[what would be worse, in the grand scheme of things: the clownductor gifting them matching, magical rings, or satoru filching half of suguru's prize for his own reasons? both possibilities are troublesome, in that both possibilities are invasive. someone has placed suguru in a highly compromising position; he is anything but appreciative.
and yet, as suguru teeters on the edge of discomfort—ah. he is unprepared for a wisp of what is clearly fondness; it sends him straightening in his seat, pleased despite himself—how could he not be?—but also momentarily taken aback. he, himself, has felt flickers of fondness throughout this exchange; that was his own weakness coming into play, but satoru has been—
—well. it's a dangerous game they play; of this there is no doubt, but suguru looks at the stupid picture satoru sent his way, recognizing the emotion as a signal meant to accompany it. yes, i have a ring; no, it wasn't my prize. so satoru is a thief...
suguru, naturally, wonders if it was only because satoru felt entitled to half of the hand-holding prize? turns over the possibilities, both good and bad, in his mind even as fires off his second guess of the evening:]
[It would be a good guess if the clownductor didn't have a weird sense of humor in granting Satoru the prize that he did (and, apparently, a desire to meddle, considering the prize that Suguru received and of which Satoru claimed half). But Satoru arrived on this train with only one belonging: his blackout shades, which he now pauses to exchange for his blindfold. Then he sends yet another selfie, this time of his face alone, staring at the camera just over his shades, a smirk on his lips.]
last chance
want a hint?
[Or a cheat code? Unlike Suguru, Satoru isn't a stickler for the rules, and he doesn't mind prolonging this exchange an unnecessary amount. After a day exploring the woods on his own, and after a couple of days stewing in the emotions that resulted from their hand-holding session, he needed this: a little bit of attention. A little bit of a reminder that things could be friendly, fun, fond, even if complicated and risky.]
[a selfie is standard, given the sender, but the sight of familiar shades does give suguru pause. satoru's preferred accessory before bandages and blindfolds, yet another reminder of a time long since past—sometimes, as unfair as it is, the smallest details are what hit the hardest. suguru knows the truth of this as he remembers all the times he watched satoru take these glasses off, put these glasses on. all the times he took such matters into his own hands.
but—no, no. suguru takes a moment to consider possible prizes, ruling out the obvious things (re: sweets) that satoru would have mentioned. if satoru's prize is anything like suguru's rings—well. then this is an impossible game to win. a cheat code would be warranted.
and yet.]
Fine. I'll take a hint. I hope you're feeling generous.
[It is an impossible game, and Satoru knows this to be true. There's even less of a chance of Suguru guessing his reward as there was of Satoru guessing his dinner. The game is, in a sense, rigged against Suguru, but Satoru is interested in a prize. And even more than that, he's interested in keeping this amicable conversation going — in having a back-and-forth discussion (and game) that ends on a note of being able to continue their arrangement without the complications of their last meeting.
Eventually, he will need to rest again. And given this car, he may need Suguru's help at some point in the near future. However silly and ill-advised this game may be, it's what he needed. And maybe, given what Satoru has picked up from wearing the ring, it's what Suguru needed too.]
more generous than you
[Considering Suguru withheld! But he is feeling generous, among many other emotions, and hence:]
[more generous than you. suguru chuckles to himself, still caught somewhere between the knowledge that this is dangerous and that this is important—but it's an easy enough thing to set aside (though it shouldn't be) when satoru comes through with an actual clue. an... unhelpful clue, but a clue all the same. white hair, blue eyes, never knows when to shut up...
...for a single, solitary second, suguru imagines two satorus. impossible, he knows, and yet he can see it: two of them, side by side, whining and laughing in tandem.
but that nightmare scenario aside—what talks? a doll? an animal? oh, god, an animal—]
[Even the clownductor knows better than to offer Satoru a clone of himself. One of him is more than enough for this train, as most passengers would likely attest.
