satoru deserves a truthful response, “I do too.” He wants to say more; wishes he could tell Satoru just how much he likes seeing Satoru happy like this. Words desperately claw along his tongue, but die before they can exit his lips. Another inadequacy.

“When we met earlier in the week, you told me that things were good that morning and also the night before, can you tell what made it so?”

“We decided to pretend everything was fine.”

“What do you mean by pretend?”

“We acted like we did before.”

“What did you do?”

“We prepared food together, flirted, touched, laughed… had sex.”

“What did you enjoy most about pretending?”

Satoru shrugs, “It felt right, like it used to feel all the time when we were together. Like when we first started dating, like it felt when we got married.”

Satoru’s words hit him square in the chest. Suguru doesn't try to hide his surprise, “Yeah, it really did feel like that.”

Kanna nods, “Alright, then I want you to try again.”

“You… want us to pretend things are ok? Isn’t that counterproductive? I thought we were supposed to be learning how to deal with our issues,” Satoru cocks his head, appearing just as bewildered as Suguru feels.

“If done without intention and boundaries, then yes, it would be. I’m not asking you to ignore or avoid your problems completely. However, while communicating feelings and concerns in a healthier way is essential to relational satisfaction and definitely an important part of work together, what’s equally important, if not more so, is the two of you spending quality time that isn’t focused on your current relationship challenges. We don’t want every moment you spend together to be filled with tough conversations and constructive feedback. It’s crucial to have fun, too. You like each other, and you need to be purposeful in cultivating experiences that create positive feelings, too. These will help with navigating tough times.“

Suguru can’t argue with her logic. He doesn’t want to anyway. Spending time with Satoru: laughing, joking, being stupid together- he wants nothing more. It’s an added bonus if he doesn’t have to share his innermost vulnerabilities; they’re in need of respite.

“Sounds good to me,” Satoru says cheerfully. He rests his head against Suguru’s shoulder, and Suguru wonders if his face is hot enough to boil water.

“Tell me more about what the two of you like to do together.”

“We like to fight!” Satoru sat up abruptly. Suguru could see his maniacal grin from his periphery.

“Satoru, she doesn’t mean work,” Suguru rolls his eyes, though it does little to deflect from the pure adoration coloring his tone of voice.

“I know, but it’s true, Suguru! We do like to train and battle curses! You can’t tell me it’s not fun! I’ve seen your post-battle smirk countless times. You should really see us fight side by side, Kanna. Nothing can beat us when we’re together."

“I imagine that the two of you are quite the formidable pair. Outside of training and exorcising curses, what else do you like to do?”

“Eat. I love finding new restaurants and cafes to try. We’ve found so many amazing places in Tokyo, but there’s still many more to discover! Oh, that reminds me, Suguru, next time we’re sent to Hokkaido, we need to stop by Sapporo. There’s this new beer garden I heard about. It has views of the mountains, which I know you’ll love! Plus, we need to try ishikari nabe and also zangi!”

“Satoru, you’ve had karaage before.”

“Not Hokkaido style! It’s different, Suguru!”

“Then we’ll have to go and try it soon,” Suguru’s never been able to deny Satoru’s whims. His husband has the appetite of a whole hoard of growing children, somehow, it’s never fully satiated.

Satoru beams at him, and Suguru relishes in it. Maybe he’s not as much of a failure as he thought.

Kanna laughs, “That sounds wonderful. Suguru, do you have anything you’d like to add?”

“We like to try new things together. There’s some spas we’ve talked about going to that might be nice. We like going to the arcade and playing video games at home. I like to cook and Satoru likes to… help,” He laughs when Satoru playfully elbows him.

“Why don’t the two of you each plan something fun to do together over the next week?”

Satoru leans forward, “Oh, like a surprise date?”

“Yes,” Kanna grins back at him.

It’s been a long time since Suguru’s felt hopeful. It felt almost non-existent, but right now, it’s flowing through him in waves.

“Before we wrap up today, I have something that I want to give you,” Kanna stood and approached her desk. She opened a draw and removed something, though Suguru could not see what. She kept it clasped within her hands. When she returned to her seat, she opened her palms. “Do you know what this is?”

A ceramic bowl, painted with swirls of black and white with lines of gold inlaid in its cracks sits in her hands. It’s beautiful.

“It’s some kind of small dish. For sauce? That’s what I’d use it for,” Satoru looked at Suguru, and raised his eyebrows. Suguru knows without words that his husband is questioning Kanna’s intelligence. Satoru was very obviously missing the point. How typical.

Suguru rolled his eyes, but squeezed his husband’s hand reassuringly, “She’s not asking about that, Satoru. Look closer, what’s different about it?”

Satoru squinted, “Well, it was obviously broken at some point, maybe even multiple times.”

“What do you notice?” She reaches her hand out to Satoru, who takes it into his free hand.

“If this is some kind of art lesson, I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t pay attention during any of those lectures,” Satoru is so matter of fact. Suguru envies his husband’s lack of shame.

Suguru places his hand on top of Satoru’s and gently guides his husband’s hand, brushing them along the bowl. Suguru should be noticing the bumps and imperfections of the ceramic piece, instead, he relishes in the softness of Satoru’s hands, feels the cool metal of Satoru’s wedding band.

Suguru can feel Satoru’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t look up, not yet. Instead, he speaks softly, caresses his thumb against the back of Satoru’s hand, “Kintsugi is a technique used to mend ceramics. Its exact origins are unknown, though if the tale of shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa is to be believed, then it’s been around since at least the 15th century,” Suguru moves their hands to where the bowl with the most gold inlaid. There’s a mix of delicate fine lines alongside thicker pieces, “The gold allows the scars to become part of the whole once more, becoming more beautiful and unique than it was before breaking.”

“You’re always so knowledgeable, Suguru,” Satoru’s smile is incredibly earnest. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose. He looks so cute; Suguru might throw up. He can’t look at him any longer. It’s too much. If he doesn't, he isn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from pulling Satoru against him and kissing him senseless, and while he trusts that Kanna is rooting for them, it would be beyond inappropriate to put her in that position. One of them has to keep up some level of decorum, and he knows it won’t be Satoru.

Suguru forces his gaze onto Kanna, who smiles knowingly at him, before mercifully continuing, “Just as Suguru mentioned, just because there's fragmented pieces, doesn’t mean repair isn’t possible or that something wonderful can’t come from it. I want you to think of your actions and your words as the lacquer and gold used to mend cracks. Ask yourself, do my words and actions help to heal? Do they bring you closer? Or are they causing further fragmentation? I want you to place this somewhere in your home where it will be noticeable, somewhere you both frequently spend time.”

“Wait, so you want us to pretend but also notice the broken parts? I’m lost on what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“I want you to do both. I want you to lean into that feeling you both experienced when you were ‘pretending’ by purposefully spending quality time together that’s not focused on talking about your current issues. In fact, during that time, I encourage you to focus on the present moment together. This piece is meant to serve as a visual reminder to consider your actions and words toward one another, and as a reminder that even if you do harm, you can always make the decision to repair. Let it be a tool to help you pause and consider what you’re about to say or do, to ask yourself how that will affect the other person and your relationship.”

“Thank you, Kanna. That does sound like something that would be helpful. Suguru and I will find a proper place for it, and we’ll treat it with care.”

“I’d expect nothing less from the two of you.”

Suguru clenches Satoru’s hand tightly. Kanna’s words have moved him so powerfully and unexpectedly that he feels paralyzed. Satoru squeezes back. It’s a grounding reassurance that Suguru didn’t even know he needed; he’s grateful that underneath it all, Satoru still understands him.

Maybe they can make it through this and come out on the other side stronger and more unified.

They need to create their own form of gold to fill in their cracks. It sounds like an impossible feat, but it doesn't feel as daunting with Satoru by his side.

Chapter Text

Kachi kachi kachi-shhh.
Kachi kachi kachi-shhh.
Kachi kachi kachi-shhh.

A symphony of cicadas greets him as steps out into the warm spring evening. The strong scent of sea salt and sulfur permeates his nose.

Kachi kachi kachi-shhh.

Nervous energy thrums through him, matching the rhythm of the cicada song. The path is as foreign as it is familiar, as he makes his way toward a beach he hasn’t revisited since his youth.

Kachi kachi kachi-shhh.

He doesn’t remember hearing cicada song before. When he closes his eyes, the image of Satoru and Riko splashing about in the waves while Satoru chases after her with a sea cucumber is so vivid it feels like he’s watching it in real time. Kuroi had laughed so hard she’d cried. They’d been so foolish and naïve back then. He wishes he could go back and time and warn himself of what was to come. It’s a pointless wish; it won’t change their fate.

Kachi kachi kachi-shhh.

Suguru remembers the deep ache he’d felt in his chest, as longing intertwined with desire, fondness and fear. Back then, he’d been terrified of his feelings for Satoru. He’d forced them down, deep; only allowing them to truly surface when he was alone.

Kachi kachi kachi-shhh.

In the distance, iju flowers bloom like little clouds resting along treetops; their petals as white as Satoru’s hair. He wonders how one might look tucked against Satoru’s ear. He thinks its orange-yellow center would contrast nicely with the blue of Satoru’s eyes.

Kachi kachi kachi-shhh.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Toru, 5:15 pm: My plane just landed
Toru, 5:15 pm: I swear the guy next to me farted the whole time, Suguru
Toru, 5:15 pm: THE WHOLE TIME
Toru, 5:16 pm: Even infinity couldn’t block out that stench
Toru, 5:16 pm: It was…
Toru, 5:16 pm: …special grade flatulence!

Satoru’s so stupidly charming. Suguru’s ashamed to admit that he laughed out loud. Thankfully, there’s no one else around. He can picture how Satoru would react, he’d don a self-satisfied, shit-eating grin.

Suguru, 5:17 pm: Are you sure you aren’t the guy?

Toru, 5:17 pm: Ummmm, excuse you!
Toru, 5:17 pm: Suguru, don’t be disgusting!

Suguru, 5:18 pm: Idk I seem to remember you farting in public without a second thought when we were in school

Toru, 5:18 pm: I was 16 then, Suguru! I’m a man now!
Toru, 5:18 pm: You’ve taught me decorum :P

Suguru, 5:19 pm: I’ve tried to, though I don’t know that it’s been very successful
Suguru, 5:10 pm: You’re not much of a gentleman

Toru, 5:20 pm: You’d absolutely hate it if I was

Suguru, 5:20 pm: I would

Toru, 5:20 pm: You like me this way

He’s tempted to be sarcastic, but everything between them is too fragile. He suspects Satoru is seeking reassurance, in his own roundabout way, and Suguru doesn’t blame him. He wants the same

Suguru, 5:20 pm: I do

It’s easier to be honest like this over text; to admit his feelings behind the safety net of the screen.

Toru, 5:21 pm: I can’t wait to see you! It’s been too long, Sugu

He’d missed Satoru, too, but this feels too raw to admit. .

Suguru, 5:21 pm: It’s been two days

Toru, 5:21 pm: Two days too many
Toru, 5:22 pm: Are you at the hotel?

Suguru, 5:22 pm: I was walking to beach, but I’ll head back

Toru, 5:22 pm: No need, meet me at the beach?

Suguru, 5:22 pm: Your stuff?

Toru, 5:22 pm: I’ll teleport to the hotel and drop it off, then I’ll walk over. What’s our room number again?

Suguru, 5:22 pm: 73

Toru, 5:22 pm: Thank you, Sugu! What would I do without you?

Suguru, 5:23 pm: Show up at some random room and disturb people

Toru, 5:23 pm: Haha. So funny, Sugu

Suguru, 5:23 pm: You don’t want me to meet you at the hotel?

Toru, 5:24 pm: I want the first time I lay eyes on you to be against the backdrop of the ocean. You look so pretty in the sunlight. Please don’t deprive me of the view!
Toru, 5:24 pm: Will you wear your hair down? Please?
Toru, 5:24 pm: Only if you wanna though
Toru, 5:24 pm: You know I think you’re hot no matter how you do your hair
Toru, 5:24 pm: Truthfully, I just want to run my fingers through it

Suguru grins, twirling his hair between his fingertips. He’d already styled it down. He’d hoped to tempt Satoru, but needn’t have worried. His husband never made his attraction a secret. It’s one of the qualities Suguru finds most attractive about Satoru: he knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to say it. Suguru bites his lip, and wonders if he should be more daring.

Before he can question his judgement, he texts back.

Suguru, 5:26 pm: Are you trying to seduce me?

Toru, 5:26 pm: Idk, is it working?

Suguru, 5:26 pm: Might be

Toru, 5:26 pm: Suguru, don’t be mean! Stop teasing me! My heart can’t take it!

Suguru, 5:26 pm: You’re the one who’s teasing me

Toru, 5:27 pm: Not on purpose!
Toru, 5:27 pm: So…
Toru, 5:27 pm: You like what I'm saying? Cause I can tell you more

Suguru, 5:30 pm: Satoru

Toru, 5:30 pm: Yeah babe?

Suguru, 5:31 pm: Get your ass over here
Suguru, 5:31 pm: Now

Toru, 5:33 pm: As you wish

Last week after therapy, they’d decided that the best way to pretend was to go on vacation. They’d requested time off and canceled their next session in order to take a full week away.

As Suguru sits on the beach, he runs his fingers through the sand, watches, detached, as grains filter through, dropping back into the endless abyss.

Okinawa may not have been the best decision. What were happy memories are tinged with lingering melancholy. Suguru can’t help but feel like they've set themselves up for failure. He so desperately wants this week to go well, and he knows Satoru wants that too.

But Suguru’s fucked up so often lately. Satoru gets so little time off, and Suguru doesn’t want to ruin it; he’s terrified that he will. It’s like he’s a curse upon their relationship, and while he can’t exactly exorcise himself, he can damn well try to be a better husband.

Prior to arriving, he’d been on a two-day mission in Hiroshima. It hadn’t been particularly hard, he’d located the curse promptly and exorcized it easily. It wasn’t even a grade one curse. But its taste had been especially foul, like sewage and garbage blended together to create the world's worst cocktail.

It’s been almost 24 hours since he consumed it, yet the phantom taste lingers. He’s brushed his teeth, swished with mouthwash, and repeated those steps more times than he’s comfortable admitting. His one solace is that it didn’t also upset his stomach.

He senses Satoru’s cursed energy before he sees him. How could he not? It’s immense, almost unfathomable.

Suguru turns his attention to his left, and feels the near instantaneous uptick of his heart.

Satoru stops and stands a few feet away from him. He cocks his head to the side and smiles, it’s roguishly charming and boyish. His whole face lights up, brighter and warmer than the afternoon sun.

Satoru looks so damn good.

In lieu of a blindfold, Satoru’s wearing sunglasses, though they’ve slid down his face. Suguru swears Satoru’s eyes are full of mischief; he can see them glinting now. Satoru’s always protested against this assertion, claiming that eyes can’t ‘look’ mischievous, but Suguru believes otherwise. He’s seen it.

Suguru finds himself inexplicably drawn to Satoru, and takes a step forward.

Suguru watches hungrily as Satoru wets his lips. Suguru wonders if his husband’s nervous or if it’s anticipatory. He hopes it's the latter.

Satoru’s lips are soft and warm as Suguru brushes their lips together. He tastes the faint hint of Satoru's favorite strawberry chapstick. Suguru pulls his husband flush against him, delights in the feel of Satoru’s silky locks between his fingers. He slides a hand down and cups Satoru’s neck, deepening the kiss. Satoru makes a noise of surprise blended with one of pleasure, and Suguru feels lightheaded; giddiness dances across his body as Satoru returns the gesture, combing his fingers through Suguru’s hair. Satoru skims his fingers along Suguru’s spine, before resting his right hand firmly on Suguru’s lower back, keeping Suguru securely in place.

He’s never wanted Satoru more.

Fuck decorum.
Fuck appearances.
Fuck it all.

He’s wasted so many opportunities worrying about the perception of others, trying to be respectful to the point of repression.

Suguru is the first to pull away; he inhales shakily. Suguru takes in Satoru’s face: cheeks bright red, pupils dilated, mouth agape as he roughly draws in air.

“Damn, Suguru,” Satoru pants, “Damn.”

Suguru’s inclined to agree. About all he can manage right now is a huffed out laugh.

“You wore your hair down.”

Suguru forces himself to speak slowly, drawing in breaths as he does, “It was already down before you texted me.”

“You knew.”

