Chapter Text
They manage to catch the last train into the city. It’s almost completely abandoned. Satoru decides to stand, for some reason. Suguru sits and tries to look passed his friend out to the window behind him. He will not think about Satoru standing almost close enough to be between his knees, or how much he wants to smooth a hand over his friend’s waist. There’s no one here with them, in this rocking cabin. No one would find out if Suguru indulged, however briefly. Instead, he watches the shadows of trees turn to suburbs as they jolt from stop to stop, tracks whining.
Satoru just ends up finding sneaky ways to poke at Suguru’s face, swinging his weight back and forth while supported by the handlebar. The florescent lights cast harsh shadows, highlighting Satoru’s general paleness. Suguru bats him off, forcing Satoru to lean away before he starts his next approach. They talk in occasional spatters, their only company the automated station stop announcements and one hunched figure who eventually joins them as they start heading into the urban heart of Tokyo.
It feels...nice. To just be near Satoru while in the process of going somewhere, not bothering to think much about anything important. Their argument feels like it’s already melted into a faint memory. Putting up with being warped to the train station has clearly helped sooth Satoru’s ruffled feathers.
“Where are we going?” Suguru eventually asks as their train has disappeared into the bowels of the city, the subway tunnel pitch black. Above them, the lights must have grown brighter and brighter, high rises and billboards and thousands of lives above them.
“Wherever we want,” Satoru shrugs, tugging at his own belt loops absentmindedly. He still leads Suguru out into the night like he has a plan, though. They weave their way out of the train station and up into fresh air. Tokyo comes roaring out to great them as they ascend onto it’s streets. There’s a bustle of drunk salarymen, partygoers, night owls and commuters twisting around them.
They’re swiftly wrapped in movement and light, rendered nothing but another pair of faces amongst the crowd. It’s...nice. The anonymity is comforting.
Suguru has rarely been out this late in Tokyo, by now he’d already be heading back to Jujutusu Tech.
Satoru leads them further into the city, pointing at things that catch his interest and staring into closed shop windows. Music and laughter drifts out of bars. He’s buzzing with energy, unable to just walk normally. The cool summer night air kisses their skin, streetlights warding back the thick starless darkness. Things feel so very awake.
His friend brings them to an all night arcade. It’s small, dingy almost, but it’s dark lighting helps hide the old carpet. Satoru bounces between games, egging Suguru into playing against him at any turn. He lets himself relax into it, letting his competitive streak emerge. In a moment of genuine charity, Satoru pays for Suguru’s tokens.
The weird energy between them truly dissipates as they team up against another pair playing the night away and soundly destroy them in several different fighting games.
He’s missed hanging out with Satoru like this. Each year they see each other a little less, missions increasing as they climb the ranks.
But eventually, Satoru’s eyes start to twitch away from the games, his fingers fidget on the joystick and skirt over the buttons absently. This isn’t enough for him, apparently. Whatever keeps him up pacing at night isn’t sated.
Suguru leans over to whisper into his ear. “Want to get out of here?” Satoru flashes him a grin, and opens the door for Suguru with a flourish.
Next, Satoru leads them in for a second dinner at a little hole in the wall ramen place that’s on the edge of closing. Satoru completely ignores the irritation from the single employee and Suguru attempts to apologise without pissing his friend off. They’re practically sitting on the street, the glow of the kitchen in front of them is warm and welcoming.
Satoru inhales his ramen like he hasn’t eaten all day. Suguru tries to match his speed so he won’t get ditched once Satoru is done. Sitting shoulder to shoulder like this, Suguru can look at the bruising under Satoru’s eyes. He’s starting to feel tired himself, outside of the continued strain around his eyes and the heaviness surrounding his brain. He might be able to snatch a couple hours of rest tonight. Satoru still looks completely wound up, though, aggressively slurping up his noodles.