The next reply is accompanied with a flash of cheeky amusement, a more usual (and safer) emotion than many of the others Satoru has felt so far.]
are you asking for another hint
[Because someone sure is demanding, considering that he didn't want to offer any hints himself!
But as Suguru likely already knows, Satoru can be convinced to offer more...]
[yes, he is indeed asking for another hint—but of course he doesn't want to outright admit it. seeing an amused satoru is one thing; feeling an amused satoru is something else entirely. to sense someone's smugness from miles away...
but a hint would be helpful, so.]
I didn't ask anything. You could at least confirm that your prize isn't alive.
[since he's the one setting up their shelter! or... something.]
[Whereas before Satoru was running the gamut of difficult emotions — thinking about Suguru, how they left things between them, and all the weight of their past and present combined — right now Satoru is just having fun. Uncomplicated, amusing fun, like their games used to be. He could dwell on why that's a problem, or school himself to being more serious about this situation (and Suguru as a whole), but Satoru could use the break. There's enough bleakness in this train car (and in their history) already. So he embraces this as a tiny, temporary refuge amongst the storm that is this train and everything it has tossed at them this far.]
if i tell you
and i still win
do i get to pick my own prize
[Because he has something in mind. Something that will likely annoy Suguru, but will be harmless, and hopefully free of the complications that would come from requesting other, more meaningful belongings from Suguru's limited pool — such as the something that Suguru held in the museum.]
[suguru knows a trap when he sees one? and this is, without a doubt, a trap, albeit of the (mostly) harmless variety. satoru, making the most of this situation because he knows that suguru won't win—and of course suguru knows this, as well. guessing satoru's prize is an altogether impossible task.
(and there is the chance that satoru could demand something ridiculous as a prize—that satoru has something ridiculous in mind at this very moment—but let's be honest: it isn't as though suguru has a prize in mind. this could possibly work out to his benefit! maybe.)]
This isn't a very generous deal.
[haha! just looping back around to that point because he can, but—]
[Suguru has him there: this isn't exactly generous! But the first hints were for free, and Satoru might argue that point for the sake of prolonging this even further. But truth be told, he's been in the woods for a while now, and wouldn't mind an excuse to head back somewhere where he can safely rest and eat a meal of questionable unsweetened food. The prize gives him an excuse to find Suguru's camp and make himself comfortable again, for a short while.
And since Suguru agreed to his terms, which surely he knows includes Satoru coming to claim the prize he chooses, he simply replies:]
[the relief suguru feels? the relief suguru feels. the chances of it being a living, breathing creature were slim, yes, but the thought of satoru becoming the caretaker of a white-furred, blue-eyed cat, or dog, or whatever else... there is only so much room in their shelter(s), and god forbid a satoru-like creature take up an undue amount of space...
that aside, though: ah. that leaves talking as suguru's only hint—and while defeat is inevitable, suguru still takes a few minutes to think this through. the options are so limited; in the end, it comes right back around to:]
A doll?
[a satoru gojo™ doll, featuring satoru gojo™ catchphrases. that would track.]
There's that flash of somewhat smug amusement again, even though Suguru was actually pretty close with his guess. If he had more chances, Satoru is sure he would have gotten it right, which is exactly why this game is traditionally limited to three tries. Given more, Suguru would easily narrow it down, no matter how obscure the gift.
Time for the reveal! Suguru receives (1) video clip of the long furby. It babbles in a way that seems to be celebrating Satoru's victory, with phrases like "Wah!" and "Yippee!" Behold, Satoru's survey reward, blinking its creepy blue eyes!]
i win!
[Guess who's starting to make his way out of the woods to claim his prize?]
[or: satoru's win was expected; a snake-like furby was not, hence that jolt of genuine surprise. it's been years—decades—since suguru has seen, let alone thought of, furbies, but he's fairly certain they weren't so... long...