“I did.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Because you know I like it.”

“Yes, Satoru. We’ve already established this,” His words don’t match the heat blooming across his face.

Satoru shrugs, completely unashamed, “So what? I like hearing it.”

“You’re cocky enough as it is,” Suguru’s voice oozes fondness; he doesn’t even care. He’s married damn it, so why is he so bashful lately? Flirting with Satoru like this makes him crazy.

“And you love that about me. You like my confidence, especially when I talk about how much I like you and how sexy I think you are.”

Suguru’s stomach is aflame. Irrationally, he wants to blame curses for it. But he stopped lying to himself long ago. He slides his hand up Satoru’s arm, squeezes his bicep hard, “Satoru, if you don’t teleport us back to the hotel right now, I’m leaving.”

It’s a hollow threat, and they both know it. They’ve played this game thousands of times, and they’ve never grown sick of it. He’d wondered how Satoru would taste as a curse, and now, Suguru knows the answer: Satoru is insatiable personified; he left Suguru wanting more and more and more, and like a butterfly seeking sweet nectar, Suguru returned over and over again.

Satoru pulls him tighter and laughs, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Satoru snaps his fingers, and in an instant, Suguru’s splayed out on their hotel bed, his head rests against a plush pillow, hair fanning out every which way as Satoru kisses along his neck.

He closes his eyes, and wordlessly gives himself permission to enjoy this moment.

When Satoru pulls him in for another breathtaking kiss, his worries gently melt away.

He’d been excited, almost giddy, when Satoru pushed an envelope into his hands that morning, revealing that he’d booked a couple’s massage with access to their own private sauna and hot tub.

The gesture was thoughtful and kind, as Satoru’s gestures often were, and with this in mind, Suguru tried really hard to let go and embrace relaxation.

The conditions were perfect for it: soothing music, calming essential oils, dim lights, eye masks, heated massage beds.

Yet Suguru couldn’t quiet his mind or quell the raging jealousy burrowed deep in his gut. It leapt up his throat, attempting to claw its way out at every sound of pleasure Satoru made, as his masseuse worked on yet another particularly sensitive spot on Satoru’s back.

Suguru doesn’t recognize this jealousy. He’s no stranger to feelings of occasional envy or bouts of jealousy, but they’re typically fleeting, and sometimes, even fun, when it leads to more with Satoru. But this jealousy is ugly and angry, poisoned by relentless self-doubt and shame.

His masseuse stops, and leans down, her voice shakes, “You’re awfully tense, sir. Are you sure the pressure is ok?”

Through gritted teeth, he forces out a contrite, “Yes, please continue.”

“Ok,” She sounds skeptical, but mercifully doesn’t question him again.

Satoru makes little sounds of contentment throughout their massage, and every time, another jolt of hot jealousy shoots through Suguru’s body. He knows Satoru’s just expressing his feelings, and that it’s meaningless. But he hates that someone else can bring him such pleasure. Yet he wants Satoru to experience genuine relaxation and joy. Satoru deserves to. It’s all so confusing in his head. He wishes he could turn off his thoughts.

What does this non-sorcerer bitch have that he doesn’t?

The thought is ugly and completely irrational.

Satoru doesn’t even like women.

Even if Satoru’s sexuality went through an unexpected metamorphosis, Satoru wouldn’t date a non-sorcerer. Suguru knows Satoru's deepest desire is to be understood. A non-sorcerer would never truly know what it was like, not like Suguru.

Doubt creeps in.

The Gojo clan would be ecstatic if Satoru left him and paired up with a woman, sorcerer or non-sorcerer. At this point, the Gojo elders wouldn’t have cared, as long as it resulted in an heir.

It doesn’t bother Satoru like it bothers Suguru. It never has. Satoru never cared about the societal expectations of his clan, and because of his colossal power, his clan hardly ever challenged him. When they tried, they rarely won.

As their massage comes to an end, Suguru nearly cries tears of relief. He wishes he could have enjoyed himself more. He politely smiles and thanks to his masseuse. It’s not her fault he’s mentally unstable. She nervously smiles back, seemingly just as eager for this to be over.

They’re quickly escorted to their private spa.

Satoru makes a beeline for the hot tub.

Satoru stretches, and his robe slides to the left, revealing his shoulder and upper back. Suguru watches hungrily as back muscles flex. He wants to mark Satoru as his.

Satoru belonged to him.

“Suguru, this is so nice! Get over here already! We can change the color of the lights, the temperature and the water pressure!” Satoru turns to face him and grins. Satoru’s whole body thrums with unchecked excitement. Suguru watches as the lights shift: blue fades to green fades to light blue fades to purple.

Shame overwhelms him instantly. He doesn’t own Satoru. Suguru’s never been more certain that he’s the worst person alive at this moment. He knows, through his work with Kanna, that this is his insecurity speaking. It’s telling him a story that’s so easy to believe it feels true. But it’s not the only story. Hell, it’s not based in reality.

Satoru’s never been disloyal to him, never given him reason to think he would be. But his own inadequacy terrifies him. Because one day his weaknesses very well could be the tipping point for Satoru.

“That massage felt so damn good! It released tension I didn’t even know I had! How was it for you? Ouch! Shit, this water is way too hot!” Satoru rips his finger out of the water and brings it to his mouth.

Satoru’s sensitive with infinity down, and he always seems to forget that he can get burned, just like anyone else.

“It was fine. Be careful, Satoru,” Instantly, he regrets his words. He hadn’t meant to sound so snappy.

Satoru’s carefree smile drops, “I am careful. I don’t need you treating me like a helpless kid, Suguru.”

“Then don’t do childlike things.”

“Well, so much for releasing tension. I don’t know why I even bothered.”

Suguru’s not surprised when a strong urge to cry envelops him. He’s acted poorly. Satoru had been considerate and so obviously wanted to spend time with him unencumbered by stress and Suguru was ruining it.

He closes his eyes, conjures the image of the ceramic bowl with its layers of gold, interweaving its broken parts back into the whole.

What can he say right now that will create a line of gold between them? How can he bring himself closer to Satoru when he feels so angry?

He inhales.

He can do this.
He wants to do this.
He must.

Suguru forces himself to maintain eye contact. Satoru’s eyes look so incredibly sad that it makes him want to dive into the hot tub and never re-emerge from its depths, “Satoru, I’m sorry. I really do appreciate how thoughtful you’ve been.”

Satoru sighs and rubs at his forehead. It’s a bit too harsh and leaves a pink mark. Suguru fights the urge to touch.

“It just… it doesn’t seem like you really like me anymore. And I don’t know what to do, Suguru. I can’t make you like me.”

“Satoru, I do like you.”

“Do you? You barely look at me unless we’re fucking or about to fuck. It’s like I’m just a warm body to you. What am I supposed to think, Suguru?”

Suguru feels sick to his stomach, “Satoru-”

“I can’t do this right now. Let’s just get in the hot tub or go back to our room. I don’t care.”

Suguru places his hand on Satoru’s arm. He purposefully keeps his touch soft, if Satoru wanted to, he could push him off. He’s relieved when Satoru doesn’t.

“Satoru, wait, I can't ignore what you just said. You seriously think I see you as just a warm body?”

“I know realistically that you don’t, Suguru. But it’s hard not to take it personally when it feels like you’re only nice to me when we’re having sex.”

Satoru’s shoulders hunch forward as he frowns, “I know logically that you love me and care about me, Suguru. I know that you’re struggling right now and I can see that you’re trying for me, but you’re not the only one who’s insecure, you know? Everyone expects me to be confident about everything, like I can’t possibly have doubts about myself. And you’re no exception. Do you know what that’s like? It’s dehumanizing to be treated this way, and it’s even worse when it comes from you. You’re supposed to be different, Suguru.”

Suguru doesn’t know what to say. Satoru’s right. He was guilty of holding Satoru to a higher standard. He’d always been critical of the upper echelons of jujutsu society, yet how often had he challenged his own assumptions and biases about Satoru?

He’d been rude and dismissive of Satoru, except for when they had sex. Sex was the only time Suguru allowed himself to be soft with Satoru as of late. It was the one space where he could lay out his feelings without pretense.

“You’re right.”

“What..?”

“I haven’t been kind to you. I haven’t been considerate of your feelings, and I haven’t done a very good job of asking you about them. My own words and actions… they haven’t matched what’s in my heart. I’ve unfairly expected you to know how I feel even though I know you can’t read my mind. Logically, I know you don’t know what I don’t tell you, but lately, it’s been so hard to say anything at all.”

“Ok.” Satoru crossed his arms over his chest. His robe bunches, revealing the strong planes of chest. Suguru has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from licking his lips.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.”

“Ok, but why are you doing this? I don’t understand.”

“I’m just so damn angry and I don’t know how to talk to you about it. It’s ridiculous and embarrassing.”

Satoru’s brow furrows, “Try.”

“Sex… is…It’s not… You’re vulnerable.”

Satoru watches him wordlessly. His bright blue eyes are slightly unnerving within the dimly lit room. Normally, he loves to have Satoru’s undivided attention, but right now, he wishes he’d look elsewhere. This is already hard enough.

“Like I’ve said before… I can’t stand how often you’re gone, Satoru. You’re gone all the time, and I understand why and I don’t truly blame you for it, but I hate it. I miss you when you’re away, and each time you go on yet another mission, you feel further and further away from me. Sex is the one time we can both let our defenses down and be vulnerable and soft with each other. We get to be Satoru and Suguru. It doesn’t matter if we’re special grade or if we’re the strongest or not. None of that matters. Sex is when I feel closest to you. It makes me feel like I’m on your level, like we’re truly equals.”

“What’d you mean? We are equal, Suguru.”

“Satoru, I know you believe we’re the strongest together, but you’re leagues ahead. I’ll never be where you are. It’s not a mantle that can be shared.”

“Suguru, that’s not true.”

“Of course, you don’t think so, you love me.”

“No, that’s not it. Not at all. I know you’re strong. I know it. This is a fact not an opinion. Have you forgotten that I can see your cursed energy, Suguru? I’ve watched you fight and fought alongside you for more than half my life now. I’m not saying this to spare your feelings. I’m saying it because it’s true. This isn’t something I’d lie to you about out of love.”

Suguru’s dumbfounded. Satoru’s never been one to tip toe around someone’s abilities. He’s typically blunt, if not unkind at times. Suguru has counseled enough crying students to know his husband is nothing but honest and direct when it comes to jujutsu. He’d thought he was the exception to that rule. He’s glad not to be.

He’s unsurprised when tears start to fall. It’s like Satoru lifted a massive weight off of his shoulders. He should’ve known better; he’s always felt lighter bearing his burdens with Satoru.

“Oh shit, Suguru, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. These are good tears, Satoru. I promise. I feel relieved. Thank you for saying that. I needed to hear it.”

Satoru considers his words, “I feel that way, too, you know. About sex, I mean. I like that it’s just you and me and that’s all we need to be. Thank you for telling me, Suguru.”

“Thanks for listening,” Suguru takes Satoru’s hand and brings it up to his lips, he presses a soft kiss to the back of Satoru’s hand.

Satoru smiles, then hesitates before asking, “But what about today? Why were you so pissed off earlier? I thought you liked massages.”

“I was jealous!” Suguru doesn’t mean to blurt it out so forcefully, but it’s been sitting heavily against his chest for more than an hour.

“You what?”

Suguru’s grateful for the steam drifting throughout the room, he can blame any redness on the humidity. “I was… I am feeling jealous. I don’t like that someone else was making you feel good. Not when I keep fucking up… not when making you feel good feels like the only thing I can do right in our relationship.”

“Suguru-”

“Wait, please let me finish, Satoru.”

Satoru nods and waits for him to continue.

“It’s not fair to you. I know it’s not. I know you just wanted to help me relax, and you deserve to relax too. I really do appreciate that you planned this out. You’re always trying to look out for me. I feel ungrateful and undeserving.”

“I don’t… I’m trying to understand how you feel, but Suguru, there’s no one for me but you.”

“I know. It’s not… I don’t doubt you, Satoru. I doubt myself.”

Satoru stares at him, Suguru feels naked as Satoru’s eyes rove over his face, examining him. He wonders what his six eyes see. He seems to reach some unknowable conclusion, and nods, “Ok, well if you can’t trust yourself right now, then place your faith in me. Trust me, Suguru.”

“There’s no one I trust more,” Suguru doesn’t mean to whisper, but he’s not sure he could speak louder even if wanted. This moment feels too sacred. It’s meant to be quiet and soft.

Warm water sloshes out of the hot tub, splashing onto the floor, causing a loud slapping noise to permeate the otherwise quiet room.

Suguru can’t find it in himself to be bothered as he kisses Satoru senseless. His husband is butt naked and straddling Suguru’s lap. So can Suguru truly be blamed for the loss of water? He doesn’t think so. He’s certain that any sane person would understand if they laid eyes on Satoru like this. Though, Suguru would unleash a hundred curses before he’d ever let that happen.

What starts as lazy kisses has turned into something heady and warm; everything feels hazy; it feels right.

Except, there’s a small persistent part of him telling him to stop. It’s grown too strong to ignore. He huffs, places a hand on Satoru’s shoulder and gently nudges, “Satoru, wait.”

“Huh? What is it?” Satoru blinks owlishly at him, his lips are puffy, making him look even more kissable than before. Suguru closes his eyes and prays to whatever god will grant him restraint.

“Let’s take a break and talk, ok?”

“What…? We just talked? I don’t wanna have another heart to heart right now. It’s exhausting, Suguru,” Satoru whines. He hates being denied what he wants. Suguru adverts his eyes, it’s taking all of Suguru’s willpower to set this boundary right now, and if he has to look into Satoru’s puppy eyes, he will fail.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re just a warm body to me. I think we should cuddle and enjoy the sauna, then we can shower and get dinner. Maybe watch a movie after.”

“So, you don’t wanna mess around right now?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. Fuck, Satoru, I think it’s pretty damn obvious that I do. But I don’t think we should. You just told me how I’ve made you feel, and I don’t want to reinforce that belief any more than I already have.”

“I didn’t say that so you’d stop having sex with me, Suguru.”

“I know.”

“I don’t understand.”

Suguru cups Satoru’s cheek, “Satoru, I want to spend every day with you. I don’t care what we’re doing together, as long it's with you. I want to be with you always. If you told me tomorrow that you never wanted to have sex again, then we’d never have sex again, ok? Anyone can be a warm body, but no one else can ever be you. Do you understand?”

Suguru’s surprised when wet tears pool against his fingertips. Satoru’s mouth is agape; he opens and closes it several times, then laughs breathlessly. Satoru wipes at his eyes with his free hand, chokes out a soft, “I do.”

Suguru leans forward and kisses Satoru’s forehead, “You deserve to feel loved in every part of our relationship. Let me show you. Will you go on a date with me tonight? Please?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Satoru's words don’t match the tone of his voice. Satoru sounds genuinely happy, in a way Suguru hasn’t heard in a long time.

Suguru kisses Satoru’s cheek, “I’ll pick you up at 7.”

Satoru laughs, “We’re in the same room, jerk.” There’s no heat, just unadulterated fondness.

Suguru finally feels like he’s doing something right. It’s intoxicating. “I’ll get another room, just for the afternoon.”

“Suguru, that’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t care.”

“Suguru… you never spend money so frivolously. This hotel isn’t cheap.”

Suguru shrugs, “You’re worth it.”

“Suguru, I cannot cry again. Stop being sweet.”

“Sorry, can’t do that.”

“Fine, do whatever you want.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

Suguru grins, “I win.”

“Whatever,” Satoru rolls his eyes, but his blush betrays him.

As Suguru rises out of the tub, he doesn’t miss the appreciative once over Satoru gives him. Emboldened, Suguru leans in close, just enough to barely graze his lips against Satoru’s ear, “Wear your black slacks, the tight ones.”

Satoru attempts to splash water at him, but Suguru, knowing his husband well, anticipates the move and side steps gracefully. Just before he opens the door, Suguru looks over his shoulder. Satoru is glaring at him from inside the hot tub. Suguru winks, and Satoru’s blush deepens as he sputters incoherently.

Suguru laughs, “Bye Satoru! See you at 7!”

Chapter Text

Suguru’s never been as nervous about a date as he feels right now. It’s silly and it’s stupid. He’s gone on thousands of dates with Satoru. Satoru won’t care, as long as they’re together and preferably eating. Their date can’t possibly be a failure if Satoru’s fed well.

