Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Geto.”

Suguru doesn’t stop walking.

“Geto, come on, let me go -”

“No,” he snaps, continuing to pull Shoko away from the table where she’d been holding court, insistent on getting her somewhere quiet so they could talk.

And yeah, he probably should have asked first.

He probably should have asked if she wanted to get a drink or something, maybe offering up his own half-empty carton of menthols in an effort to tempt her out of the main room of the frat house. That would’ve been easier than (gently) physically dragging her out the door, ignoring the protests of the people she’d been playing beer pong with in a desperate bid to get her alone. 

But Suguru’s panicking.

He’s not quite thinking straight, Satoru’s confession from earlier still ringing in his ears, and Suguru -

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck is going on?

It’s all falling apart.

Everything is falling to pieces; his mind is reeling, anger and hurt and confusion all warring for dominance inside his chest. 

He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know what to think, the idea that Satoru - that he’s spent the past few weeks locked up alone in his apartment because he can’t even fucking look at Suguru so painful that Suguru kind of wants to throw up.

He also kind of wants to kick something, the frustration simmering in his veins threatening to spill over into a full rolling boil, and if he doesn’t get some answers, soon, he’s going to fucking lose it.

He’s going to have a fucking meltdown in the middle of a stupid frat house on Halloween, and isn’t that funny? If he were here (and if the situation wasn’t what it was, Suguru thinks, if they were just neutral observers instead of the actual fucking participants), Satoru would find it fucking hysterical, and Suguru, though maybe a little more tactful, would laugh right along with him. They’d laugh until they were fucking sick, high on life and amusement and each other’s warmth as they cackled in one of the shitty frat house bathrooms, trying to get it together before they went back out in search of more crap to get into, and that’s -

“I was this close to winning, you know,” Shoko announces, finally yanking her wrist out of Suguru’s grip. “I only had one more cup to go.”

Suguru grits his teeth, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he turns around.

“If I’d won, Kashimo would’ve owed me three packs of cigarettes and a six pack -”

Is she being serious right now?  

Suguru’s having a goddamn crisis, his thoughts spiraling down, down, down into a dark, bad place, and all Shoko is worried about is the fucking shitty beer some fucking frat guy she doesn’t even like was gonna owe her?

He can’t quite hide his irritation.

“For fuck’s sake, Shoko,” he snaps, glaring down at her. “I’ll buy you the goddamn cigarettes if they’re so important to you.”

He knows the words are too harsh as soon as they’ve left his mouth. 

Too cranky, too sullen, too much -

And sure enough, Shoko crosses her arms over her chest at his outburst, unimpressed with his tone. 

Suguru groans, waving a hand at a couple of lawn chairs no one’s occupying. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Can we just - I need to talk to you.”

She eyes him for a moment, wary. Suguru gets the distinct impression that she’s taking his measure, some judgment hanging over his head like an ax.

He hopes he doesn’t come up wanting.

But eventually, she sighs, kicking out her heels as she drops down into one of the chairs, and Suguru, relieved, joins her.

“You look like shit,” she drawls. 

Yeah, well.

Suguru kinda feels like shit. 

He runs a hand over his face, his fingers squeezing at his eyes and wiping away the film of alcohol and spit and Naoko’s blackberry flavored lip gloss still clinging to his mouth. Though he’s only been at the party a few hours, being careful about how much alcohol he’s consumed, how many cigarettes he’s smoked, he feels wrecked. 

He feels completely and totally drained, like he and Satoru had gotten into an actual fight instead of just yelling at each other on the lawn, and that’s -

He winces.

Because how fucking embarrassing. 

Thank goodness for Nanami, he thinks. 

Thank fucking god for Nanami and Haibara both, their friends’ quick thinking and insistence on getting Satoru home and safe preventing things from escalating any further, before either of them could say or do something they would really regret.

Or, well.

Before they did anything else they’d rather not have, he supposes, the way he’d yelled at Satoru still weighing heavily on his heart.

Because he just can’t get it out of his head - the way Satoru had looked at him when he finally admitted what was wrong, when he’d finally told Suguru why he’d been avoiding him. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how fucking broken Satoru had seemed, how beautiful and terrible and devastated his smile had been as he’d looked up at Suguru and told him -

As he’d told him -

“Is this about Satoru?” Shoko guesses.

Suguru has to fight not to laugh. 

Because of course this is about Satoru; it’s always about Satoru, whether it’s something he’s said or something he’s done, Suguru trailing along desperately in his wake. Being Satoru’s best friend has always felt a little like chasing after a shooting star, pulled effortlessly into his gravity and then burned by his incandescence, and most of the time, that’s fine. 

It’s just fucking fine, he’s always told himself, because Suguru is strong enough to withstand such brilliance. 

He’s strong enough to stand on his own two feet at Satoru’s side, his own sense of identity not so weak that he fears losing himself in Satoru’s shadow, and he’d rather burn in that light than drown in the darkness.

But what if Satoru doesn’t want him there anymore?

What if Suguru’s inadvertently forced them apart, the gulf of the past few weeks impossible for them to overcome? 

The thought of not having Satoru at his side makes something in him ache, makes him want to curl up into a ball in some desperate bid to protect himself, and while Suguru hadn’t wanted any of this to happen, while it’s not like he’d gone out of his way to hurt Satoru, he can’t help but feel like he deserves some of this.

Because isn’t this his fault? 

Isn’t this whole fucking thing his fault?

He hadn’t thought so, at first - he’d thought Satoru was being dumb and childish, his initial worry over Satoru’s sudden disappearance from his life turning into frustration and anger as the days of silence had dragged on. He’d thought Satoru was jealous, a kid not wanting to share his toys with other children, as much to blame for their falling out as anyone.

But now that Suguru knows the truth, he can’t help but feel that it’s not so simple. He can’t help but feel that he’s fucked everything up, if only because he’s been so blind, because he hadn’t seen it, and -

“He loves me,” he chokes out, staring helplessly up at Shoko, his fingers twisting into knots into his lap. “Satoru, he -”

Shoko nods, her gaze softening. “Yeah,” she agrees. “He does.”

Suguru takes a deep, shuddering breath. “How long have you known?”

“Forever?” she guesses, putting a thoughtful finger to her lips. “I mean, he doesn’t exactly hide it, Geto.”

“What?”

“Come on,” she chastises, kicking at his chair. “Don’t be dense. Everyone knows how he feels about you.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he insists. “I didn’t - Shoko, I had no idea he felt this way.”

“Would it have changed anything if you did?”

Suguru grimaces, looking away. “Are you asking if I feel the same way?”

Shoko pulls her cigarettes from her purse, bringing one to her lips and lighting it as she considers Suguru’s question. 

“Sure,” she finally says. “Let’s go with that.”

And here’s the thing.

Suguru knows he feels… something for Satoru. 

He knows he can’t imagine a life without Satoru, without wanting to be as close as he possibly can to the guy he’s never hesitated to call his best friend. The thought of something driving the two of them apart is - it’s anathema, so completely unthinkable that his mind immediately rejects the thought as an impossibility. 

But does that mean he loves Satoru?

Does that mean he is in love with Satoru, that he wants to - to kiss him and hold his hand and fall asleep next to him at night? 