“S’s gd,” He speaks around the mouthful, foot bouncing on the pavement below them. A dribble of broth escapes his mouth. It’s utterly disgusting.
“Christ,” Is all Suguru responds with. He tosses a napkin at Satoru’s head.
When Satoru is done, they’re apparently both done, and their bowls are whisked away. Satoru slams a couple of too large bills on the counter, to the utter surprise of their server, and drags Suguru away quickly before the frazzled shop runner can chase them down to return the extra money.
The night is starting to cool down further, a faint breeze picks up. Suguru is content to let Satoru lead the pair of them through side streets and further into Tokyo’s night life. This, he hasn’t really seen.
They start seeing a couple host and hostess clubs, people standing on the roadside advertising for their clubs or bars. Billboards and bright lights dot practically every building. Almost everyone walking these streets are some level of intoxicated or planning to become intoxicated, and there’s one or two foreign tourists dotted amongst the crowd. It’s a fascinating scene, if nothing else. He feels kind of weird being here with Satoru, who thankfully is only making the occasional foul joke like the immature child he is.
He kind of wants to hold Satoru’s hand, hidden amongst the crowd of strangers who don’t care about anything but their own desires. He thinks he might be able to sooth some of the twitchiness out of Satoru’s muscles, use his thumb to massage the palm of his hand.
They stop in front of a run down Pachinko parlour.
“Hey, have you ever been in one of these?” Satoru asks.
Suguru has never once wanted to be in a Pachinko parlour. They just seem like places for sad old people to waste their money. “No. Why, you really want to go in?”
“Why not,” Satoru shrugs, face cracking into a smile as he produces two cards from his pocket. Fake IDs for both of them. Satoru has never once gone out drinking with Shoko and him, so Suguru didn’t even know he had a fake ID. His though, Satoru must have gotten out of his room.
When the hell had he done that? Satoru was planning on going out alone tonight. Suguru takes his card, rubbing his thumb across the slightly scuffed surface. It’s definitely the one he keeps hidden in his dorm to insure Yaga never catches it on him. Satoru’s distain towards alcohol had kept him from bringing it tonight, not thinking he’d need it.
“When did you steal my ID?”
“Tuesday,” Satoru says carelessly. “I was ready to whisk you away, dick.”
Suguru winces, realising that Satoru had been really serious about that invitation. Of course they’d gotten into an argument instead. He wonders if Satoru had wanted to try and drink with him, even though he hated the taste of alcohol.
Grumbling for the sake of pretences, Suguru pushes himself inside the parlour with Satoru hot on his heels. The parlour is half full, the vast majority of the clientele have several decades on the two of them. Their IDs work like a charm. Suguru has always looked older, and Satoru’s height and jawline help offset his softer, younger looking features.
Suguru decides he’ll just follow Satoru around, who inspects the machine they’re led to. He giddily sits down and Suguru watches over his shoulder, hovering. The closest patron, an old women, looks at them oddly. Suguru smiles at her blandly until she turns away from them.
Satoru starts the machine up and they watch the balls bounce around the pegs, pouring across the machine. Suguru watches as Satoru tries to figure out the exact tiny corrections he needs to make. He quickly collects a decent amount of balls, before immediately dragging Suguru over to the counter to cash out his winnings for a pack of cigarettes. Satoru hands the cigarettes over and cheerfully steers them out of the parlour.
Suguru, deeply nonplussed by both the speed at which Satoru had decided he was done with Pachinko without a dip in enthusiasm and the fact he’d bought Suguru cigarettes instead of something he’d enjoy, just followed along. He gets over it once they’re back out on the street.
“Did you want to live out some fantasy about winning a girl something at a fair?” He asks while sliding a cigarette out of the pack, fishing for his lighter.
Satoru links their arms. “Don’t you feel wooed, Suguru? My dear high school sweetheart.”
Suguru beats him away while Satoru cackles, lighting up with practiced ease. They skirt around a man who seems to be close to throwing up on the pavement.