But Suguru wants it to be perfect. He needs it to be. It’s completely unrealistic to expect a single date to change the course of their relationship, but it feels like the fate of their marriage rests on his shoulders.

He should’ve given himself more time. In less than four hours, he has to somehow come up with a date worthy of wooing Satoru.

When he walks past yet another vending machine filled with countless brands of cigarettes, he stops in front of it and stares. He’s so fucking tempted to pull out his wallet right now and give in. He can just smoke one. He doesn’t have to use the whole pack.

He hasn’t smoked in years, but he feels the itch. It’s nearly all consuming. He wishes he had a cigarette right now, longs for the temporary calm of nicotine. It’s too bad Shoko’s in Tokyo. She’d have spared him one or two, for a price. She wouldn’t have asked questions or mentioned it to anyone. She’d smile and quietly smoke beside him.

Satoru wouldn’t like it. The smell bothers him, and messes with his senses. Suguru knows Satoru finds it unattractive, though his husband never openly admitted it until Suguru had stopped smoking for 6 months. The day Suguru told Satoru he was going to quit, Satoru had kissed him deeper than Suguru’d ever been kissed before. Needless to say, Suguru's motivation increased tenfold after that.

Suguru takes a step back. He knows this temptation is fueled by anxiety. He can’t start again or he might not ever stop again. The first time had been hard enough. He hadn’t realized how addicted he’d been. He’d developed the habit of smoking after every curse he consumed. It helped to dull the taste better than anything else he'd tried. Even now, he finds himself reaching into his back pocket during missions searching for a phantom cigarette from time to time. By some miracle, Satoru hasn’t noticed. Suguru intends to keep it that way. Satoru doesn’t need another thing to worry about. He has enough on his shoulders as it is.

Suguru continues onward. He double checks his GPS. He’s less than a minute from his destination.

The final stop of his pilgrimage: a convenience store.

Suguru makes his way to the back, scanning the shelves along the way. A jolt of excitement pulses through him as his eyes catch what he’s looking for. Relief is instantaneous.

They have Digimon blind boxes. There are four left.

He’d been worried when there were only two stores within a 5 kilometer radius that listed them as in stock. The first store's website was outdated. It had none available. The clerk had shared that their next expected supply drop wasn’t for another week.

Suguru hastily shoves them all into his basket. He’s not taking any chances.

He doesn’t fully understand Satoru’s devotion to all things Digimon, but it brings him immense joy to witness Satoru’s unencumbered happiness. Satoru doesn’t talk much about his childhood, but Suguru knows it wasn’t much of one, so he’s determined to create new memories that inspire childlike wonder.

As Suguru makes his way toward check out, doubt starts to settle in the pit of his stomach.

What if Satoru thinks he’s trying to placate him with gifts?

What if the blind boxes don’t have any Digimon Satoru likes? Satoru probably wouldn’t tell him if he disliked one of the Digimon, but he might be disappointed if he doesn’t get his favorite. Then again, Satoru seems to genuinely like everything about Digimon.

What if Satoru hates the restaurant Suguru picks out? Satoru’s always been better at finding hidden gems than Suguru. His husband has a sixth sense for culinary delights.

Suguru considers panic calling Kanna or spamming her with incoherent worry fueled emails.

He wonders if Yaga’s busy right now. He takes out his phone and stares at Yaga’s number. His finger hovers over the call button.

A loud noise breaks through his spiral as a child accidentally knocks produce off of a nearby shelf. As the parent quietly admonishes their child, Suguru quickly exits his contacts, and laughs out loud. He cannot believe he almost called Yaga.

What the hell was he thinking?
Yaga?
Really?!

Maybe he should call Kanna. He’s starting to seriously doubt his sanity.

Yaga isn’t going to give him any advice that Suguru hasn't already considered. Hell, he doubts their teacher would even pause to entertain Suguru’s anxieties. He’d probably want a status report on his mission, or to complain about this new batch of first years and their lack of conviction.

It wasn’t that Yaga didn’t care. He’d been supportive of their relationship, and when the higher ups challenged their union, Yaga defended them. But Suguru is certain the man does not want to know the intimate details of their relationship problems.

He’s grateful to the child for preventing what might have been his greatest lapse in judgement.

Suguru inhales and pulls up his favorite pictures. There are only a handful, so he easily finds the one he wants.

He clicks on a photo of him and Satoru on their wedding day. It’s slightly blurry and they’re heavily zoomed in on.

They’d snuck away briefly from the celebration to be alone, when a very drunk Shoko stumbled upon them and took it; she’d claimed it was for blackmail purposes, but they all knew that was a lie. Satoru had jokingly called it her creeper photo. She’d promptly shoved Satoru, though the small smile on her face betrayed her.

In the photo, Suguru and Satoru’s foreheads are pressed together. Satoru’s mid laugh, cracking up at his own stupid joke, and Suguru’s grinning doopily at him, completely lovestruck. Their limbs are tangled up together. They’d been laughing in between trading kisses, pausing to affectionately refer to each other as husband, riding the high of happiness. Suguru remembers the moment fondly.

How had Suguru strayed so far from the vows he’d made that day?

He desperately wishes he could go back in time and tell that version of himself what he knows now so that he won’t repeat the same mistakes.

It’s a pointless desire; he can’t change the past. He can only move forward and hope that his efforts are enough.

Suguru’s 26 years old.
He can do this.
It’s just a date.

It’s so much more though.

Suguru feels like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff, carefully planning his next step to ensure safe passage forward. If he gets this wrong, he could go careening off the edge.

Things with Satoru are so fragile. He understands Kanna's metaphor, respects it as a tool and as a visual. He won’t condemn it, because it’s been helpful to him already.But the insidious nature of doubt is deeply entrenched in his mind. Every day, he has to actively challenge his negative beliefs about himself, like they're a curse to be exorcised. But unlike curses, it’s an ongoing exorcism. One he isn’t sure will ever end.

Not everything that’s broken can be fixed. And even if parts are mended, there’s often small particles and pieces that can never be returned to the whole.

What if they lose something essential?
What if they already have?
What if he causes breakage that can’t be repaired?
What if the gaudy gold only masks the ugly truth beneath the surface?

Suguru’s sick of uncertainty. He’s tired of being poisoned by his own mind. He’s fought hundreds of curses, been in physical danger countless times, and nearly died, yet he’s never felt as unsafe as he does in his own mind.

Suguru Geto, 4:55 pm: SOS
Suguru Geto, 4:56 pm: I almost called Yaga for relationship advice

Shoko Ieiri, 4:57 pm: Dissecting rn
Shoko Ieiri, 4:57 pm: Call me

He steps out of the store; his shoulders relax when she picks up on the first ring.

Her voice sounds slightly distant as she presumably moves about the morgue, “Geto, what’s going on? What do you mean you almost called Yaga?” She sounds vaguely amused; she’s not taking this seriously. He needs her to understand the gravity of his situation.

“I’m panicking. I don’t know if I can do this, Shoko.”

“I thought things were going better. Aren’t you two on some romantic vacation right now? What the fuck happened?”

“I’m taking Satoru on a date tonight.”

“Geto, you cannot be serious.”

“What if he hates it? What if it’s not enough?”

The loud sound of gloves being snapped off ricochets in his ear. He pulls the phone slightly away.

“When has Gojo ever hated a date you’ve taken him on?”

Silence.

She’s not going to save him. She’s an expert at waiting him out; he doesn’t know where she derived such patience. Perhaps it’s a side effect of working with patients who cannot talk back.

Suguru groans, “What if this one’s the first?”

“Suguru, you dote on Gojo all the time, even when you’re mad at him you’re still thinking about him. I can’t imagine you planning something without considering his happiness. I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

She sighed, sounding long suffering. Which isn’t inaccurate, before they started dating, they’d both gone to her lamenting about their perceived unrequited feelings. She’d really seen them through it all, and he knew she didn’t enjoy being their pseudo relationship counselor, hence her encouraging couples therapy in the first place.

“Satoru doesn’t… he thinks I only want him for sex.”

Suguru hears something drop on the other end. Shoko sounds dejected, “Shit. I have to disinfect again.”

He waits while she washes her hands. Anxiety has crawled up his throat, making it hard to breathe. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Wasn’t that private, meant to be just between them? He doubted Satoru would appreciate the disclosure, but he doesn’t know what to do. If this trip goes well, then they won’t be seeing Kanna for another week and a half. He can’t wait that long.

“Listen Suguru, you and Satoru are in therapy for a reason. You both have your own traumas that affect your relationship. Satoru acts happy-go-lucky all the time, like nothing ever bothers him, but he’s sensitive. And you shut down, ice everyone out, and then act completely unaffected. That combination is bound to cause tension from time to time.”

He hates to admit it, but she’s not wrong. Her words mirror Satoru’s own.

He can hear Shoko quietly working on the other end as she shuffles back and forth grabbing various tools. He wonders when she last left the morgue to eat or sleep. He won’t push; it won’t get him anywhere anyway, she’ll just deflect back to him and his issues.

She’s always been good about giving him time to process. He’s not sure if she’s already done with his bullshit or if she knows exactly what he needs. He suspects it’s both.

“I can’t picture my life without Satoru in it, and lately, it’s felt like it could be a real possibility if I don’t figure my shit out.”

Shoko coughs, though it sounds like she’s trying not to laugh. What a bitch.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“Gojo’s never going to leave you.”

“He might.”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know how much I’ve hurt him.”

“I do know, Suguru, which is why I’m certain you’d have to be the one to leave him.”

“I won’t.”

“I know that, but he doesn’t.”

Suguru stares at the wall. The convenience store employee has been eyeing him; he knows he’s behaving inappropriately; he shouldn’t have called Shoko while still inside. It’s rude.

“Listen Suguru, I have to go, ok? Gojo’s going to love whatever you plan. You just need to show him how much he means to you. It won’t be hard to earn his trust again. Not for you, at least.”

She hangs up before he can ask her what she means; though, he knows. He’s always been Satoru’s exception, and Satoru’s always been his.

Suguru pockets his phone and heads to the cash register. He’s done feeling sorry for himself; it’s time for action.

After securing their dinner reservation, Suguru starts to feel a bit more settled.

His hair is wet, and he needs to comb it out before it starts to dry, but he can’t take his eyes off his phone.

In his desperation to truly reconnect with Satoru, he found endless websites with lists of questions to ask your partner. It’s overwhelming, sifting through them all. Some of the questions are stupid, nonsensical, and impersonal. It's baffling. He knew the answers to many of these questions long before he and Satoru ever dated. He can’t fathom knowing so little about one’s partner.

He hopes to have more conversations fueled by curiosity, brimming with laughter and love, instead of anger and pain.

He chews on the end of the pen. His notebook sits precariously on his thigh as he scrolls. He’s scribbled down a few questions that don’t feel too corny to ask.

He’s starting to wonder if he’s doing too much. But it’s Satoru, and nothing is too much if it’s for him.

As he jots down yet another question, a droplet of water splashes onto the page. He watches as the ink blotches and spreads across the page, obscuring several words. Maybe it's a sign from the universe not to include this question, or perhaps, Suguru just needs to dry his hair. Suguru rises and places his notebook inside the pocket of his leather jacket.

On his way to the bathroom, he eyes the bed. His clothes are strewn across it. He’s put together multiple outfits, but none of them felt quite right. Suguru desperately wants Satoru to like how he looks tonight. It’s driving him completely mad, if he’s being honest with himself.

Suguru checks his phone. He’s got less than 40 minutes to dry his hair, choose what to wear, and pick up Satoru.

There's no time for doubts now.

6:50 pm.

He feels like an idiot standing outside of their hotel room.

He’s early. His hand is outstretched, nearly touching the door. He can’t bring himself to knock. Instead, his hand hovers, suspended in the air as uncertainty paralyzes him.

Maybe Satoru isn’t ready yet. What if Satoru’s only humoring him? What if Shoko’s faith is misplaced?

He doesn’t know why he feels so damn awkward right now. Suguru’s always prided himself for his cool confidence under pressure. People typically perceive him as calm and collected, especially in comparison to Satoru. But his inner world is a hellish landscape of uncertainty and ugliness.

This is silly. Satoru is expecting him. Satoru agreed to this date.

And Suguru knows Satoru wants him and their relationship to work, but he’s scared. Truthfully, he’s terrified.

He’s had random bouts of insecurity throughout their relationship, but he never thought he’d be genuinely fearful of losing Satoru for good.

Before Suguru can muster up the courage to knock, Satoru makes the decision for him as the door bursts open. Satoru flies out in a blur of blue, white, and grey.

“Um, hi,” Satoru stands dumbly before him, looking sexier than ever in a fancy blue designer sweater and grey slacks. It’s actually a bit aggravating how he can be so put together when faced with uncomfortable circumstances.

“Hi,” Suguru sounds just as dumb, if not more so. He’s supposed to be suave and mysterious right now. But he’s pretty sure he looks like a kicked puppy.

“I’ve gotta say, I’m proud of myself. I was ready before 7, Suguru. I bet you didn’t expect me to be.”

Suguru shakes his head and laughs breathlessly. Satoru’s right; he hadn’t. It’s a pleasant surprise. Satoru’s trying to be better for him too.

In lieu of speaking, Suguru leans forward and tucks a stray strand of hair behind Satoru’s left ear, causing his husband to sputter incoherently. It’s cute.

Satoru stares at him, blinking owlishly, his cheeks are delightfully rosy red. Suguru smiles.

Satoru huffs and purses his lips, “So, where’re we going? Are we gonna eat? I’m starving, Suguru! I ate all my snacks while waiting for you. I’m withering away as we speak.”

Suguru fights the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he did. Satoru’s so predictable.

“Let’s go, Satoru,” He carefully intertwines their fingers as they make their way to the elevator. Once they get to the lobby, Suguru lets go. He doesn’t want any trouble.

Their fingers brush as they walk close together. Satoru keeps glancing at him, appearing surprised when he catches Suguru looking back at him every time. Suguru can’t help it. No one is as beautiful as his husband is. Satoru was made for golden hour, his blue eyes shimmer, radiant in their contrast to hues of brilliant yellow and orange.

Suguru almost trips on even ground, but Satoru catches him, because he always does, doesn’t he?

“Uh, Suguru, babe, are you ok? You’re looking a bit flushed. Maybe we shouldn’t-“

“No!”

Satoru looked completely taken aback, his eyebrows narrowed in confusion, “No you’re not ok? Or no you don’t want to go back?”

“I’m fine, Satoru.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have a fever or stomach ache you’re hiding from me? If you’re not feeling well, we can always go out tomorrow.”

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“I’m not sick.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I was admiring you and got distracted and lost my balance.”

Satoru halts, and Suguru pauses beside him. He’s already flushed, so why not add fire to the flame? It’s not like Satoru’s never seen him like this before. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

It’s cute how fast Satoru’s face matches Suguru’s own. His husband’s always been the quickest to blush between the two of them. Suguru’s skin tone has saved him numerous times; Satoru’s pale skin is far more telling.

“Ok, now I’m really starting to think you’re unwell, Suguru.” Satoru places the back of his palm against Suguru’s forehead, “Hmm, your temperature is normal, and your cursed energy is balanced.”

And that… is shitty to hear. Satoru thinks it’s more plausible that Suguru’s sick than genuinely moved by Satoru’s beauty. He has to remedy this.

“Is it really so hard to believe?” His voice is softer than he intends, but this moment requires softness.

Satoru’s eyes widened. Suguru watches his husband's blush spread down his neck. It’s delectable. Suguru bites his lower lip. Satoru looks lovely in red.

“It’s just… it’s unlike you to be so forward in public.”

Satoru’s evading the question. Not a good sign. Suguru steps closer, he can feel heat radiating from his husband, but he doesn’t move closer. There’s another couple walking past them, trying to eavesdrop. When they realize Suguru caught them, they hurriedly walk past, looking mortified. Good. They should be.

Suguru directs his attention back toward his husband, who is staring pointedly at the ground, “Are you surprised I feel this way?”

“Kind of. You don’t normally say such things outside of our bedroom.” Satoru’s last word is a whisper, like he’s worried he’ll upset Suguru by speaking too loudly about such matters in public.

Suguru takes in the information. He’s not as verbally affectionate or complimentary as Satoru is. He’s always been more of an action guy. But Satoru likes praise. He’s always generous in giving it to Suguru, never asking for it in return, but Suguru’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed how his husband blooms every time Suguru compliments him. He knows that his words hold more weight than anyone else’s.