Does that mean he wants to be Satoru’s boyfriend?

It’s not a matter of attraction. 

Suguru’s known he’s bisexual for practically as long as he’s been aware that sex is a thing, and Satoru is, objectively, stunning. 

He can admit to sometimes staring at his best friend for maybe longer than is appropriate, mesmerized by the blue of Satoru’s eyes and the way his impish grins light up his entire face. He can fess up to the fact that he thinks Satoru is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

But can he really be blamed for that?

Satoru’s beauty is effortless, ethereal - he’s like something out of a fucking dream, or maybe one of those impossible paintings you see hanging in fancy galleries in big, metropolitan cities. He can, quite literally, take Suguru’s breath away in the right lighting, and even when he shouldn’t look good, when he’s just rolled out of bed or finished working out or spent an afternoon on the couch, high out of his fucking mind, he’s still just so fucking pretty.

Honestly, it’s kinda infuriating.

But only kinda, because he’s always let Suguru stare as long as he wanted; he’s encouraged it even, which… in hindsight is maybe a pretty glaringly obvious example of how Satoru really feels about him. 

What other examples will he find, he wonders?

What other hints has he missed, what longing glances and lingering touches has he written off as Satoru being melodramatic, or him just being physically affectionate?

A lot, probably, if he cares to look. There’s probably tons of things that he’s missed over the years, lots of little ways that Satoru’s told him he loves him. Suguru’s just -

Not sure he’s ready to pull back that veil, and so he turns back to Shoko, shifting uncomfortably under her too-sharp gaze.

“…I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I’ve never… I’ve never really thought about it.”

She nods, sighing. “Yeah, I figured.” 

Suguru buries his head in his hands. “Fuck.”

“Mmmm.”

“What do I… Shoko, what do I do?”

Her eyes roll spectacularly.

“Who knows?” she drawls.

“Wow. Very helpful.”

“Well, what do you want me to say, Geto?” she demands, the sudden sharpness in her voice taking him by surprise. “I’m sorry you missed your best fucking friend falling in love with you? It’s not your fault that you’ve put him through fucking hell these past three weeks as you’ve shoved your new relationship in his face?”

And Suguru feels that’s a little unfair.

Because he’s not shoving his relationship with Naoko in Satoru’s face - he’s not. 

After a few initial texts to try and schedule some time for the three of them to meet up, eager for his girlfriend and best friend to get better acquainted - invitations Satoru had really rudely blown off, by the way, not even bothering to respond until it was nearly the time Suguru had proposed to meet - Suguru had gotten the message. He’d gotten the fucking hints and stopped trying to force Satoru and Naoko to get along. 

Instead, he’s tried to give Satoru space to adjust. He’s tried to keep including him in his plans even as he spends more and more of his free time with Naoko.

He’s been nothing but accommodating despite Satoru’s lack of interest in communicating with him.

When he points that out though, Shoko just scoffs, tapping her cigarette against the side of the chair.

“You’re being a dick,” she says. 

“I’m fucking not -”

“Yes, you are,” she retorts. “You’re expecting him to just shove his feelings for you in a box and pretend that nothing is wrong, and then when he can’t, you assume he’s being bitchy just for the sake of being bitchy. That’s totally unfair, Geto.”

“I didn’t - I didn’t know he felt that way!”

“But you had to know something was wrong,” she counters. “I mean, come on, he’s barely left his apartment in weeks -”

“I thought he was jealous.”

Shoko stares at him, appalled. “Geto.”

“I thought he was - I don’t know, being a fucking brat about Naoko. You know how he gets sometimes.”

Stabbing out the remnants of her first cigarette, Shoko angrily grabs for another. 

“I wish you could fucking hear yourself right now,” she tells him, shaking her head. “I wish you had even a fucking ounce of self-awareness.”

Suguru’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“As if you aren’t his number one enabler!”

“I do not enable him -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“- that much.”

“You baby him,” she disagrees. “You have literally encouraged all of his worst behaviors -”

“And you’re so much better?” he demands, his voice rising to match hers.

And he knows that he shouldn’t. 

He knows he should take a deep breath, try to calm himself down. He hadn’t called Shoko out here to fucking yell at her.

But Suguru’s angry.

He’s mad, upset that his friends all seem to have taken Satoru’s side in this awful, terrible rift that’s forming between them, that none of them are even trying to see things from his point of view.

Because yeah, he maybe deserves it a little.

Maybe he’s been a little naive.

But he hadn’t meant to hurt Satoru; he hadn’t known Satoru had feelings for him.  

Everyone is acting like he’s some malicious actor here, like he’s being a gigantic asshole for no reason, and so he can’t help but throw Shoko’s words back at her, as if hurting everyone else will make him hurt less. 

“He was fucking wasted, Shoko,” he snaps. “He was - you got him so fucking drunk he could barely stand. Nanami had to carry him to the damn car!”

The words hit home. 

Shoko makes a guilty noise, wrapping her arms around herself as she looks away. 

“I - shit. I just wanted to get him out of the house. He was suffocating in there, Geto, it was like walking into a fucking morgue -”

And that hurts more than any other accusation ever could. 

It stings, because Suguru knows what it’s like to fall into a funk like that; he knows how it feels to not have the energy to get out of bed, how things like sleeping and bathing and eating sometimes seem like insurmountable tasks.

He is intimately, painfully aware of what that’s like, and to think he’s inflicted that on Satoru, with his silly, bubbly personality and infectious laughter -

But he can’t back off now.

He can’t, the accusations falling from his lips like poison. 

“Did you make him eat first?” he demands. 

Shoko blinks, confused. “What?”

“Did you give him food? Did you make him chug a bottle of water?”

“I didn’t know that I had to,” she argues. “Who drinks on an empty stomach?”

Suguru can’t help but feel a little vindicated as he crosses his arms over his chest, haughtily staring down his nose at her. 

“Satoru, that’s who,” he sneers. “Didn’t you know that? Since you have his best interest at heart, and all?”

“Don’t try to pin all of this on me.”

“Well, if the shoe fits -”

“He’s an adult, Geto. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him whiskey, but he’s allowed to make his own decisions. Stop treating him like a child.”

“You know he can’t handle his liquor very well!” 

“And I can’t handle it very well when my best friend fucking falls apart because our other best friend can’t even be bothered to fucking talk to him!”

Suguru sits back in the chair, reeling.

“Oh, come on, Shoko,” he protests. “I’m not ignoring him.”

“No,” she agrees. “You’re just invalidating his feelings while complaining that you’re the only one that’s been hurt here, and that’s so much better.”

“Fuck you,” Suguru spits. 

Shoko stands, coolly shoving her hands in her pockets. “You want my advice?”

“No,” Suguru retorts. “I don’t think I do.”

She gives it anyways, something that looks remarkably like pity shining in her eyes. 

“Get over yourself.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, pushing to his feet to brush past her - but Shoko catches his arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Get over yourself, Suguru,” she advises. “And figure out what you really want.”

Suguru scoffs, opening his mouth to retort -

But Shoko’s already gone, slipping back into the crowd of people milling around the house. It’s impossible to spot her slight frame amongst the throngs of people, and so Suguru just slumps back down into the chair, defeated.