“You’ve picked a bad replacement for a girl,” He says as he lets the cigarette burn for a couple seconds before taking his first puff.
“I don’t know about that,” Satoru reaches out to tug Suguru’s hair tie out in one fell swoop, letting Suguru’s hair tumble down passed his shoulders. Suguru takes a drag to blow the smoke in Satoru’s face. He doesn’t put his hair back up.
-
They eventually make it back out away from the seedier district they’d found into quieter streets. Satoru buys a caffeinated drink from a vending machine and chugs it, all while Suguru looks on in vague concern. It’s well passed three in the morning now, and Suguru feels sluggish. Reading anything not the size of billboard text hurts, his eyes begging for rest.
The streets are all but abandoned except for the night shift workers, the most diehard of partiers no longer out on the streets. Tokyo has fallen quiet at last, with only the occasional passing car or foot traffic. Suguru wants to crawl into bed already, shut his eyes and sleep until someone forces him awake in the morning. He wonders if Satoru’s next strategy is hyping himself up so high on caffeine and sugar that he’ll be forced to crash.
Seeing as how he steers both of them into the first 24/7 convenience store they find to grab several different ice cream flavours out of the waist high freezer by the door, Suguru thinks he’s right. It’s gotten slightly chilly this far into the night, and no part of Suguru wants something cold. The taste of cigarettes still lingers in his mouth, and the idea of letting it mingle with something sweet is also repellent.
Satoru takes his handful of novelty ice creams and acts far too energetic in front of the poor cashier. They leave and Satoru crouches outside on the curb, dutifully making his way through his pile. The slightly green light pouring out of the convenience store tints his hair, creating a soft backlight. Suguru leans against the wall and watches his friend eat. Unlike the ramen, Satoru shows little enthusiasm for the actual process of eating the ice cream. He dutifully strips away the plastic wrapping and transfers ice cream to mouth. It’s more perfunctory then anything else.
His fingers tremble a bit on the wooden stick. Suguru wonders if the caffeine has done anything but make the situation worse. He decides he’s been letting Satoru try and fix this himself for too long.
His friend hates whenever anyone points out the fact he’s actually a human teenager and not a child god. That he’s got flaws and struggles like anyone else. Satoru’s pride won’t let him show weakness like that. The fact he’d even let Suguru come along, that he’d wanted Suguru here as he tries to kick this recent wave of insomnia, is a sign of trust Suguru feels honoured to receive. But watching this, seeing Satoru continue to struggle this late into the night, he can’t just keep tagging along.
“Satoru, it might be time to call it a night.”
Satoru looks up from his ice cream, shades sliding down his nose. The bright lights of the convenience store have washed Satoru out, turning him almost monochrome, but his eyes remain so very blue. “What, so eager to ditch me?”
“Oh come on, it’s late,” Suguru purposefully locks eyes with Satoru, straightening up from his slouch. “And I don’t think you’re going to find sleep here. This doesn’t seem to be working.”
Satoru recoils slightly, expression closing off. “Maybe I just wanted to have some fun. Let loose in the big city.”
Suguru raises an eyebrow. “Satoru. Don’t bullshit me, I know exactly what this is. I know you haven’t been sleeping.”
Satoru crumples the plastic wrapper in his hand and stands up abruptly. He walks over to the trashcan next to the doors and throws away everything in his hands, half eaten ice cream included. The sign above the door throws traces of faint colour onto his face, turning his shades into a neon funhouse mirror. His face is perfectly, cockily, cheerful when he turns back. “Be a pussy and go back if you want, then. God, you’re such a rule follower.” Satoru makes a fake gagging noise.
His friend saunters off, continuing down the street. They’re somewhere still mostly commercial, shutters closed over stores and the windows above them dark, but it’s far less packed together. He does just want to go back to his dorm, aches from his last mission making themselves known the longer he stays awake. However, as much as Satoru might act like he’s above being human, he was as mortal as anyone else. And a part of Suguru wants, deeply, to see all of his cracks and imperfections. Satoru passes under one streetlight before Suguru starts moving to catch up.
