[the game they played was dangerous; to continue it would be nothing short of stupid, suguru knows, and yet? and yet. after sukuna proved to be everything suguru expected—everything suguru remembered from the tales he'd paid close attention to in school, dedicated pupil that he was—suguru was forced to reexamine his (limited) options. to ignore sukuna would be careless; to join forces with sukuna would be short-sighted; to attempt to take control of sukuna would be impossible.
and there is always the option of forging ahead alone, counting on sukuna to wear satoru down—but as suguru makes camp one night, curses standing gaurd, suguru finds himself reaching for his phone...
...only to pause when accessing the directory. his own profile is there, annoyingly descriptive as it is—but it's satoru's that catches his eye? satoru's that gives him pause, because those symbols are—
well. before he can rethink his current course, suguru taps that cutesy envelope.]
Your taste in friends is almost as bad as your taste in usernames.
[must be nice to pick your own, though :/ this is favoritism]
[Satoru, who normally doesn't sleep much and especially not this early in the evening, is actually dozing when Suguru messages him. He's been taking catnaps here in there, trying to keep his technique active while still doing what he can to replenish his energy. It's bought him some extra time, but it isn't doing the trick anymore. He's not sure how much longer he can go before he hits his limit. He hasn't pushed himself this far in a very long time, and he no longer has a sense for how much each of his abilities drains from his finite supply of energy.
As such, his reply takes a while to arrive, Satoru having to blink away a budding headache in order to look at the bright screen of his phone. And despite the note upon which they ended during their meeting in the museum, and the threat that Suguru presents to him in this very car — far enough to be a safe distance away but close enough that Satoru can sense his movements — he still grins down at the message.
Old habits die hard — just like old jokes between friends.
And because he's both pleased with himself for his choice in usernames and thoroughly enjoying Suguru's comment about it, he texts:]
still using cheat codes huh
[And still talking to Satoru Gojo, the ultimate cheat code in jujutsu society.
Even though Suguru managed to earn that extra life after all.]
[suguru thinks, at first, that satoru has chosen to ignore him for a time? that if satoru is not asleep, then satoru is busy annoying someone else—because that's what satoru is best at. that's what satoru should do. the top of the world is a lonely place to be, but while satoru is well accustomed to it, suguru once knew the truth: that satoru is not very good at being alone.
suguru's phone, however, eventually does buzz—and suguru is once again left staring at his screen, confronted by further proof that satoru remembers that second-to-last meeting of theirs every bit as clearly as he does. it shouldn't matter, in the grand scheme of things; it absolutely does.]
Sometimes. The prize is usually better.
[even if talking to satoru isn't the worst prize in the world.]
[In a sense, the reply had been a form of bait — a way of fishing to see if Suguru remembered that long-ago meeting with as much clarity as Satoru does. Satoru had safely kept it to himself for years, tucked away, hidden from the knowledge of the higher-ups and colleagues alike. That memory now feels stark and clear after being carefully buried for so long. Once examined only in the most difficult moments after Suguru's death, it now persists at the surface of his mind, unearthed by a strange and out-of-place ting.
But Suguru doesn't rise to the provocation. His messages do not indicate that what Satoru heard while sitting beside him was a trinket from long ago. The prize is usually better, Suguru says. Technically, his last prize was the same as what he now receives: Satoru himself, in all his annoying glory.
Now Satoru thinks of their last conversation — and Suguru's parting words — and wonders if he heard wrong. Maybe it wasn't the charm at all. Or maybe the conductor dug it out of history's trash bin because they have a wry sense of humor. Maybe the sound was meant to sting.
All the more reason for Satoru to find the train's higher-ups on his way out.]
you could've picked something else
[As in, not contacted Satoru at all. Entertained his other options for a little while. Maybe hung out with Sukuna instead, given Suguru's quip about Satoru's taste in friends.]
but the other options really aren't your style
[Because Satoru has been talking to a lot of people on this train. They aren't what Suguru would consider a worthy prize.]
so you get what you get!
[And he gets Satoru's full attention now, because he is alone, and as Suguru is aware, he is not very good at it; he could use the company as he staves away his fatigue.]
[suguru's last prize was satoru in person, standing in the rain he could not feel; suguru's last prize was the very charm that remains tucked away in his robes. the prizes were better, once—but maybe it's better like this? to speak via texts as opposed to speaking face-to-face, because their last meeting—sitting side-by-side on the floor, closer than they'd been in years but somehow farther apart than ever—proved to be far more difficult than suguru would care to admit.
and this, too, is difficult, in that satoru brushes him aside with apparent ease. you could've picked something else. this is not how things used to go—but again: maybe it's better like this.]
Even if they were, it's no fun if I have to pick.
[suguru taking satoru's earlier words and twisting them right back around, simply because he can. another thing he can do: end this conversation here. it doesn't seem like it's going to amount to anything, or make his decision any easier to make—and yet.]
I should have asked what I was winning. But that's no fun, either.
[Those words were his own, spoken only days ago, as he sat beside Suguru for the first time in years to tell him, in his own way, that he was vulnerable — to offer him a glimpse at what Satoru had been concealing from the rest of the train by behaving as untouchable as ever. As Suguru inferred — as only Suguru could infer — he is tired. He is worried. The clock is ticking.
But Satoru had chosen his own prize, hadn't he? He had chosen Suguru, and in turn, he had asked Suguru to choose him. It was a selfish request as much as it was a request born out of the conditions in which he exists on this train. Because if Suguru accepts his terms, if Suguru chooses him over his goals, over alliances with anyone else who may exist on this train, then Suguru has a chance.
Then Satoru, hands full and bloodied as they already are, will not need to repeat history.
And when Satoru hits his limit for the first time in years, his weaknesses will not be exploited. He will not look upon a train full of victims. And he will not be alone.
So, initially, he thinks to text in the same manner he would have upon stirring up a fight when they were younger: You complaining? Once, everything could be resolved with a scuffle on school grounds, Satoru goading Suguru into a fight, and the two of them having it out until they were tired but laughing, dragged inside by Yaga for a scolding.
But that second sentence makes him pause. He had said that once, too, hadn't he? Because the game was almost over, and Satoru didn't want him to end it so quickly — had cheated in his own way, by withholding an answer and asking for more.
And Satoru, supporting cheating through both username and antics both, may not have Suguru's answer, but he gives him more.]
1000 boxes of hot stamping foil wouldn't fit on this train anyway
[Maybe in theory, this expansive car could accommodate them, but certainly not thematically. Although, Satoru would have enjoyed arriving with something so superfluous assigned to him in lieu of his glasses, toting them around from car to car until Suguru gave him the correct answer to some nonsense question.
But the point is: he remembers.
And the prizes here suck, for them both. They didn't truly get to set the terms themselves, so why ask what they'll be? They don't get to pick their hell.
But they do get to pick how they face it, and Satoru, worn down and bored, decides to face it as he once faced a different kind of hell.]
[there is the feeling that this conversation is—that they are—teetering on the edge of something dangerous? something that should remain buried. they are not the same people who met in that narrow alley, drawing closer and closer despite having every reason not to; they can no longer afford to let the past come creeping into the present.
or, at the very least: suguru can't afford such a thing. he's died once; he has no desire to die a second time.
but satoru brings up that joke of a prize, just as stupid now as it was then—and this, more than anything, is what makes satoru dangerous? the fact that satoru is suguru's past. suguru thought he'd left it behind; he'd gone to such lengths to ensure that nothing would stand between him and what he needed to do, and yet all it takes is satoru texting him, reminding him of old games before asking him to start a new ones, to bring it all rushing right back.
all the more reason for suguru to distance himself. (what was he even thinking, texting satoru in the first place? digging for information that shouldn't matter.)]
One prize is enough for now.
[and they have seeds to gather, so now that suguru's initial (and unasked) question has been answered—goodbye, satoru. for now.]
[suguru thinks, at first, that satoru has simply left the area.
because that would be the smart thing to do, wouldn't it? satoru, slipping outside of suguru's far more limited range simply because he can—except that, as suguru closes his eyes to better focus on his surroundings, suguru senses the faintest trace of cursed energy. something known, albeit at a much, much higher level.
and there is the thought—the singular thought—of ignoring this, for it could be a trap—and if it isn't, then it could be a boon. one less thing to worry about, in this train full of individuals undeserving of suguru's time and/or attention. an opportunity that suguru could and should take full advantage of, because satoru made his choice; it is only fitting that he accept the consequences.
(but suguru thinks of satoru's offer, just as he thinks of sukuna's indifference; of satoru texting him late at night, asking him to play yet another game; of mimiko and nanako by his side a few short months before, all three of them basking in the sunlight on their balcony. who's satoru gojo, anyway?)
