Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gojo Satoru immediately knows he’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be the moment he opens his eyes and finds himself lying on a sofa, Shoko leaning over him with that clinical stare of hers.

“Did I die or something?” he asks, voice rough. His Six Eyes are already making his brain ache. Where’s my headband? What is this place?

Shoko sits down beside him, deadpan as ever.
“No, dumbass. You had a heat stroke.”

He barks out a laugh. “You’re a riot, Shoko. Now seriously—how did you manage to unseal me?”

The humor drains from him in an instant. He freezes when he senses it—nothing. No cursed energy from her at all. His eyes widen.

Shoko frowns. “I think we should really go to the hospital, Satoru.”

“You are the hospital, Shoko…” He sits up, staring at her, his tone sharper now. “So tell me what the hell is going on.”

Shoko only sighs, grabbing her car keys from the table.
“Come on, man. We actually need to get you some help. Whatever concussion thing this is, it’s not looking good.”

His Six Eyes are screaming at him. The place, the air—everything feels different. The last thing he remembers is staring into Suguru’s eyes. No, not him. The last thing was the seal snapping shut.

And this? This is not a seal effect.

It’s something else entirely. A different world. Shoko without cursed energy is a sight to behold, honestly. Strange, wrong, but almost peaceful. He needs to calm down. He needs to figure out what this place is, and then go back. The kids need him.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize the truth. He’s been in this world for over a month now, and it’s laughable how easy people have it here. There are no curses. Just like that.

So, of course, no sorcerers. No Jujutsu High. Which makes him useless in this dimension.

The only thing that hasn’t changed? He’s still lonely.

The clans exist, but not as sorcerer dynasties—more like business empires. He nearly choked on his spit when his assistant (apparently he has one here) emailed to ask if he was free to meet with the Zenin Group.

Yes. He has an assistant. Because why the fuck not, in this insane version of reality?

Here, he runs the Gojo Clan’s businesses. He’s still considered arrogant, a prick to many, according to Shoko. Some things never change.

But there are surprises. Pleasant ones. Shoko is still here, still his closest friend.
The not-so-pleasant one? He’s dead. Don’t ask. Don’t even think about it.

Nanami is here too, which is either cosmic comedy or cruelty. His company’s most valuable accountant, perpetually exasperated, and still, begrudgingly, his friend. No trace of Haibara, and he doesn’t dare ask.

The irony isn’t lost on him—having all the power in a world that doesn’t need it, while the world that does need it is without him.

He manages to adapt. Barely. His soul refuses to rest even here. His apartment is decent—modern, comfortable, up to his standards. Different, but familiar enough.

One evening, Shoko suggests hanging out at her place. He sits in his car, debating how to ask for the address without blowing his cover. Teleporting is out of the question; he has to play the part of whoever’s life he’s cosplaying. Eventually, he caves and asks. He makes up some story about taking a wrong turn, and, to his surprise, she sends it.

They end up sitting on the floor of her apartment, pizza boxes spread between them. Shoko munches casually while he stares, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. When was the last time they hung out without a patient bleeding out nearby? Without curses looming over their heads?

He hates it. Hates how much he would have loved this life if those damn curses hadn’t existed.

He tunes out when Shoko picks up her phone, scrolling through his own. It’s a habit he’s picked up in this world—he can’t sit with his own thoughts for more than five minutes, or else he’ll replay the mess he left behind. How easily he was outsmarted. How he refused to hand over his ex-best friend’s body.

Shoko hangs up, returns her attention to the TV. “Can you believe sleep deprivation made me bring the wrong backpack home?” she mutters, sipping her beer.

“I suggest you start sleeping instead of drowning in alcohol,” he says, snatching at the can.

She shakes her head. “Naa. He’s going to be here any minute. Said his apartment keys are in there.”

“He knows your apartment? Shoko, are you sure this isn’t some new form of flirting in the medical department?”

“Ewwww, Satoru.” She scrunches her face in disgust. “He’ll kill you if he hears that.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it.”

She glares. “You do realize the one who called is Geto, right?”

His breath catches sharp in his throat. His mind spins. No. No, this has to be the seal. It’s messing with me. Trying to drive me insane.

He barely hears Shoko talking after that. The doorbell cuts through the haze.

“Open the door, Gojo. I can’t see straight,” Shoko says.

“No. No, I can’t,” he replies instantly, shaking his head.

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Satoru. He hates waiting.”

His chest is tight as he prepares himself for whatever nightmare waits on the other side. He opens the door—

He braces himself for whatever’s on the other side.

And then… he freezes.

Suguru Geto is standing there.

Purple eyes. Same as always. Hair in that damn high school bun, a stray strand falling across his forehead like he hasn’t aged a day. He looks beautiful, infuriatingly so. And… different. No cursed energy. None. Just scrubs.

Gojo’s brain is screaming. His chest tightens. For a second, he actually thinks this is a trick, the seal finally trying to mess with his head properly. But no—this is real.

“Suguru,” he blurts, and the word tastes like something he shouldn’t have spoken.

Suguru’s eyes widen. “Did you just call me Suguru? Are you drunk, Gojo?”

Hearing his voice is the final straw. Gojo’s hands start shaking. His stomach flips. The room spins too fast. He stumbles toward the sink, barely making it before he’s heaving, gut emptying itself like it’s trying to eject the world he left behind.

From somewhere behind him, he hears Suguru talking. Calm, casual, alive.
“What’s up with your friend, Shoko?”

Chapter Text

“What do you mean we are not friends?” Satoru demands.

Suguru had left as soon as he got his backpack. Satoru was still bent over the sink, scrubbing like he could erase the shaking in his hands, pretending the sudden stomachache wasn’t a cover. Shoko had checked on him, bought the excuse without much thought.

It isn’t that Suguru feels like a stranger. It’s worse. He looks at Satoru the way you’d look at someone you only vaguely know—polite, distant, like nothing about him is remarkable. That damn fake smile makes Satoru want to smash something.

So he plays dumb. Pretends around Shoko like he has everything under control. She doesn’t notice a thing. Maybe there’s nothing to notice maybe the Gojo who belonged here never had Suguru at all.

But life without curses isn’t peace. It’s hollow. What’s Satoru Gojo without being the strongest? Just a man with too much free time and no use for his power. Loneliness feels sharper here.

Eventually, he breaks. “Why did Suguru act like that when I called him by his first name?”

Shoko laughs out loud. “Are you serious? I introduced you two, and the first thing you said was how tired he looked. And now you’re acting like you’re besties?”

“I… don’t remember that,” he mutters.

“Yeah, no kidding. You and Suguru don’t like each other. And that’s fine.”