He’s too tired for this, he thinks. He’s tired and upset and really fucking sad, and though he hasn’t really had that much to drink, all things considered, the couple of beers he’d downed sit heavy in his belly, sharp and acidic as bile.

He wants to go home.

He wants to -

“Suguru? Baby?”

Suguru blinks, twisting to look over his shoulder at the sound of his name. 

Naoko’s standing there, looking a little guilty as she tugs at the hem of her jacket. Her cheeks are flushed - though whether it’s from dancing with her friends or the alcohol she’s consumed, he can’t say - her movements a little uncoordinated as she shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Suguru runs a hand over his face. “You heard that?”

“Just the last part of it,” she admits.

Fuck.

“Do you - do you want me to go?” Naoko pauses, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I saw Emi in the other room; she said she could give me a ride, if you -”

“Don’t worry about that.”

She blinks, surprised at the interruption.

Suguru forces a smile he doesn’t quite feel, adding, “You don’t have to leave.” 

Cautiously, she makes her way toward him; as soon as she gets within arm’s reach, he wraps a hand around her waist, gently tugging her down and into his lap. Tipsy as she is, she almost misses; it’s only his steady fingers curling into the belt of her dress that keeps her from tumbling down to the ground, and she lets out a wry, amused snort as he catches her.

“Shit,” she breathes, leaning back against his chest. “How many shots have I had?”

Suguru presses his face into her neck, breathing in the smell of her perfume; it’s floral, something light and sweet. The scent is completely different from that of Satoru’s crisp, clean cologne, cloying rather than calming.

He can’t help but feel that it’s wrong, wrong, wrong -

“Mmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the hollow at the base of her ear. “Four? Five?”

“Fuck,” she breathes, her breath hitching. “I feel it.”

He kisses her neck again, slowly trailing his lips down to the top of her shoulder; the strap of her bra is starting to slide down her arm, and he gently tugs it back into place even as he scrapes his teeth across her collarbone.

Naoko groans, letting her head tilt back onto his shoulder. 

“Suguru,” she says, grabbing the hand still pressing against her waist.

“Yes?”

“Not here,” she giggles, the laughter fading out into another soft, breathy noise as he nips at her throat. 

“You didn’t seem to mind earlier,” he points out.

“You weren’t sad earlier,” she shoots back, the observation surprisingly keen.

Suguru’s hands slow, pausing just long enough to stare down at Naoko. She’s tipped her head forward again, and though her eyes are a little glassy, though she’s definitely still a few drinks shy of sober, he feels seen.

He feels exposed, like all his thoughts are laid bare, and Naoko -

“You want this?” she asks, twisting their fingers together. “Me?”

Suguru’s not entirely sure.

Naoko is soft and warm where she sits in his lap, pressing against him so nicely as she wraps her calves around his legs, and her lips are hungry, inviting. 

By all rights, he should be all over her.

He should be fucking dying to get his hands on her, desperate to feel her hands tugging at his hair as he works her open with his fingers, with his cock.

But tonight is different. 

Instead of curling towards her, he feels an inexplicable urge to twist away, to get out of range of her touch. He doesn’t want to fuck her, he realizes with a jolt of awareness; he doesn’t want to take her bed. Though she normally rides him so hard he sees fucking stars, already softly grinding her hips down into his lap, he’s startled to find that he’s not even hard. 

He’s not even the least bit aroused by anything she’s doing, and that’s -

“Baby?”

Suguru abruptly stands, catching Naoko’s hips so neither of them fall. 

She shoots him a questioning look, tugging her lip between her teeth - almost like she’s afraid she’s done something wrong, like she’s messed something up, which... 

Fuck, that’s not what he wants. 

Because nothing about this situation is her fault, the heaviness in his heart entirely of his own making.

It’s also not any of her business, and so when her lips part, another question on her lips, Suguru cuts her off, leaning down and kissing her hard enough that he physically feels the uncertainty bleed from her shoulders. She leans into him, giving a pleased little hum when he threads his fingers into her hair, and when he finally pulls back, convinced he’s successfully warded off any further attempts to ask if he’s okay, she’s breathing hard.

“Let’s get out of here,” she suggests, grinning. 

And Suguru’s not an idiot.

She wants him.

She wants him to fuck her, hard and fast and deep, and though Suguru’s not really in the mood, though he definitely doesn’t think he has in him to fuck his girlfriend when all he can think about is Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, a distraction might be nice.

A distraction might be just what he needs to make it through the night. 

He can deal with everything else in the morning.

Naoko giggles, pulling the keys to his apartment out of his pocket; they dangle from her fingers in invitation, clicking against the acrylic of her nails, and Suguru - 

Suguru is all too quick to agree.

By the time Suguru wakes, Naoko is long gone.

The sheets where she’d slept are cool, the blankets already tucked back underneath the spare pillow, and there’s a friendly little post-it note stuck to his bedside table.

Had to meet Rin for a project, she’s written, text me when you’re up?

The words are accompanied by a slew of little hearts; as always, she’s colored them in black and added some spikes, an unspoken joke between them.

Normally, Suguru finds it cute.

Today, it kind of makes him want to throw up, and so he crushes the note between his fingers and tosses it in the bin before wiping a hand over his face.

Fuck.

He feels like shit.

He’d hoped a good night’s sleep would do him some good - but then again, that only works if one actually gets a good night’s sleep, and Suguru’s rest had been nothing of the sort. Instead of drifting peacefully off to sleep, he’d tossed and he’d turned, staring up at the ceiling long after Naoko had drifted off; he’d barely been able to even close his eyes, the memory of Satoru’s tear-soaked face popping up every time he started to drift off, and the way he’d sounded -

He doesn’t think he ever wants to witness such a thing again.

The memory of it is actually, physically painful, made all the worse by the fact that he was the one to put such an expression on Satoru’s face. 

Him, Satoru’s best fucking friend. 

He’d just - stood there, dumbfounded at the confession, unable to do or say anything at all in the face of Satoru’s honesty. 

And that’s saying nothing of how he’d practically goaded him into revealing his feelings, how he’d been so hurt that Satoru would run away from him that he’d lashed out, allowing the self-control he was so proud of to completely slip away. It was the absolute worst thing he could have done in the situation, save for maybe running up and punching Satoru in the face, and honestly?

If Haibara and Nanami hadn’t been there, it might’ve come to that.

God, that’s fucked.

It’s so fucking fucked, and Suguru can’t help but feel a little mortified. 

But there’s nothing he can do about it now. 

There’s nothing he can do to take back what he’s done, nothing he can say that will make this right - not immediately, anyways. 

It’s going to take a lot of time and effort for him to regain Satoru’s trust.

He’s going to have fucking grovel, to beg Satoru to forgive him for being such an idiot and hurting his feelings so badly. 

Not that he’s opposed to that.

He’ll do anything to make Satoru understand that he’s still the most important person in his life, whatever it takes to get the message across.

He just -

Needs to work out his own feelings for Satoru first.

He needs to understand whether what he feels for his best friend really is all platonic, or if the reason he feels like his heart is breaking is because it is. 

With a heavy sigh, he pushes up to a seated position, grabbing for his phone.