...but such a weird, unexpected twist makes this prize, like, perfectly satoru? as does the chatter, which suguru knows will grow tiresome in under a day—and that satoru will encourage at every available opportunity. this is what suguru gets for wishing to avoid a silent camp! this is the price he must pay.
speaking of camp—suguru glances down at his bowl of slop, wondering if satoru is planning to hurry on over to gloat. the answer is, of course, obvious; satoru never has been a very patient individual, so. time to stand up at last, sending one last text before he leaves this (rather miserable) establishment.]
That looks like a doll to me.
[google says it's more of a toy than a doll, but details, details. maybe this is suguru once again seeking ways to prolong this conversation? maybe this is a distraction as he heads back to their newest shared space: a drafty, one-room shack situated on the village outskirts. at least there's a bed! peasant living at its finest.]
[Sensing a brief flash of surprise, Satoru grins as he walks through the woods, heading in the direction of the village. In a way, catching Suguru off guard is a prize in and of itself; it's been so long since Satoru has seen true surprise on his face that he has trouble picturing it. But the distance of text messages is what allowed them to play this game at all, so he accepts it in the form in which he experiences it. The rings complicate matters for them, considering the many emotions they reveal, but when it comes to something small and harmless like picking up on a small bout of surprise — Satoru is glad he decided to claim one of them for himself.]
no way
[He types as he walks; it doesn't take him too long to near the edge of the woods, and since he's already taken care of a couple of monsters, he isn't interrupted by anything on his way.]
don't tell me you don't know the difference between a doll and a furby
[They're worlds apart! And Satoru will die on the hill of those technicalities because he wants his prize.]
[later—when he's alone with both his thoughts and his ring—suguru will continue considering the implications of this connection? the possible advantages and the definite drawbacks, for these rings are uncomfortably invasive; they run the risk of revealing truths that, for the sake of this temporary team-up, need to remain hidden from view. nothing good will come of nostalgia.
and yet this disagreement, if it can even be called that, is nostalgic? this is precisely the sort of thing they'd argue about after class, sending shoko wandering away to search for better company—which means that suguru should end it, not indulge it.
but, well—]
Children play with both. That makes your doll the perfect prize.
[he's just sayin'.
anyway, with that said, it's shaping up to be a bitterly cold evening; suguru's fingers can only take so much, which is why he tucks his phone back into his pocket before picking up his pace. the shack isn't too far? yet another camp left in sprinkles' care—and as satoru has apparently made it his goal to spoil the curse, suguru is aiming to make it back before satoru has the chance.]
[It is cold, and that's even more apparent when Satoru leaves the woods and no longer has the cover of trees to break up the wind. His Infinity helps buffer him against strong gusts, but he has no control over the accompanying temperature, and so he feels an ache in his fingers as he texts Suguru back. But Satoru is undeterred by the weather, especially when it comes to silly arguments that seem plucked out of simpler times.
And a furby is not a doll.]
you're jealous huh
[Who wouldn't want a furby with which to lighten the dour mood and various threats of this car? The rings serve a purpose, sure, but they're also dangerous.
(Granted, his furby isn't without risks of its own, but details.)
Satoru has been doing his part on getting his acquaintances' minds off of illnesses and the like with his prize, which he wears over his neck to compliment his obnoxious suit up until he gets close to Suguru's shack. As fun as it would be to inflict Whipped Cream on Suguru immediately, Satoru decides to hang it from a nearby tree, keeping them both safe from clumsy mishaps for the time being (and potentially frightening anyone who nears their camp). Then he faces the shack.
It's — a letdown. Maybe not as much of a letdown as the treehouse, but Satoru was holding out hope for something a little more comfortable, or at least something that looks like it can withstand the elements. There's a mansion in town, so the least the housing app could give them is a building that won't blow over in the next storm. And while Satoru takes most things in stride, living in squalor doesn't exactly come naturally to him.
At least he'll actually fit in this shack, instead of it being a repeat of the treehouse.