A week later, Satoru is still restless. He digs for information, but all he gets is scraps: in this world, he and Suguru aren’t even close. Just mutuals who orbit Shoko’s life.

The sight of him makes Satoru’s insomnia worse. He wakes at three a.m. every night, haunted by the memory of Suguru’s smile—the real one, not this stranger’s. I hate you for torturing me in every timeline.

He remembers: he killed him. Not even two years ago. Yet here he is, alive, whole, smiling like it costs him nothing.

So Satoru decides—he’ll fix it. He’ll be Suguru’s friend again. He did it once. He can do it again. Even if this Suguru doesn’t know him, even if it takes everything, he’ll find a way back in.

Suguru hates pushy people, so it has to be organic. That’s why Satoru leans on Shoko.

The business side of his life is the only thing that doesn’t fall apart. Compared to running the Gojo estate while teaching and fighting, this is child’s play. But free time is dangerous—it means thinking.

So he tells his driver to take him to Shoko’s hospital, calls ahead to say he’s buying her lunch. Shoko, surprisingly, doesn’t question it. Apparently here, he does nice things sometimes.

“Where’s Suguru?” is the first thing out of his mouth when he arrives.

Shoko arches a brow. “What’s gotten into you? You never even noticed him before.”

He shrugs. “He’s your coworker. Might as well grab him something too.”

“Hell no. You’d probably poison him.”

They’re standing in reception when Suguru arrives. Casual clothes, tired eyes. He looks too much like the boy Satoru remembers—and not enough all at once.

Against his better judgment, the words slip out. “Are you okay?”

Suguru blinks. “I… am. Are you?”

Shoko shakes her head. “Gojo’s in a generous mood. He wants to take us out for lunch.”

Suguru looks surprised, then suspicious. How could this universe’s Gojo survive with him this close, but still untouchable?

“Before you decline, I already booked a table for three,” Satoru says quickly. It sounds too much like begging.

Suguru gives him that fake smile again. “I have to pass. Apartment hunting on my break.”

Shoko leans in. “How’s that going?”

They slip into easy conversation, but Satoru cuts in. “Didn’t you have an apartment last week? Why are you hunting again?”

Suguru gives him a look. “I still do. The lease is ending. My roommate and I aren’t renewing.”

“Why?”

Suguru stumbles, caught off guard by the sudden interest. “Rent skyrocketed. Too far from work.”

“Stick it out for three months,” Shoko suggests. “Apartments are impossible to find right now.”

“Tell me about it.” Suguru pushes his bangs back, sighing. “Me and Haibara have been through hell these past few weeks.”

Satoru freezes. “Excuse me?”

Shoko smacks him. “Shut up while adults are talking.”

He ignores her, stepping closer. “You live with Haibara? Haibara Yuu?”

Suguru stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “Gojo, what the hell is wrong with you? Of course you know Haibara. Nanami introduced you ages ago. We’ve been roommates for years. Now seriously—shut up.”

The audacity makes Satoru want to throw something. “Actually, no free meal for you.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “I already declined. And nothing’s free if I have to sit next to you while you rage-bait me half the time.”

Satoru points at him like a child. “You rage-bait me too!”

Suguru throws a hand up as he walks away. “That’s why I said half, idiot.”

Chapter Text

Satoru would love to say he acted subtle around Suguru. That’d be a big lie and Satoru is many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. He’s been racking his brain for ways to get closer to his ex-best friend. If that’s even what they are now. The point is, there’s no way to do it while keeping up his “too-cool-to-care” facade.

So here he is, begging Shoko to invite Suguru to dinner.

“Not happening,” she says flatly, swirling her drink. “Some of us actually work for a living. He probably needs rest right now.”

Satoru leans across the table, pouting like a child. “I’ve been working all day too. What’s your point?”

Shoko narrows her eyes. “For a living, Satoru. He’s a resident with no family support. Just go easy on him, okay?”

He waves her off. “Fine, fine. Did he find an apartment yet?”

“No. Haibara might move in with Nanami. If that happens, Suguru’s in a worse spot.”

Satoru’s mouth twists. Nanami, living with Haibara? Meanwhile, he can’t even get Suguru to grab lunch with him. This world is insane, and every new detail only tastes more bitter.

But wallowing isn’t his style. He’s already accepted that losing Suguru—killing him—was the kind of fate he deserved. Karma, maybe. Still, as long as Suguru’s alive and breathing, Satoru won’t stay away. Even if it costs him his sanity.

“Shoko,” he says suddenly, “how much does Suguru actually know about my family’s money?”

She squints at him, suspicious. “Not much. Just that you’re rich. That’s it.”

“Perfect.” He sits back with a grin. “Tell him I need a roommate.”

Shoko nearly chokes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Make up a story about me being lonely or something. Doesn’t matter. Just get him to move in, and I’ll owe you.”

She barks out a laugh. “Is this a bet? He can’t afford your rent.”

“I own the damn apartment. He can pay for groceries.”

Her expression hardens. “Satoru. Suguru will hate it if he thinks you’re pitying him. He’s proud. He never accepted help from anyone.”

“I know him,” Satoru blurts out, too quickly. His chest tightens, but he looks away before she can press. “So spin it so he thinks he’s the one helping me.”

Shoko signals for the bill, shaking her head. “You’ve always been obsessed with him. Lately? You’re just losing it.”

Satoru smirks. “If you make him my roommate, I’ll buy you that cigar collection you drool over. The one that costs an arm and a leg.”

Her lips curl. “And I get to pick the type.”

“Obviously.” He grins. (He would’ve bought it for her birthday anyway.)

A week later, Shoko has worked her magic. Satoru doesn’t know what kind of story she spun, but when her text comes through along with her shopping cart. He nearly makes his driver swerve.

He shows up early at her apartment, tossing her the cigars as soon as he walks in.

Shoko catches the box one-handed without even sitting up from the couch. “Someone’s confident today.”

Satoru sprawls into a chair with an easy shrug. “He can’t say no to me.”

She snorts. “I swear that heat stroke fried your brain when it comes to Suguru.”

He doesn’t even argue because she might be right. “So? How’d you convince him?”

“He’s strapped for cash. Resident pay is trash, plus he’s supporting his retired family. He didn’t question it much.”

Satoru tilts his head, though guilt prickles in his chest. “And you made sure it doesn’t look like charity?”

“Relax,” she says, finally sitting up. “He thinks I convinced you. He sees it as temporary. Just… don’t be your usual self. If you come on too strong, he’ll deck you.”

Satoru flashes a grin, even as his stomach twists. “Let me worry about that.”

The door creaks open. Suguru steps in, violet eyes flicking between the two of them. Shoko, of course, left the door unlocked.

“Hey,” Suguru says slowly, suspicion dripping from the single word.