...the most difficult decisions can sometimes be the easiest to make. or so suguru tells himself, anyway, as he summons one of his oldest curses, sitting upon its back as it sails toward satoru's weakening signature. he expects to find satoru in peril? to find some monster dragging satoru toward its den—but what suguru finds, as his curse drifts toward the ground, is something as surprising as it is painfully familiar: satoru sprawled atop the grass, breath slow and even. satoru, asleep.
and as suguru slips from his curse's back to the forest floor, suguru knows this: were he to set a curse upon satoru's prone form, satoru would be none the wiser. satoru, the most powerful sorcerer the world has seen in generations, would die without so much as a whimper—and suguru's family, suguru's goals, suguru's world. all would be safe.
and yet.
suguru kneels beside satoru, first holding his hand beneath satoru's nostrils—feeling for air, that steady in-and-out—before allowing his fingers to drift to the side, coming to rest just beneath satoru's blindfold. no barrier. suguru's fingertips press against warm, soft skin, and he is once again reminded that he could end this here—
—just as he is reminded of all those lazy afternoons spent in one another's company, if not one another's bed. suguru, taking full advantage of the privileges afforded to him; satoru, granting suguru more as he rambled on about anything and everything. they were a pair, once.
they were a pair.
suguru's summon disappears, spiraling back to suguru without the slightest sound; it is, at least, one less thing for suguru to worry about as hooks an arm about satoru's torso, dragging him—awkwardly—toward the trunk of a particularly large tree. he wonders if satoru has always been so heavy? he wonders if perhaps he missed that last bit of satoru's growth.
ah, well. nothing to do about it now, especially as suguru finally, blessedly, reaches the shade he'd been aiming for. this, at least, should be comfortable—or, more accurately: this, at least, should be comfortable enough, which is why sugru deigns to sit upon the ground. the trunk at his back is rough, bordering on unpleasant; he can hear a korogu calling to him from somewhere above, that annoying ya-ha-ha! echoing in this otherwise silent space, but—
—but. satoru sleeps soundly, presumably suffering from too much activity performed on too little sleep; suguru watches him for a time, still weighing his options, before finding himself drawing satoru that much closer. satoru's head in his lap, cradled by his robes—this wouldn't have felt odd, once. it would have felt anything but, considering the trust that once existed between them.
now, however, as suguru peers down at satoru's still face—as suguru peels down the blindfold satoru has chosen to wear, allowing it to pool about satoru's neck—suguru will admit: this is odd. cradling the man who killed him—he should, at the very least, return the favor. for his sake; for his family's sake.
except that there are so many other things to take into consideration—which is why suguru remains still? why suguru sets his curses about the perimeter of this glade; why suguru permits himself to enjoy this moment for what it is, until the person in his lap begins to stir. it's inevitable. suguru did not expect satoru to sleep forever, even if it would make suguru's life so much easier.
but here they are. here satoru is, blinking awake—and so, as suguru watches those brilliant eyes focus on their surroundings, suguru offers, somewhat amusedly:]
Good morning.
[one hand rests within his robes, just above satoru's head; the other is balled into the loose fist that suguru is leaning against as he peers at the person below him—but he remains relaxed. easy. posing no obvious threat as he offers satoru the slightest of smiles, because look who holds—has held—the power here.]
He felt it when he neared his limit: the wall looming before him, impossible to scale, the barrier that would keep him from carrying on as is. He tried to avoid it — did his best to balance the usage of his techniques with occasional, sporadic rest — but the threats that exist on this train prevented him from letting down his guard in full. He kept his Infinity active, stayed awake to monitor the movements of Suguru and Sukuna both, and attempted to map out in his mind just how much each of his technique drained from his dwindling supply of energy. Every ability cost more than he remembered, the price of his attacks having scaled with his power, outgrowing the limits that Satoru thought he left behind in his youth — for good.
You'll fry your brain, Shoko told him all those years ago.
It was the headache that warned him. Satoru thought he had more time, that the occasional nap would keep his inevitable exhaustion at bay. But when the headache hit, he realized he had calculated his time incorrectly; he saw he was at a point of no return.
He planned to get away from all possible threats — to remove himself from his surroundings long enough to recharge, far away from where anyone could sense him, so no one would take advantage of his inability to keep his technique running. If he could avoid tipping anyone off, then it was possible for nothing to happen in his absence, the passengers saved out of ignorance for his situation. But instead of making it to some distant cave or tucked away alcove, Satoru simply hit his wall: he collapsed, his body forcing him to do what he neglected.
He sleeps deeply, unhindered by his techniques, and when he awakens, it's with the confusion that settles upon emerging out of a long and relentless rest, where time and place feel muddled. Threat doesn't register; he feels only the soft padding of a lap beneath his head, the warmth of another body keeping watch. There's a subtle scent of something unidentifiable yet familiar, as if plucked from the comfort of his youth.
Satoru opens his eyes, and as awareness dawns upon him, sees only a memory.]
Suguru...
[Spoken softly, voice tempered by sleep, surprise flitting across his features, approaching something like wonder as his hand rises from the ground as if to touch — as if to confirm his tangibility. The moment is instantaneous and fleeting, barely worth acknowledging, his hand only making it just above the grass — and then it passes. But within that brief span of time, Satoru thinks, Is it really you?, and reality settles upon him once more.
It is really Suguru. His body is whole, untouched by death. The words he speaks are his own, that teasing Good Morning entirely Suguru in tone and intent. There is no one else wearing his flesh, using his voice. This is the same Suguru who once chided Satoru for the way he spoke — the same Suguru who once turned away. This is the Suguru who sat beside him in the Museum, who said, I think you're tired, and considered what that meant — who sat and watched Satoru blindly seek his eyes, alone.
This is the Suguru whose body Satoru once stood over. He had wanted to reach out then, too, his hand twitching at his side.
Satoru looks at Suguru for the first time since ending his life, his eyes unobscured, and sees him.
And it sinks in: that he has been found. That he is vulnerable, without his Infinity, held in Suguru's lap, while Suguru watches over him — capable of doing anything he pleases. Satoru slept for however long, while Suguru held vigil and allowed him to awaken. He could have easily been killed, held close like this, with nothing to shield him. Satoru was — is — unprotected and alone.
And Suguru did nothing.
But Suguru doing nothing before means nothing in the now, and Satoru's sluggish brain presents to him the option: Suguru is biding his time. Suguru wanted him to witness his new shortcomings, to face his own humanity, to see that he will bleed as easily as any other human. Suguru's smile is a knife at his throat, a poison on his lips, a curse lodged within his heart.
He feels an unbidden jolt of adrenaline, an unwanted rush that attempts to push him into action.
And Satoru ignores it.
He smiles, slowly, crookedly, and for a moment longer, leaves himself free of his Infinity. He remains touchable, vulnerable, capable of being wounded, and bares his throat to get a better look at the man who stayed with him when he could have destroyed him, as if to acknowledge him for thinking about it, as if to say, I know you thought of it. I know you considered.
As if to remind him: But you didn't.
Satoru rests his hand back on the ground, his fingers nestling in the grass, and he says:]
You're late.
[Late to find Satoru in his weakened state. Late to take advantage. Late to give Satoru the gift that Satoru once gave to him.
Late to emerge from death to reclaim his body.
Suguru is late for everything, and Satoru, feeling him breathe in and out, staring up into eyes that are no longer lifeless, no longer controlled by someone else entirely —
More than anything else, Satoru is glad to see him.]
[it's a rare treat, watching satoru slowly blink awake. the sort of privilege reserved only for those satoru trusts, because to sleep in another's presence is to be vulnerable—and this is not that, of course. satoru had no say in this—but even all these years later, suguru still remembers waking up together? hitting the snooze button again and again until satoru, forced to accept the inevitability that was rolling out of bed, finally cracked his eyes open, revealing slivers of the most brilliant blue. those were the mornings suguru liked best, though they disrupted his routine (and, more than once, made them both late for something or another). what better way to start the day.
(and what better way to end it. satoru, standing before him in that alley, holding his gaze while ending his life. the last thing suguru saw was blue, blue, blue.)
from the corner of his eye, suguru registers the slight movement of satoru's hand—and suguru knows that this is hardly the time for nostalgia. they are both vulnerable, like this? suguru presents a clear and present danger that satoru could, should, separate himself from as quickly as possible; it would be easy for a somewhat sluggish satoru to take advantage of their close proximity, but—
suguru.
something about satoru's tone gives suguru pause—or maybe it's the way satoru stares up at him, as though he isn't quite believing what he's seeing. that's fair. this may not be their first meeting on this train, but this is, suguru realizes, the first time satoru has seen him since killing him. and how does that feel? to be confronted by the sight of an enemy, an old friend, a ghost made real. suguru supposes that he should feel satisfied, at the very least; there certainly is something, mm, darkly humorous about this turn of events, and yet, as suguru allows satoru this chance to study him, suguru ignores the sudden urge to sweep satoru's messy hair from his forehead. he would have, once. there would have been no question as to whether or not satoru would welcome his touch.
now, however, even as satoru's techniques remain dormant, suguru is not sure which would be worse: satoru allowing suguru to touch him, or satoru finding his fingers stopping just short of satoru's skin.