It’s almost noon, he sees; he has just a couple of hours until his lone Thursday class, and while he’d normally spend the morning getting other shit done around the apartment, maybe cleaning up a bit from the night before, today he can’t be bothered. 

He just can’t fucking bring himself to tidy up the remnants of his costume from the night before, or to toss out the empty bottles and cans from where they’d been pre-gaming before the party, and even the homework he’s put off holds no sway over his motivation.

Instead, he thumbs over to his messages, typing out a message to Nanami before he can talk himself out of it.

< Suguru - 11:47 > is he ok

He doesn’t have to wait long for a response. 

He’s barely even pulled his hair back into a knot before his phone is vibrating with Nanami’s reply, his stomach fluttering uneasily with something like nerves as he opens up the message -

< Nanami - 11:48 > gojo is fine. 

< Nanami - 11:49 > yuu stayed the night and made sure that he didn’t get sick.

Suguru feels almost sick with relief, and he exhales out a shaky breath. 

The feeling is quickly replaced with guilt.

Because that should have been him taking care of Satoru last night; it should’ve been him tucking him into bed and making sure he drank some water. 

Haibara doesn’t know that Satoru keeps his favorite pajamas tucked underneath his pillow when he’s not wearing them; he doesn’t know that Satoru needs the eye mask he keeps in his drawer to prevent himself from waking up with the sun.

Only Suguru knows these things, because only Suguru is allowed in the calm, quiet sanctitude of Satoru’s bedroom, and that’s -

His phone buzzes again, and Suguru absently looks down at the screen.

< Nanami - 11:52 > I would suggest you keep your distance for a while, geto. 

< Nanami - 11:52 > I don’t think gojo’s in any state to see you.

Suguru’s lip curls as he tosses his phone away.

Because who does Nanami think he is, telling Suguru how to deal with own best friend? Where does he fucking get off thinking he knows best?

Nanami doesn’t even like Satoru that much, for fuck’s sake, constantly going on and on about how annoying he is, complaining he never takes things seriously. 

He has absolutely no respect for Satoru, and so for him to tell Suguru how to act around Satoru is just - 

Probably for the best, actually. 

Because Suguru isn’t exactly in the right mental space to talk to Satoru, not without making everything even worse than it already is, and while he can’t know for sure, since Satoru isn’t exactly speaking to him at the moment, he figures Satoru’s not faring much better. It’s gotten bad enough that they need their friends to act as go-between’s, and isn’t that sad?

Isn’t it fucking pathetic?

Suguru slumps back down, all thoughts of taking a shower and being a productive member of society abandoned as he burrows back down into the blankets.

He’s an idiot.

He’s a mean, spiteful idiot who couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut; he’s worried he’s ruined his relationship with the best damn person to ever come into life, and now -

His eyes sting. 

His throat burns, and he barely swallows back a whimper as he buries his face in his pillow and quietly starts to cry.

He doesn’t get out of bed the rest of the day.

It takes Suguru about a week to work up the courage to text Shoko.

To her credit, she responds almost immediately, easily accepting his invitation to go and get coffee. Instead of addressing the way things had ended between them that night at the party, she just tells him to bring his notes on medical malpractice lawsuits; when he gets to the cafe and finds her holed up in a booth at the back, a couple of textbooks spread out on the table before her, she just grunts out her order and shoos him towards the line queuing up at the counter, and that’s -

Well, Suguru appreciates the normalcy of it all.

Just as he appreciates the way she takes one look at him and snorts, seeing right through the polite smile he’s had plastered on his face for days now.

“Wow,” she muses, taking a sip of her coffee. “I think your eye bags are even worse than mine now.”

Suguru nods. “Probably.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“You could say that.”

Shoko hums. “I’ve heard a guilty conscience can do that to a person.”

Suguru winces at that.

Because, fuck.

But Shoko’s never been one to pull her punches, always saying exactly what’s on her mind. In some ways, she’s even worse than Satoru; but where Satoru is blunt without any tact, Shoko somehow manages to be upfront without seeming rude. 

He’s not sure where she’s learned such a skill set -

Some seminar on bedside manner? 

Maybe it’s just something she’s developed after putting up with him and Satoru for all these years, some talent born of her herculean tolerance for bullshit. 

It’s a curious thought, and he reminds himself to ask her about it later.

As it is, though, he’s got more important things on his mind this morning - 

Namely, Satoru, and whether or not she’s heard from him.

Her eyes flash when he asks, flinty as she peers at him over the rim of her mug. 

“Why?”

Suguru shrugs, helpless. “I just want to know how he’s doing.”

“Kinda seems like something you should be asking him, Geto.”

He nods. “And that’s kinda hard to do when I’ve been a big fucking idiot.”

She hums, conceding the point. 

“Also, he blocked me, so I… can’t,” he admits, looking away.

“What?” she asks, surprised. 

Suguru nods, glum.

“I’m impressed,” she says, whistling as she gets back to her textbook. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the balls to do something like that.”

Honestly? 

Neither had Suguru.

And it’s not like he doesn’t deserve this.

It’s not like he wouldn’t have blocked Satoru had their situations been reversed - for his own mental health, he thinks. So he didn’t have to dread it every time that he opened up his phone, wondering if whatever new message he’d gotten was going to be the one that broke him. 

But it’s still a little frustrating to be on the receiving end, and so he’s been forced to seek out status updates about his best friend from alternative sources.

“Satoru is… fine, I guess,” Shoko finally admits.

“Fine?” Suguru reiterates.

“He’s eating and sleeping - not very much, but I bought him a couple boxes of those disgusting protein bars he likes, and I’ve seen the wrappers in his trash can.” 

Suguru inhales sharply, holds the breath in his lungs for a moment -

“And he’s going to class; I met up with him Tuesday after his technology in education seminar, and we’ve all seen him on campus. He… looks a little lost, but he’s there.”

- and then blows it all out at once, pinching at his arm so he doesn’t wince.

“Which is more than we can say for you,” Shoko says pointedly. 

He doesn’t even bother trying to deny it, not when he’s spent the better part of the last week curled up in the fetal position. He’s barely even left his bed, let alone his apartment, blowing off the concerned messages he’s gotten from Naoko and his other friends, and that’s - 

“Your classes get canceled or something?”

Suguru shakes his head. “I didn’t see the point in going,” he admits. “Not if I can’t pay any attention to the lectures.”

“Ah.”

The conversation lapses. 

Shoko eventually picks up her pen and starts copying Suguru’s notes, and Suguru absently watches her work, getting lost in the soft scratching sound of her writing. It’s easy enough to do; he’s been lost in thought all morning, still desperately trying to make the disparate pieces of this puzzle fit together in his mind. 

Though he’s made some progress since the party, it’s all still maddeningly vague.

How he feels about Satoru is all still just theory, just a hodge-podge of ideas floating around in his head. He doesn’t think he’s really going to figure anything out without having more concrete evidence, some way to force himself to pick out and identify all of the many things Satoru has always made him feel. He’d never looked too closely before, content enough with what they already had. 

But that’s not gonna cut it anymore. 

Being good enough just isn’t, well, enough, for either of them, and that’s -

“I think I’m gonna break up with Naoko.”