It takes less than ten minutes to hammer out the details. Neither of them spends much time at home anyway. Rent becomes the sticking point—Satoru insists groceries are plenty, while Suguru frowns.

“I don’t get it,” Suguru says finally. “Why would you need a roommate if you already own the place?”

Satoru huffs, leaning back. Half-truth, half-lie it’s all the same. “Honestly? I just hate living alone these days. Figured I’d wait for someone familiar.”

“Never shared a place before,” Shoko cuts in smoothly, sipping her drink. “It’s a bucket list thing.”

Satoru nearly throws her another pack of cigars for that assist, but decides he’d rather she live long enough to enjoy the first. Still, the guilt lingers. He’s manipulating Suguru into this. But he doesn’t know how much time he has left. For all he knows, he could end up sealed tomorrow. He has to see this through.

Suguru’s gaze lingers on him, skeptical but resigned. “Fine. But I’m still paying my usual rent. Send me your account details.”

“You’re in?” Satoru can’t help the grin stretching across his face.

“Yeah. But I need to know you’re serious. I’m not risking being homeless again just because you get bored of this.”

Satoru almost laughs. Three years of living together and Suguru still thinks he’s the unreliable one. “We can sign a contract if you want.”

“Two months,” Suguru says firmly. “That’s when my residency ends. After that, I’m gone.”

Two months. The words make Satoru’s chest seize. He’d thought he’d have at least four. He shoots Shoko a betrayed look, but she’s already scrolling through her phone.

“For sure, man,” he says casually, while panic gnaws at his ribs.

“Keys?” Suguru asks.

“Already got you a spare.” Satoru tosses it without hesitation.

Suguru catches it, eyebrows lifting. “You’re really serious about this experiment, huh?”

Satoru just smirks. Two months. That’s all the time he has to remind Suguru why he stayed, once upon a time.

Chapter Text

Satoru tried not to whoop or clap when Suguru started moving his stuff into the apartment. Honestly, he deserved a damn medal for not grinning like an idiot at the sight. Finally, finally, Suguru was in his space. Close. Within reach. He wished Suguru had at least asked him for help with carrying boxes—him, the strongest, the most capable—but no, Suguru just handled it on his own. Typical. And here Satoru was, hands twitching, wanting to show off.

Another headache in his life—literally—is his Limitless. He’s grateful that his status means people rarely touch him. It saves him the awkward panic of them discovering they can’t actually touch him at all, thanks to that invisible buffer. It’s protection, but it’s also a curse. Always on, always humming, never letting him rest.

Shoko’s the only exception. She’s never been touchy, not really, but she doesn’t avoid him either. That alone makes him try harder to shut it off when she’s around. Except—it’s not a switch he can flip. He spent his whole damn life anticipating danger, sharpening instincts until they were razors. His powers were damnation and salvation wrapped in one messy package. But here? In this universe? All they give him is dizziness from the Six Eyes bombarding him with information he doesn’t need.

He hates it. He hates noticing every new arrival at the café, the way someone’s hand twitches near a sugar packet, the subtle change in barista rhythm when they switch shifts. He doesn’t want this much detail. He doesn’t need it. But his brain never shuts up. Old habits die hard.

What unsettles him more is how little else has changed. No cursed energy. No curses. But everyone’s personalities? Still the same. Suguru is still hyper-aware, still sharp-eyed, still the kind of person who notices things even when you don’t want him to. And Satoru knows—if they get close (and they will, trust)—he won’t be able to hide his powers for more than a few weeks. He’s already assuming this version of himself has been “a bit strange” for a while.

Excuses are thin. He’s been racking his brain for believable reasons to explain away his quirks. Sunglasses? Migraines, sure. Sensitivity to light, runs in the family. Easy lie. And yet, not a lie at all. His Six Eyes hurt. Always.

The night before, he stayed up too late chasing down a problem—someone tried hacking into his personal phone. Rival companies, most likely. Fishing for dirt. He doesn’t keep much personal information stored there, but still, it irritated him. He’s careful. He built his life on high-end security, both physical and digital. His apartment has the best system in the country. That was his argument when he convinced his clan to let him live without bodyguards trailing him everywhere. A CEO of one of the biggest tech companies in the world should have an entourage, but he’d rather suffocate in silence than live like that.

Three days since Suguru moved in. Satoru had been vibrating with excitement, ready to bask in Suguru’s presence, but reality is cruel. Their schedules don’t line up. Suguru comes home from the hospital exhausted, collapses into bed, and barely grunts in Satoru’s direction. The past two nights have been lonely. Satoru stares at his phone: 10 a.m. Great. Fucking great. Suguru probably pulled a night shift.

But the Six Eyes tip him off before anything else does. He feels Suguru’s presence through the door. See, Six Eyes, this is how you’re useful, he thinks smugly as he unlocks it.

Inside: Suguru, leaning on the fridge, phone in hand, thumb moving like he’s mid-text. Cream-colored sweatshirt, baggy pajamas, hair loose. He looks… rested. Almost. His smile is soft, disarming, and when he gestures for Satoru to come over, Satoru’s brain short-circuits for half a second.

“Thank you for asking about my day. I’m just fine, Su—Geto,” Satoru teases, tossing his laptop bag aside as he approaches. The slip is inevitable; his tongue knows Suguru, even if this universe doesn’t.

Suguru doesn’t bite. He just says, “We have more pressing issues. I was about to make something for dinner. A move-in gift.”

“That’s so cute, Suguru. Even though the fridge is empty, it’s the thought that counts.”

Suguru shuts the fridge with his hip, arms crossing. “So you know your fridge is empty?”

Satoru shrugs, playing innocent. “I usually eat out.”

The truth, for once. If he’s going to be Suguru’s friend here, he has to know when to stop the teasing.

“You live in this fancy building, and you can’t afford groceries? Was it a cry for help when you asked me to pay rent in groceries?” Suguru asks dryly.

“Since when can you cook?” Satoru shoots back.

Suguru shrugs. “Basic human skill.”

“I could if I wanted to,” Satoru insists. “But I don’t want to.”

“Because you’re good at everything, huh?”

“You have no idea how perfect I am.”

Suguru actually laughs. “Anyways, I came home early, so I’m going grocery shopping.” He grabs his phone, brushing past Satoru, who—unbeknownst to him—still has Infinity up.

“Do you have a car?” Satoru asks, trailing.

“In the garage.”

“Then I’m coming. You’ll need my input.” He checks his phone. “Can we leave in ten? My car’s on its way.”

Suguru stares. “You have a driver?”

Satoru’s genuinely stunned Suguru hasn’t noticed this. Humbling. “I never had car keys. I always call the driver. How could you not notice?”