...so suguru does nothing, aside from take in the smile satoru offers? the ease with which satoru tilts his head back, almost as if he is as comfortable in suguru's lap now as he may have been a decade ago. and suguru knows it's a show, of sorts; this is satoru making a point that suguru acknowledges with only a quirk of his brow. of course he didn't. he a reason for being here, and said reason involves satoru, alive and well.
but as for being late:]
Am I? [hmm. he straightens, allowing his hand to fall to his knee as he pretends to consider just how late he may, in fact, be.] I did run into a few obstacles along the way.
[obstacles, ranging from these cars' wacky tasks to an unplanned death. nothing is certain.]
How long did I keep you waiting?
[the answer, of course, should be no time at all—because if satoru had a lick of sense, satoru would have stopped waiting for suguru after watching suguru disappear into a crowd.]
[In prolonging the lapse of his Infinity, Satoru had been making a point to Suguru. But as he keeps it down long enough for Suguru to react with the lifting of an eyebrow and a question of his own, the point is turned back around on him. Taking in the once-familiar feeling of Suguru's lap beneath his head, Satoru is flirting with his own vulnerabilities. Like this, Satoru is not only weak for being touchable; he is also weak for remembering what this closeness once meant.
Suguru holding him in his lap now is a show of power — of what he could have done, before Satoru woke up, and what he could still try to do, before Satoru finishes pushing away the fog of sleep. Awake, Satoru is a threat, and his reaction time will not suffer too much for being groggy — but his energy is still low, and a nap can only undo so much of the strain he has placed on himself.
But this has the strange effect of tainting memory — surmounting countless recollections of Satoru waking up with his head in Suguru's lap, on his shoulder, on his pillow — with a singular memory of Suguru looking down at him with unknown intentions. Suguru is watching over him because he chose to allow Satoru to live, despite the last time they looked at each other — despite Satoru's unspoken promise that they will look at each other like that again, if Suguru doesn't take him up on his offer.
Satoru has spent so much time buffered from the outside world, that to exist wholly within it — to feel the grass tickling his fingers, the cool earth beneath him, and the presence of someone above him — is dangerous because it shows Satoru what he's missed. It shows Satoru who he has missed, and proves that he will miss him again.
(Suguru had asked him once, those years ago, if he did. If he would.)
So when Satoru attempts to cocoon himself in his Infinity once again, it is less to protect himself from Suguru, and more to protect himself from the way this feels — to keep himself focused on the distance that exists between them.
Except his Infinity remains sluggish, slow to respond, the nap having only gone so far in replenishing his energy. Instinctually, he attempts his self-reverse, but that technique remains dormant. So it takes more effort than Satoru usually exerts to finally activate his Infinity — enough that it causes a slight crease along his forehead, a tell that wouldn't be visible if he were wearing his blindfold.
He covers for his lapse by pulling away. He sits up, yawns — and finally, his technique activates. Infinity surrounds him once more, and so protected, Satoru faces Suguru again.]
Long enough that I got tired of waiting.
[Which says nothing really. Satoru isn't exactly patient, and historically, has always been less so where Suguru is concerned, especially when his own weaknesses were still in play. How many times after a mission, when Suguru finally made his way to his room, had Satoru frowned at him and asked, What took you so long?
It's easier, though, to say it this way: vaguely, as though Satoru could simply be talking about this very incident. Instead of saying: I never stopped waiting. Instead of looking at the prospect of Suguru refusing the terms that Satoru presented in the Museum, and admitting: I never will.
Not everything ends in death. Satoru knows there are some things he cannot kill.
And so he pulls his blindfold back over his eyes, and focuses on what has proven to be killable — and yet, still somehow persisting.]
Thought you made other plans.
[Suguru rescuing Satoru from a nap out in the open had not been part of either of their plans, but Satoru knows that is was not simply a gesture of goodwill. Suguru would not have spent the days since their last meeting languishing; he would have explored his options. He would have thought through what Satoru told him. Suguru isn't rash — a fact that stings even now, when he considers what that meant for his departure from the school. And Satoru.
Suguru being here means he made a decision. And since Satoru is still breathing, it's easy to guess at what will come next.]
But you made it.
[And that, at least, means that the small measure of trust that Satoru showed him — the risk he took — wasn't misplaced. Suguru will have his own reasons for agreeing to what Satoru has presented, and will likely have his own terms, but this still means something. It shows restraint, not unlike the restraint he showed during his final play, when he refrained from killing young sorcerers.
It shows he wasn't wrong: Suguru can do this again.]
[it's been quite some time since suguru allowed someone so dangerous so close. their oh-so brief meeting in the museum car was on somewhat steadier ground, thanks in no small part to satoru's missing eyes; suguru had several (admittedly risky) options—but now, whatever power he possessed from the time he pulled satoru beneath this tree to the moment satoru opened his eyes is slipping through his fingers. or, more accurately: said power is currently split between the two of them. either one could turn this into something it does not need to be.
but suguru, ever watchful, notes that barely noticeable furrow of satoru's brow. the sort of thing others would think nothing of, if they noticed it at all—and yet suguru sees it as what it is: strain. satoru pushing himself right back to the brink, which brings to mind all manner of familiar questions. how long ago did you sleep? not nap; sleep. have you eaten? has this happened before?
voicing such things, however, seems ill-advised. it's highly unlikely that satoru will respond with the honesty he would have a decade before—and so suguru remains silent, still, as satoru pulls away, allowing him to reestablish some manner of distance between them. a necessity, these days.
but suguru's slight smile remains in place, as though he's amused, as ever, by satoru's infamous impatience. maybe he is, on some level. he always did favor that which others found annoying, especially when it came to satoru—and there is also the underlying knowledge that, no matter how impatient satoru is, satoru had little choice but to wait for this. with sukuna on the train, what other options does satoru have? suguru could have taken far, far longer to find his way to satoru's side.
and yet here he is. early, some might say, but of course nothing is ever early enough for satoru.]
Someone had to find you.
[better me than sukuna. unspoken words left hanging between them, for a moment, as suguru twists about, reaching for something off to his right, hidden in the tree's shadow. another risky move, but also a calculated one: exposing his once-wounded side to satoru like this is a sign that he does not intend to try anything dangerous.]
And I was curious, [he admits, almost lightly, as he sits back up—and promptly tosses a good-sized apple satoru's way. not the sort of sugary treat satoru prefers, but when one is stuck in a car like this, one makes do.] You never explained what you wanted.
[or: this is the time to lay all the cards on the table.]
[Separated like this and encased in his Infinity, Satoru has regained his upper hand. He is once again untouchable and alert — capable of reacting to even the barest hint of a threat with an instantaneous activation of his techniques. However tired he may be, however quickly it may drain his sparse energy, in this moment, he is once again The Strongest.
But though he has pulled himself from Suguru's grasp, Suguru still holds something vital in his hands — something that can be exploited, now that he has a better sense of Satoru's limitations. And the words that Suguru tosses out there confirm it: Someone had to find you.
Someone worse could have found him. Sukuna would not have hesitated to kill him where he rested. Satoru would have been an easy victim. And now Suguru has a sense of why he was tired and worried in the museum — why Satoru suggested that Suguru set everything aside so they could work together.
So someone could cover for his lapse. So someone else could keep an eye on the train. So he could simply sleep.
Suguru's decision to allow Satoru to live means he has chosen Satoru over his other options. But it does not mean he will approach this without demands of his own. It does not mean that negotiations will go smoothly — and that he will not take this blatant demonstration of weakness and carry it with him until the next too close call.
But Satoru responds to Suguru's movement, to the knowledge that Suguru now holds, and to Suguru's words the way that Satoru responds to all things — easily. He lazily pulls one leg to himself and half-extends the other one, his foot not too far from where Suguru still sits, a gesture of his own: Suguru is not out of reach.
Not anymore. For better or for worse.
And yet, as he follows the careful movement of Suguru's body, given full vantage of the arm that he once lost — the arm that Satoru suspects he was missing in the museum — Satoru feels the weight of their last conversation settle in his chest once more. Suguru may be moving slowly, methodically, without the air of a threat, but this still feels personal — it still feels like a reminder.
He thinks of Suguru's final moments. Behind his blindfold, while Suguru's attention is elsewhere, Satoru briefly closes his eyes.
And then he opens them again, in time to fluidly catch the apple — and isn't this, too, a kind of attack? Suguru offering him something sweet yet healthy, as though it's a perfectly natural thing for him to do. As though slipping back in time.
Satoru looks down at it, running his thumb over the waxy surface, and thinks, childishly, that this is a low blow. Suguru tossing him an apple feels more like a power move than the act of holding a vulnerable Satoru in his lap.