Satoru doesn’t acknowledge him for several blocks, but Suguru doesn’t push him. He absentmindedly pinches at the skin of his wrist to give his mind something to latch onto.
They stumble onto a slightly strange sight sitting next to a car rental. It’s an outdoor batting cage. Satoru starts crossing the street immediately and Suguru follows, fishing for the cigarette pack in his pocket.
“We should have a bat off, Suguru! Come, I’ll beat your ass into the dirt.” Satoru cracks his knuckles.
“You go first, I want to smoke this,” He says as he slides a cigarette out of the pack.
Satoru lets himself into the cage to pick up a dented baseball bat tucked in the corner. He spins it experimentally, then swings at the air once or twice. Suguru sits down on the bench outside the cage and lights up, the smell immediately comforting. Satoru strides out to stuff some bills into a machine and hops back in, latching the cage behind him.
Suguru watches as Satoru gets into stance by the plate, feet planted. The pitching machine at the back of the cage starts up with a clunking noise, and soon enough the hiss of pressurised air is accompanying flying baseballs. Satoru easily hits each one, the balls flying into the net ahead of him with force.
It’s loud in the quiet of the night, jarring. Suguru takes a long drag before swinging his arms back to hang over the bench’s back, fighting off slow blinks.
Satoru just keeps going. He’d bought a lot of pitches, apparently. His shoulders, held loose with confidence at first, start tensing up. He focuses, stopping his shifting or twirling between shots. His hits keep getting harder, the aluminium bat sounding out louder and louder. Suguru taps his cigarette against the edge of the bench to knock off the ash. It falls to the ground in a clump.
Satoru’s hands clench around the grip, and Suguru swears as Satoru infuses Cursed energy into his next hit. The ball hits the net so hard it comes flying back, which Satoru easily dodges. It smashes into the chain link cage wall between the two of them. Suguru drops the cigarette and stands.
“Hey, Satoru, Hey!”
The next ball is launched, and the same thing happens again. Satoru is going to break something.
“Satoru, hey! Satoru what the hell? What are you doing?” Suguru curls his fingers into the chain link door and shakes it, the latch rattling. This finally seems to catch Satoru’s attention. He turns and blinks at Suguru in surprise, mouth falling open. The next shot rattles out of the machine and Suguru reacts on instinct, summoning a weak Curse in the ball’s path. They collide and the Curse is exorcised, bursting on impact. The ball drops to the floor.
Satoru gets out of the way, pressing himself to the side of the cage. He peels one hand off of the bat and unlatches the door, which Suguru pulls open. Satoru exits the cage and shuts the door just as the next pitch is launched. Suguru grabs him by the collar and drags him back several paces. Satoru lets him.
They watch as the machine keeps on pitching, the balls bouncing off of the fence in front of them. Suguru doesn’t know how to turn the machine off. It ends shortly, the machine firing it’s last volley and going silent. Suguru checks to make sure his cigarette is truly out and not still smouldering on the ground.
Suguru turns to look at Satoru, who’s eyeing the bat he still clutches. It’s deeply dented, the outline of the two balls Satoru smashed with it imprinted into the metal. Satoru doesn’t look sheepish, or guilty, or anything relating to remorse. Instead he just looks vaguely surprised.
“Did you even notice what you were doing?” Using Cursed energy accidentally is the kind of thing only sorcerers wet behind the ears pull. The kind of thing Satoru should never have done, having been trained from birth to control and focus his energy and techniques, and shouldn’t be doing as a teenager with years of experience.
“I-,” Satoru just keeps staring at the bat, which means no. Suguru groans and then reaches out to gently pry the bat from Satoru’s fingers. Satoru lets go easily and Sugru opens the batting cage to chuck the bat inside before closing it again.