Suguru just blinks, confused and tired. “I’m usually high on caffeine or crashing. I don’t notice much.”

That look softens something in Satoru, makes him question why he’s mad in the first place. Suguru isn’t ignoring him; Suguru’s just stretched thin. Exactly the same, powers or not.

“The store’s five minutes away. We can walk,” Suguru offers.

They do.

“Do you wear sunglasses for migraines?” Suguru asks casually as they step inside. First personal question he’s asked, and Satoru freezes.

“My eyes are too pretty. People get distracted. I’m just being considerate.”

Suguru gives him a small smile. “Migraines, then.”

And just like that, the universe tilts. Because this world’s version of him apparently wore sunglasses too. Maybe even for the same reason. Maybe he had Six Eyes and never understood.

So Satoru just nods. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Suguru navigates the aisles with practiced ease. “You’re always on your laptop or phone. Maybe cut back—you look exhausted.”

Satoru hides his grin. “People call me. I run a tech company. Comes with the job.” He detours into the sweets aisle, piling chocolate into the cart. Suguru waits until he’s done before pushing them toward vegetables.

“What exactly do you do?” Suguru asks, comparing pasta boxes.

“Family business. Mostly tech. I’m steering it toward aerospace.”

Suguru nods.

“Surprised a bimbo like me can run a company?” Satoru grins.

“Not really. It’s obvious you’re the smartest one in the room. People just underestimate you.”

Compliment. Actual compliment. And of course, he can’t take it normally. “My exterior is beauty, Suguru. You sound jealous of my shiny persona.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “What did you major in, nerd?”

“Mathematical physics.”

Suguru whistles. “Damn. You really do have it all.” He sets aside the pasta, grabs another. “Too bad you’re an asshole.”

Satoru pouts, pinching his side. Suguru laughs, returning the mountain of sweets Satoru stacked up.

“Hey!”

“If you die of sugar overdose, I’m homeless. Let me save you.”

“No, never.” Satoru snatches chips back, clinging to them dramatically.

It devolves fast—bickering, snatching, jostling. Until it happens. Satoru forgets his own strength, forgets to hold Infinity back. One tug, one careless move, and Suguru stumbles back harder than he should have.

No, no, no— The mantra pounds in his skull. Six Eyes flares, feeding him useless details—the way a cashier blinks too quickly, the hum of a light overhead, Suguru’s pulse spiking just a fraction. He squeezes his eyes shut, but it doesn’t help.

Then—warmth. A hand on his arm. Suguru steadying him.

“Is it your migraine?” Concern. Actual concern.

Satoru gasps. “Wait—you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be? You pushed me by accident.”

Suguru’s voice is calm, grounding.

“I think you should get checked,” Suguru adds, not letting him walk away. “You looked… out of it. Like you weren’t here.”

Satoru nods stiffly, trying not to spiral.

“Do you exercise?” Suguru asks suddenly.

“No.”

Suguru presses his lips together. “I’ve done muay thai my whole life. Gym too.”

“What do you want, a cookie?” Satoru cuts in, snark sharp enough to cover his nerves.

Suguru waves him off. “You’re strong for your frame, that’s all.”

And there it is—the panic. Suguru notices. Of course he notices. Satoru thought he’d have three weeks before being found out. At this rate, he’ll be lucky to last seven days.

Chapter Text

Suguru never claimed to understand what went around in his life, but Gojo being his roommate took the cake. His schedule was finally loosening up, just slightly, and he couldn’t wait to work something close to a regular timetable. One thing he noticed since living with Gojo was how much lighter the financial load had become. As much as Gojo swore up and down that Suguru would pay his share with groceries, the white-haired menace always ended up footing the bill, casually dismissing Suguru’s protests. Suguru didn’t argue too hard—he needed stability before he figured out his next step, and Gojo’s wallet was apparently bottomless.

Today marked the second week of cohabitation. Gojo was still the same arrogant bastard as ever, but he was… kinder, too. Rarely home, always darting between work and whatever else he did with his ridiculous amount of free influence, but when he was around he checked in. Do you need anything? Did you eat? Do you want me to pick something up? Suguru had thought it was a prank at first—Gojo wasn’t exactly known for subtlety or sincerity but the longer he stayed, the clearer it became. He wasn’t joking. Maybe that was why Shoko still considered him her best friend.

At first, Suguru had intentionally avoided the apartment whenever Gojo was there. It was his first time living with someone, and the idea of being under the same roof with Gojo of all people felt suffocating. He didn’t want to make the air uncomfortable for either of them. So he lingered around Shoko’s apartment whenever he had downtime, taking on extra shifts just to avoid being home.

It only took a week before Gojo called him out directly.

“Why do you spend your spare time around Shoko’s apartment and not here?”

Suguru, caught with his key still in the lock, found himself staring into the reflective black lenses of Gojo’s sunglasses, searching for some clue. The words came out before he could filter them.
“I thought you’d enjoy some time alone.”

Gojo huffed, annoyed. “I wanted to have a roommate and pushed the idea, so please stop making this weird.”

And just like that, Suguru stopped playing hide-and-seek. He started spending more time in the apartment, even cooking when he had energy. Gojo responded with the kind of dramatic enthusiasm only he could pull off—singing Suguru’s praises for every half-decent meal like he’d been hand-delivered to heaven. It was ridiculous. It was… strangely endearing.

Now he was sitting in the living room, remote in hand, scrolling through endless streaming services. Gojo must’ve had at least six—Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, something with a name Suguru couldn’t even recognize. Shoko had recommended him a thriller, so he hunted it down and settled in. He was actually enjoying the rare peace when he heard the door open.

Gojo came in, smiling the second he spotted Suguru on the couch. The sudden, absurd urge to greet him at the door tugged at Suguru before he ruthlessly squashed it down. Madness. He wasn’t about to start acting like a puppy.

Gojo dropped into the couch with a pause. “Did you get fired or something?”

Suguru arched an eyebrow. “You see me home twice around 8 p.m. and that’s your conclusion?”

Gojo nodded solemnly. “Twice a week is crazy. Damn, you really did avoid me the first week.”

Suguru bit back the urge to defend himself. Gojo wasn’t wrong, after all.

Before the silence stretched too long, Haibara’s call broke it. Gojo left to change, and Suguru answered.

“Haibara is suggesting a group meet-up,” he called out when Gojo returned, rummaging in the cabinets.

Gojo looked up, confused. “Is that why you’re here early?” His tone carried disappointment, like he’d been hoping for something else.

Suguru blinked. Gojo really was having a rough week if a hangout sounded like a chore. “You can skip. I’ll make excuses for you.”

Gojo frowned deeper. “That’s your group hangout though?”