The apple feels less like a peace offering and more like a weapon that Suguru knows Satoru will allow into his Infinity — meant to twist into concealed places that Suguru himself can't reach.
But because he is, unfailingly, still himself:]
An apple? [He makes a face, like this is a disappointment, when in reality, it's too much.] Is this 'cause you think I'm skipping my fruits and veggies?
[He is! Of course he is. But he follows up his words with a hearty bite, and is immediately grateful. He hasn't had anything sweet since the dog car, so the apple might as well be candy.
Then, after swallowing, he sighs and once again looks down at the apple — at the singular bite marring the red surface.]
You already know what I want. [Not only in the sense that Satoru has already suggested they work together, but also in that his terms and conditions are obvious. Suguru has likely already thought them through. But he speaks them out loud anyway.] Work with me. Stick to jujutsu sorcerer rules and regulations for a while. That's it.
[He says it as though it's easy — after all, Suguru did it before. But he knows that for Suguru, it is not easy at all. And he knows that the way he's framed it, specifically indicating that Suguru will, for a time, technically be acting as a jujutsu sorcerer, presents it in a worse light.
But Satoru has gone over all of the other possibilities, and they are too open-ended. He cannot tell Suguru not to hurt anyone, because Suguru must be able to defend himself and others. He cannot tell Suguru he can hurt others within reason, because Suguru may use his loose language to find loopholes.
This is the only way to ensure that Suguru cannot find an easy way out. The jujutsu sorcerer regulations are strict, if a little outdated. And even though Satoru has his qualms with some of them, they provide an easy framework upon which to base his terms.]
[ She didn't want to come back here but! But!!!! The survey had said she needed to teach someone something or have someone else teach her something, and who better to teach than an actual teacher?
[waking up to an empty camp isn't a surprise. or, more accurately: waking up to a nearly empty camp, for as suguru stirs awake, something beside him shifts, tucking itself that much closer to his side. ah. sprinkles, suguru thinks, groggily taking in the sight of his dog-like curse—and then stiffening. straightening. stopping that train of thought before it goes any farther, because to be reminded of satoru is to be reminded of their interwoven fingers just before satoru's infinity pushed them apart.
but so many things remind suguru of satoru? the ring suguru absently slips onto his finger, which is, so far as he can tell, the "prize" satoru helped him win; the fruit-laden trees suguru passes on his way to the exit; the faint feeling of satoru's cursed energy, always on the edge of suguru's awareness. it is, it seems, impossible to go an hour without thinking of the person he is now bound to; a part of him wonders if satoru is suffering the same fate.
and with thoughts of satoru come questions, and concerns, and—ridiculously—regrets. the memory of satoru offering his hand, which, while rash, was as much a gesture as it was a kindness. suguru knew it then, and suguru knows it now, and yet...
...well. suguru isn't rash; he prefers to think, to plan, to meet expected outcomes—and that was one reason he'd found satoru so fascinating, all those years ago. satoru was—is—surprise given human form? a whirlwind, which suguru was happily caught up in time and time again.
there's so much between them, now. too much, really and yet suguru finds himself missing that satoru-induced chaos.
and maybe, just maybe, suguru misses the purpose it once afforded him—which is maybe, just maybe, the reason suguru reaches out to him after exploring this strange little village. signs of sickness are everywhere; the people are all too willing to tell suguru about the terrible state of affairs, and suguru wonders—where is satoru, in all of this? what is satoru planning to do? when will satoru need to rest?
(and there it is again: some strange echo of an emotion, a stab of concern which suguru feels—while knowing it is not his. he's felt other such things, as he's made his way alone; he supposes it could be an unintended effect of their bond, or, as he finds his eye drawn to his ring for the umpteenth time—hmm.)
but as suguru sits in the corner of some dimly lit tavern, ignoring his bowl of watery gruel, suguru fiddles with his phone.]
Play a game with me.
[if satoru even remembers the game that suguru postponed—and with this text comes a flash of uncertainty, because even if satoru does, is this the right move for either of them? suguru could be making things worse.]
[True to his word, Satoru leaves the camp the morning after he goads Suguru into holding his hand. For all that Satoru pushes and picks, he's capable of telling when he truly needs to tone himself down; he knows when he's gone too far and should back off. It's therefore an easy decision: he wakes up in the morning after finally managing a full night's rest, tells Sprinkles to keep Suguru warm as the fire dies, and slips away before Suguru awakens to watch him go. But before he leaves, he takes his reward and half of Suguru's, impulsively slipping the ring on his finger. It took two people to complete the objective, so it makes sense that two prizes would follow — and it follows that one of the rings would therefore belong to Satoru.
But the true reason Satoru slips it on his finger is that it serves as a reminder of the cost of the prize, which was far too much for a simple pair of rings.
He thinks of Suguru throughout that day, and every time he does, Satoru twists the ring on his finger, a way of keeping himself in check. Normally, Satoru would text Suguru out of boredom, or show up at night for another meal, or make himself right at home at Suguru's side. But Satoru remembers Suguru's grip, tight and unrelenting, forcing him to acknowledge his misstep — and Satoru twists the ring.
In the end, he chooses distance.
But distance, it seems, doesn't choose him. Because while Satoru returns to annoying his fellow passengers and scoping out potential allies, his mind wanders toward Suguru all the same. He senses those brief, indescribable flashes of emotion, twists his ring, and remains caught in the wistful mixture of regret and longing that Suguru always elicits.
(There is nothing visibly off about the ring. Satoru looks at it with uncovered eyes and sees nothing. But as he wears it, he feels something — and he thinks about its pair, nestled around someone else's finger. And Satoru makes another willful mistake: he leaves the ring on.)
He manages to distract himself in the new car but the distraction is brief, soon replaced with concern. Given the state of the car, the illness that is spreading beyond the locals, and the dangers lurking about, he and Suguru will need to reconnect to establish a plan for working together. And Satoru will need to make a better habit of resting, so he remains at full strength for whatever this car throws at them.
But he intends to give Suguru a little more time — as an acknowledgement for the way that they no longer fit into each other's lives. Satoru is capable of demonstrating sensitivity and compassion when necessary, even if his attempts sometimes fall short — and here he deems it necessary.
He's therefore surprised when Suguru reaches out to him — when Suguru chooses to text him not for business, but for a game that Satoru figured he had forgotten about by now. Those five words are so deceptively simple, but Satoru reads over them several times, remembering. This is a game they used to play long ago; it is a game Satoru tried to play again.
If Satoru were not a whirlwind, perhaps he would wisely not respond, or perhaps he would turn Suguru down. But all Satoru does is smile at his phone, find a place to sit, and text:]
finally!
[As though he's been waiting all of this time. But really, Satoru is surprised — and feels that pang of uncertainty keenly, though he's unsure if it's his own. Maybe it's shared, and maybe that's why it's so hard to ignore.]
i'm bored out of my mind
[He's been busy enough, up until this moment, but this isn't a lie in Satoru's mind — because while exploring this car, he's been thinking about Suguru, wondering about Suguru, worrying about Suguru, and feeling wisps of emotion that remind him of Suguru.
It isn't boredom, per se, but how else does one describe the strange feeling of loneliness that exists in the wake of what happened at the camp?
(I'm bored is synonymous for I'm lonely in Satoru's lexicon. This train car is vast and there are many people within it, but there is only one person who knows Satoru.)]
[as suguru places his phone atop the table, distracting himself by stirring the congealed contents of his bowl, he knows there is a chance that satoru will not respond. he could be busy at the moment, bothering passengers and townsfolk alike; he could remember the look suguru last leveled at him and decide that, in order to preserve the peace, a game is out of the question. it would only be sensible.
which is why, when his phone vibrates a few short minutes later, suguru feels the corners of his lips just barely quirk upwards. satoru never was fond of making responsible decisions—and with that comes an irrepressible swell of fondness. something that should not exist after all this time, and yet something that persists, rearing its head at the most inopportune times. sometimes it feels as though some part of suguru is spiting the whole.
but suguru ignores it, focusing instead on satoru's actual texts. i'm bored out of my mind. maybe, in that satoru used to hyperactively bounce from one thing to the next, and yet suguru wonders where satoru is, what satoru is doing. who satoru is with.]
You could read a book.
[there are probably a ton of them in this town—but it's a joke, of course. satoru sitting still to read some old-timey tome is a funny, funny thought.]
Or you could guess what's for dinner. Three tries.
[and then, helpfully (or maybe because he has some pride in his cooking abilities):]
I didn't make it.
[someone's going to miss mushroom omelets when they see what's waiting for them in this car...]
[Two text messages, two surprises. First, the game, and now, going by the way Suguru phrases the parameters, an implication that whatever dinner Suguru is eating is also for Satoru — a sort of invitation. Satoru idly twists the ring around his finger, reminding himself of all the reasons why continuing to act on impulse — responding to this as he normally would — is a bad idea.