“Are you going to talk about what the fuck just happened or are you going to loose control and level a building?”
Satoru cringes slightly, and Suguru knows that’s a low blow. He knows that Satoru had been held to a far higher standard surrounding control and precision then other sorcerers. As much as Satoru was flippant about property damage, as much as he didn’t care about non sorcerers and their day to day lives, being anything but completely in control of his own techniques had been unacceptable his whole life.
“You sound like Yaga,” Satoru defends himself weakly. Even he can’t laugh his way out of this. Suguru bites back a retort and waits him out.
Satoru pushes his sunglasses up to better hide his eyes and sits down on the bench. Suguru sits next to him.
“You notice everything, don’t you?” Satoru asks, voice quiet.
Suguru shrugs. “I pay attention.” It almost feels like an admission of guilt.
“Can I have a cigarette?” Satoru reaches out grabby fingers. Suguru bats him away.
“You keep trying them and you always hate it and then I have to finish it for you. Stop stalling.”
Satoru brings his legs up, perching his feet on the edge of the bench and crossing his arms, wresting his elbows on his thighs. “I can’t sleep sometimes. I’ve always...struggled, every now and then. There’s no reason for it, nothing to fix. I just have to wait it out, but, it’s just so fucking frustrating! I’m the strongest sorcerer and I can’t even fix my own sleep schedule? I was already having a rough patch and then at that damn clan event they wouldn’t let me wear my sunglasses so people kept pointing out I looked tired. Most of the inner clan knows because they all tried to fix it, so they were all being fucking bastards about it. And then it’s just kept getting worse.”
Each word sounded like it was physically painful to say, dragged bloody and screaming from Satoru’s depths. Suguru feels oddly proud, watching Satoru speak to his knees. He wraps a careful hand around Satoru’s bicep. Satoru lets him in, like he always does. He’s never once rejected Suguru’s touch, even when his fingers only brought pain. Suguru tries, very hard, not to think about it much or else his heart catches and he starts to feel vaguely sick.
Theres a lot about Satoru that hurts to think about. Things that hurt him deeply and completely, until Suguru feels like skin stretched over longing and bitterness.
He squeezes gently. Satoru doesn’t react. “We’re not gods, Toru.”
Satoru snorts. “We’re pretty close.”
It’s perhaps a bit distasteful to say, but Satoru isn’t really wrong either.
“But we aren’t. It’s a good thing, I think we’d be pretty bored if we were perfect.”
Satoru shrugs. “I wouldn’t be, if you were there.” He says it like it’s such a simple truth, ironclad conviction.
Suguru looks up into the dark night sky, completely void of stars, willing himself not to ache. He wishes, often, that he wasn’t as pragmatic and cynical. Suguru might hold convictions and ideals, but Satoru believes the world was a series of simple ‘if, then’ statements. He rarely doubted, just charged through life with grace and violence, focused only on his goals rather then what he was barreling through to get to them. It was childish and beautiful. Suguru liked standing next to it, even if it infuriated and cut him.
“If I was there, you wouldn’t need to be perfect, though.” Suguru remembers, briefly, a time after a joint mission where he’d been bent at the waist, hurling onto the forrest floor, recently consumed Curse revolting. His bun had gotten messy during the fight, and Satoru had carefully held back the strands that had gotten loose away from his face while bragging about how much better he’d performed in the fight. “We’re the strongest, right? We can cover for each other’s issues. Plus, you can take all of the clan heads while sleep deprived anyway.”
“Damn right I can,” Satoru seems to agree compulsively. He visibly chews on words for a long moment, jaw moving but no sound escaping, before finally saying, “That includes you, you know?”
“Huh?”
“When you got all in my face and told me no one would cover for you if you messed up. I’d cover for you. You know that, right?”
Suguru, abruptly, realises why that argument had pissed Satoru off so much. “I know, Satoru.”