Suguru’s brow furrowed. Sometimes it felt like Gojo had scrambled pieces in his memory. He acted the same as always, arrogant, smug, larger-than-life—but then he’d say something like this, as if he didn’t know his own history. When Suguru asked Shoko about it, she only shrugged. Gojo’s always been weird like that.

“They’re your group more than mine. Why wouldn’t you be invited?” Suguru said slowly.

Gojo scratched the back of his head, laughing it off. “My bad. My brain’s scrambled these days.”

Suguru let it slide. “If you’re tired, we can skip. It’s not like you ever enjoyed clubbing.”

Gojo wrinkled his nose at the mention of alcohol. Suguru smirked. Same old Gojo, then.

“Is Shoko in?” Gojo asked.

“Who else organizes alcohol-related events?”

Gojo looked torn between irritation and obligation. Suguru sighed, offering a compromise. “We could make it a house party. I’ve been meaning to start this series anyway, so it could be a movie night too.”

Relief flickered across Gojo’s face, and for some reason it made Suguru’s chest ease too.

The night fell into its usual chaos. Nanami was the first to arrive, deadpan as ever. “If I have to see my boss outside of work hours, at least provide good alcohol,” he muttered by way of greeting.

Suguru smiled and pulled him into a quick side hug, which Nanami returned begrudgingly. No one in their group was fond of physical contact except Haibara, who had declared hugs mandatory. Shoko and Gojo flatly refused, leaving Suguru to indulge Haibara just enough to keep him happy—and annoy Nanami in the process.

“Shoko’s and Nanami’s alcoholism is getting out of hand,” Haibara tutted as he arrived with drinks in hand.

“Make sure Nanami doesn’t murder him,” Suguru said when Gojo immediately started provoking the blond into the kitchen.

The security at Gojo’s building was so strict that Shoko had to text him to be let in. She barreled into the kitchen soon after, immediately rummaging through the cabinets.

“Shot glasses,” she muttered.

Gojo leaned on the counter, unimpressed. “It’s a fucking beer, Shoko. No need to make a production of it.”

“That’s if she finds them first,” Suguru teased.

Shoko glared. “Assholes. No beer for you, Suguru.”

Gojo smirked. “What would you even do without being drunk, Suguru?”

Another odd thing—Gojo kept calling him Suguru these days instead of Geto. They’d only ever seen each other every few months before this, and Gojo had always kept that distance. Now he slipped and said Suguru’s name like it was second nature.

Shoko’s noise makes him move toward the kitchen.

“Suguru, these two are this close to jump on each other’s bones—send helpppp!”

The movie night derailed halfway in, as expected. The thriller gave way to loud arguments about snacks (“trail mix is a scam,” Shoko declared), Gojo’s terrible commentary, and Haibara’s desperate push for karaoke. Suguru leaned back into the couch cushions, watching everyone talk over each other. It had been a long time since he sat in a room full of laughter like this.

Gojo, though, looked exhausted. He kept pulling off his sunglasses to rub at his eyes, grimacing when the light hit them. Shoko’s already past the point of tipsy, her words dragging as she tries to argue about something meaningless with Haibara.

Nanami, on the other hand, is drunk in the calmest, most terrifying way imaginable—quiet, expressionless, but clinging to Haibara’s wrist like he’ll float away otherwise.

“You’re not even thinking straight,” Haibara scolds softly, trying to pry his hand away.

“If I let go, you’ll disappear,” Nanami mutters, dead serious.

Gojo’s laugh cracks the silence. “Never pegged Nanami as the clingy drunk type.”

Suguru hides his smile behind the beer can. “You’d be surprised. The more silent they are, the worse it gets when the alcohol hits.”

Haibara’s cheeks are pink, but not just from the drinking. “He’s usually fine! Just—Nanami, stop trying to pull me into your lap, man!”

Nanami sighs, sounding almost philosophical. “You’re warm. Stop moving.”

Suguru actually laughs loud and full for once and Gojo looks like he’s two seconds from recording the entire scene. Which, of course, he does.

“Can you not?” Haibara whines as Gojo zooms in with his phone camera, filming the exact moment Nanami drops his head against Haibara’s shoulder like a tired cat.

“Priceless,” Gojo says, grin sharp. “You owe me for this footage.”

Haibara throws a napkin at him, which Gojo easily dodges. “I swear to God, Gojo, if you post that anywhere—”

“Relax,” Gojo laughs, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I’ll keep it for blackmail purposes only.”

Nanami, somehow still coherent enough to glare, murmurs, “You’re my boss. You’re not supposed to talk about blackmail.”

Gojo shrugs, unbothered. “You’re not supposed to be trying to nuzzle your boyfriend mid-beer night, but here we are.”

Haibara splutters, bright red. “He’s not my boyfriend—”

“Yet,” Suguru supplies dryly, and the room dissolves into laughter again.

Eventually, Haibara gives up and hauls Nanami up by the arm, muttering something about getting him home before he starts confessing to the furniture. Nanami stumbles but keeps his hand on Haibara’s waist the whole way out.

Gojo, of course, records that too.

“You’re evil,” Suguru tells him, voice warm even through the laughter.

“I’m observant,” Gojo replies smugly, already reviewing the clip. Suguru naturally requests for Gojo to air drop the videos for him.

Haibara’s blush could probably power the entire apartment complex as he disappears down the hall, Nanami murmuring soft things only he can hear.

When the door closes, the silence that follows feels strangely peaceful. Suguru glances toward the couch where Shoko is sprawled upside down, humming off-key. Gojo’s leaning back, glasses tilted up, looking at the door like he’s trying to memorize something about the moment.

It’s the kind of quiet Suguru doesn’t get to have often—messy, familiar, and alive.

By the time Nanami had Haibara half-dragged out the door, Shoko was slurring complaints about being single and threatening to crash on the couch.

“I think you guys would make a cute couple,” she announced out of nowhere, grinning between Gojo and Suguru.

Suguru laughed it off, but his stomach tightened when Gojo went still, like a man struck by lightning.

“Come on, Gojo. It’s a simple joke. She’s drunk,” Suguru said carefully.

Gojo’s voice was quiet, too quiet. “Did you find it funny? Us dating, you know?”

Suguru’s throat went dry. He glanced desperately at Shoko, who was half-stripping in the corner, too drunk to notice the tension she’d dropped on them. Heat climbed up his neck before he forced a scoff. “Gojo, you’re the straightest person I know. Shoko’s just being her usual self.”

Gojo looked at him for a long, unblinking moment before turning away, pretending nothing had happened.

Later, when Shoko had passed out on the couch and the apartment fell quiet again, Suguru caught Gojo rubbing his temples.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” Gojo brushed him off, walking toward his room.