“You’re right. I’m going to make an effort to tell you how I feel more often. It’s not as easy for me to be as open as it is for you, but I’m going to try.”

Satoru takes in the information, then raises his head, his eyes brimming with curiosity, “So, um, what exactly were you admiring about me?”

Satoru looks so damn bashful, and so, so eager to hear what Suguru has to say. His husband gets hit on almost every day, has heard it all from countless people, and speaks highly of his own appearance often, but right now, all that bravado has melted away.

Suguru reaches up and touches Satoru’s face, cradles his cheek. It’s bold. Anyone could see them, but Suguru doesn’t care right now. Not when Satoru’s looking at him like this.

“You look striking at this time of day, your eyes are exceptionally beautiful in the warm evening glow. Sometimes I feel like all I can do is look at you. You captivate me.”

Satoru’s covering his face with his hands. “Suguru, you can’t- you can’t just say that!”

Suguru leans closer to Satoru and grins, “I can’t? Why not, Satoru?” He purposefully draws out his husband's name; he knows Satoru likes it when he does. Satoru’s fists clenching gives him all the confirmation he needs.

“Shut up!” Satoru stammers.

“Do you really want me to, Satoru?” He taunts, knowing full well that his husband doesn’t want him to stop.

“You’re an ass,” Satoru crosses his arms over his chest; he’s avoiding Suguru’s gaze, but he’s smiling.

Suguru’s grin widens, “You like my ass.”

“Suguru!”

It’s funny seeing Satoru like this. He’s not usually so easily embarrassed. In fact, Satoru’s said much worse to Suguru in public, with complete confidence, equal parts bold and crass.

“What?” He feigns innocence, and is rewarded by Satoru shoving him playfully.

“Now you’re the one who's being facetious, Suguru.”

“All I did was answer your question.”

Satoru pouts.

Suguru doesn’t want to play games anymore, so he steps forward and places his hand back on Satoru’s face, and gently caresses his cheek with his thumb. It’s hot to the touch, “Satoru, what’s wrong?”

Satoru steps back, jostling Suguru’s hand from his face, “Nothing!” He’s grinning at Suguru, but his eyes tell another story.

“Satoru.”

“Suguru.”

They stare at each other, unyielding. Suguru, not for the first time, thinks it’s a miracle they ever confessed to each other in school. They’re both exceedingly stubborn and allergic to vulnerability.

Suguru has a choice here. He can go along with Satoru’s avoidance and dismiss his moment of candor, or he can nurture their connection.

The answer is obvious.

Suguru relaxes his shoulders, and takes Satoru’s hands in his own, “Satoru, I know things haven’t been easy for us lately and that I’ve really hurt you. It saddens me that you don’t feel seen or appreciated. I’ve failed as your husband, and broken my vows to you. I know it’s going to take time for you to believe me when I say that I love everything about you. Yes, of course, I find you attractive, unbelievably so, but that’s not all you are to me. I hope that tonight will be the start of a new chapter for us. So, let me show you, let me treat you right, ok?”

Satoru’s fingernails are cutting into his skin with how hard Satoru’s gripping his hands. He looks into Satoru’s eyes, and he knows he made the right call. There’s a faint misty quality to them, which is the only warning he gets before Satoru chokes out a sob and pulls Suguru against him.

“I’m gonna look ugly for our date now,” Satoru whines, holding him tighter. Suguru rubs his hand along Satoru’s back, appreciating the feel of strong muscles beneath

“Not possible.”

Satoru laughs against his neck, “You’re obligated to say so.”

Suguru shrugs, “Maybe, but it’s true nonetheless.”

“I should at least go back and change. My sweater’s covered in tears.”

Suguru carefully removes himself from Satoru’s embrace. His husband whines but doesn’t move to stop him.Suguru unzips his leather jacket, slides it off, and gently drapes it across Satoru’s shoulders. He guides Satoru’s left arm then his right into the coat. Satoru’s rarely so compliant, but he’s looking at Satoru with comically wide eyes, and gaping stupidly at Suguru; he looks adorable like this. Suguru’s tempted to kiss his nose, but he holds back.

“Your sweater will dry,” Suguru finishes adjusting the jacket so that it’s properly covering Satoru; he looks him over appreciatively, “It suits you.”

A minute passes and Satoru stares at him, wordlessly. Those big blue eyes are slightly unnerving like this, “Satoru, are you ok?”

Satoru shakes his head and huffs out a disbelieving laugh. He pulls up the zipper of Suguru’s coat and smiles at him, “I am now.”

Well shit, Suguru’s an idiot, he didn’t think this through. Satoru looks so damn good wearing his jacket. Suguru can be a tad possessive, and he’s always found Satoru wearing his clothes unbelievably hot. He has to fight back the urge to pull Satoru flush against him. He’s supposed to be showing Satoru how much he values him, not reinforcing Satoru’s insecurities. Suguru cannot fuck this up and sleep with Satoru tonight. No matter how much he wants to.

“It smells like you.”

Suguru’s attention is back on Satoru, and he nearly chokes as he watches Satoru burrow his face into the collar of Suguru’s jacket. Fuck, Satoru’s going to kill him if he keeps this up.

Satoru’s eyelashes flutter, and he looks up at Suguru and smirks.

What a cheeky bastard.
Satoru knows exactly what he’s doing.
Suguru loves him so damn much.

Suguru stretches out his hand, “C’mon Satoru, we’re gonna be late.”

As their fingers intertwine, Satoru’s grin lights up his entire face, “Lead the way, Suguru.”

Chapter Text

Warmth emanates from the streetlights bathing Satoru in shimmering gold. Satoru hasn’t stopped smiling since they left; the lighting softens his features, somehow, it makes him look even more like the leading love interest in a romance movie. Suguru hadn’t thought it possible. It’s almost too much for Suguru to bear, but he won’t look away, he can’t.

The air between them is peaceful. There’s an ease that feels both foreign and familiar, similar to the sensation of entering one’s childhood bedroom after a long time away. Suguru hopes this feeling never fades.

As they near the restaurant, Suguru’s hands start to feel clammy. Suguru’s not usually one to be so sweaty. It’s unattractive, but Satoru’s humming, oblivious to Suguru’s damp distress.

Suguru abruptly halts, causing Satoru to stumble and slam into him, “Huh! Suguru, you can’t just stop without warning!” Satoru frets, brushing imaginary dust from Suguru’s shoulders. Their hands are momentarily unlinked. Suguru seizes the moment and covertly rubs his palms against his pants. Satoru continues ranting, completely unaware, “You’d totally lecture me if I did the same, Sugu,” Now Satoru’s pouting and batting his big blue eyes at him. It’s exaggerated to the point of being comical; it’s frustrating how effective it is in disarming Suguru. He’s learned that sometimes the best response is redirection, but tonight’s deflection isn’t purposeful. He wishes he could stall a bit longer; his stomach starts to churn as he glances at the building’s signage. The restaurant’s name is written in bold script; its logo is dappled with orange osmanthus flowers.

Suguru returns his attention to Satoru. Before he can stop himself, he’s running his fingers through his bangs. He hopes he hasn’t mussed them up too much in his nervous haste, he’d hate for Satoru to find it unattractive, “We’re here.”

Satoru scans their surroundings. His gaze settles on the restaurant logo and his eyes widen. He appraises it before turning his attention back to Suguru. His face is eerily calm, “How’d you know I wanted to go here?”

“I saw you eyeing it yesterday.”

“But I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Oh,” Satoru stares at him; Suguru watches as blue eyes start to turn slightly glassy. Suguru can’t quite decipher the look. Satoru tilts his head, his all seeing eyes seem to catalogue every contour of Suguru’s face. Before Suguru can catastrophise to the point of no return, Satoru’s gracing him with a small smile, “You really do pay close attention to me, don’t you?”

Suguru has so much he wants to say. That he can’t look away lest he miss something important. That he doesn’t think it’s possible for him not to notice Satoru. That he’s been privately cataloging what Satoru likes and doesn’t like since they met as teenagers. He doesn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to.

In lieu of responding, Suguru gently places his hand at the small of Satoru’s back and ushers him inside.

They’re quickly checked in for their reservation and led down a dimly lit hallway. Suguru notices watercolor oceanscapes hanging on the walls as they make their way past the main dining area. Their playful waves give a sense of ease, and he can feel the tightness in his shoulders loosening. He unclenches his jaw and exhales.

Their waitress takes them to a section with private booths that allow for more intimate conversation. He’s immensely grateful that the restaurant didn’t turn out to be a loud, touristy spot.

There’s a low hanging light fixture exuding a warm glow dappling their table in hues of red, orange, and yellow. In the center of the table, there’s a ceramic lotus flower with a candle burning at its center. It’s cosy. Suguru exhales.

Suguru waits until Satoru is seated before kneeling across from him. It’s almost like the universe is conspiring to paint Satoru golden. The candle light flickers, dancing across Satoru’s pale skin. His eyes glimmer like the sun sparkling on ocean waves.

Satoru appears mesmerized by the scene around them, blissfully ignorant to how completely mesmerized Suguru is by him.

Satoru picks up one of two intricate teacups at their table, “Wow, this is so much fancier on the inside! Have we ever had a candlelit dinner like this before?” Satoru turns his attention toward Suguru and falters, “Um, Suguru?”

“What?”

“You’re staring very intensely. Is everything ok? Are my eyes still puffy from crying?”

He’s speaking before he can stop to think, “I love you.”

Satoru drops the cup he’s holding. It thumps onto the table, undamaged. The smell of jasmine tea permeates Suguru’s nose as the liquid seeps into the fancy tablecloth. Neither makes a move to fix it. It’s too late anyway. Normally, Suguru would leap into action and clean up Satoru’s mess, but instead, he's frozen; transfixed by Satoru’s gaze and immobilized by his own feelings.

“Suguru-“

“Satoru, please.”

Satoru purses his lips and nods. His eyes dart across Suguru’s face, desperately scanning for any sign of maligned cursed energy. Satoru’s done this for as long as Suguru can remember. The gesture is sweet in its own way, proof that Satoru cares.

But at this moment, it makes him feel like an awful partner. It highlights all the ways he has been. He feels raw, exposed, but Suguru’s trying to reframe this as a positive; it’s better to know what he’s doing wrong so that he can remedy it.

“I’m as certain about loving you as I am that the seasons will change. This year has been one of our hardest yet, but there’s no one I’d rather struggle alongside than you. I don’t want to lose you, Satoru. I’m determined to do better for you and for us.”

Satoru starts to reach across the table before abruptly aborting the action, instead, he taps his foot against Suguru’s. “You’ll always be my one and only, Suguru. ”

There’s so much that Suguru wants to say. His throat constricts. It’s like a curse has expanded inside of it, shredded his insides beyond repair. All he can do is look at Satoru and hope his husband can read the depth of his feelings, he hopes they’re as clear as day in the way his eyes soften, in the relaxed slope of his shoulders, in the laughter lines that cross his face when Satoru tells another absurdly stupid joke that Suguru can’t help but find funny.

When their waitress stops by to take their order, Suguru isn’t sure if he’s more relieved or disappointed.

Satoru’s nursing his third fruity mocktail. It’s going to have him bursting with energy for the next few hours then crashing quick and hard tonight. Suguru’s heart aches with pure fondness.

Suguru slowly sips at the same plum wine he started with. He doesn’t usually indulge in alcohol. He doesn’t like to feel so out of control, plus his stomach hurts enough as it is, he doesn’t need the extra slouch of alcohol added to the mix. But he needed to take a bit of the edge off tonight.

“Satoru, all this sugar is going to knock you out later.”

Satoru purses his lips, “Don’t be a killjoy, Suguru! We're on vacation!”

“Satoru, you indulge even when we’re not,” Suguru doesn’t even bother trying to conceal his feelings.

Satoru smiles dopily, “You don’t care that I do. You just like how it makes you look when you take the moral high ground.”

Suguru barks out a loud laugh. A few people look their way, but Suguru ignores them; he’s not going to accept judgement from non-sorcerers. This thought gives him pause. As much as he’s tried to fight his prejudice, it lingers, unexpectedly showing up from time to time. He squashes it back down. It’s not welcome here.

“Sometimes.” He concedes.

“You bring me home sweets all the time!” Satoru thrusts his finger across the table and gently taps Suguru’s chest.

Suguru rolls his eyes, but he has no rebuttal. He shrugs, and tries to hide his smile behind his hand.

Satoru notices, because of course he does. His husband smirks, “Plus, we haven’t even ordered dessert yet! It’s not a proper date if we don’t have dessert, Suguru!”

“I didn’t say anything about dessert.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I’d never dare to deprive you of your confections.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow, “You’re being uncharacteristically agreeable tonight, Suguru.”

“Am I not allowed to dote on my husband?” Suguru fights the overwhelming urge to smirk. Now is not the time.

Satoru sputters, and takes a rather large gulp of his drink, before responding, “That’s your choice.”

“Well, it’s decided then. Order whatever you want.”

“Like I need your permission.” Satoru’s cocksure grin is as infuriating as it is sexy. Suguru’s helpless to Satoru’s charm.

“You don’t. My only request is that you choose something big enough to share.”

“You want something sweet?” Satoru looks surprised.

“Yes.”

“You don’t like sweets,” Satoru narrows his eyes.

“I’ve grown accustomed to the taste.”

“Since when?”

“Why’re you arguing with me about what I like or don’t like, Satoru?” Suguru rolls his eyes. He’s not truly annoyed; he’s perplexed by his husband’s resistance. He hadn’t expected pushback, but instead of engaging defensively, he’s trying his best to lean into curiosity. Kanna would be proud. She’d probably encourage him to be more direct with Satoru, but he’s a work in progress, and at his core, he’s a bit of an asshole that likes a good natured back and forth with his husband.

“I just don’t understand the sudden change of heart.”

“The answer is simple.”

“Obviously not to me,” Satoru pouts. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is, but Satoru’s never looked ugly a day in his life. Suguru thinks it’s impossible.

“I want to enjoy dessert with you, Satoru.”

“But everything I like is way too sweet for you!”

“It’s not about the dessert.”

“You’ve lost me, Suguru. What’d you mean?”

“It makes me happy to see you happy, Satoru. I want to share that moment with you.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“You don’t like PDA or public declarations of love or sweets.”

“But you do.”

Satoru’s face softens, “That doesn’t mean you need to change, Suguru.”

“But I do, Satoru, and I want to, for you.”

“Why?”

“Because it matters to you. Because I haven’t focused enough on what you need. You’re always accepting less instead of asking for more.”

“Suguru, you’re the one who doesn’t understand.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I don’t accept ‘less.’ Your needs and preferences are as important as my own. I don't ask, because I know you’d be uncomfortable, and I don’t want you to experience discomfort at my expense. I don’t need PDA or public declarations. I need you, Suguru.”

“You deserve more than what I’ve given you.”

“You’re being too harsh on yourself. Your self perception is skewed, Suguru.”

Suguru leans forward, “And when have you ever been unbiased about me?”

“Never!” Satoru throws his hands up, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know you! You’re deeply critical of yourself, Suguru. You take on too much responsibility and place too little on me. We’re trying. We’re in therapy. We’re communicating. We’re here, aren’t we? It’s a choice we’ve both made. And we keep choosing each other every day. That means something. Hell, I’d say it means everything.”

“Which is exactly why I’m doing what I’m doing, Satoru. I’m choosing to push myself out of my comfort zone. I’m choosing to take actions that I know bring you happiness. Do you not like it?”

Satoru sits stockstill. His eyes bore into Suguru’s soul. Suguru knows his husband’s a force of nature and that to curses and curse users alike his eyes represent the end. Suguru’s never felt that way, but with Satoru staring at him, completely calm, cool and contemplative; it’s easy to see why others cower in fear.

“I do, a lot, if I’m being completely honest. You know I’d proudly show you off to the entire world if you’d let me. But I don’t want you to be someone you’re not. I married you, Suguru, which means all of your parts, including the part that dislikes PDA, and the one that prefers quiet gestures and soft spoken love confessions. Besides, savory and sweet are a perfect pair, just like us. There isn’t enough room in this relationship for two sweet-tooths anyway. ”

Suguru feels a lump forming in his throat; he’s grateful for the restaurant’s mood lighting; he hopes Satoru won’t notice the watery edge to his voice, but he highly doubts it; Satoru’s perceptive enough as it is, so he’s probably already noticed, “I know that, Toru.” Satoru’s eyes soften; they rarely use the nicknames they favored back in school, but every time Suguru calls back to that time, Satoru melts, “I’m not going to change who I am. But I want to try to be more comfortable with casual touch, and I’d like to enjoy dessert with you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to start eating sweets the way you do or that I’m going to be overly physically affectionate in public. That’s not me. I am asking you to trust me to know and honor my own limits and to tell you if I’m not okay with something.”