-  not what he means to say, fuck.

Shoko looks up from her work, surprised. “Oh, yeah?”

Suguru sighs, figuring he might as well commit now that the cat’s out of the bag. “It’s not fair to her,” he replies, sighing. “Not if I like someone else.”

She sits back in her seat, reaching for her coffee. “And do you? Like someone else?”

“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “I’m starting to think I might.”

“That’s not enough.”

Suguru looks up, brows raised.

“You can’t just think you know, Geto,” Shoko continues. “You need to be sure that that’s how you feel, that you really, truly like him, because if you change your mind -” She breaks off, shaking her head. “I’m not sure Satoru can take that.”

Suguru grimaces. 

But the point stands. 

He’s already fucked up by being such a dick; if he then goes on to actually break Satoru’s heart, to give him some hope and then cruelly take it all away -

“I know,” he agrees. “I know I can’t fuck it up.”

Shoko studies him for a moment, as if to assess whether or not he’s telling the truth. 

But eventually, she nods, taking another sip of her drink as she moves on.

“So you’re gonna dump Naoko, then. When?”

Suguru shrugs. “Today, I think. We’re supposed to get dinner tonight.”

“Wow. You gonna at least buy her dessert first?”

“Fuck off,” he retorts.

“I’m just saying - it’s kind of a dick move to dump at her at the end of a date.”

“It’s not a date,” he disagrees.

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re just getting something at the caf before she goes to her night class.”

“And I reiterate - it’s kind of a dick move to come up with some elaborate plan to dump her instead of just, you know. Doing it.”

That’s -

Not entirely wrong, he supposes. 

He wouldn’t exactly call his plan elaborate, but… he’d thought that giving himself a timeline would make it better, that it would help him figure out all of the things he wants to say. He doesn’t want to hurt Naoko any more than he’s already going to, after all, and knowing what he’s going to say going into the conversation will just make everything easier, yeah?

But maybe there isn’t an easy way to do this.

Maybe breaking up with someone you once kinda cared about is always gonna be a little painful, in which case -

Yeah, ripping off the band-aid is ideal. 

It’s probably for the best if he just goes ahead and cuts his losses. 

He pulls out his phone, flipping over to the thread of messages he has with Naoko -

“Fuck, I didn’t mean you should do it over text.”

Suguru lets out a startled laugh. “What?”

“That’s probably even worse than doing it in the cafeteria -”

“Oh my god, I’m not gonna dump her over text, Shoko, what the fuck -”

Shoko makes a face, shrugging. “Well, you pulled your phone out.”

“To see if she’s free now,” he explains, running a hand over his face. “Christ.”

He looks down at his phone, taps out a message. 

Naoko’s reply comes in less than a minute, a quick affirmative sure! accompanied with enough hearts to flood him with guilt anew, and he bites his lip.

Shoko eyes him as he tucks the phone back into his pocket. “Well?”

“I’m gonna meet her at the library,” he says, nodding. “I’ll… do it there.”

“And then?”

Suguru takes a deep breath. “And then, I’m gonna go over to Satoru’s.”

Shoko’s expression reveals nothing as she stares at him, idly turning her coffee cup around in her fingers. She’s probably itching for a cigarette, he realizes, the way her fingers twitch around the handle a dead give-away.

Fuck, maybe she really does need to quit - 

Her and him both, he thinks, forcing the foot that’s been tapping irritably against the floor to a standstill. 

“I didn’t think Satoru wanted to see you,” Shoko finally says, setting the cup aside.

”He doesn’t,” Suguru agrees. 

“He probably won’t let you in.”

“Probably not.”

“… so what, you’ll just sit outside his door until he gets tired of it and lets you in?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “You’re pathetic.”

A little, yeah.

But he’s also a little desperate to make things right, desperate to see Satoru and beg his forgiveness, and if the cost of that is his pride, his dignity?

So fucking be it.

Suguru moves to stand, shoving his hands in his pockets after a brief glance down at his watch. He’s only got twenty minutes to get all of the way across campus; if he’s going to be on time to meet up with Naoko, he needs to leave now, and so he makes his excuses as he grabs their empty mugs to drop off at the counter.

Shoko catches his sleeve as he moves past her, one last warning on her lips.

“Fix this, Geto,” she urges. “Make things right.”

Though her tone is stern, her gaze isn’t unkind; it feels a little like forgiveness, and Suguru fumbles his way through a little speech that’s half-apology, half-gratitude until Shoko takes pity on him and shoves him off.

She looks almost as embarrassed as he feels, and after another brief word of thanks, he pushes out the door into the cool November air. 

He feels better than he has in days.

Naturally, it doesn’t last.

Breaking up with someone in the middle of the day in the library is always gonna be something of a fucking bummer, and though Naoko takes it pretty well, all things considered, Suguru still feels shit.

“I’m sorry,” he says, unable to quite look her in the eyes. 

Naoko snorts, wiping at her face. “No, you’re not.”

And that’s the thing, he thinks.

He isn’t.

He isn’t sorry, because though he likes Naoko, though he’s had a lot of fun with her these past couple of months, breaking up with her feels good.  

It feels right, and so he just shoves his hands in his pockets and nods, ready to accept whatever insults she throws his way.

To his very great surprise, she doesn’t.

She doesn’t say even one mean thing, instead just looking up at him with this sad, resigned sort of smile on her face as she asks, “Is this about Satoru?”

He could deny it.

He could pretend that this has nothing to do with his best friend, that he’s breaking up with her for entirely different reasons. But that feels like an injustice, and so he just nods, sheepish, and tells her the truth.

He tells her that Satoru loves him, that he is in love with Suguru -

And that Suguru has fucked everything up by trying to date someone else behind his back, too much of a coward to mention it before trying to force the people in his life together.

She nods, tucking her arms around her body. “Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

Suguru blinks at that, surprised.

Because - really? She’s known Satoru all of a couple of weeks, and yet she’s somehow seen what Suguru himself hadn’t?

And then he abruptly feels like an even bigger piece of crap, because if it was obvious to Naoko, if the way Satoru felt was so fucking transparent even strangers could pick up on it, then Suguru is maybe more of an idiot than he’d initially thought. 

What else has he missed, he wonders?

How long has everyone known about this?

He isn’t even sure he really wants to know, and yet -

“And you love him.”

Suguru blinks. “I don’t -”

“You do, baby,” Naoko murmurs, patting at the sleeve of his jacket. “You might not realize it, but… it’s obvious he’s important to you.”

“I’m not leaving you for him,” he asserts. 

“Maybe not,” she replies, shrugging. “But you’re leaving me because of him, and I’m not sure there’s really a difference.” 

Suguru’s mouth snaps shut. 

Because, yeah. That’s pretty much it.

That’s the gist of the situation, and though it makes him feel like a piece of shit, he also doesn’t really care. He can’t, even, because now that the deed’s done, all he can think about is getting out of here as quickly as possible, already mapping out the quickest route to Satoru’s apartment. The only thing on his mind is the apology he’s scrambling to come up with, words eluding him even now, and Naoko -

“Take care of yourself, okay, Suguru?” 