But he ignores his own reminder and continues his tradition of making mistakes when it comes to Suguru.
(And maybe it isn't a mistake, this time. Suguru is reaching out with something he once refused, reestablishing a baseline of interaction. Satoru knows better than to hope for true reconcilation; he has his own reasons for rejecting that goal. But progress away from where they left things would be enough of a step toward where they need to be: working together again.)]
tell me it's something sweet
[Satoru has been suffering since leaving behind the dining car, and while he won't complain about his furby prize given just how ridiculous (and therefore obnoxiously appropriate) it is, he wouldn't have minded a box of lollipops or a cake or something equally as sweet instead.]
i'm dying of hunger (◕︵◕)
[Take pity on him....look, he even included a kaomoji to show how serious this is.
He also isn't playing by the rules, choosing instead to fish for hints. But when has Satoru ever done entirely as he's told?]
[playing this game is as dangerously comfortable as, say, walking into his camp to find satoru stretched out in his space—but even as suguru keeps this in the back of his mind, unwilling to follow that same road to that same dead end, he can't help but to prefer this back-and-forth to the silence of the past few days. everything about this—from satoru's dramatics to satoru's choice of kaomji—is...
...well. it's as familiar as it is necessary, given the fact that they do need to work together. there is no avoiding communication on this train; better to keep things easy than to make things unnecessarily difficult, especially considering their last meeting.
(or so suguru tells himself.)]
You're not. And it could be.
[like, maybe? who's to say that satoru a) can't find a bowl of sugar somewhere and b) won't dump it straight into this slop? suguru, for one, wouldn't put it past him—and suguru also knows the secondary game satoru is attempting to play here, so.]
[He is too! It's been, what, three weeks since he had something truly sweet? His plight is truly serious. The next time Satoru has to go on a mission where the outcome is a little unclear, he's going to pack his pockets full of candy. That way he has something to eat in prison realms and trains alike.
(Or, to be more specific, there will be no next time, because Satoru is going to give the prison realm the same fate as the Inverted Sphere of Heaven.)
Dramatics aside, Satoru is hungry and given the state of this car, he isn't looking forward to whatever dinner is awaiting him, which is partially why he's playing this secondary game of his. He doesn't really want to know, because he'll likely prefer to go without — which can't happen, because he needs to stay both strong and healthy, given what they're facing here.]
you're too strict
[And here he goes, testing boundaries, pushing Suguru, seeing if he's going to be true to his word and deprive Satoru of a guess because Satoru refuses to follow instructions.
Which is, of course, the other reason behind these antics: Satoru has a bad habit of wanting more attention than what is initially promised. Three turns will be over soon, but if he cheats a little, maybe Suguru won't be so quick to tell him where he can find the grub in question.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text; un: itadakimasu
and there is always the option of forging ahead alone, counting on sukuna to wear satoru down—but as suguru makes camp one night, curses standing gaurd, suguru finds himself reaching for his phone...
...only to pause when accessing the directory. his own profile is there, annoyingly descriptive as it is—but it's satoru's that catches his eye? satoru's that gives him pause, because those symbols are—
well. before he can rethink his current course, suguru taps that cutesy envelope.]
Your taste in friends is almost as bad as your taste in usernames.
[must be nice to pick your own, though :/ this is favoritism]
no subject
As such, his reply takes a while to arrive, Satoru having to blink away a budding headache in order to look at the bright screen of his phone. And despite the note upon which they ended during their meeting in the museum, and the threat that Suguru presents to him in this very car — far enough to be a safe distance away but close enough that Satoru can sense his movements — he still grins down at the message.
Old habits die hard — just like old jokes between friends.
And because he's both pleased with himself for his choice in usernames and thoroughly enjoying Suguru's comment about it, he texts:]
still using cheat codes huh
[And still talking to Satoru Gojo, the ultimate cheat code in jujutsu society.
Even though Suguru managed to earn that extra life after all.]
no subject
suguru's phone, however, eventually does buzz—and suguru is once again left staring at his screen, confronted by further proof that satoru remembers that second-to-last meeting of theirs every bit as clearly as he does. it shouldn't matter, in the grand scheme of things; it absolutely does.]
Sometimes.
The prize is usually better.
[even if talking to satoru isn't the worst prize in the world.]
no subject
But Suguru doesn't rise to the provocation. His messages do not indicate that what Satoru heard while sitting beside him was a trinket from long ago. The prize is usually better, Suguru says. Technically, his last prize was the same as what he now receives: Satoru himself, in all his annoying glory.
Now Satoru thinks of their last conversation — and Suguru's parting words — and wonders if he heard wrong. Maybe it wasn't the charm at all. Or maybe the conductor dug it out of history's trash bin because they have a wry sense of humor. Maybe the sound was meant to sting.
All the more reason for Satoru to find the train's higher-ups on his way out.]
you could've picked something else
[As in, not contacted Satoru at all. Entertained his other options for a little while. Maybe hung out with Sukuna instead, given Suguru's quip about Satoru's taste in friends.]
but the other options really aren't your style
[Because Satoru has been talking to a lot of people on this train. They aren't what Suguru would consider a worthy prize.]
so you get what you get!
[And he gets Satoru's full attention now, because he is alone, and as Suguru is aware, he is not very good at it; he could use the company as he staves away his fatigue.]
no subject
and this, too, is difficult, in that satoru brushes him aside with apparent ease. you could've picked something else. this is not how things used to go—but again: maybe it's better like this.]
Even if they were, it's no fun if I have to pick.
[suguru taking satoru's earlier words and twisting them right back around, simply because he can. another thing he can do: end this conversation here. it doesn't seem like it's going to amount to anything, or make his decision any easier to make—and yet.]
I should have asked what I was winning.
But that's no fun, either.
[for the games they play, anyway.]
no subject
But Satoru had chosen his own prize, hadn't he? He had chosen Suguru, and in turn, he had asked Suguru to choose him. It was a selfish request as much as it was a request born out of the conditions in which he exists on this train. Because if Suguru accepts his terms, if Suguru chooses him over his goals, over alliances with anyone else who may exist on this train, then Suguru has a chance.
Then Satoru, hands full and bloodied as they already are, will not need to repeat history.
And when Satoru hits his limit for the first time in years, his weaknesses will not be exploited. He will not look upon a train full of victims. And he will not be alone.
So, initially, he thinks to text in the same manner he would have upon stirring up a fight when they were younger: You complaining? Once, everything could be resolved with a scuffle on school grounds, Satoru goading Suguru into a fight, and the two of them having it out until they were tired but laughing, dragged inside by Yaga for a scolding.
But that second sentence makes him pause. He had said that once, too, hadn't he? Because the game was almost over, and Satoru didn't want him to end it so quickly — had cheated in his own way, by withholding an answer and asking for more.
And Satoru, supporting cheating through both username and antics both, may not have Suguru's answer, but he gives him more.]
1000 boxes of hot stamping foil wouldn't fit on this train anyway
[Maybe in theory, this expansive car could accommodate them, but certainly not thematically. Although, Satoru would have enjoyed arriving with something so superfluous assigned to him in lieu of his glasses, toting them around from car to car until Suguru gave him the correct answer to some nonsense question.
But the point is: he remembers.
And the prizes here suck, for them both. They didn't truly get to set the terms themselves, so why ask what they'll be? They don't get to pick their hell.
But they do get to pick how they face it, and Satoru, worn down and bored, decides to face it as he once faced a different kind of hell.]
play a different game with me
no subject
or, at the very least: suguru can't afford such a thing. he's died once; he has no desire to die a second time.
but satoru brings up that joke of a prize, just as stupid now as it was then—and this, more than anything, is what makes satoru dangerous? the fact that satoru is suguru's past. suguru thought he'd left it behind; he'd gone to such lengths to ensure that nothing would stand between him and what he needed to do, and yet all it takes is satoru texting him, reminding him of old games before asking him to start a new ones, to bring it all rushing right back.
all the more reason for suguru to distance himself. (what was he even thinking, texting satoru in the first place? digging for information that shouldn't matter.)]
One prize is enough for now.
[and they have seeds to gather, so now that suguru's initial (and unasked) question has been answered—goodbye, satoru. for now.]
action; the date will remain a mystery
because that would be the smart thing to do, wouldn't it? satoru, slipping outside of suguru's far more limited range simply because he can—except that, as suguru closes his eyes to better focus on his surroundings, suguru senses the faintest trace of cursed energy. something known, albeit at a much, much higher level.
and there is the thought—the singular thought—of ignoring this, for it could be a trap—and if it isn't, then it could be a boon. one less thing to worry about, in this train full of individuals undeserving of suguru's time and/or attention. an opportunity that suguru could and should take full advantage of, because satoru made his choice; it is only fitting that he accept the consequences.