“I do trust you.”

“I trust you too.”

Their fingers interlock across the table as they stare unabashedly at each other. Suguru resumes his detailed examination of Satoru’s face. He knows Satoru’s cheeks are soft, his lips softer. Knows that there’s a subtle tan-line where Satoru’s blindfold rests, indistinguishable to the untrained eye. Satoru’s left eye is slightly bluer than his right, but tonight, the candlelight turns both liquid gold. There’s countless tales around the world expounding on the great beauty of gods and goddesses, but Suguru’s certain they’d all pale in comparison to Satoru. A laugh escapes from his lips, at the absurdity of the thought, he really is a lovesick fool.

“What is it?” Satoru cocks his head; he looks like an eager puppy. It’s sickening.

Suguru lifts the back of Satoru’s hand to his lips, “I’m happy to be here with you.”

Satoru’s blushes, and Suguru can confidently confirm that Satoru’s beauty eclipses all.

Their server comes by shortly after and Satoru orders every single dessert on the menu, with the exception of a fruit tart with a grapefruit glaze. When Suguru asks, Satoru stares at him like he’s grown another head, “You can’t have grapefruit with your medication, Suguru.” He says it matter of fact. Satoru’s eyes narrow, “You haven’t been secretly sneaking grapefruit, have you? You know it fucks with your meds.”

And Satoru has the gall to accuse him of lecturing? Hilarious. “No, Satoru, I haven’t been sneaking grapefruit. Shoko would skin me alive.” He’s quiet for a moment before quietly adding, “Besides, they help me feel more in control and less depressed. I wouldn’t jeopardize that over a grapefruit slice.”

Satoru’s face softens, “Good.”

They don’t often talk about this part of the beginning of their relationship, about Suguru’s dark years. There wouldn’t have been a relationship to talk about if Satoru hadn’t intervened and encouraged Suguru to get the help he needed when he did.

Shortly after getting together, Satoru practically moved into Suguru's dorm. While it sounds exciting, and if Suguru’s being honest, it often was, the real reason for Satoru’s move was more anxiety fueled than romantic, though Suguru would argue that Satoru’s dedication to him during that time was in itself an act of unconditional love. Satoru would watch Suguru take his medication, only appearing at ease once he’d witnessed that Suguru had. Satoru had never been as militant about anything as he had been about ensuring Suguru remembered his meds. Suguru’d acted annoyed, belligerent even, but he’d needed Satoru’s presence, his insistence. It kept him going, especially during those first few months after he’d made his decision to remain at Jujutsu High. Suguru’s mental state had been incredibly fragile, but he’d been motivated to get better, initially, because he wanted to please Satoru, but eventually, he started to do it for himself, too.

Satoru’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, “I think you’re gonna like kippan. It's rich in flavor and citrus forward. I think we should definitely share the castella cake. You might like the chocolate chiffon, if it’s not too sweet. Hmm, but the miso butter cookies might actually be our best bet.”

Suguru finds it hard to pay attention to Satoru’s rambling; it’s nearly impossible to think about the plethora of desserts when the stack of cards in his pocket rest heavily against his thigh. Suguru’s foot nervously jiggles, which only exacerbates his worry. Suguru wipes his hands against his pants and tries to calm himself, but he’s afraid Satoru might find what he has planned silly. Suguru shoves his hand into his pocket anyway feeling slightly foolish pulling out handwritten question cards.

Satoru’s humming as he sips his fourth fruity mocktail, completely unaware of Suguru’s internal dilemma.

He could have easily pulled up a list on his phone, but he didn’t want any distractions. This feels more intimate, which is both terrifying and exhilarating.

Satoru clocks it instantly, and makes a grabby hand motion, “What’re those?”

“Questions.”

“For?”

“Us.”

“Why’re you being coy with me, Suguru?”

“I’m not.”

It’s a bold-faced lie and they both know it.

Satoru pushes his mocktail aside, and stares at Suguru, completely unimpressed, “Babe, what’s going on?”

Suguru shoves the stack of questions across the table. They spread out, and one flies over the edge and into Satoru’s lap.

Satoru picks it up and examines it, “Damn your handwriting is as perfect as ever. Always so meticulous.” Satoru’s voice is full of admiration. Suguru’s mortified by how pleased he feels.

Satoru’s affection quickly shifts into indignation, “Suguru, no fair, you’ve had time to prepare answers!” The whiny quality of Satoru’s voice shouldn’t be attractive, but it is. Suguru’s well and truly fucked.

“It’s not a competition, Satoru.”

Satoru pursed his lips, “You always say that, but I see you smirking every time you beat me in hand to hand combat, Suguru! I know you keep score in that little notebook you think I don’t know about!”

Suguru bites his lower lip. He thought he’d been careful, “Did you read it?”

“I didn’t have to!” Satoru throws his hands up, “I know you, Suguru. You’re just as conceited as I am.” Satoru adjusts his glasses before continuing, “I might have seen one page. But in my defense, you wrote in it right next to me!”

Suguru can’t argue. His hubris has finally bit him in the ass. “It’s rude to read someone’s private notes, even if they’re sitting beside you.”

“Oh fuck off, Suguru, you wanted me to look.”

Suguru shrugs. Satoru’s right yet again. Suguru stops trying to fight the urge to smile, “79-72.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, “Hardly a significant lead.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Satoru.”

“Wanna spar?”

“When?”

“Right now.”

“You can’t be serious, Satoru.”

“I’ll teleport us.”

“Satoru, no.”

“Why not?”

“We’re on a date.”

“Think of it as part of our date. Don’t you wanna pin me down, Suguru?”

He absolutely does, but Suguru ignores the jolt of heat that rushes through his body. “Don’t be crass at the dinner table, Satoru. I want to answer the questions I prepared for us.”

Satoru huffs goodnaturedly, “Fine! But I get to choose the first one then!” He sticks his tongue out, petulantly and hastily snatches up the remaining cards, reminiscent of a kid in a candy shop eagerly filling bags to the brim. Satoru picks the same card back up and reads it again, this time focused on its contents rather than its appearance. When he looks up, there’s a softness to his features, making him look younger and more vulnerable, “Suguru, this is… it’s too much. How’d you manage to do all of this so fast?”

Has Suguru truly failed so miserably as a partner that Satoru thinks this is too much? It’s hardly enough; it’s barely scratching the surface of all that he intends to do for Satoru.

“I’d say my motivation was pretty strong.”

Satoru’s vibrant blush is its own reward. He huffs dramatically, “Well, good.”

Suguru smirks; he doesn’t often catch Satoru off guard like this. It’s unbelievably satisfying. His ego and his pride encourage snarky boastfulness, but he ignores his desire to be a bastard. “Do you want to answer first, or me?” Suguru gently removes the first card from Satoru’s hand, purposefully grazing his fingertips against Satoru’s palm.

Satoru’s choked out, “You” is more satisfying than it should be. So, maybe Suguru is a bit of a bastard, but can he really be blamed? Satoru’s so easy to tease, and he looks so cute when he’s flustered like this. Satoru’s candidness and embarrassment cause Suguru’s nerves to dissipate.

Confidently, he reads the first question, “What’s your partner’s most attractive non-physical quality? Their most attractive physical attribute? Why don’t we each answer the non-physical part first, then we can answer the second part.”

Satoru nods.

It’s an easy question to answer.

“I know I tend to chastise you for your manners-”

“Tend to?! I think you mean always!” Satoru interjects, rolling his eyes.

Suguru narrows his eyes, “I wasn’t done yet.”

“Go on then, your highness,” Satoru sticks his tongue out. Suguru ignores the sass; he knows Satoru’s feeling out of his element. They both are.

“Your audacious attitude and confidence turn me on.”

“Ha! I fucking knew it!” Satoru nearly spills his drink, but somehow saves their table from a second spill. Suguru doesn’t try to hide his smile.

“You have so much passion and care underneath layers of bravado. You have a soft heart, Satoru, and I’m grateful you’ve chosen me as its keeper. I don’t take that role lightly.”

Satoru genuinely looks like he’s going to cry. He’s staring into his drink, which is now thankfully securely in place on their table.

“Am I allowed to say I like your ass when we’re at the dinner table?”

Suguru takes a sip from his drink, eyes Satoru over the rim of his glass, “As long as I’m allowed to say I like yours too.” Suguru winks to add extra flair, and is rewarded by Satoru’s red-faced sputtering. “I also like your eyes, your legs, your smile. There’s so much I like about you. Your eyes are my favorite though. They remind me of the crystal clear waters here in Okinawa.”

Satoru grins, “But even prettier, right?”

“The ocean could never compare.” And Suguru means it. He’d rather spend the rest of his life looking into Satoru’s eyes. Suguru knows it’s cliche, but to him, Satoru’s eyes truly are the window to his soul, and what a beautiful soul it is to gaze upon.

“It’s hard to choose only one thing about you, Suguru. I admire your self-assurance, your composure, your kindness, your morality. There’s so much about you that I love. Obviously, I find you incredibly attractive. Who wouldn’t? You’re smart and sexy. And when you wear high waisted pants? Damn, Suguru…it drives me absolutely wild seeing your waist like that. I love the shape of your eyes, the curve of your smile. Your hair. I could spend hours touching your hair.”

“Braid it for me tonight?”

“As you wish,” Satoru grins dopily at him. Suguru’s certain his smile is equally sappy.

He draws the next card, and can’t stop his voice from shaking. He feels raw and giddy right now, “What’s your favorite date from when we first started dating?”

“I liked that day we spent laying on the floor in your dorm. We’d been together for maybe two weeks or less, and it was so damn humid and hot out. But we spent the whole day talking, and it was like the heat didn’t exist, it felt like you and I were the only people in the world. You told me you thought I was pretty for the first time that day. You were so embarrassed when I told you that I thought you were too. I love all the dates we’ve been on together, but there’s something special about the quiet moments we share.”

“I like them too.” Suguru takes Satoru’s hand in his. Satoru’s hands are soft, untouched by the world around him, so unlike Suguru’s calloused hands. “Do you remember when we exorcised the curse that lived in Midoro pond?”

“Hardly, it was so damn weak. Not a challenge for us at all. Yaga really had us doing 4th grade jobs that year.”

“Satoru, it was a semi-grade 1 curse.”

“Ha! That’s funny, Suguru.”

“I’m serious.”

“That can’t be right. It took us less than two minutes to locate and exorcise that thing.”

“Satoru, just because it was easy for us, doesn’t make it a grade 4.”

“Eh, whatever,” Satoru waved his hand dismissively, he then leaned forward, his free hand swirling his drink, “What’s this have to do with the question?”

“During that time, you were obsessed with levitating. Honestly, Shoko and I found it a bit obnoxious.”

Satoru grinned, “You guys were totally jealous cause you couldn’t fly.”

Satoru technically can’t fly either, but Suguru’s not going to argue about the technicalities. He doesn’t want Satoru testing his limits and accidentally getting himself killed. “I had plenty of curses that allowed me to be airborne.”

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, Suguru, tell me the date you liked! I told you,” Satoru’s whine should be annoying, but it’s kind of hot. Maybe the plum wine is affecting him more than expected.

“You begged me to let you try and levitate us. You wanted to test if you could extend your ability beyond yourself, if you could really teleport and move others through space. Do you remember?”

“I do. You were so unimpressed.” Satoru pouts, “You acted so nonchalant back then, always so cool and unaffected.”

“Hm, did I? How can you be so sure?”

“Don’t act all coy on me. You know you did.”

“Satoru, after we came back down, I pushed you against the nearest tree and gave you a blow job for the first time. Would you really call that unaffected?”

“Oh shit, you’re right. Damn, you looked so good on your knees. I was so fucking nervous. I didn’t know what I was doing at all, but I didn’t want you to know I was inexperienced and think I was a loser.”

“Too late,” Suguru doesn’t even try to mask his fondness.

Satoru’s flushed red again, “So, your favorite date was giving me head?” Satoru chuckles awkwardly.

“Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed that part, but it’s not just that. I liked how you held me close, you were so careful with me in the air. I liked seeing the world through your perspective and that you wanted to share it with me. I didn’t have the words then. And after we left, I spent the night in your room for the first time.”

“That wasn’t the first time you’d slept over.”

“No, but it was our first as a couple. You were so affectionate and soft with me that night… in a way I’d never experienced before. It was unexpected and intoxicating. That evening, I taught you how to braid my hair. You were surprisingly gentle and skilled. That night was the night I realized you were really serious about being with me.”

“I’ve always been serious about you.”

“I know.” Suguru doesn’t know how to handle Satoru’s intensity. He never really has. It never felt deserved, but Suguru craves it, is nourished by it. But it scares him, too. He doesn’t know how to live without it. He doesn’t want to learn to. He needs Satoru. But he’s so damn afraid, ’“How about one more question?” He’s proud when his voice doesn’t shake.

Satoru nods, and picks up another card, “What’s your favorite part of being married to me? Do you want me to go first this time?”

“Please.”

“I like who I am when I’m with you. The world feels right when you’re beside me. I love that I get to spend every day with my best friend.”

“I’m never bored when I’m with you. It’s hard for me to find joy and to laugh in this ugly world, but you can always make me laugh.”

When their copious desserts arrive, Satoru doesn’t move. He keeps his eyes trained on Suguru and his fingers interlaced with Suguru’s, and Suguru knows, in his very core, that they’ll be okay.

When they arrive back at their hotel room, Suguru's shoulders sag with instant relief as soon as he spots the box on the bedside table. He’d made a special request just before leaving to pick Satoru up for their date, and he’d been worried it wouldn’t be fulfilled in time. He will have to extend his gratitude and thanks to the staff.

Satoru immediately clocks its presence and makes a beeline for the box, “Oh! What is this? We’ve got presents, Suguru.”

Suguru makes his way over as Satoru carefully unwraps the box's contents. Suguru already knows what's in it but it’s delightful to watch as curiosity and joy dance across his husband’s features.

Candles, cookies, tea, body lotion, bath salts, a fluffy blue eye-mask he specifically selected for Satoru’s comfort.

Satoru pauses and picks up the last item: massage oil. He glances at Suguru, “You ordered this.” It isn’t a question.

Suguru suddenly feels awkward, “I thought it might be nice to try…”

Satoru raises his eyebrows suggestively, “You just want an excuse to get your hands on me.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. There’s no point denying it, “Of course I do, but not tonight, ok? I’m serious about what I said earlier.”

“You’re so chivalrous today, Suguru, acting like a male lead in a shojo.”

“For you, yes.”

“Do we have to wait until tomorrow to use it?” Satoru pouts.

“Depends on how you want to use it.”

“You know what I want.”

“But I don’t. That’s part of the problem, Satoru.”

Satoru sighs, “I know.”

Suguru doesn’t want their date to sour. This night has been nearly perfect, and he won’t ruin it, “I have something else for you.”

“Oh?” The spark returns to Satoru’s eyes, and Suguru’s surprised by the sheer sense of relief spreading throughout his body. He removes his final gift from his backpack and throws the bag of unwrapped blind boxes into Satoru’s hands. He takes a step back, ready for the chaos he knows will ensue.

Satoru rips open the bag and gasps, and immediately starts unboxing the first, “Oooooh I better get Skullgreymon! Although…I do need more Gabumon figures. 7 is hardly enough, but he’s not my number one priority. But Patamon is very cute and would bring a layer of softness that my current collection is lacking.”

Fondness nestles itself deep into Suguru’s chest. He doesn’t understand half of what Satoru’s saying but his husband’s excitement is infectious. Suguru can’t stop himself from grinning.

“Fuck yeah, Skullgreymon! Oh and Gabumon?! Punimon! I totally forgot about Botamon, so cute! Holy shit! Seasarmon! This one is super rare!”

Satoru looks up from his haul. Satoru grins and hurls himself across the room and tackles Suguru onto the bed, “Thank you! Where did you even find these? When ?!” Suguru huffs. Satoru’s heavy against him; it’s distracting. Satoru starts peppering kisses all over his face, “Suguru , thank you!”