Suguru nods, drawn back to the present by the way Naoko presses her hand into his, her fingers squeezing encouragingly around his palm. 

“And go get your man,” she adds, offering up one last smile before she steps away. 

It’s more of a kindness than he deserves.

It also finally eases something inside him, some last bit of friction he didn’t know was still chafing. He practically runs out of the library as soon as he feels it bleed it from his shoulders, flagging down the bus at the last possible second so that he doesn’t have to wait for the next one, and when he finally gets to Satoru’s apartment, a half an hour or so later, he can’t help but take the stairs three at a time.

He knocks at the door, fully expecting to be turned away -

But there’s nothing.

The silence is deafening, nothing beyond the door suggesting even the tiniest hint of movement, and Suguru pulls out his phone, frantic.

Shit.

It’s two in the afternoon. 

Satoru tends to schedule all of his classes together, so that he can get them all done and out of the way at once instead of spreading them out during the week. He’s got a block of four on Wednesday’s, back to back to back, the only break he gets all day the half hour or so he takes for lunch - and Suguru’s arrived at his apartment right in the middle of his last seminar of the day, a good hour and a half before he’ll likely be back. 

But he’s not about to just give up and go home.

He’s not about to just fucking leave, and so - true to his word - he slumps down against the wall, taking a seat on the ratty pumpkin-shaped doormat Satoru hasn’t bothered to change out. 

He sits there, folding his arms over his knees, and thinks.

Mostly, he thinks about Satoru -

How they’d first met in middle school, constantly at each other’s throats until one brave teacher had forced them to work together on a group science project. 

How by the time they’d finished out the year, they’d become inseparable.

It had only gotten worse when they’d gotten to high school, their rivalry turning into something less sharp and more productive as they spurred each other on and on and on, constantly trying to see which of them could one-up the other. 

And sure, most of the time, Satoru came out on top. 

He’s brilliant, in that way so few people actually are - and yet, he lacked motivation when they were in grade school, convinced that nothing was actually worth his time because everything came so easily to him.

He’d almost not even gone to college, Suguru recalls, seriously contemplating just heading directly into the workforce at one of the branch offices for his father’s company. 

What was the point, he’d argued, if he was just gonna end up there anyways?

Suguru had convinced him otherwise - Suguru and Shoko both, gently impressing upon him that even though he didn’t have a plan, it was fine to take his time figuring out what he actually wanted to do with the rest of his life. 

And sure enough, halfway through their first year of university, he’d come to Suguru with a sheepish sort of look on his face, quietly admitting that he thought he maybe, kinda, sorta wanted to become a teacher, to be there for the gifted students that no one ever seemed to know what to do with when they were kids.

Suguru had been so proud of him for figuring it out. 

He’d been fucking elated, even going with him to the registrar’s office the next day so he could formally declare his major, and Satoru -

He’d given Suguru this look, one Suguru hadn’t really known how to interpret. 

His eyes had gone all big and round, his cheeks flushing red with heat as Suguru threw an arm around his shoulders and grinned into his neck. The smile that he’d given Suguru when he’d finally pulled away had been so big it had nearly split his face in two, so broad it had to have made his fucking cheeks ache, and while Suguru had always assumed it was something born of embarrassment, the tiniest bit of bashfulness slipping through his usually unflappable demeanor, now he’s not so sure.

Now, he thinks that may have been something else slipping through the chokehold Satoru has had on his feelings, and that’s -

“Suguru.”

His head snaps up at the noise, startled to see Satoru standing at the top of the stairs.

And fuck, how long has he been sitting here? 

How long has he been lost in his thoughts?

The surprise fades as quickly as it had come, overtaken by sheer awe.

Because Satoru is… beautiful.

Though his hair is tousled and messy, his eyes puffy and bloodshot, he’s still the prettiest thing Suguru’s ever seen. He’s not even trying to look good today, not really, dressed in a pair of tattered old sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt that’s definitely seen better days, and yet -

Suguru wants to hug him.

He wants to wrap his arms around Satoru, urging his face down into his shoulder so he can rub the tension from his back, so he can run his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. But Satoru looks about one wrong move away from bolting, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other as he stares down at where Suguru is sitting on his doorstep, his bottom lip between his teeth.

“What are you doing here?”

Suguru scrambles to his feet, taking a hasty step forward -

Only for Satoru to take an equally unsteady step backwards, his mouth working furiously as he holds a hand out.

“I don’t want to do this right now,” he says. “I don’t -” 

“Satoru.”

He clears his throat, looking away. “I think you should leave.”

“Satoru,” Suguru says again, pleading. 

He takes another step forward - a smaller one this time, his movements slow and steady and very obviously telegraphed. 

Satoru tenses.

But he doesn’t move away this time. And so Suguru follows up the first step with another, and then one more after that, until they are no more than an arm’s distance apart, close enough that Suguru could reach out and grab his hand. 

He’s shaking, Suguru realizes.

He’s trembling like a fucking leaf, though whether it’s from holding himself back or nerves, Suguru can’t say, and that’s -

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Not unless you actually want me to leave.” 

Satoru’s voice is small. “Really?”

Suguru offers up a tentative smile, hoping it’s reassuring. 

Instead, Satoru’s face just crumples, biting his lip so hard Suguru sees the way his teeth shred the delicate skin as a weak, soft sound spills from his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, bringing a hand to his face. “I’m sorry, Suguru, I -”

Suguru’s eyes go wide with shock. “Satoru -”

“I know I fucked up,” he breathes. “I know I should have just - just fucking talked to you, and I didn’t mean to just say that and fucking leave, but I -”

Suguru doesn’t even think.

He just acts, closing the distance between them and pulling Satoru into his arms, and Satoru, despite his initial hesitation, just kind of melts into him, grabbing onto his shirt so hard Suguru can practically hear the seams ripping. 

He buries his face into Suguru’s neck, shuddering. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m so fucking sorry -”

“Hey, no,” Suguru interrupts, gently tugging him back so that he can see Satoru’s face. He wipes the tears from his cheeks, his thumb lingering on the sharp jut of his jaw, something in him aching at the thought that Satoru has spent this whole time thinking he’s the one to blame here. “Satoru -”

“I shouldn’t have come to the party,” he asserts. “I didn’t even want to go, and then  -”

“Satoru,” Suguru murmurs. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“I do, Suguru, I -” He pauses, looking away. “I missed you.”

Suguru smiles. “I missed you too, princess,” he says, not missing the way Satoru’s lips tremble at the pet name. “But none of this was your fault.”

Satoru blinks, brows furrowing.

“I’m the one who fucked everything up,” Suguru continues, grimacing. “I’m the one who drove you away, it’s me who should be apologizing, and that’s - what I did to you isn’t okay, Satoru.”

“That’s -”

“It’s not,” Suguru insists. 

Slowly, Satoru nods, wiping at his face with his sleeves. He seems to gather himself for a moment, regaining a little bit of control over his emotions, and when he looks back up, his eyes are hard.

“You made me feel like shit,” he says.

Suguru winces. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You made me feel like I was being replaced, like you didn’t even care about me -”

“Satoru -”

“Do you? Do you care?”

“Of course I do,” Suguru says, pleading. “You’re the most important person in my life, Satoru.”