Suguru frowned. “You were blinking a lot. Migraine?”

Gojo froze mid-step.

“The screens are driving me insane. Tonight didn’t help,” he admitted after a pause.

“Can I help?” Suguru asked before he could stop himself. He hated babying adults, hated wasting energy on people who refused to take care of themselves. But with Gojo, the offer slipped out unfiltered. “Listen, bucket list or not, you’re a good roommate. I don’t like owing people. Let me do this for you.”

Gojo chuckled, weary. “Maybe I’m paying you back for past-life sins.”

Suguru didn’t have an answer for that.

Moments later, they were in Gojo’s room. Suguru rummaged for a bandage, muttering, “We need to minimize the lights as much as possible.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Gojo deadpanned.

Suguru ignored him, looping the cloth around Gojo’s head. His fingers brushed temple, cheek, hair, and he felt Gojo still—not the loud, dramatic kind of stillness Gojo usually exaggerated, but a quiet surrender. When he tied the knot and leaned back, Gojo actually relaxed.

“Does it feel better?”

“Yeah,” Gojo exhaled. “You’re a lifesaver, Suguru. I’ve been relying on sunglasses all day, but this—”

“You might be blinded by it completely. We should get you a proper sleep mask,” Suguru said.

Gojo chuckled softly, head tilting back. For once, he looked vulnerable.

Suguru reached for the light. “I’ll turn it off—”

“Wait.”

Gojo’s voice caught him.

“Don’t you dare say you owe me anything, okay?”

Suguru’s chest ached at the seriousness in his tone. But for once, he didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

Satoru blinks at the sight before him  Shoko and Suguru already up, hovering around the kitchen counter like responsible adults. It’s too domestic. Too normal. He always wakes up around nine at most; anything earlier feels like a personal attack. If he’s trapped in an alternate universe where he isn’t needed 24/7, the least he deserves is uninterrupted beauty sleep. His company seems to disagree, though  they’ve been ringing his phone like it’s a national emergency every morning.

“Why the hell did you let me mix the drinks?” Shoko groans, clutching her head like a war veteran.

Suguru, stationed by the stove, doesn’t even look up. The man looks disgustingly put-together for someone who downed that much alcohol last night.

“It may be because you’re violent as fuck and would’ve punched us?” Satoru supplies, setting the table with a lazy grin.

Suguru glances over, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth — that quiet acknowledgment that always makes something twist low in Satoru’s chest.

“And you assholes let me crash on the couch instead of offering a bed,” Shoko continues.

“I offered to share a bed,” Satoru says innocently, “which is more than the guy with dark hair offered.”

“I shared a bed with her enough not to offer,” Suguru mutters, and Shoko hops off the counter to smack the back of his head.

“You could’ve given me the whole bed,” she complains.

“That’d be stupid, Shoko. Just count your blessings we let you crash on the couch,” Satoru says, and Suguru nods along with mock seriousness.

“Now sit down if you want breakfast and a free ride,” Suguru orders.

“But I didn’t offer a ride,” Satoru says.

“We’ll accept it,” Suguru replies easily.

Satoru’s supposed to argue more, but he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. Suguru’s acting like himself again — steady, teasing, impossible not to orbit around. Things are going better than he expected. Maybe they really are meant to find each other in every universe.

Maybe he shouldn’t think that way.

Later, when he thinks about last night , Nanami’s dry comment about Haibara floating away — Satoru isn’t sure if it meant something or if he’s just too desperate for meaning.

“Did I say anything stupid?” Shoko asks.

Suguru shakes his head.

“You did accuse us of dating,” Satoru says helpfully.

Shoko’s eyes widened. “I was really out of it, damn.”

“Very out of it,” Suguru says. “You traumatized Satoru.”

I wasn’t traumatized. I was mad at everyone for no reason.

Suguru interprets his silence wrong and mutters, “Let’s talk about the series, though. It was actually good.”

Shoko brightens instantly. “I know, right? That’s why I keep you around, Suguru. You have your moments.”

A week passes. Both of them are too busy to see each other properly.

Suguru’s hospital is understaffed, so he’s been filling in wherever he’s needed. Satoru’s company is rolling into a new project phase — which, in his words, is corporate hell in HD.

Still, the Shoko comment — that accidental you two are dating jab — sticks in his mind more than it should. He’s never really thought about it before. Maybe because his old world didn’t leave much room to breathe, let alone to think about love.

Suguru’s been harder to reach lately, too — always a step out of Satoru’s grasp. Maybe that’s just who he’s always been: someone you chase, not someone you catch.

He knows they love each other in their own twisted way, but this universe feels too delicate to touch. Too real. The best thing he can do is not ruin it.

He’s not greedy, he reminds himself. Just selfish enough to want Suguru close.

Suguru calls one evening.

Satoru panics before even answering. Suguru rarely calls — he always texts. The name flashing across his screen makes his stomach twist like he’s sixteen again.

He stares at the phone for two whole rings before picking up.

“Yo, Satoru.”

His heart freezes. He called me Satoru. He wants to scream it, shake his half-asleep secretary awake, and announce it to the world. Suguru’s voice saying his name shouldn’t sound this intimate, but it does — like it belongs to a different time entirely.

“Can you hear me?” Suguru asks, amused.

“Uh — yeah, yeah. What’s the occasion?” He immediately smacks his forehead. Why the hell would you say that, idiot?

Suguru chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Shoko wanted me to remind you Nanami’s birthday is this week.”

“Really?”

“I feel like an idiot for defending your honor, claiming you remember birthdays,” Suguru tuts.

“I remember yours,” Satoru fires back instantly.

“Bullshit.”

“February third.”

There’s a beat of silence — then a quiet laugh. “Damn. Maybe I need to give you more credit.”

“You should,” Satoru says, trying to sound casual, but his heart’s hammering.

“Anyway,” Suguru continues, “she said buy something thoughtful this time. No repeats of last year’s disaster.”

“What did I do?”

“You were overseas. Shoko was out for your blood for a week.”

“Oh. Was it urgent work?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Satoru hesitates, fingers tightening around his phone. The words come out quieter than he means them to. “Did you… hate me back then?”

Suguru pauses. The silence stretches. “Hate’s a strong word,” he says finally. “We just coexisted for the group’s sake.”

“Why?”

“You mocked my bangs at our first meetup,” Suguru says flatly. “I was having a bad week, so I took it personally.”

Satoru laughs softly, but it comes out more like a sigh. “That’s how our first meetup goes every time.”

“I said stupid things too,” Suguru admits. “Then we just… avoided each other.”

“How’d we manage that when we see each other so often?”

“You and Nanami were overseas for three years. It was easy.”

Satoru hums, leaning back in his chair. “Still don’t get how stupid banter got us here.”