Suguru laughs as Satoru places a sloppy kiss against his temple. He wraps his arms around Satoru and pulls him close, “Anything for you.”

Satoru rests his head against Suguru’s chest, “Thanks.” His tone is watery, raw in its earnestness. Suguru presses his fingers against Satoru’s wrist, counting steady beats.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

“What did you have in mind?”

Suguru takes Satoru’s hand and lifts it up to his mouth, placing a kiss against his husband's palm, “You decide.”

Satoru chooses a Digimon movie from the early 2000s for them to watch. Suguru can’t remember the title, because right before they could start the movie, Satoru info dumped and explained deep Digimon lore for nearly an hour. Suguru listens with rapt attention, as Satoru talks a mile a minute and wildly gesticulates. Truthfully, Satoru lost him about 15 minutes ago when he started spewing out theories and referencing names Suguru’s never heard before. Suguru cannot keep up, though he doesn’t believe anyone can. Suguru’s confident that no one knows more about Digimon than his husband does.

Once they finally start the movie, Suguru really tries to watch, but his eyes keep wandering toward Satoru.

Satoru’s at the edge of the couch, worrying his lip between his teeth, as though he hasn’t already watched this movie hundreds of times and doesn’t already know the outcome. They’ve watched this specific movie together at least ten times over the course of their relationship. Suguru’s pretty sure Satoru can quote the entire film by heart.

Satoru doesn’t notice him staring, “I always hate this part!” Suguru takes Satoru’s hand into his. Satoru shifts his attention toward him and smiles.

Wordlessly, Satoru pushes Suguru until he’s laying prone on the couch. Satoru drapes himself on top of Suguru, and rests his head against Suguru’s chest. Suguru moves his fingers into Satoru’s hair and starts slowly scratching his scalp.

Satoru sighs and snuggles closer. Suguru fights back laughter when Satoru makes a disgruntled noise, “Shit, we missed the best part! We’ve gotta rewind!”

Satoru nearly falls trying to reach for the remote. Suguru holds onto Satoru’s hips to keep him grounded. Satoru grins at him and thrusts the remote into the air, “Got it!” Satoru settles back down and concentrates on rewinding.This time Satoru’s eyes remain fully glued to the screen. Suguru’s gaze is fixed on Satoru.

Satoru vibrates with unconcealed excitement when the scene shifts into what Suguru knows is Satoru’s favorite part. Satoru’s cute like this.

Suguru loses track of time, as exhaustion settles over them. He stopped paying attention to the movie a while ago, but the loud music playing as the credits begin to roll brings him back into the present.

Suguru watches with barely concealed amusement as Satoru’s eyelashes flutter rebelliously as he fights off sleep. Suguru shoves his nose into Satoru’s hair and takes a deep breath in. Satoru’s hair is soft and smells vaguely floral with hints of sandalwood. Satoru’s been using his products again. At this point, they really should just buy bulk of the same shampoo and conditioner.

“Do you think we’ll live to be 100?” Satoru’s voice is barely audible as he winds his arms around Suguru, his hands gently resting on Suguru’s shoulders, he starts rhythmically threading fingers through Suguru’s hair. Suguru leans into the touch.

“I hope we live a long and prosperous life together.”

“Do you think you’ll still like me when I’m no longer beautiful?”

“You’ll always be beautiful.”

“Suguru! You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“So, will you?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“With every season that passes, and each year we live together, there is one constant: the love I have for you. I couldn’t possibly not find you beautiful, Satoru, because to me, who you are, the very essence of your soul, is beautiful, so, as long as you’re still you, you’ll always be beautiful to me.”

His t-shirt is suspiciously damp where Satoru’s face is pressed against his chest. “Ok,” Satoru chokes out. Suguru rubs Satoru’s back in soft circular motions.

Suguru isn’t sure how much time has passed as they lay together in comfortable silence.

“Suguru?”

“Yes?”

“Can we fuck?”

“Satoru…”

“I know what I said. And I’m so glad you’re taking my feelings seriously. I appreciate how special you made our date tonight. It means a lot to me, and I don’t want you to stop being more intentional. But Suguru… it’s going to take time for me to stop feeling this way. This isn’t something that’s going to shift overnight. Plus, it’s not only on you, you know? Some of this is my own shit that I need to work through.”

“I know, but I don’t want to be the reason you feel it. And I have been.”

Satoru shrugs, “We’re trying. That’s all we can do, isn’t it? I didn’t tell you so we’d stop having sex altogether. I told you, because we’re supposed to be more honest with each other.”

“I have no intention of stopping unless you tell me to.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Suguru echoes back, feeling slightly awkward.

“So, Suguru, wanna fuck?” Satoru wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. The gesture’s far too exaggerated to truly be considered sexy, but for some inexplicable reason, Suguru can’t help but find it so. “I promise I want to. I really, really do.”

Suguru takes a long look at Satoru’s face. Behind the bravado, he knows his husband is shielding insecurity and testing the waters between them. This is familiar. They fight, they fuck, and they forget their problems, until it all comes crashing down around them. It’s so easy to get lost in each other, to surrender to the one part of their relationship that’s always felt sacred and secure. But is it really? Not if Satoru feels like he’s just a warm body. A warm body means nothing, if it’s not Satoru’s body against his. If they’re going to have sex tonight, then Suguru has to be more careful with his words and actions. He wants Satoru to understand that he’s not a means to an end; he’s precious.

Suguru ignores the white hot embarrassment searing heat along his cheeks and cups Satoru’s face, he lowers his voice and imbues it with as much sincerity as possible, “Only if we make love.”

Suguru can feel heat pooling in Satoru’s face where his hands cradle soft skin. It’s reassuring to know he’s not alone in his feelings. Wordlessly, Satoru leans into the touch, moving closer until their foreheads press together.

Suguru opens his eyes, Satoru’s staring back at him. His eyes are so damn blue up close like this. Satoru’s gaze drops to Suguru’s lips. Anticipation lingers between them.

Satoru’s hand slides underneath Suguru’s t-shirt. His fingers are cool against his stomach, each gentle caress sends little pinpricks of excitement coursing throughout his body.

Satoru’s other hand grips the hem of Suguru’s shirt; he gives it a soft experimental tug in a silent request. Satoru smiles bashfully at Suguru, and Suguru closes the space between them, eagerly pressing their lips together. Satoru returns the kiss with equal enthusiasm; leaving Suguru feeling lightheaded and euphoric.

He wishes he could freeze time and stay here, in this moment with Satoru, forever.

When their lips part, Satoru laughs breathlessly, and buries his face against Suguru’s neck. He places kisses along Suguru’s neck, and Suguru fails to repress a full body shiver. A needy moan escapes from his lips but Suguru’s too turned on to be properly mortified. Satoru laughs; the bastard. Suguru, not one to be bested, pulls Satoru flush against him. He feels drunk on love as he crashes his lips against Satoru’s in a fierce and frantic kiss.

He was never going to make it through the night without kissing Satoru. It’s comical that he thought it possible at all. He’d been able to effectively temper his jealousy-fueled lust earlier, but now, with Satoru’s body hot against his own, he’s downright ravenous and insatiable. Satoru groans as Suguru nips at a particularly sensitive spot at the base of Satoru’s neck.

He can’t believe he let some stupid masseuse touch Satoru. It’s unreasonable. He knew it then and he knows it now. But fuck if he cares right now.

Satoru is his. What Satoru doesn’t seem to understand is that Suguru’s Satoru’s too.

Satoru doesn’t understand that Suguru is this delirious, this desperate, because ofSatoru; because it’s Satoru. If it takes a lifetime for Satoru to understand, then Suguru will gladly spend this lifetime showing him.

Chapter Text

Two weeks post-Okinawa

Suguru hasn’t thought about leaving jujutsu society in years. At least, not in any truly serious capacity.

But, as he walks side by side with Satoru down the hallowed halls of the Tokyo campus, a small flicker of doubt alights in his gut.

He’s starting to wonder if he will ever truly be happy as a sorcerer.

He loves how it feels to outmaneuver someone in a fight; loves the feeling of winning a battle. How it feels to unleash a curse on an unexpecting foe. And he loves teaching, far more than he ever expected he would. His students give him purpose. Their eager smiles when they learn a new skill or start to master their techniques are not something he would trade away lightly.

But he hates what jujutsu society asks of him and Satoru. Hates what they have to give up for this. He’s spent far too many nights worrying about the fate of his students. Sometimes he looks at them and sees Haibara’s eager face looking back at him. It’s jarring.

Part of him thinks he might want a quieter life. Another, basks in the pure euphoria of being the strongest. He doesn’t do what he does for the weak anymore. Now, he does it for Satoru, himself, and for the generations of sorcerers to come.

He doesn’t resent non-sorcerers anymore. Now, he knows his hatred was fueled by trauma and misplaced vitriol. The higher ups and the corruption of jujutsu society are far more deserving of his ire. He tries to channel his anger in healthier ways. Satoru helps.

It’s quiet as they make their way off campus. Satoru’s physically unharmed, but Suguru knows he's pissed off. Suguru is too.

They’ve gone through yet another lecture, where the higher ups criticized them, yet again. Most of their anger was reserved for Satoru. Suguru’s under no illusions; his husband is arrogant and flippant at the best of times, so he understands why the higher ups feel no warmth toward him. His disregard for social convention is only permitted because of his status. If Satoru were anyone else, he’d have been expelled from the premises, but as usual, Satoru Gojo is the sole exception.

But something’s different today. Satoru’s different.

As soon as they walk through their front door, Satoru quietly removes his blindfold and grimaces. There’s a darkness under his eyes that Suguru hasn’t seen before.

He walks into their bedroom without a word. Suguru hovers by the door, plagued by uncertainty. He doesn’t know how to proceed. Satoru doesn’t shut down like Suguru does.

The sound of the shower running puts him slightly at ease.

He enters their bedroom and changes; he’ll shower tomorrow morning.

He pulls back the covers and sinks into the mattress; it’s just the right amount of softness and firmness. Satoru was right to splurge on it.

When he wakes suddenly at 3 am, reaching for Satoru, he finds a note beside his pillow instead:

Yaga called. Major emergency outside of Kyoto.
Didn’t wanna wake you.
You looked peaceful.
I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.
Love,
S

Suguru stares at the clock. Five minutes have passed since his session started, but it feels like it’s been hours.

He looks back at Kanna; her face is serene and sympathetic. It’s infuriating.

Suguru crosses his arms over his chest, “Our trip was so good. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as happy before. So, I don’t understand why it’s all falling apart again.”

“You honeymooned.”

“What? “

“You went through a brief honeymoon period. The two of you got out of your usual routine and went on vacation from work, which we know is one of the major tension points in your relationship. Without work triggers present you had more space for genuine connection with each other. With the added bonus of letting go of other responsibilities too: no household chores to divvy up or think about. It sounds like your time together was quite romantic, candlelit dinners, massages, walks along the ocean. The context matters.”

“So, what? Are you saying we’re never going to be able to replicate it at home and in our daily lives?” Tears of frustration sit heavy against his lower lashes. He’s fighting with everything he has to stop them from falling. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of her. His throat constricts painfully, and he knows at this moment that his effort is futile.

“No, I’m saying that being away is-” Kanna stops; he catches the briefest look of surprise on her face before she seemingly catches herself and presents a more neutral and empathetic expression.

Hot tears run down his face as he chokes out yet another sob.. He hates the taste of salt on his lips. He can’t look at Kanna like this. It’s too shameful. He shoves his face into his hands, his palms feel hot against his cheeks.

His entire body shakes with the force of his despair.

“I don’t-“

“I can’t-“

“Suguru, will you take a deep breath with me?”

He nods. He listens as Kanna inhales and exhales and mimics her. Kanna takes several more deep breaths and so does he.

“Ok now for this next part, you can answer out loud or if that isn’t accessible right now, you can answer in your head.”

He nods again.

“The first step is to name five things you can see. If you wish to keep your eyes closed, that’s totally fine. You can name objects that you remember seeing in the room.”

Suguru doesn’t ever want to uncover his face ever again . He’s mortified. He forces himself to sit up and glances around the room, his throat is so damn dry. When he attempts to speak, he coughs.

Kanna rises from her seat and over to the water dispenser; she fills a cup and it brings over. She sets the glass on the table in front of him..

She’s far too kind. It feels undeserved.

He reaches for it and downs it in one go. He hadn’t realized how parched he was; he’d forgotten how dehydrated he feels after crying like this.

He tries again, “There’s art on the walls. 3 on the wall in front of me. The bookshelf. The couch. Your desk. You.”

“Alright, what about 4 things you can feel?”

Suguru runs his fingers against the couch, “It’s soft but not too soft,” His hand glides toward the nearest throw pillow, “It’s firmer than expected, the design is woven so it’s bumpy.” He grabs the glass, “It’s smooth and cold to the touch.” He places his other hand on his pants; they’re far too wrinkly; he should’ve ironed them before leaving the house, “The material is lightweight and comfortable to move in.”

“3 things you can hear?”

“The white noise machine. My voice and yours. There’s a faint sound of cars driving by outside.”

“Two things you smell?”

“You’re drinking jasmine tea, yeah?,” Kanna nods, and he continues, “I used sandalwood shampoo and conditioner this morning.”

“One thing you can taste?”

“Taste?”

Kanna smiles, “Yes. If you want to, you can take a sip of water and say water. Or you could say your mouth tastes like mouth. There’s options.”

“That’s stupid.”

Kanna laughs, “That may be so, but you’re not panicking anymore are you?”

Damn, she’s right. Suguru snorts; he’s a mess, covered in tears and snot. But Kanna’s face only conveys care. He grabs a tissue off the table in front of him and wipes the grim off his face.

“What was that?”

“A grounding technique. There are many of them. I like this one in particular, because you can do it anywhere. Some people like to bring a snack, gum, or mints with them for taste.”

“That’s… interesting,” Suguru’s not going to start carrying gum or candy in his pockets. Actually, maybe he should. He can just picture Satoru’s childlike wonder at Suguru procuring an unexpected and random treat from his pocket.

Kanna straights her posture and looks at him in a way that unsettles him, “Something very raw pain came up for you, would you be willing to share what you were feeling?”

Suguru looks at the floor. One his shoes is more scuffed up than the other. He really should clean it soon. “Despair. It feels completely hopeless. I don’t know what to do.”

“About your relationship with Satoru?”

“Yes… he doesn’t know how to be anything but the strongest.”

“You’ve mentioned this before, and while I understand why it is hard for you to witness this as his partner, have you considered that it might not be fair of you to ask him not to be?”

“What do you mean?”

She counters with another question, “What is it that you expect from Satoru? Does he know your expectations? Do you know them? If you expect him not to be the strongest, when he is in fact the strongest, it sounds like he’s constantly set up to fail. It’s a lose-lose scenario for him and also for you. This is who he is, and while that could change, it might not, Suguru. Can you learn to accept and live with this part of him?”

“So, I’m just supposed to accept that he keeps taking on more missions? That he leaves and doesn't tell me? That he keeps coming back looking even more exhausted than before?”

“I get where you’re coming from, Suguru, and I think your concerns and requests are generally reasonable. And, I wonder if Satoru might be more receptive if you framed this from a place of care and concern rather than from a space of criticism. Saying, ‘Satoru, I’m worried about the toll work is taking on your mental and physical health’ is very different from picking at everything you think he is doing wrong. It sounds like you both are already heavily criticized by your leaders, and that Satoru in particular is often their target. It’s likely that he’s more sensitive to your criticism because of that and because of the depth of your connection.”

“You’re right.” Of course she is. He feels stupid, silly even, for not realizing this sooner. He’s creating more pressure. He wants Satoru’s circumstances to change; he hates witnessing his husband suffering, but he’s inadvertently adding to it by being callous with his worry. It feels all consuming, but it’s stopped him from seeing how his anxiety fueled frustrations are affecting his husband, “So, how do I start to challenge the expectations I have? How can I form more realistic ones?”

Kanna smiles, “I’m so happy you asked.”

Suguru sits on the couch facing their door.

Waiting for Satoru. He’s always waiting.

He’s fully prepared to apologize to Satoru for all the expectations he’s placed, knowingly and unknowingly, on Satoru’s shoulders. Kanna’s right. He hasn’t been fair. And he knows it, but it was good to be reminded again. Working on oneself is exhausting, but it’s worth it. Satoru’s worth it. Their relationship is worth it.