(but suguru thinks of satoru's offer, just as he thinks of sukuna's indifference; of satoru texting him late at night, asking him to play yet another game; of mimiko and nanako by his side a few short months before, all three of them basking in the sunlight on their balcony. who's satoru gojo, anyway?)
...the most difficult decisions can sometimes be the easiest to make. or so suguru tells himself, anyway, as he summons one of his oldest curses, sitting upon its back as it sails toward satoru's weakening signature. he expects to find satoru in peril? to find some monster dragging satoru toward its den—but what suguru finds, as his curse drifts toward the ground, is something as surprising as it is painfully familiar: satoru sprawled atop the grass, breath slow and even. satoru, asleep.
and as suguru slips from his curse's back to the forest floor, suguru knows this: were he to set a curse upon satoru's prone form, satoru would be none the wiser. satoru, the most powerful sorcerer the world has seen in generations, would die without so much as a whimper—and suguru's family, suguru's goals, suguru's world. all would be safe.
and yet.
suguru kneels beside satoru, first holding his hand beneath satoru's nostrils—feeling for air, that steady in-and-out—before allowing his fingers to drift to the side, coming to rest just beneath satoru's blindfold. no barrier. suguru's fingertips press against warm, soft skin, and he is once again reminded that he could end this here—
—just as he is reminded of all those lazy afternoons spent in one another's company, if not one another's bed. suguru, taking full advantage of the privileges afforded to him; satoru, granting suguru more as he rambled on about anything and everything. they were a pair, once.
they were a pair.
suguru's summon disappears, spiraling back to suguru without the slightest sound; it is, at least, one less thing for suguru to worry about as hooks an arm about satoru's torso, dragging him—awkwardly—toward the trunk of a particularly large tree. he wonders if satoru has always been so heavy? he wonders if perhaps he missed that last bit of satoru's growth.
ah, well. nothing to do about it now, especially as suguru finally, blessedly, reaches the shade he'd been aiming for. this, at least, should be comfortable—or, more accurately: this, at least, should be comfortable enough, which is why sugru deigns to sit upon the ground. the trunk at his back is rough, bordering on unpleasant; he can hear a korogu calling to him from somewhere above, that annoying ya-ha-ha! echoing in this otherwise silent space, but—
—but. satoru sleeps soundly, presumably suffering from too much activity performed on too little sleep; suguru watches him for a time, still weighing his options, before finding himself drawing satoru that much closer. satoru's head in his lap, cradled by his robes—this wouldn't have felt odd, once. it would have felt anything but, considering the trust that once existed between them.
now, however, as suguru peers down at satoru's still face—as suguru peels down the blindfold satoru has chosen to wear, allowing it to pool about satoru's neck—suguru will admit: this is odd. cradling the man who killed him—he should, at the very least, return the favor. for his sake; for his family's sake.
except that there are so many other things to take into consideration—which is why suguru remains still? why suguru sets his curses about the perimeter of this glade; why suguru permits himself to enjoy this moment for what it is, until the person in his lap begins to stir. it's inevitable. suguru did not expect satoru to sleep forever, even if it would make suguru's life so much easier.
but here they are. here satoru is, blinking awake—and so, as suguru watches those brilliant eyes focus on their surroundings, suguru offers, somewhat amusedly:]
Good morning.
[one hand rests within his robes, just above satoru's head; the other is balled into the loose fist that suguru is leaning against as he peers at the person below him—but he remains relaxed. easy. posing no obvious threat as he offers satoru the slightest of smiles, because look who holds—has held—the power here.]
no subject
He felt it when he neared his limit: the wall looming before him, impossible to scale, the barrier that would keep him from carrying on as is. He tried to avoid it — did his best to balance the usage of his techniques with occasional, sporadic rest — but the threats that exist on this train prevented him from letting down his guard in full. He kept his Infinity active, stayed awake to monitor the movements of Suguru and Sukuna both, and attempted to map out in his mind just how much each of his technique drained from his dwindling supply of energy. Every ability cost more than he remembered, the price of his attacks having scaled with his power, outgrowing the limits that Satoru thought he left behind in his youth — for good.
You'll fry your brain, Shoko told him all those years ago.
It was the headache that warned him. Satoru thought he had more time, that the occasional nap would keep his inevitable exhaustion at bay. But when the headache hit, he realized he had calculated his time incorrectly; he saw he was at a point of no return.
He planned to get away from all possible threats — to remove himself from his surroundings long enough to recharge, far away from where anyone could sense him, so no one would take advantage of his inability to keep his technique running. If he could avoid tipping anyone off, then it was possible for nothing to happen in his absence, the passengers saved out of ignorance for his situation. But instead of making it to some distant cave or tucked away alcove, Satoru simply hit his wall: he collapsed, his body forcing him to do what he neglected.
He sleeps deeply, unhindered by his techniques, and when he awakens, it's with the confusion that settles upon emerging out of a long and relentless rest, where time and place feel muddled. Threat doesn't register; he feels only the soft padding of a lap beneath his head, the warmth of another body keeping watch. There's a subtle scent of something unidentifiable yet familiar, as if plucked from the comfort of his youth.
Satoru opens his eyes, and as awareness dawns upon him, sees only a memory.]
Suguru...
[Spoken softly, voice tempered by sleep, surprise flitting across his features, approaching something like wonder as his hand rises from the ground as if to touch — as if to confirm his tangibility. The moment is instantaneous and fleeting, barely worth acknowledging, his hand only making it just above the grass — and then it passes. But within that brief span of time, Satoru thinks, Is it really you?, and reality settles upon him once more.
It is really Suguru. His body is whole, untouched by death. The words he speaks are his own, that teasing Good Morning entirely Suguru in tone and intent. There is no one else wearing his flesh, using his voice. This is the same Suguru who once chided Satoru for the way he spoke — the same Suguru who once turned away. This is the Suguru who sat beside him in the Museum, who said, I think you're tired, and considered what that meant — who sat and watched Satoru blindly seek his eyes, alone.
This is the Suguru whose body Satoru once stood over. He had wanted to reach out then, too, his hand twitching at his side.
Satoru looks at Suguru for the first time since ending his life, his eyes unobscured, and sees him.
And it sinks in: that he has been found. That he is vulnerable, without his Infinity, held in Suguru's lap, while Suguru watches over him — capable of doing anything he pleases. Satoru slept for however long, while Suguru held vigil and allowed him to awaken. He could have easily been killed, held close like this, with nothing to shield him. Satoru was — is — unprotected and alone.
And Suguru did nothing.
But Suguru doing nothing before means nothing in the now, and Satoru's sluggish brain presents to him the option: Suguru is biding his time. Suguru wanted him to witness his new shortcomings, to face his own humanity, to see that he will bleed as easily as any other human. Suguru's smile is a knife at his throat, a poison on his lips, a curse lodged within his heart.
He feels an unbidden jolt of adrenaline, an unwanted rush that attempts to push him into action.
And Satoru ignores it.
He smiles, slowly, crookedly, and for a moment longer, leaves himself free of his Infinity. He remains touchable, vulnerable, capable of being wounded, and bares his throat to get a better look at the man who stayed with him when he could have destroyed him, as if to acknowledge him for thinking about it, as if to say, I know you thought of it. I know you considered.
As if to remind him: But you didn't.
Satoru rests his hand back on the ground, his fingers nestling in the grass, and he says:]
You're late.
[Late to find Satoru in his weakened state. Late to take advantage. Late to give Satoru the gift that Satoru once gave to him.
Late to emerge from death to reclaim his body.
Suguru is late for everything, and Satoru, feeling him breathe in and out, staring up into eyes that are no longer lifeless, no longer controlled by someone else entirely —
More than anything else, Satoru is glad to see him.]
no subject
(and what better way to end it. satoru, standing before him in that alley, holding his gaze while ending his life. the last thing suguru saw was blue, blue, blue.)
from the corner of his eye, suguru registers the slight movement of satoru's hand—and suguru knows that this is hardly the time for nostalgia. they are both vulnerable, like this? suguru presents a clear and present danger that satoru could, should, separate himself from as quickly as possible; it would be easy for a somewhat sluggish satoru to take advantage of their close proximity, but—
suguru.
something about satoru's tone gives suguru pause—or maybe it's the way satoru stares up at him, as though he isn't quite believing what he's seeing. that's fair. this may not be their first meeting on this train, but this is, suguru realizes, the first time satoru has seen him since killing him. and how does that feel? to be confronted by the sight of an enemy, an old friend, a ghost made real. suguru supposes that he should feel satisfied, at the very least; there certainly is something, mm, darkly humorous about this turn of events, and yet, as suguru allows satoru this chance to study him, suguru ignores the sudden urge to sweep satoru's messy hair from his forehead. he would have, once. there would have been no question as to whether or not satoru would welcome his touch.
now, however, even as satoru's techniques remain dormant, suguru is not sure which would be worse: satoru allowing suguru to touch him, or satoru finding his fingers stopping just short of satoru's skin.