He scoffs. “Funny.”

“You’re my - you’re everything. That’s never going to change.” 

Satoru stares at him for a moment, his expression flat. “We’re not kids anymore, Suguru,” he murmurs. “You said it yourself. We’re going to grow apart. There’s going to be other people in our lives.”

Suguru’s surprised to find how much the thought irks him.

Though he’d been the one to initially point it out, he doesn’t like the idea of Satoru dating other people; he doesn’t like the concept of having to share Satoru with someone else, of someone else knowing Satoru as well as he does.

Because Satoru is his other half.

He’s Suguru’s one and only, he’s his fucking soulmate, and that’s -

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

It hits him like a ton of bricks, the realization that Naoko was right, that he does love Satoru, taking his breath away.

He loves him so much the thought of anyone else getting to stand by his side is physically painful, and now -

Fuck, now he knows why Satoru’s been so distraught. He understands, intimately, all of the pain and suffering he’s put his best friend through. He fucking gets it.

It’s a terrible, gut-wrenching sort of awareness.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out again, pulling Satoru in close. “I’m so fucking sorry, Satoru.”

Satoru’s a little more stiff in his arms this time, a little less pliant. 

But he still curls his fingers around Suguru’s waist, his thumb catching on the loop of Suguru’s belt, and that’s -

“I should never have said that,” he groans. “I should never have said any of it -” 

Satoru shifts, turning his head so that his face is pressed into Suguru’s neck instead of his shoulder. He can feel Satoru’s lips against his throat, and Suguru has to work to suppress a shudder.

“Why?” Satoru murmurs. “It’s not wrong -”

“It is wrong,” Suguru retorts. “It’s fucking bullshit. We don’t have to grow apart, and I - that’s not what I want. That’s not what you want -”

Satoru wrenches himself back, petulant. “And what about Naoko?”

“What?”

“What about your girlfriend?”

“Satoru, there is no Naoko,” he explains. 

Satoru blinks, owlish. “What?”

“She and I, we -” Suguru pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as Satoru’s eyes go impossibly wider. “We broke up.”

“…oh. I didn’t…”

Suguru clears his throat. “Yeah.” 

Satoru swallows. “When?”

Suguru snorts, the sound a little watery. “About two hours ago.”

“What, really?” 

Satoru shuffles closer to Suguru, though whether it’s a conscious movement or not, Suguru can’t tell. But he finds he doesn’t mind; not when Satoru loops an arm around Suguru’s waist, not when he pushes his feet between Suguru’s own, inserting himself into his space as if he belongs there.

“Yeah, really,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Does it matter?”

Satoru’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, Suguru. It matters.”

“I…”

The question is surprisingly hard to answer. 

Because even though Suguru thinks he knows how he feels, his revelation of just a few short moments ago still fresh in his mind, he doesn’t want to give Satoru the wrong impression. He doesn’t want Satoru to think that he’s only doing this because he’s afraid of losing him, that he’s so desperate to cling to Satoru’s friendship that he’s willing to become whatever he has to be in order to make him stay. 

He is scared of a life without Satoru, of course.

He can’t imagine anything worse.

But he’s not doing this because he’s frightened; he doesn’t want to confess just to keep things from falling apart any more than they already have. 

And so he has to do this right.

He has to do this carefully -

Tentatively, he raises a hand, palming Satoru’s cheek. “It didn’t seem right,” he says quietly, not missing the way Satoru leans into the touch, the way he’s otherwise gone very, very still beneath Suguru’s hand. “And I didn’t want to string her along.”

Satoru’s breath hitches. “What do you - Suguru.”

“It wouldn’t be fair for me to keep dating her,” he continues, thumbing at Satoru’s cheek. “Not if I was in love with someone else.”

Satoru’s lips part, his cheeks burning.

Suguru desperately wants to kiss him, the thought making him a little weak in the knees. He wants to see if Satoru’s lips taste as sweet as they look, so plush and pink and perfect - it’s practically killing him not to lean forward and catch his mouth with his own, every nerve in his body on high alert at the proximity - 

But he can’t give in, not yet, not when he still has so much to make up for. 

And so he keeps himself still, save for the slow, gentle circle his thumb is working into the soft skin of Satoru’s cheek.

Satoru’s not doing much better, he sees. 

Though he’s not making any move to close the distance between them, his eyes are blown black with anticipation; his gaze keeps flitting from Suguru’s eyes down to his mouth, lingering on the curve of his lips before darting back upwards, and Suguru’s restraint is a small, weak thing. 

“Are you?” he asks quietly. “In love with someone else?”

He swallows, overcome. “Yeah. I think I might be.”

And Suguru doesn’t think Satoru it going to, like, jump into his arms or anything. He’s not expecting Satoru to act like everything is suddenly right with the world. 

But he’s not expecting the soft, wounded noise he makes either, and that’s -

He immediately pulls away, searching for the cause of injury.

“Satoru,” he breathes, “Sweetheart, what -”

“I need you to be sure,” Satoru interjects. 

He catches Satoru’s hands, clasps them in his own. “Satoru.”

“I need you to be sure that that’s how you feel,” he insists. “Because if you aren’t - if this is all some kind of joke -”

Suguru’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

“I wouldn’t joke about that,” he breathes. “Satoru, I - you can’t think I would.”

“I don’t, no,” he admits, snorting out a humorless laugh. “But I also didn’t think you’d ever love me back, especially after everything we said to each other, so - it all kinda just seems a little too good to be true.”

Weak.

Suguru is weak for this man, every little thing he says impossible. 

And yet -

“Believe it,” he begs. “Believe me -”

“I want to,” Satoru breathes. “I want to - Suguru - but do you mean it?”

Suguru means it. 

He means it desperately, and so he can’t help but fall to his knees, pressing his face into Satoru’s stomach.

“It’s not too good to be true,” he chokes out. “It’s not - and I know I fucked up. I know I fucked everything up, and I’m sorry. But I do mean it - you are everything to me, and I - I’m so fucking sorry I never saw it before.”

Above him, Satoru freezes.

He goes absolutely still, his hands still hovering anxiously over Suguru’s head.

The silence as his waits for Satoru to say something is… deafening. Though he doubts it lasts any more than a couple of moments, it feels like it drags on for hours, and that’s -

A warm hand lands on his head.

“This doesn’t fix everything.”

Suguru glances up, lips parting.

“This doesn’t make everything you did just go away. But…”

Satoru curls a hand under his arm, urging him back to his feet. 

“If you mean it,” he says softly, “If you’re not completely full of shit -”

“I’m not,” Suguru insist. 

Satoru snorts, wiping at his eyes. “I guess we’ll see about that.” 

Suguru swallows, thick.

And he knows what Satoru’s saying is true; he knows too much has happened for him to be so easily forgiven.

He’s hurt Satoru; he's hurt him badly, and he realizes that it’ll take some time to earn back his trust. If he decides to trust Suguru, if he decides he believes him, then he’ll take things however slowly Satoru wants, letting him set the pace for how their relationship continues to develop; he’ll wait weeks, months even, if that’s what Satoru needs. 

Because Satoru is worth everything, and Suguru finally knows what he wants. 