But as soon as Satoru steps through the door, Suguru eyes narrow in on the minute changes to his demeanor and appearance. His glasses are clutched in his hand. Even from here, Suguru knows they’re broken. Satoru looks like he’s lost weight. There’s a streak of mud on his pants.

He stands and steps toward his husband, “Satoru, are you okay?”

Satoru flinches ever so slightly, but Suguru catches it, “Everything’s fine. I’m fine, babe.”

Something deep inside of Suguru roars its ugly head, and he snaps.

He can’t accept this. He wishes he could, but he fucking can’t.

“You’re not.”

“I am. The curses didn’t even pose a challenge.” Satoru’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks awkward and strained. Suguru hates it.

“That isn’t the problem, Satoru, and you know it. The issue is that you don’t get sleep when they send you to take down multiple special grades in a row. You’re strong but you’re still human. How many times do we have to have this conversation?”

“What do you want me to do, Suguru? Quit jujutsu? And do what? What else do I have? Become a salaryman like Nanami? Hell no.”

“Maybe we should consider a break.” Bitter regret settles deep in his stomach. Suguru doesn’t mean it but he doubles down, “Actually, I think we do need to take one.”

Kanna’s going to be very upset with him for avoiding his fears and pushing Satoru away, especially after spending an hour identifying his unrealistic expectations and starting to form more realistic ones. He’s a hypocrite, and he’s furious with himself, but he’s already fucked it up. Self-sabotage feels like an inadequate description; self-imploding feels far more apt.

“A break?” Satoru’s voice shakes, and Suguru forces himself to look away as tears pool in Satoru’s eyes. Yet again, he’s the cause of more pain. “Like… a get divorced kind of break?”

“No,” Suguru choked, then more firmly, “No.”

“Then tell me what you mean, Suguru?!” Satoru throws his hands up and paces back and forth, “What? You wanna live separately? Date other people? Or did you want to take an hour break? A week? A year?”

The idea of anyone else touching Satoru sends a wave of fury through him so strong that he ends up yelling, “No!”

Satoru stops mid step, eyes so wide, it’d be comical if their world wasn’t imploding around them, “No? Then I don’t understand! You can’t just say that shit and expect me to know.”

“I think we should take a few days, or maybe even a week, apart. I’ll stay at Jujutsu High, or go to my parents’ house. They keep asking me to visit.”

“Are you seriously trying to walk away from me, because I said I was fine and you don’t believe me? We’ve already talked about this, Suguru. How many times are we going to have this conversation? We keep going in circles. I can’t change my technique or the responsibilities that come with it. I don’t understand what all of this is for- what’s the point of us going to therapy if we can’t move past this? We’ve been doing better, Suguru, so why’re you doing this? I don’t understand why you’re so upset with me.”

“Because we aren’t doing better.”

“Like hell we’re not! What about Okinawa? And all the conversations we had before then? What do you mean we’re not doing better, Suguru? Explain yourself!”

Suguru stands. His words feel stuck in his throat, like they’re slowly cutting off his airway. He can’t panic; not here and not now.

Satoru strides across the room and takes Suguru’s hand in his. He’s far gentler than Suguru expected, though Satoru’s only ever handled him with the utmost care, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Satoru makes direct eye contact with him, Suguru fights the urge to shrink away, “You think I don’t see what you’re doing, but you always come back to this, Suguru. Trying to push me away. Trying to make me leave. Trying to avoid your feelings. It’s just like when you wanted to leave Jujutsu, or when we were about to get married, and when I got hurt.”

Suguru bites his lip, “I think I’m broken, Satoru, and I’m not sure I'm capable of being fixed.All I do is cause you pain.”

Satoru sighs, “Suguru, you see your own downfall as inevitable, like you’re some kind of sinking ship. You’re so determined to stop me from going down with you that you don’t notice how your fears start to become your reality. You push me away, you feel like shit, and then it reinforces all the negative things you think about yourself as my husband. But, you don't get it, Suguru. You’re the one keeping me afloat. I couldn’t ever be truly satisfied if you’re not here beside me. So, if you sink, then I’ll sink with you. We can always learn how to float again together.”

Satoru’s skillfully shattered his defenses. The tension in Suguru’s shoulders dissolves. He’s left feeling unsightly and raw.

“Are the vows we made meaningless to you, Suguru?

“Of course not.”

“Then stop pushing me away. We’ve worked hard- we’ve fought for us! Then let me fight your darkest thoughts with you, Suguru. I want to walk beside you, so, please don’t leave me behind, ok?”

Suguru doesn’t know what to say. No, that’s not quite true; he doesn't know how to voice what he wants to say. So he nods.

Satoru’s face slackens; he’s eerily calm. But there’s a steely determination in his eyes, “We’ll go visit your parents. I’ll text Yaga that we’re going to be off again for a bit. And I’ll call your mom. Why don’t you take a shower while I pack for us?”

Satoru’s face slackens; he’s eerily calm. But there’s a steely determination in his eyes, “We’ll go visit your parents. I’ll text Yaga that we’re going to be off for a bit. And I’ll call your mom. Why don’t you take a shower while I pack for us?”

Before Suguru can respond, Satoru’s already pulling out his phone and placing a call. Satoru shuffles across the room, using his shoulder to hold the phone against his ear as he rifles through their shared closet, “Good evening oka-sama, yes, yes, it’s good to hear your voice too. You’re right; I’m sorry I haven’t called in awhile. I promise I’ll do better. Well, that’s actually why I called. I was hoping we might be able to visit soon. Great! Would tomorrow morning be too soon?”

Suguru’s about to object, but Satoru holds up his hand while he listens to whatever Suguru’s mom is saying on the other line. He can’t make out what his mother’s saying, but she sounds quite animated. She always enjoys speaking with Satoru.

Suguru sits with his back against the wall and quietly observes.

“Wonderful! I’ll text you which train we’re going to take. Oh, no need to worry, we won’t come by too early. You deserve your beauty rest, and I wouldn’t ever dare to interrupt your slumber, oka-sama,” Satoru laughs, “I couldn’t possibly! He’d be furious with me if I ever referred to you in such a casual manner. I know. I’ll see you soon.”

Suguru hates that he’s crying again. He’s sick of crying. He loves Satoru. He loves that Satoru puts so much effort into his relationship with Suguru’s parents, especially with his mother. He loves that Satoru somehow knew what he needed before he did. He does want to visit home. But he doesn’t really want to go without Satoru. He doesn’t want to take a break. He’s just so fucking scared; it feels easier to run away.

Suguru pulls his knees tight against his chest. And rests his chin against his knees. He watches wordlessly as Satoru grabs their respective bags.

Satoru meticulously folds Suguru’s socks, pants, and an assortment of t-shirts and sweaters. He carefully arranges them in the suitcase. Satoru truly has a talent for organizing. It surprised him back when they were kids. Satoru was so chaotic yet his space was always tidy. Initially, the juxtaposition was jarring. Now it’s soothing.

“I think you should wear this black sweater more often. I like the way it accentuates the broadness of your shoulders; it really emphasizes the muscles in your back and your arms, too,” Satoru places it into the suitcase and moves back toward the closet, “I was thinking we could go to that cafe again- the one a few blocks from your parents place. Your mom really liked the French pastries we brought back last time. I swear I even saw your dad smiling when he ate one.”

Suguru snorts, “I doubt it.”

“Just cause you didn’t see it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!”

“He’s going to put you to work as soon as we get there, you know.”

Satoru shrugs and takes out their iron, “I know. I don’t mind.”

“Admit it, Satoru, you just like showing off.”

Satoru grins as he sets up their ironing board. “So what if I do? Your parents love it. And so do you.”

He does. Satoru found a way into both of his parents' hearts. His dad likes that Satoru can quickly demolish things, and that he can chop down trees with the flick of his wrist. His mother loves that Satoru can cook and that Satoru’s always down to listen to the latest small town gossip.

“Satoru?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Satoru’s focused on ironing one of his nicest dress shirts. He’s chosen Suguru’s favorite; it’s dark blue and compliments Satoru’s eyes. Satoru typically wears one when they visit Suguru’s parents. Suguru’s mom always comments on how handsome he looks, while trying and failing to covertly wink at Suguru. Satoru always catches her; Suguru can picture his self-satisfied grin.

“Stopping me from doing something really stupid.”

Satoru’s shoulders sag. He sets the iron down and softly says, “I’m sorry, Suguru. That was completely out of line… I shouldn’t have done that without your permission. If you really need a break and some time away from me, then I don’t have to go with you. You’re allowed to take whatever space you need. We can always tell your mom that I was pulled into a mission last minute and that I couldn’t get out of it. It’s a believable enough excuse,” Satoru’s chuckle is devoid of humor.

“No!” Suguru’s face feels hot, “No, I don’t want that. I’m so sorry, Satoru. I didn’t mean it, Satoru. I just… I’ve been feeling so disappointed in myself, and feeling frustrated that we keep fighting. Okinawa was so damn good for us, and I just want it to always be that way.”

“You think it isn’t hard for me, too? I want the same thing, Suguru. I don’t like how this feels.” Satoru’s voice is full of hurt and frustration; it mirrors his own.

“How’d we get here, Satoru?”

Satoru unplugs the iron and walks over and plops down beside him. Their shoulders brush ever so slightly; it sends a wave of warmth throughout Suguru’s body. It nestles itself deep inside his chest. He wants to keep the sensation rooted there forever.

“I don’t know. We’re both kind of fucked up,” Satoru shrugs, “But you’re the only person I wanna be fucked up with.”

“That really shouldn’t sound as romantic as it does.”

Satoru laughs, “Maybe we’ve got a warped sense of romance too.”

“Probably.”

Suguru rests his head on Satoru’s shoulder. Satoru rests his head on top of Suguru’s and wraps his arm around Suguru’s waist. Satoru pulls Suguru closer. Suguru likes that he can feel every breath Satoru takes.

Suguru isn’t sure how long they sit on the floor together. He wishes he could freeze this moment in time; wishes it could somehow be packaged and stored away so that he can open it on his toughest day to regain his sense of purpose.

It’s too bad that pictures and videos don’t capture physical sensations. If they could, then viewing this moment would convey the physicality of tranquility: the warmth where their bodies meet, the soft sound of Satoru breathing, Suguru’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he fights off sleep, the steady thrum of hearts beating in tandem.

“Suguru?”

“Hmm?” Suguru sleepily bats his eyes open. It’s dark outside now, but the light from the moon is right in his eyeline; it’s far too bright. He closes his eyes again. He can listen without looking.

“Can I kiss you?”

Suguru nods vigorously.

He yelps in surprise when Satoru gently pushes Suguru onto his back, Suguru’s suddenly very fucking glad that he had agreed to splurge on the exceptionally soft and super fancy bedroom carpet, after Satoru spent weeks trying to convince him. A genius decision. His husband’s so smart. He should tell him.

“You.. art.” His sleep addled brain can’t quite formulate the words.

Satoru laughs above him. And woah, when did Satoru get so close? He’s hovering above and smiling down at him.

“I’m art? That’s quite the compliment. Are you feeling generous tonight, Suguru? Usually you’re so adamant about not feeding my ego. But thanks, babe, I think you’re art, too.”

Suguru makes a sound in protest. Satoru’s taking way too long to kiss him. He lifts his head up hoping Satoru will take the hint and just kiss him already.

Satoru grins. The cocky bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Suguru loves it, loves him. Satoru leans in and Suguru’s brain short circuits. Satoru’s lips graze against his; Satoru pulls away just slightly. What a fucking tease.

Suguru’s about to protest this injustice, when, suddenly, Satoru’s kissing him earnestly. Finally. Fuck, Satoru’s lips are so damn soft.

The kiss can hardly be called a kiss; it’s fleeting, more a brushing of lips against one another. Suguru likes how it feels. Satoru’s got all the power in the world at his fingertips, but with Suguru, he’s nothing but tender.

Satoru chuckles and places soft kisses all over his face, “C’mon, sleepy, let’s go to bed. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”

Suguru couldn’t agree more.

Chapter Text

As soon as Suguru steps through the front door, he’s wrapped in the warmth of his mother’s fierce embrace. Her presence is soothing in its familiarity. He’s missed her far more than he realized. He has to bend down to properly return the hug. He’d almost forgotten how short she is, she’s as petite as ever. It’s slightly jarring after all this time apart.

“You’re too thin, honey,” His mother pinches his arm, and takes his face between her palms, inspecting him. Her brown eyes are gentle and full of unbridled concern, “You look tired. They’ve been working you too hard at that wizard school.”

“I’m okay, mom, I promise.”

She eyes him skeptically, but her eyes veer behind him and they instantly brighten. She lets go of him and makes her way over to Satoru who bows.

She takes Satoru’s hands in hers, “How’s my favorite son in law?” She quietly appraises Satoru’s appearance and sighs, “You look tired and too thin too. What are they doing to you boys at that place? That principal told me it was a good school but it only seems to cause you both trouble. Maybe I need to give him a call.” He follows his mother’s gaze to where her phone lies on the haphazard stool his parents keep in the front hall ‘for emergencies’- whatever that means. Suguru hasn’t bothered asking and doesn’t plan on it. Some of his father’s shenanigans are better if left as mysteries.

“I’m doing well, oka-sama. Even better now that I’m here with you,” Satoru grins roguishly and his mother smiles. “Forget about the school. We’ve got more important things to talk about, like your haircut. And is that a new blouse? The light pink really suits you, oka-sama.”

Suguru fights the urge to roll his eyes. He knows he looks foolish staring at Satoru with a big stupid, dopey grin on his face, but he can’t help it.

“Don’t feed her any more compliments; she went into town this morning and bought four new shirts in preparation for your visit. Mind you, she already has plenty! Some of which she’s never worn,” Suguru’s dad emerges from wherever he’d been lurking in the shadows.

Suguru fights the urge to laugh out loud. His father constantly splurges on his mother. He has no ground to stand on by making such a claim.

“They’re for special occasions, and you haven’t taken me anywhere where I can wear them.” His mother fires back.

“I took you to that nice place in town. The one with the daikon miso and sesame tofu that you love.”

“That’s hardly a fancy place to dress up for. Besides, that was two months ago! I have new shirts to wear out but no where to go.” His mother pouts, and it’s eerily reminiscent of Satoru’s faux dramatics.

His father sighs, though relents, “Fine. We’ll go somewhere ‘fancy’ soon.” His father’s eyes land on him.

Suguru bows and acknowledges his father. He’s pleasantly surprised when his dad pulls him into a tight hug. It’s comforting to feel his father’s sturdy hands on his back. “Good to see you, my son. Are you still practicing your forms?” His father pulls away and looks over him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Still winning?” His father whispers yells; his gaze covertly darts toward Satoru, who’s watching them, an impish amusement twinkles in his brilliant blue eyes.

Suguru smirks, “85 to 79.”

“Excellent work, son.”

“He cheats, ogifu-san!” Satoru protests.

Suguru’s dad completely ignores Satoru’s outcry, and places a rough hand on Satoru’s shoulder, “Can you still do your fancy magic?”

“Of course I can! I’ve even improved my wizardry since I saw you last, ogifu-san.”

Suguru closes his eyes. His father never quite got a handle on how cursed energy and cursed techniques work; no matter how many times Suguru’s explained it to him. When his father met Satoru, he started calling it magic, much to Satoru’s delight and Suguru’s chagrin. Satoru refers to himself as a wizard at least once, if not multiple times, every time they’re here. His parents love it, so he lets it slide for their benefit, and suffers silently.

“Kota, the boys only just arrived. They haven’t had their tea and lunch yet. Don’t be so rude.”

“There’s only so much light in the day, Kumiko. I need their help.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow? They’ve had a long journey. We should let them rest today. ”

“Tokyo isn’t that far,” His dad huffs, but as expected, he acquiesces to his mother’s wishes, “Fine, tomorrow morning.”

Suguru relates; he’s truly incapable of denying Satoru anything. Maybe he’s more like his father than he thought. He finds he doesn’t mind the comparison; in the past, he’d have resented it. Now, he sees all the ways his father quietly dotes on his mother, despite his outward verbal protestations.

“Satoru, I made shiroi koibito and manju cookies for you to try.”

Satoru does not need that much sugar at 10 am. He’s about to say as much, but the words die on his lips as he takes in Satoru’s mega-watt smile. Who cares if Satoru crashes and is asleep by 3 pm? They’re off. Satoru’s allowed to relax.

“Oka-sama, you’re too kind to me!”