He lets go of Satoru’s arm, abruptly aware that he’d been hanging on for too long. He stands, stretching his legs compulsively and starts scanning around the street to see if anyone had witnessed any of what had happened, but he finds no sign of movement. God, his eyes hurt. He hears Satoru stand behind him, but jolts in surprise as he feels a warm pressure between his shoulder blades.
It takes him a long moment to realise Satoru is pressing his forehead into Suguru’s back, likely contorting himself like a shrimp to reach.
“I’m so tired, Suguru.”
Suguru stands still for a long moment, letting Satoru lean on him. “I know you are.”
He turns slowly, giving Satoru time to straighten up. He reaches out and slowly slides Satoru’s shades off of his face, exposing his scrunched up bloodshot eyes. Suguru folds the glasses and hangs them from Satoru’s shirt collar. Slowly, he reaches out both hands towards Satoru’s face. Satoru’s eyes flutter shut, an invitation, a denial of his own momentary weakness, and Suguru gently presses his thumbs against Satoru’s eyelids.
Satoru sighs stutteringly into the gentle pressure, some of the tension in his body disappearing in increments. Suguru moves downwards, stoking over the darkened skin under Satoru’s eyes. It’s fragile, so delicate under his fingers. He gently runs his thumbs repetitively under Satoru’s eyes, his fingers and palms cupping around Satoru’s face, settling in his hair. Satoru slowly leans into the touch, mouth parting slightly. He wants to lightly run his thumb across Satoru’s forehead, the way his mother had once done when Suguru was a young child to ease him into sleep. But he doesn’t let himself get greedy. He doesn’t know how long they stand there, barely moving, but eventually Suguru draws his hands back.
Satoru continues to stand there with his eyes closed for one long moment, as if waiting for Suguru to come back.
I can never touch him again and be happy. Suguru can live off of this moment, replaying it again and again in his mind to sate himself. But no one is here but them, so just as Satoru starts to crack his eyes open, Suguru gently wraps his arms around Satoru’s waist and presses face into the junction between Satoru’s shoulder and neck, an achingly gentle hug.
Satoru’s sunglasses press into Suguru’s chest uncomfortably, but he lets himself take a moment to be wrapped up in Satoru, tuck his nose against Satoru’s neck, feel warm skin under cotton. Satoru’s arms circle around him and hold him, just as gentle as Suguru . He splays his fingers against Suguru’s back. His chin comes down to rest against Suguru’s head. And then, Suguru is pulling back, stepping away. Satoru lets him go.
“Do you want to go back, now?” Suguru asks.
S atoru ducks his head as he puts his sunglasses back on. “Yeah, yeah lets go back. Unless you want to try getting me really drunk. ”
Suguru summons the manta ray Curse.
The air is absolutely freezing in the higher atmosphere, and Suguru has to spend a long time floating above Tokyo to orient himself to figure out where Jujutsu Tech is, and he can barely keep his eyes open, but Satoru is tucked behind him, fingers tangled into his shirt, so he doesn’t actually mind.
The walk up the pathway into the school is gruelling, anything keeping Suguru on his feet has completely drained away after bringing the pair of them back to the school. Satoru walks next to him, keeping Suguru on track as they climb the hill. It’s the quietest he’s heard the woods around the school all summer, only the faint whisper of bugs or creatures moving through underbrush follow them back, the occasional croak of a distant frog.
They successfully make it back to the dorms without anyone noticing their arrival. They don’t say anything to each other when they part ways into their respective dorms, just pat each other artlessly on the shoulder. Suguru doesn’t bother brushing his teeth, just rolls right into his bed.
Just as he’s drifting off, he hears his door slide open quietly. Soft footfalls follow, and then a faint thunk. The door slides shut again. He rolls over and squints into the gloom to see that Satoru had returned Suguru’s box fan he’d been trying to steal every night. Suguru grins at the shadowy shape of it , but no one can see him in the dark.