...so suguru does nothing, aside from take in the smile satoru offers? the ease with which satoru tilts his head back, almost as if he is as comfortable in suguru's lap now as he may have been a decade ago. and suguru knows it's a show, of sorts; this is satoru making a point that suguru acknowledges with only a quirk of his brow. of course he didn't. he a reason for being here, and said reason involves satoru, alive and well.
but as for being late:]
Am I? [hmm. he straightens, allowing his hand to fall to his knee as he pretends to consider just how late he may, in fact, be.] I did run into a few obstacles along the way.
[obstacles, ranging from these cars' wacky tasks to an unplanned death. nothing is certain.]
How long did I keep you waiting?
[the answer, of course, should be no time at all—because if satoru had a lick of sense, satoru would have stopped waiting for suguru after watching suguru disappear into a crowd.]
no subject
Suguru holding him in his lap now is a show of power — of what he could have done, before Satoru woke up, and what he could still try to do, before Satoru finishes pushing away the fog of sleep. Awake, Satoru is a threat, and his reaction time will not suffer too much for being groggy — but his energy is still low, and a nap can only undo so much of the strain he has placed on himself.
But this has the strange effect of tainting memory — surmounting countless recollections of Satoru waking up with his head in Suguru's lap, on his shoulder, on his pillow — with a singular memory of Suguru looking down at him with unknown intentions. Suguru is watching over him because he chose to allow Satoru to live, despite the last time they looked at each other — despite Satoru's unspoken promise that they will look at each other like that again, if Suguru doesn't take him up on his offer.
Satoru has spent so much time buffered from the outside world, that to exist wholly within it — to feel the grass tickling his fingers, the cool earth beneath him, and the presence of someone above him — is dangerous because it shows Satoru what he's missed. It shows Satoru who he has missed, and proves that he will miss him again.
(Suguru had asked him once, those years ago, if he did. If he would.)
So when Satoru attempts to cocoon himself in his Infinity once again, it is less to protect himself from Suguru, and more to protect himself from the way this feels — to keep himself focused on the distance that exists between them.
Except his Infinity remains sluggish, slow to respond, the nap having only gone so far in replenishing his energy. Instinctually, he attempts his self-reverse, but that technique remains dormant. So it takes more effort than Satoru usually exerts to finally activate his Infinity — enough that it causes a slight crease along his forehead, a tell that wouldn't be visible if he were wearing his blindfold.
He covers for his lapse by pulling away. He sits up, yawns — and finally, his technique activates. Infinity surrounds him once more, and so protected, Satoru faces Suguru again.]
Long enough that I got tired of waiting.
[Which says nothing really. Satoru isn't exactly patient, and historically, has always been less so where Suguru is concerned, especially when his own weaknesses were still in play. How many times after a mission, when Suguru finally made his way to his room, had Satoru frowned at him and asked, What took you so long?
It's easier, though, to say it this way: vaguely, as though Satoru could simply be talking about this very incident. Instead of saying: I never stopped waiting. Instead of looking at the prospect of Suguru refusing the terms that Satoru presented in the Museum, and admitting: I never will.
Not everything ends in death. Satoru knows there are some things he cannot kill.
And so he pulls his blindfold back over his eyes, and focuses on what has proven to be killable — and yet, still somehow persisting.]
Thought you made other plans.
[Suguru rescuing Satoru from a nap out in the open had not been part of either of their plans, but Satoru knows that is was not simply a gesture of goodwill. Suguru would not have spent the days since their last meeting languishing; he would have explored his options. He would have thought through what Satoru told him. Suguru isn't rash — a fact that stings even now, when he considers what that meant for his departure from the school. And Satoru.
Suguru being here means he made a decision. And since Satoru is still breathing, it's easy to guess at what will come next.]
But you made it.
[And that, at least, means that the small measure of trust that Satoru showed him — the risk he took — wasn't misplaced. Suguru will have his own reasons for agreeing to what Satoru has presented, and will likely have his own terms, but this still means something. It shows restraint, not unlike the restraint he showed during his final play, when he refrained from killing young sorcerers.
It shows he wasn't wrong: Suguru can do this again.]
no subject
but suguru, ever watchful, notes that barely noticeable furrow of satoru's brow. the sort of thing others would think nothing of, if they noticed it at all—and yet suguru sees it as what it is: strain. satoru pushing himself right back to the brink, which brings to mind all manner of familiar questions. how long ago did you sleep? not nap; sleep. have you eaten? has this happened before?
voicing such things, however, seems ill-advised. it's highly unlikely that satoru will respond with the honesty he would have a decade before—and so suguru remains silent, still, as satoru pulls away, allowing him to reestablish some manner of distance between them. a necessity, these days.
but suguru's slight smile remains in place, as though he's amused, as ever, by satoru's infamous impatience. maybe he is, on some level. he always did favor that which others found annoying, especially when it came to satoru—and there is also the underlying knowledge that, no matter how impatient satoru is, satoru had little choice but to wait for this. with sukuna on the train, what other options does satoru have? suguru could have taken far, far longer to find his way to satoru's side.
and yet here he is. early, some might say, but of course nothing is ever early enough for satoru.]
Someone had to find you.
[better me than sukuna. unspoken words left hanging between them, for a moment, as suguru twists about, reaching for something off to his right, hidden in the tree's shadow. another risky move, but also a calculated one: exposing his once-wounded side to satoru like this is a sign that he does not intend to try anything dangerous.]
And I was curious, [he admits, almost lightly, as he sits back up—and promptly tosses a good-sized apple satoru's way. not the sort of sugary treat satoru prefers, but when one is stuck in a car like this, one makes do.] You never explained what you wanted.
[or: this is the time to lay all the cards on the table.]
no subject
But though he has pulled himself from Suguru's grasp, Suguru still holds something vital in his hands — something that can be exploited, now that he has a better sense of Satoru's limitations. And the words that Suguru tosses out there confirm it: Someone had to find you.
Someone worse could have found him. Sukuna would not have hesitated to kill him where he rested. Satoru would have been an easy victim. And now Suguru has a sense of why he was tired and worried in the museum — why Satoru suggested that Suguru set everything aside so they could work together.
So someone could cover for his lapse. So someone else could keep an eye on the train. So he could simply sleep.
Suguru's decision to allow Satoru to live means he has chosen Satoru over his other options. But it does not mean he will approach this without demands of his own. It does not mean that negotiations will go smoothly — and that he will not take this blatant demonstration of weakness and carry it with him until the next too close call.
But Satoru responds to Suguru's movement, to the knowledge that Suguru now holds, and to Suguru's words the way that Satoru responds to all things — easily. He lazily pulls one leg to himself and half-extends the other one, his foot not too far from where Suguru still sits, a gesture of his own: Suguru is not out of reach.
Not anymore. For better or for worse.
And yet, as he follows the careful movement of Suguru's body, given full vantage of the arm that he once lost — the arm that Satoru suspects he was missing in the museum — Satoru feels the weight of their last conversation settle in his chest once more. Suguru may be moving slowly, methodically, without the air of a threat, but this still feels personal — it still feels like a reminder.
He thinks of Suguru's final moments. Behind his blindfold, while Suguru's attention is elsewhere, Satoru briefly closes his eyes.
And then he opens them again, in time to fluidly catch the apple — and isn't this, too, a kind of attack? Suguru offering him something sweet yet healthy, as though it's a perfectly natural thing for him to do. As though slipping back in time.
Satoru looks down at it, running his thumb over the waxy surface, and thinks, childishly, that this is a low blow. Suguru tossing him an apple feels more like a power move than the act of holding a vulnerable Satoru in his lap.
The apple feels less like a peace offering and more like a weapon that Suguru knows Satoru will allow into his Infinity — meant to twist into concealed places that Suguru himself can't reach.
But because he is, unfailingly, still himself:]
An apple? [He makes a face, like this is a disappointment, when in reality, it's too much.] Is this 'cause you think I'm skipping my fruits and veggies?
[He is! Of course he is. But he follows up his words with a hearty bite, and is immediately grateful. He hasn't had anything sweet since the dog car, so the apple might as well be candy.
Then, after swallowing, he sighs and once again looks down at the apple — at the singular bite marring the red surface.]
You already know what I want. [Not only in the sense that Satoru has already suggested they work together, but also in that his terms and conditions are obvious. Suguru has likely already thought them through. But he speaks them out loud anyway.] Work with me. Stick to jujutsu sorcerer rules and regulations for a while. That's it.
[He says it as though it's easy — after all, Suguru did it before. But he knows that for Suguru, it is not easy at all. And he knows that the way he's framed it, specifically indicating that Suguru will, for a time, technically be acting as a jujutsu sorcerer, presents it in a worse light.
But Satoru has gone over all of the other possibilities, and they are too open-ended. He cannot tell Suguru not to hurt anyone, because Suguru must be able to defend himself and others. He cannot tell Suguru he can hurt others within reason, because Suguru may use his loose language to find loopholes.