As he nears the sad excuse for shelter, he whistles for Sprinkles, who happily trots over to him. Curses generally don't care about the weather, but after lavishing it with pets, Satoru tells it to come inside to warm up with him. Sprinkles obeys and follows Satoru up to the door.
Satoru hesitates, only for a fraction of a second, taking the time to think about the ring around his finger and recall the cost of the last two times he and Suguru met up. For all that they may have indulged nostalgic games, the situation between them remains the same. And for all the ring has given him glimpses into Suguru's emotions, it serves as a reminder of Suguru grasping his hand.
When he enters the shack, he's greeted not with warm air, but with a more muted chill, making it immediately evident that the one-room building did not come with a heater or stove. And for the first time, Satoru's typical good humor is interrupted by a little, tiny blip of homesickness that he immediately ignores in favor of banging his cane on the floor and declaring:]
I'm here for my prize.
[And so is Sprinkles! Coming through the door right on his heels. Satoru closes the door behind him, because it's cold enough in this shack.
And because busying himself with canes and doors alike makes it a little bit easier to face Suguru in person once again.]
Edited (late edits for my late night tag) 2021-09-09 08:04 (UTC)
[the interior of the shack is marginally better than its exterior? the walls are paper-thin, yes, but there's a small table with two chairs shoved into a corner; there's a chest in which to stash valuables; there's that aforementioned bed, covered with both a clean quilt and (hopefully) clean furs. it could be worse!
it could also be much, much better, given that two people will be sharing this space. something suguru gives actual thought as he settles at the table, sensing satoru's approach—and then hearing him in the "yard," cooing to the curse suguru purposely allowed to continue wandering about. seeking and/or offering distractions is a weak strategy; it doesn't prevent so much as it postpones, but the memory of their last meeting is impossible to avoid. as sensible as drawing that line in the sand was, suguru does not want a repeat performance.
(but how does one effectively straddle that line? how do they effectively straddle that line? there's too much to ignore, too much to forget.)
thankfully, however, satoru proves as effective a distraction as ever, choosing to make an unnecessarily loud entrance simply because he can—while wearing an unnecessarily loud outfit. not a true surprise, thanks to satoru's many selfies, but as suguru takes in this suit and the cane...
...sprinkles ambles over to the table, investigating the floor beneath it just in case its master, like, dropped some tasty crumbs; suguru pays it absolutely no mind, because for the second time this evening: what in god's name is going on? how is he supposed to once again exist in the strange space between serious and ridiculous? satoru's specialty, perhaps, but it's been years since suguru has been caught up in this whirlwind; it's difficult to judge what is up and what is down.
so as suguru sits back in his chair, just barely raising a brow, he simply says the first thing that comes to mind:]
[The bed is what Satoru looks at first, once he's done fussing with the door. In part, because it is the largest piece of furniture in the small shack, but also because it offers another diversion — another focal point he uses to ground himself in preparation for the evening ahead. The bed looks more inviting than it should, considering the state of the shack as a whole, but that's because it's the only source of potential warmth. Regardless, there's a complaint preloaded on Satoru's tongue, because while he likes to think he's a grin and bear it kind of guy, he's also used to the bear it part of life being a little kinder to him — and having the means to adjust it if necessary.
But Satoru doesn't get to make his complaint, because Suguru chooses to comment on his outfit instead. In response, Satoru dramatically turns his attention to him with a pleased grin. He didn't get to choose his clothing, but the outfit is a good ice breaker, and on top of that, it fits him: obnoxious in pattern and color, with an unnecessary cane that he now tosses up in the air and effortlessly catches, showing off and giving something else for Suguru to take in and potentially disapprove. Better than giving them space to consider the tension that still exists between them, however muted it may be in the wake of their text message games.]
Why not?
[He finally steps across the shack to the small table, since he is here for a purpose, and that purpose is to take something from Suguru — something benign but personal, that can serve as his prize without adding yet another ripple to their truce. Once the gap is crossed, he sets one hand on the vacant chair's back, and holds out the cane with the other, so Suguru can get a better look at the knob. Or even take it and try it out for himself!