“It’s in the past,” Suguru says lightly. “I can now proudly say I can talk to you for seventeen minutes without regretting my life choices.”

Satoru laughs — a real one this time. “You’re so kind, Suguru.”

“I know, right?”

There’s a brief, comfortable silence. It shouldn’t feel comfortable, but it does.

“Are you done with work,” Satoru asks, “or are you using your precious work time to annoy me?”

“Almost done,” Suguru says. “Just waiting for one patient to fall asleep.”

“Do they pay you for that?”

“She’s a kid. Happens to be my favorite. It’s more… personal.”

Satoru sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Whatever. I’ll pick you up.”

“Shoko’s not at the hospital.”

“Is this your way of saying thank you, Satoru, you’re the best?”

“Thank you, Satoru,” Suguru says, smiling through the line. “Call me when you get here.”

Satoru spots him outside the hospital, leaning casually against the wall in scrubs. He shouldn’t feel proud, but he does. Suguru looks alive. So damn alive.

“You didn’t have to come out,” Satoru says as they head in. “They always let me in.”

Suguru shakes his head. “The pediatric wing isn’t the ER. They don’t let anyone in.”

“I donated some tech equipment here,” Satoru shrugs. “They usually let me hang around.”

“The equipment’s not cheap,” Suguru says, brows furrowing.

“I can handle it,” Satoru laughs, brushing him off. He never corrects Suguru’s assumption that he’s just rich — not Gojo Industries rich. Let the mystery stay.

“Why would I stress about a rich man splurging?” Suguru mutters.

“What, you got something against rich people?”

“Let’s not start.”

Satoru grins. He missed this banter. Missed hearing Suguru’s voice without the weight of goodbye in it.

Then he sees her.

Nanako.

He almost freezes on the spot. It’s ridiculous — she’s just a kid — but something tightens in his chest.

“That’s your patient?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

Suguru glances at him. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do you… know her from somewhere?”

“The hospital,” Suguru says slowly. “Do you know her from somewhere?”

Satoru’s pulse spikes. He doesn’t answer. Those kids took him once. I can’t let that happen again. Not this time.

“Where are her parents?” he asks instead.

“At home. Her sister’s on her way.”

“Twin?”

Suguru pauses, startled. “How did you know?”

“I’m smart as hell, that’s how,” Satoru says, too fast, too defensive.

Suguru studies him for a moment, something cautious flickering in his eyes. “You can wait outside, you know. I just need to keep her company until her sister arrives.”

Satoru swallows. “Can I stay with you?”

The question sounds desperate even to his own ears. But Suguru doesn’t tease. He just nods. “Okay.”

Nanako, he was right about her name, turns out to be easy to talk to. Or rather, easy for Suguru to talk to. Satoru mostly listens.

Suguru’s voice is gentler here, patient in ways Satoru never is — the kind of calm that makes even sterile hospital rooms feel like a home. He sits beside the bed, low enough to meet her eyes, and speaks softly until her eyelids flutter.

Satoru watches the two of them quietly, wondering if this is what normal looks like — if this peace is what Suguru’s always been chasing.

They talk about Nanako’s online friends (the kid needs better instincts), Mimiko’s new crush (apparently not up to Nanako’s standards), and Suguru’s new hobby of trying every beverage known to man.

Satoru rolls his eyes. “That’s not a hobby, that’s a cry for help.”

Nanako giggles. “Is your friend always this quiet?”

Suguru laughs. “He warms up after a while. It took me five years.”

“That’s not long,” she says innocently.

“That’s a third of your life, kiddo,” Satoru teases.

Nanako shrugs. “You guys are besties. Suguru talks about you a lot.”

Satoru glances at him — and catches the exact moment Suguru’s expression falters. He’s glaring at her like she just betrayed state secrets.

“I see you almost every day,” Suguru says flatly. “Who else am I supposed to talk about?”

Satoru tries to hide his blush and fails spectacularly.

 “You see that nurse every day too, but don’t talk about her like that.” Nanako mutters,

“What nurse?”

“Nanako” They both say in unison.

“Nanako thinks the lovely nurse I work with is planning our wedding,” Suguru sighs.

“It’s not thinking, it’s knowing,” Nanako insists, chin raised in defiance.

Satoru grins, leaning back against the wall. “Does she like you or something?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Suguru mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Too late,” Satoru says, the grin still plastered on his face even as something heavy coils in his chest. “Why not date her?”

Suguru doesn’t even look up. “Because—A, no one’s interested. B, I don’t want to. And C, Nanako’s bored.”

Satoru laughs, a little too loud, a little too sharp around the edges. “Right, of course. No one’s interested.” He’s not sure if he’s mocking Suguru or himself.

The thought of the nurse — some faceless woman with a kind smile and an easy laugh flickers through his mind. He hates how easily he can picture it: Suguru leaning against a counter, that rare, quiet smile of his aimed at someone who isn’t him. He tells himself it’s ridiculous, that Suguru doesn’t even like her, but the image won’t fade.

He digs his hands deeper into his pockets, pretending to focus on his shoes. “Yeah,” he says lightly, “you and your nurse make a great non-couple, then.”

“Who the hell is that?”

Mimiko’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and grounding. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, a mirror image of her sister when she’s annoyed.

For once, Satoru’s relieved. Saved by a teenager.

“No one,” Suguru says quickly, rolling his eyes as he gets to his feet. “We’re leaving.”

Satoru follows, a half-smile tugging at his lips . He glances at Suguru’s back as they walk out, at the lazy tilt of his shoulders and the faint trace of amusement still in his voice.

He talks about me, Satoru thinks, the words replaying like a pulse.

Chapter Text

Suguru wishes he could say it all happened out of nowhere, but it didn’t. Satoru becoming a vital person in his life happened gradually. He could see it coming from his move-in day, when Satoru gave him a disappointed pout and muttered, “You could have told me you were moving. I would have helped.”

Suguru is slightly ashamed to admit he thought Satoru was joking. But that’s how Satoru used to be—half teasing, half sincere. Another new development is the use of first names. Suguru is actually concerned about how quickly his attachment to the blue-eyed guy is growing. He’s always been good at keeping people at arm’s length, but that principle seems to crumble the moment Satoru enters the equation. It’s like Satoru belongs here. Maybe that’s why Suguru isn’t panicking, just accepting.

One of his more irrational feelings lately is that Haibara might be in danger. He doesn’t know why, but he feels the need to keep his friend within eyesight. That’s why he decides to stop by Haibara’s bakery first. Technically it isn’t a bakery yet, but it will be soon—if the renovation doesn’t kill him first.