This is the only way to ensure that Suguru cannot find an easy way out. The jujutsu sorcerer regulations are strict, if a little outdated. And even though Satoru has his qualms with some of them, they provide an easy framework upon which to base his terms.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ ✨ BEATRIX ✨; text
Even if he suxxxxx. ]
you're a teacher right
no subject
you decided to rethink that homework assignment
didn't you
[At least this is all over text so she can't see his grin. His students always come back, no matter how annoying he is!]
no subject
it's about the weird survey we had to take
you took it too right?
no subject
[Because...it kinda is an assignment!]
i did take it! it said i'm perfect and don't have to do anything
i take it yours said something else
no subject
no way! no way!!
there's no way it said you're perfect!
show me the result you got, i want proof!!
no subject
yeesh
have a little faith in your teacher
[Attached: thisquizresultisnotatalldoctored.png]
1/2
2/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
2/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
text; un: itadakimasu; i live in this inbox now
but so many things remind suguru of satoru? the ring suguru absently slips onto his finger, which is, so far as he can tell, the "prize" satoru helped him win; the fruit-laden trees suguru passes on his way to the exit; the faint feeling of satoru's cursed energy, always on the edge of suguru's awareness. it is, it seems, impossible to go an hour without thinking of the person he is now bound to; a part of him wonders if satoru is suffering the same fate.
and with thoughts of satoru come questions, and concerns, and—ridiculously—regrets. the memory of satoru offering his hand, which, while rash, was as much a gesture as it was a kindness. suguru knew it then, and suguru knows it now, and yet...
...well. suguru isn't rash; he prefers to think, to plan, to meet expected outcomes—and that was one reason he'd found satoru so fascinating, all those years ago. satoru was—is—surprise given human form? a whirlwind, which suguru was happily caught up in time and time again.
there's so much between them, now. too much, really and yet suguru finds himself missing that satoru-induced chaos.
and maybe, just maybe, suguru misses the purpose it once afforded him—which is maybe, just maybe, the reason suguru reaches out to him after exploring this strange little village. signs of sickness are everywhere; the people are all too willing to tell suguru about the terrible state of affairs, and suguru wonders—where is satoru, in all of this? what is satoru planning to do? when will satoru need to rest?
(and there it is again: some strange echo of an emotion, a stab of concern which suguru feels—while knowing it is not his. he's felt other such things, as he's made his way alone; he supposes it could be an unintended effect of their bond, or, as he finds his eye drawn to his ring for the umpteenth time—hmm.)
but as suguru sits in the corner of some dimly lit tavern, ignoring his bowl of watery gruel, suguru fiddles with his phone.]
Play a game with me.
[if satoru even remembers the game that suguru postponed—and with this text comes a flash of uncertainty, because even if satoru does, is this the right move for either of them? suguru could be making things worse.]
welcome home :')
But the true reason Satoru slips it on his finger is that it serves as a reminder of the cost of the prize, which was far too much for a simple pair of rings.
He thinks of Suguru throughout that day, and every time he does, Satoru twists the ring on his finger, a way of keeping himself in check. Normally, Satoru would text Suguru out of boredom, or show up at night for another meal, or make himself right at home at Suguru's side. But Satoru remembers Suguru's grip, tight and unrelenting, forcing him to acknowledge his misstep — and Satoru twists the ring.
In the end, he chooses distance.
But distance, it seems, doesn't choose him. Because while Satoru returns to annoying his fellow passengers and scoping out potential allies, his mind wanders toward Suguru all the same. He senses those brief, indescribable flashes of emotion, twists his ring, and remains caught in the wistful mixture of regret and longing that Suguru always elicits.
(There is nothing visibly off about the ring. Satoru looks at it with uncovered eyes and sees nothing. But as he wears it, he feels something — and he thinks about its pair, nestled around someone else's finger. And Satoru makes another willful mistake: he leaves the ring on.)
He manages to distract himself in the new car but the distraction is brief, soon replaced with concern. Given the state of the car, the illness that is spreading beyond the locals, and the dangers lurking about, he and Suguru will need to reconnect to establish a plan for working together. And Satoru will need to make a better habit of resting, so he remains at full strength for whatever this car throws at them.
But he intends to give Suguru a little more time — as an acknowledgement for the way that they no longer fit into each other's lives. Satoru is capable of demonstrating sensitivity and compassion when necessary, even if his attempts sometimes fall short — and here he deems it necessary.
He's therefore surprised when Suguru reaches out to him — when Suguru chooses to text him not for business, but for a game that Satoru figured he had forgotten about by now. Those five words are so deceptively simple, but Satoru reads over them several times, remembering. This is a game they used to play long ago; it is a game Satoru tried to play again.
If Satoru were not a whirlwind, perhaps he would wisely not respond, or perhaps he would turn Suguru down. But all Satoru does is smile at his phone, find a place to sit, and text:]
finally!
[As though he's been waiting all of this time. But really, Satoru is surprised — and feels that pang of uncertainty keenly, though he's unsure if it's his own. Maybe it's shared, and maybe that's why it's so hard to ignore.]
i'm bored out of my mind
[He's been busy enough, up until this moment, but this isn't a lie in Satoru's mind — because while exploring this car, he's been thinking about Suguru, wondering about Suguru, worrying about Suguru, and feeling wisps of emotion that remind him of Suguru.
It isn't boredom, per se, but how else does one describe the strange feeling of loneliness that exists in the wake of what happened at the camp?
(I'm bored is synonymous for I'm lonely in Satoru's lexicon. This train car is vast and there are many people within it, but there is only one person who knows Satoru.)]
no subject
which is why, when his phone vibrates a few short minutes later, suguru feels the corners of his lips just barely quirk upwards. satoru never was fond of making responsible decisions—and with that comes an irrepressible swell of fondness. something that should not exist after all this time, and yet something that persists, rearing its head at the most inopportune times. sometimes it feels as though some part of suguru is spiting the whole.
but suguru ignores it, focusing instead on satoru's actual texts. i'm bored out of my mind. maybe, in that satoru used to hyperactively bounce from one thing to the next, and yet suguru wonders where satoru is, what satoru is doing. who satoru is with.]
You could read a book.
[there are probably a ton of them in this town—but it's a joke, of course. satoru sitting still to read some old-timey tome is a funny, funny thought.]
Or you could guess what's for dinner.
Three tries.
[and then, helpfully (or maybe because he has some pride in his cooking abilities):]
I didn't make it.
[someone's going to miss mushroom omelets when they see what's waiting for them in this car...]
no subject
But he ignores his own reminder and continues his tradition of making mistakes when it comes to Suguru.
(And maybe it isn't a mistake, this time. Suguru is reaching out with something he once refused, reestablishing a baseline of interaction. Satoru knows better than to hope for true reconcilation; he has his own reasons for rejecting that goal. But progress away from where they left things would be enough of a step toward where they need to be: working together again.)]
tell me it's something sweet
[Satoru has been suffering since leaving behind the dining car, and while he won't complain about his furby prize given just how ridiculous (and therefore obnoxiously appropriate) it is, he wouldn't have minded a box of lollipops or a cake or something equally as sweet instead.]
i'm dying of hunger (◕︵◕)
[Take pity on him....look, he even included a kaomoji to show how serious this is.
He also isn't playing by the rules, choosing instead to fish for hints. But when has Satoru ever done entirely as he's told?]
no subject
...well. it's as familiar as it is necessary, given the fact that they do need to work together. there is no avoiding communication on this train; better to keep things easy than to make things unnecessarily difficult, especially considering their last meeting.
(or so suguru tells himself.)]
You're not.
And it could be.
[like, maybe? who's to say that satoru a) can't find a bowl of sugar somewhere and b) won't dump it straight into this slop? suguru, for one, wouldn't put it past him—and suguru also knows the secondary game satoru is attempting to play here, so.]
I'm counting your next text as a guess.
[better make it count!]
no subject
(Or, to be more specific, there will be no next time, because Satoru is going to give the prison realm the same fate as the Inverted Sphere of Heaven.)
Dramatics aside, Satoru is hungry and given the state of this car, he isn't looking forward to whatever dinner is awaiting him, which is partially why he's playing this secondary game of his. He doesn't really want to know, because he'll likely prefer to go without — which can't happen, because he needs to stay both strong and healthy, given what they're facing here.]
you're too strict
[And here he goes, testing boundaries, pushing Suguru, seeing if he's going to be true to his word and deprive Satoru of a guess because Satoru refuses to follow instructions.
Which is, of course, the other reason behind these antics: Satoru has a bad habit of wanting more attention than what is initially promised. Three turns will be over soon, but if he cheats a little, maybe Suguru won't be so quick to tell him where he can find the grub in question.]
i need a hint!
[He'd give Suguru one if asked!]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
that icon lol
geto judgment (tm)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)