Work Text:
When the wind kisses the trees gently, the cicadas orchestrate just a little louder and a few stray leaves float down to the concrete, one making a home in the stark whiteness of Satoru’s hair. Suguru picks it out, then, when he barely notices, shining blue eyes never leaving the cup of ice cream in his grasp.
He thinks of Yin and Yang when he looks at the leaf so green it’s almost black and when he holds it up to the sun, spine on full display, he can see a vision of white through its translucence; a vision of Gojo Satoru, shoulder’s slumped and finally, finally relaxed, eyes just a little dimmer with Limitless put on hold for Suguru himself, and it’s there, on the bench beside the good konbini outside the school, that Suguru wishes he would die — if only to keep this image of stillness forever.
Then, he asks, even as he hopes more than he does, “Hey, Satoru. Do you think we’ll be together in every universe?”
And the boy is turning to him, eyes wide as a sea, stretching out beyond the horizon so Suguru drowns in it, and inside the water he sees a black turgon and a white guppy, against all odds, in a playful dance, scales brushing each other as they go up and down, twist and turn, mouths open in what would be a smile.
In the whites of Satoru’s eyes, he sees a darkened sky, promises of thunder looming in the distance and, unexpectedly, a stray white cloud, puffed and floating along. The darkness and the whiteness rotating together like in some sort of axial pull.
He sees the land beyond that, two young boys cycling along the tracks, belly laughter, fond yells of, ‘hurry up, slow poke!’ from the one with blonde hair. The black haired one laughs along. Something human, something happy, something ignorant of their current world.
The flowers in the fields, swaying together in the evening breeze, plucked simultaneously and never individually. The bees and the butterflies sucking from their buds.
Toads in a swamp, dark and light eyes staring at each other, resting on a lily pad. Birds in the sky, a duo that dips and flails, worms in beaks that they share.
A cat and a dog in a house, something white and something black, plates side by side, human hands massaging through fur as both animals preen. A tsunami and a sun, two cards in a deck, two cars in a lane. Always something white, and always something black. Dipping by each other, lithe in the way they pirouette around, content in the way they are together.
Vanilla ice cream and chocolate sprinkles, a smudge of both on Satoru’s nose as he smiles widely at Suguru, conviction that cannot be bought, blue eyes blinking as he says;
“Of course!”
Something white in his aura and something black in the way Suguru smiles, too and thinks they must be everything in the universe, at once. So he reaches out to wipe the ice cream off.
Then when he brings his fingers to his lips, tasting the sweetness of the vanilla and the bitterness of the chocolate, Suguru hums, and believes him.