That’s why they decided not to renew their old lease. The apartment had been too far from the bakery Haibara poured every penny into. Nanami’s apartment was closer, and Nanami helped with the renovation, so Suguru was genuinely happy they lived together now. He’d already texted Haibara that he was coming, so he wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked. Haibara was crouched on the floor, checking god-knows-what.

“Hey,” Suguru says with a lazy wave.

Haibara smiles as he rises from the floor, dusts his pants, and pulls him into a hug. “You’re here sooner than I expected,” he says, crouching again to resume his work.

“Satoru was leaving early, so we decided to leave together.” Suguru can already picture the look on Haibara’s face without glancing at him.

“You guys are getting along easily,” Haibara teases.

Suguru smiles at his tone. “Say what you want to say, Haibara.”

Haibara sets his tools aside and turns fully toward him. “I’m not saying you guys need to date or anything. I’m just happy there’s someone you can rely on to be there every time.”

Suguru starts to protest, but Haibara raises a hand to stop him. “You people have something against displays of emotion. I always tried to be that person for you, but I also needed help. You have no idea how safe I feel knowing Satoru is around.”

Suguru nods slowly. “He is… a good friend.”

“Friend doesn’t seem like enough for you two,” Haibara says, winking.

Suguru snorts. “Have you and Nanami fucked that tension out yet?”

Haibara throws a rag at him and misses, of course. Suguru laughs softly. For a moment, the air feels light again.

He arrives at the hospital sooner than expected. He finally has enough cash to get his car out of the garage. Satoru had refused to take it out himself, claiming it would “sever their connection.” Suguru told him he couldn’t rely on Satoru’s driver every day. His roommate had only pouted, somehow making it look endearing.

But the day didn’t get the memo that it was supposed to be wholesome. Nami—the little girl they had discharged for finally being cancer-free—was back in the hospital, this time in the emergency ward.

Suguru hadn’t known; he wasn’t on the night shift. Her father was waiting outside, clutching Suguru’s scrubs in a panic.
“Please help her. They keep saying she might not make it.”

She didn’t make it.

And now Suguru is seriously considering quitting this field altogether. Why does his worthless self get to keep living when Nami’s gone? Still, he knows he won’t quit. He’s addicted to this work, to saving people, even if it breaks him. If he ever dies, it’ll be in this hospital ward.

He sits on the bathroom floor for a while, staring at his blood-spattered scrubs, reminding himself to change before leaving. His thoughts keep circling the same useless question—if he had been on the night shift, would anything have changed? The phone vibrates beside him, and he almost ignores it until he sees Satoru’s name on the screen. He shouldn’t pick up like this, not in this state, but he answers anyway.

“Suguruuuuu!” Satoru’s cheerful voice fills the speaker.

“What’s up?” Suguru’s tone sounds flat, even to his own ears. Great. Now Satoru will prod until he admits what’s wrong.

“You sound off. Are you okay?” That concern again. The one that makes Suguru feel seen—and he hates it.

“Work bullshit.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear it, man. Are you staying the night?”

“Why do you want to know?” The edge in his voice slips out before he can stop it. He hates when he takes his anger out on people who care. Not that there are many, but Satoru doesn’t deserve it.

“Nanami’s birthday gift,” Satoru says quickly. “I thought we could buy something together, as a joint gift.”

“Why joint?” Suguru knows he’s picking a fight, and Satoru, of course, walks straight into it.

“It’s easier that way, less costly,” Satoru stammers.

“Less costly for who? Me, obviously.”

“Suguru…” Satoru sounds thrown off. “Okay, you can buy the gift alone. I just assumed—”

“I don’t want your charity, Satoru. I can afford to spend some cash on my friend.”
He hates himself even as he says it. The sickest part is he knows he’s grateful for everything Satoru does. That kindness helped him get back on his feet, after years of chasing rent deadlines and debts. He’s hyper-aware that their two months as roommates are almost over, and when it ends, he won’t even have Satoru to argue with after awful days like this.

“You don’t mean that,” Satoru says quietly.

“You’re right,” Suguru breathes out. “I don’t know why I said that.”

He hears a commotion outside. The pediatric ward is usually quiet except for the soft sounds of children. Then he hears Akane’s voice—shouting for security.

“Suguru? What’s that noise?” Satoru’s tone sharpens, but Suguru’s already up, phone in hand, rushing out of the bathroom.

“Something came up. I’ll call you later.” He pockets the phone and sprints down the hallway.

He freezes when he sees Mimiko standing there, wide-eyed, as Nami’s father swings a blade around.
“You all killed my daughter!” the man keeps muttering.
Akane’s on alert, holding her ground. The father’s eyes lock onto Suguru.

“You,” he snarls. “You told me she was okay. You made us celebrate for nothing!”

Suguru’s heartbeat is so loud it drowns out everything else. He feels nauseous. Damn it. I could have at least said something nice to Satoru.

Mimiko is too close. Akane’s a few meters away, but Mimiko—she’s right in his line of danger.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru says quietly, and he means it.
Nami’s father looks deranged, eyes red, still wearing the same clothes from last night. “I swear I’ll help you through this,” Suguru says carefully. “No lawsuits, no charges, just—please, put that down. I know how it feels when everything collapses.”

He sees security approaching from behind, but it happens too fast. The man lunges. Suguru doesn’t know if he’s going for Akane or Mimiko—he just reacts, shoving Mimiko behind him.

Then comes the impact.

At first, there’s no pain. Just the force, like being punched below the collarbone. Then the burn floods in, sharp and electric, spreading through his shoulder. He looks down and sees the glint of metal—the blade jutting from his upper chest where the deltoid meets the collarbone. When the man yanks it free, pain explodes white-hot, and his knees buckle.

Blood gushes out, bright and arterial. Heat trickles down his arm, soaking his uniform in seconds. He clutches the wound out of instinct, but his hand can’t stop the pulse. His breaths turn shallow, each one a rasp. The security guards are dragging the man away now, but everything’s already gone quiet in his head.

Someone screams for help.
Nanako’s crying.
Mimiko’s frozen.

When did Nanako get here? he wonders, dizzy. The edges of his vision blur. He can’t get a full breath.

“Get the girls out,” he says hoarsely. His vision swims, black dots closing in. Every heartbeat sends another hot wave through the wound. “Don’t tell Shoko,” he mutters as Akane presses hard against his shoulder to stop the bleeding.

He can hear Nanako sobbing as the nurses try to pull her away. “Leave her,” Suguru whispers. He turns his head toward the twins and gives a faint smile. “It’s just a shoulder wound. If he hit the artery, I’d be gone already.”

That only makes Nanako cry harder, and the nurses rush to wheel him to the ER faster.

Of course it’s Shoko’s shift, Suguru thinks as darkness edges in. Just great.