But he hasn’t taken into account how Satoru feels.

He hasn’t considered that Satoru would be just as desperate to try and forgive him as Suguru is to be forgiven, not so quickly after getting his heart broken -

And maybe that’s not quite it.

Maybe it’s not so much that Satoru has forgiven him as much as he’s trying to find a way forward, trying to find some path where Suguru can regain his trust and prove his affection. Maybe he’s already trying to figure out where they go from here, wondering how they fit together. 

Does he… want them to try?

Does he want them start anew?

There doesn’t seem to be room for anything else but hope in the way that he’s looking at Suguru, and that’s -

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, already leaning in. “Can I -”

Suguru groans, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. 

“Suguru - please.”

Suguru nods, suddenly unable to look away, unable to breathe -

And then Satoru leans in, pressing the softest, sweetest kiss to his lips, and Suguru is gone, completely and irrevocably.

He is lost, drowning in a wave of emotion he’s never felt before. 

It feels… good.

It feels impossibly right, better than anything else he’s ever experienced, and so Suguru stops hesitating, eagerly deepening the kiss as he cradles Satoru’s face with his hands.

“Satoru,” he breathes. “Sweetheart -”

Satoru groans and kisses him harder, pressing in as close as he can.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, nipping at Suguru’s lip. 

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I just - I can’t think when you say things like that, Suguru, fuck.”

Suguru snorts, nipping at his lip. “You think too much, anyways.”

“I do not,” Satoru whines. 

“Oh, yeah?” Suguru teases.

“Yeah -”

The sound of a throat clearing has them jerking apart.

Suguru wheels about, irritated - 

Only to come face to face with none other than Nanami, what looks like a sheet cake in his hands and an unamused expression on his face. 

“Nanami,” Satoru says, unwilling to give up the vice grip he has on Suguru’s shirt. “You - what? You’re… here?”

Nanami sighs. “Unfortunately.”

“But… why?”

He reluctantly holds up the pan he’s carrying, looking anywhere and everywhere but at the two of them. “You said that you wanted cake,” he replies. 

Satoru grins, delighted. “You made me a cake?”

“You’ve been… indisposed,” Nanami allows. “It seemed the least that I could do.”

Satoru turns back to Suguru then, throwing his arms around his neck as he laughs. 

“Suguru! Nanami made me cake!”

Suguru snorts, giving his waist an affectionate pat. “So I heard.”

Nanami kind of looks like he wants to throw up. He also looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here, and so he steps forward, thrusting the cake tin into Suguru’s hands before taking a step backwards. 

“I don’t need the pan back any time soon.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ll have it back to you tomorrow. Sooner, maybe, if Suguru helps me eat it.”

Nanami’s gaze flicks between the two of them, hesitant.

“I trust that things are… settled, then? You two are alright?”

Satoru hums and tosses an arm around Suguru’s shoulders.

“We’re getting there,” he says quietly. “Suguru still has a bit more groveling to do, but I’m happy with his efforts so far.”

Suguru might joke about it; he might roll his eyes and call Satoru a brat. 

But the mood still seems a bit too fragile for that, something in Satoru’s voice still a little brittle, and so he just nods, taking a closer look at his best friend. 

He looks tired, yeah - like he needs a good, hot meal and a solid twelve hours of sleep, and Suguru knows they still need to talk about things. But he also looks so, so happy, the smile on his face bright and true once again, and Suguru -

He’s fucked.

He is so totally fucked, his feelings for Satoru so big he doesn’t quite know what to do with all them just yet, but for once in his life, that’s okay. 

More than okay, even -

It’s perfect.

He looks back to Nanami, pressing a kiss to Satoru’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “We’re gonna be okay.”

A month later, Suguru again wakes up late. 

He rolls over with a groan, reaching for his phone to try and check the time -

But Satoru holds him fast, clinging to him even in his sleep. He doesn’t even manage to turn onto his side, the little shit’s long legs wrapped around him like he’s some kind of leech, intent on stealing every bit of Suguru’s warmth that he can.

“Satoru,” he murmurs, shoving at his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Satoru.”

Satoru groans, cramming his face even harder into Suguru’s chest. “No.”

“Let me go. I need to get up.”

“But I’m comfy.”

“And I have a study session for my final in forty-five minutes.”

Satoru hums, snuggling in close. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“That sounds like a - you fucking - Satoru!”

“If you didn’t want me to sleep in,” he shoots back, grinning up at Suguru, one lazy blue eye finally flicking open, “then you shouldn’t have worn me out so much last night, Su-gu-ru.”

Suguru grumbles, even as he sighs and accepts his fate. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I fucked you into the mattress,” he mutters.

“Oh, I’m not,” Satoru agrees, laughing.

“Wow. I’m shocked.”

“Bite me. That thing you did with your tongue was particularly nice.”

Suguru snorts, rolling onto his side so he can slip a leg between Satoru’s thighs. “Oh, yeah?” he asks, running a teasing hand through Satoru’s hair.

“Ten out of ten, let’s do it again.”

Suguru laughs, fond. It quickly turns into a yawn, one he stifles with his fist as he presses his face back into the pillow.

“Sure,” he says. “We’ll do it again - tomorrow, maybe.”

“Tomorrow sounds - wait tomorrow? Suguru!”

But having given up on class, Suguru is already drifting back to sleep. He’s warm, he thinks, and Satoru isn’t wrong - cuddled up as they are in Satoru’s big, fluffy nest of a bed, it’s a very comfortable position, one he doesn’t ever want to leave.

“Suguru!”

He forces his eyes back open, peering down at Satoru with as much patience as he can muster. “Yeah, princess?” he asks, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

Just like that, Satoru’s appeased.

He’s mollified, all of his irritation melting away at the slightest touch of Suguru’s lips against his forehead, and that’s -

“You’re lucky I love you,” he sighs, exasperated. 

Suguru knows.

“I wouldn’t let just anybody leave me hanging, you know.”

He is very, very aware of just how lucky he is.

“…Suguru?”

Long fingers trail up his body, curling around his face. They finally settle into place on his cheeks, tilting his head up and back so that Satoru can see his expression.

It’s also the perfect position for him to lean forward and slot their mouths together -

And so that’s what Suguru does, drinking down Satoru’s surprised little hum as he wraps his arms around his neck, pressing as close as he possibly can.

When they part, Satoru bites his lip, looking up at Suguru entreatingly.

“Say it back?”

Suguru just smiles and kisses him again.

“I love you, Satoru. So, so much.”

Satoru makes a disgusted noise, even as his face betrays him and flushes bright red with pleasure. It makes all his freckles stand out in stark relief, and Suguru thinks there’s probably nothing cuter in this entire world.

When he relays this to Satoru, of course, he just groans, slapping a hand to his face.

“Ugh, you’re so embarrassing,” he says. “Who lets you go out like this?”

“You do.”

“Clearly, I’ve made a mistake.”

“Aw, baby,” Suguru grins, tugging at his palm. 

“A big, egregious mistake -”

“You like it,” Suguru challenges. “You like me -”

Satoru snuggles in close and hums; the noise is soft, and musical, and so, so happy, and Suguru doesn’t think he’d trade it for anything.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I kinda do.”