“I have fresh fruit for you, Suguru. I got all your favorites. You still like mikan, right? I also got fresh melon at the market this morning. It was on sale.”

Suguru feels warm, like his mother’s words have embraced him, “I do. Thank you, mother.”

His mother ushers them into their dining area; where a wonderful display of food is already set out. Satoru sits beside him, nearly vibrating with excitement. His eyes are comically wide as he takes in the various dishes.

Suguru’s mother instantly starts filling Satoru’s plate. She may be the only person on this planet who instinctively understood Satoru’s dietary needs upon meeting him; she gives Satoru a huge serving of each dish. She knows he’ll eat it, and that he’ll require seconds, possibly thirds.

Suguru moves to serve himself, and his mother shoots him a death glare, “I know that my son is perfectly capable of plating his own food, but your poor mother never gets to take care of you anymore, so please, humor your old mom.” She finishes Satoru’s plate and immediately starts on his. Suguru knows it's a battle he won’t win; it’s not one he’s interested in fighting.

It’s good to be home.

Crickets chirp creating consonant cacophony. It’s pitch black, save for the waxing gibbeous moon. His childhood bedroom is a stark contrast to their townhouse in Tokyo.

Suguru isn’t sure how much time they’ve laid in silence; it’s a comfortable one, with Satoru’s arm wrapped around Suguru’s waist.

“Damn, lunch and dinner were so fucking good today. Suguru, your mom should open a restaurant! She’s the magical one. Wait, no! If she does that, she won’t have time to make food for us.”

“Seriously, Satoru?”

“She loves caring for us! Why should we deprive her of that joy? Your mother is so nice.”

“Satoru… you know I love my mother very much, and while it makes me very happy that you love her, too, I really don’t want to talk about her while we’re lying together half naked in my childhood bed.”

Satoru laughs, “Can you imagine if we visited the Gojo compound? That’d be so fucking weird. I think they’ve repurposed my old room anyway, it’s probably servants quarters or storage now.”

Suguru takes Satoru’s hand in his and brings his palm to his lips, and places a gentle kiss at its center. Satoru brushes his fingers against Suguru’s face.

“That doesn’t sound enjoyable.”

“Not at all. But you know what is enjoyable?”

“What?”

“Do you remember the very first time you brought me to visit your parents? It was right after we officially started dating. You were trying to give me a blow job for the first time, and damn was that a good one, babe, but we kept stopping, because we were freaking out every time we thought we heard your parents walking by.”

Suguru laughs and pushes his face against Satoru’s chest. He smells fresh, with faint hints of citrus. Satoru’s been using his products again. “Oh, do you mean the time you roughly pulled me off of you and pushed me off of the bed, all because you heard an owl hoot? How could I possibly forget? Because of you, I fell on my ass and bruised it.”

“In my defense, I’d never heard an owl hooting in the wild before! It startled me, Suguru! Besides, I said I was sorry and made it up to you with loads of kisses and a blow job! I think that was a proper apology.”

“It was sloppy work.”

“Hmph, I don’t seem to remember you complaining when you were screaming my name. You seemed to enjoy it very much.”

“I was not screaming.” His rebuttal falls flat. Suguru’s grateful that it’s dark out. His entire face feels red hot at the memory. He most definitely was.

“Whatever you say, Suguru,” Satoru shrugs, his disbelief evident. He’s so fucking confident. Suguru hates to admit it, but it’s warranted.

“If you think I’d ever scream your name at my parent’s house, you’re sorely mistaken, Satoru.”

“Is that a challenge? Haven’t you heard? I’m magical.”

He can’t fully make out Satoru’s face in the dark, but he catches a glimpse of his husband wiggling his eyebrows suggestively in the moonlight.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

Suguru laughs, “Hardly.”

“Wanna know something else that’s hard?”

“Satoru!” Suguru says, faux scandalized. He playfully shoves his husband’s shoulder.

Satoru chuckles, “What?! You set it up perfectly for me! What was I supposed to do? Ignore it?”

“Why don’t you shut up and put your mouth to good use already.”

“Wait, Suguru, are you for real?”

“I don’t know, am I?” Of course Suguru is for fucking real. It’s taking all of Suguru’s willpower to stop himself from ripping his pants off right now.

“Suguru, now you’re just being mean,” Satoru whines.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Taunting Satoru is too easy.

Satoru’s laughter is downright delighted, “Suguru, I fucking love you.”

Satoru inches forward. They’re so close their noses touch. At this angle, Satoru’s eyes are slightly more visible in the light of the moon.

Satoru adjusts ever so slightly, and presses their lips together. This kiss is far different from the soft pecks they shared the night before; this is demanding.

Satoru’s insistent and greedy. He pulls Suguru flush against him. It feels so damn good. But Suguru’s too hot; there are too many layers between them. He kicks their blanket down toward the end of bed. His foot gets caught in the twisted layers. He yanks it out. He nearly falls off the bed, but Satoru catches him.

Their predicament is comical; Satoru’s holding him and panting like a dog, meanwhile, Suguru can barely remember to breathe.

Satoru’s fingertips linger above his waistband. His thumb gently brushes back and forth along Suguru’s lower stomach. A full body tremble travels down Suguru’s spine and exits through the tips of his toes.

“Can I?”

“You already know the answer.”

“I know, but I’d still like to hear you say it.”

“Why? To fuel your ego?”

Satoru gently pushes Suguru’s bangs out of his face, “Because I want this to be good for you. I want to please you.”

“Then please me, Satoru.”

Suguru can feel Satoru’s wide smile where his lips rest against his face, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hot tea with honey does little to soothe his scratchy throat. He’d spent the night screaming Satoru’s name into his pillow. He doesn't believe in any god, but he prays to whoever may be listening that the sounds were muffled enough. He’s pretty sure he ripped the bedsheets in multiple places. He’s not sure how he’s going to explain that to his mother. But that’s a problem for another day.

It’s not his fault his husband knows how to give amazing head. Except, it kind of is. He’s the one who trained Satoru to do exactly what he likes. Satoru’s nothing if not an avid learner and an eager lover. Always has been.

Satoru’s sitting across the table from him grinning into his tea cup, like he knows exactly what Suguru’s thinking about. The bastard probably does.

“Suguru, honey, can you come help me? I can’t reach the top cabinet, and there’s something I need.”

“Yes, mother.”

When he enters the kitchen, his mother is smiling at him conspiratorally, “I don’t really need your help,” She giggles, then glances behind Suguru in the direction of their dining area, and whispers, “The camellia’s bloomed this morning! I was so worried they wouldn’t be in full bloom while you were here. Can you believe it? You have quite auspicious timing.”

Suguru can’t believe he forgot. “They’re early this year.”

“Or they’re blooming right when they’re meant to.” Suguru swears there’s a twinkle in her eye.

Loud footsteps interrupt their conversation as his father ambles through the kitchen with Satoru following closely behind him. He looks like an eager puppy. It’s cute. Satoru smiles at Suguru and waves.

They dutifully carry their dishes to the sink, where Suguru’s father runs warm water over them, scraping away any remaining food scraps. In a shocking display of affection, his father kisses the side of his mother’s temple. She beams.

Satoru attempts to help, but his mother smacks his hand away. Satoru pouts. His mother looks unimpressed, “My precious son-in-law is not doing the dishes.”

“So, Satoru, that magic of yours is very precise, right? Can you cut specific limbs off the tree without harming others? Can it create a hole in the ground? About this size?” His father gestures wildly with his hands, flinging soap suds onto the counter as he does. Suguru fights the urge to laugh at Satoru’s bewildered expression.

“Definitely,” Satoru nods.

His father’s face lights up; Suguru can almost picture how his father looked as a child as a boyish grin spreads across his face, “Excellent. I’ve always said us Geto men have good taste!” He chuckles heartily, and turns his attention toward Suguru, like he’s in on it.

Suguru wonders if it’s possible to die from pure mortification. If it’s never been documented before, then Suguru just might be the first ever reported case. His father has never ever said that before. He hopes that he never says it again.

Satoru is very clearly struggling to hold back laughter, his rapidly reddening face betrays him, but thankfully, Suguru’s father’s too proud of himself to notice. Suguru appreciates that Satoru tries very hard to be respectful in the presence of Suguru’s parents. His gaze makes its way to his mother, who is hiding her smile behind her hand. She’s looking at his father with such fondness that he has to turn away; as he attention back to Satoru, Suguru’s certain his expression mirrors his mother’s.

Suguru’s saved from responding by Satoru, “Well, those tree branches aren’t going to cut themselves down, now are they? Why don’t we head out now before the sun sets, ogifu-san."

Suguru bites his tongue, it’s 8 am. He hopes Satoru can feel the immenseness of his gratitude from across the room.

“I like how you think, my boy!” His dad laughs, a big hearty laugh as he pats Satoru on the back; Suguru’s reminded of nights playing go and besting his father round after round.

“If we finish early, then maybe we’ll have time for me to show you how I can levitate,” Satoru’s grin is downright conspiratorial.

Suguru’s father claps in delight, “There’s no time to waste!”

Suguru’s struck by how genuinely happy Satoru looks. He sometimes forgets that Satoru never had these kinds of parental relationships growing up. He’s happy that his parents can provide Satoru with the familial love he was starved of.

Satoru winks at him as the two exit the room. Suguru listens as their laughter trails off, as the front door opens and closes swiftly behind them.

His mother starts drying their breakfast dishes. Without looking up, she hands Suguru a second towel. She’s smiling, and Suguru can’t help but smile too.

The quiet between them is pleasant and relaxed. He loses himself in the task; it’s comforting in its predictability. It’s satisfying to watch as wet becomes dry. He’d forgotten how grounding simplicity can be.

By 11 am, it’s finally starting to feel warm outside. The slight breeze does wonders for his sweaty neck. He peels his thick sweater off, and feels instant relief. His long sleeve is lightweight, perfect for a spring day like today.

The garden is properly weeded; several bouquets worth of flowers lay beside him, waiting to be arranged. It’s mostly red camellias.

“Satoru looks tired this time. That boy doesn’t rest enough. It seems not even marriage can tame his hunger for more.”

“I know.”

“Are you being good to each other?”

“I haven’t been very good to him.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. What’s wrong?”

“Our work isn’t pleasant.”

“You still like him, yeah?”

“Mom, I love him.”

“Do you show him that?”

“I'm trying to.”

“Then it will all be okay.”

“Do you think love is enough?”

“No.”

“No?” Suguru’s stomach clenches. He holds a single flower in his hand and stares at the delicate petals.

“Love isn’t just a feeling. It’s in every day actions and it’s a choice you actively make.”

“How’s it a choice?”

“You may not be able to choose who you love, but you can choose whether that love is something you want to pursue and keep close to your heart. You can choose how you show your love, in the words that you speak, in what you do, in the ways you seek to change. If you’re trying to show Satoru you love him, then you are already actively choosing him. You’re choosing love. And that’s a powerful choice to make.”

“And what if that’s not enough?” Suguru’s voice breaks. He accidentally bends the stem, the flower hangs limply.

To his surprise, his mother laughs, “Don’t be silly. The way Satoru looks at you… I couldn’t ask for someone who loves you more than that boy loves you. It would be impossible to find. It’s a relief, you know. Many of my friends worry about their children’s relationships: they wonder, who will love my son? Will they treat my daughter right? Will my child suffer? What if my son’s partner is cruel? What if they don’t fit in with the family? Your father and I are not plagued by these worries. Any parent would be blessed to have their child be loved the way Satoru loves you. The first time I met him, I knew he was the one for you. I remember you were so light and carefree, in a way I’d never seen you before, not even when you were a young boy, unburdened by the realities of the world, were you as free as you are when you’re with him.”

Suguru’s surprised to feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He’d known his parents accepted Satoru, liked him even, but he’d assumed they initially welcomed their relationship, because they felt they had no other choice but to do so, not because they truly saw how happy Suguru was.

When he was younger, he’d decided to come out to them, because he knew, deep down, that they’d never publicly disown him; that would have been far too shameful. He’d expected his relationship to remain a tightly kept secret, and had hoped that telling them about the Gojo clan’s status and power in the jujutsu world would intimidate them enough to prevent them from privately opposing their relationship too.

“You know… if you and Satoru stay for a full week, we could go to the Plum Blossom festival at Kairakuen Garden. It’s only a two hour train ride. Maybe Satoru can convince your father to go too. It’d be like a double date”

“A double date with one’s parents isn’t usually a selling point,” He laughs as his mother shrugs, completely shameless. Suguru considers the invitation. It’s tempting to spend more time here. It’s been less than 24 hours and he already feels so much more at ease. “I’ll ask Satoru.”

“He’ll say yes.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“That boy wouldn’t dare deny a request from you.”

Suguru laughs, “I don’t think that’s always true.”

“Then you haven’t been paying close enough attention.”

“What does that mean?”

“Unconditional love is hard to come by. It’s expected. It’s coveted. Yet it isn’t guaranteed. And for many, it’s something never experienced.”

“And you think his love is unconditional?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“When Satoru approached your father and I to ask us for our blessings, he was very determined to do things the ‘right way,’ because he knew it was important to you. He asked to stay with us for several days. He helped your father outside each morning. He did everything I asked of him. All without complaint. He presented us with gifts; they were far too generous for us to accept. But he insisted, on the condition that we didn’t tell you about them. He was worried you would think he’d overstepped or that he was trying to ‘buy’ our blessing. For him, it was an act of generosity, and an investment in his future family.”

“What? When was this? ”Suguru can feel his heart racing. He doesn’t understand. Satoru’s never been here without him. He wants to reach out and touch his mother’s forehead. Perhaps she’s spent too much time in the sun today. He knew he should’ve told her to wear her sunhat.

His mother continued, his questions going unanswered, “When you were young, you would call me and complain about a snooty, snotty, bespectacled boy in your class. You told us that he didn’t care for propriety, that he was rude, careless, and arrogant. That he was a wealthy boy used to being pampered and catered to. Outwardly, you appeared to be annoyed by his presence in your life. Your tone of voice, your words, your list of complaints; they all conveyed such frustration. Yet, even so, you’d spend hours telling me all about him. In between your complaints, you’d share about his kind heart, how nerdy he was, about the video games you played, and how you explored Tokyo together. I don’t think you even realized you were doing it. During your first year at that school, you didn’t talk to me or your father about anything or anyone else.”

Suguru bows his head; he’s painfully embarrassed. This recollection isn’t an inaccurate one. He’d been desperately in love with Satoru, yet completely unaware of it at the time. A mixture of denial and suppressed sexuality had led to a complicated first year at Jujutsu High. He hadn’t known that it had been so blatantly obvious to his mother. He’s touched to know that she let him come out on his own terms; she’d never questioned him, she’d just listened to her lovesick son without judgement.

He jumps in surprise when his mother takes his hands into her own. He hadn’t noticed her moving closer, “Your dad doesn’t always show it, but he loves you very much. He was very protective of your heart, especially after all that happened to you at that school… Before granting his blessing, he questioned Satoru for hours, looking for any inconsistencies, any reason for us to suspect his intentions were questionable. Satoru answered every question thoughtfully and with such consideration. He told us you were his one and only, and that with you by his side, he could face any challenge and be satisfied. Ans promised he’d do all he could to keep you safe.”

He’s immensely grateful that his mother doesn’t comment on his tears. He doesn’t know how long he cries for, but he’s relieved that this time, they’re tears of joy.

“Hey babe, how was y— woah!”

Suguru shoves Satoru against the bed and climbs on top of him. He smashes their lips together and pours every ounce of his longing, lust, and love into it. To his delight, Satoru melts into the bed and kisses him back with eager fervor. Satoru’s fingers thread through his hair and dance along his scalp; his other hand rests gently at the nape of Suguru’s neck, keeping him close without restricting movement.

The desperate need to breathe is the only force that can break him away from Satoru. He gulps, and tries to regulate his breathing. Satoru’s equally breathless, with pupils blown wide and hair askew. It’s unbelievably and unfairly attractive.

Suguru nearly pounces on him again, but stops when Satoru’s lips part, “Uh… not that I’m complaining at all, cause that was so fucking hot, and we should definitely keep doing it, but um, what exactly was that for, Suguru? I’m covered in dirt and sweat, and I probably stink right now. I mean… I know I’m handsome, but this is hardly an appealing look, even for me.”

“I love you. I love you so much, Satoru.”

Satoru’s face softens, “I love you, too, Suguru.”

There’s nothing else to say.

So, Suguru lets his actions speak for him.