Sprinkles inspects it first, lifting its head from its search for crumbs to give Satoru the attention he's looking for.]
My win's worth celebrating.
[He meets Suguru's eyes as he makes that declaration, still grinning, though he feels a little internally unsteady — and tries not to wonder too hard about who he most expects to alter the tone of this meeting: Suguru, or himself.
As always, Satoru relies on his antics to pull them through this initial uncertainty — albeit from a distance this time.]
You should try out the Smoke and Mirrors app. Your costume clashes with this car.
[To be fair, Satoru's kind of does too, given its vibrancy, but hey.]
[suguru, still caught up in this getup, only notices he's effectively trapped himself once satoru comes closer. the wall is at his back, and the bed is taking up far too much space off to his side; there is nowhere to go and nothing to focus on, aside from satoru himself—and it isn't that suguru is a coward. there is little he's afraid of, least of all satoru encroaching upon his space, but given their last encounter... given satoru's propensity for taking things too far, too fast...
...well. this encounter is a test, of sorts; suguru would very much like for it to go well, because there's no telling how many more cars they'll need to work through before they find the exit. there's no avoiding one another? if this partnership is to work, satoru needs to return to camp in a timely manner as opposed to pushing himself to his absolute limits.
but there is a difference between recognizing the optimal option and actually pursuing it. as easy as this is—giving that cane a cursory look before shifting his attention upward, offering satoru a look that says, in short: really?—suguru is all too aware that such interactions always taken an emotional toll. he will think of all that he willingly sacrificed; satoru will remember all that he lost; they will both wind up nursing wounds that will be all but impossible to hide, thanks to these rings. neither of them win.
is it better, then, for one of them to lose?
the coldly rational answer is yes—but suguru feels satoru's underlying uncertainty; it's matched by his own, which is perhaps why he's able to relax that much further.]
And yours doesn't? [so far as suguru can tell, it clashes with absolutely everything in this dim and dreary town—something he confirms with another brief once-over, a short hum escaping him as his eyes find their way back to satoru's.] I think I'll pass.
[for now. give him a day or two and he will make a very, very bad decision, but until then he's free to sit here and judge? to reach out for the knob of that cane at last, albeit only to push it back satoru's way. he can only imaging the townspeople and/or passengers satoru has already annoyed with this thing...]
Unless that's your prize.
[bringing this conversation back to its purpose, because honestly, forcing suguru to wear a matching suit sounds like a very satoru thing to do.
[There is still a ring around Satoru's finger — he glances at it as he looks down at Suguru's hand pushing the cane away — and it continues to serve as a reminder of the cost of the last time he and Suguru spent an evening together. But facing Suguru as he is now, the ring also serves as a physical symbol of how intertwined they truly are. Linked by cursed energy, bound by vows, and now joined by jewelry, he and Suguru are as they were years before: inseparable.
And that isn't easy to stomach, when inseparable now means something entirely different than it once did. Now, the space between them can only be crossed with a significant amount of thought paid to emotional defenses. Both of them made sacrifices to link themselves together, and they continue to pay the price every time they meet. In this space, Satoru has no choice but to look upon Suguru not for who he once was, but for who he might be at the end of all of this — an inevitability looming before them both.
Old wounds are still so easily opened, never truly healed, raw under every weighted gaze and the tightening of fingers around something they should not have held in the first place.
(Do you? Suguru had asked.
But the truth is it wasn't long enough. Satoru had always wished for more time.)
The impulse is there: Satoru nearly shoves the cane back in Suguru's direction. He almost laughs and reaches for the prize he has in mind, pulling it free as he would have years ago, as though the wound isn't gaping between them. Satoru considers picking because it's easier for him to make the wound worse than acknowledge it at all. Because he's as stuck as Suguru, and when he picks up on Suguru's uncertainty relaxing, his knee-jerk reaction is to double down against his own.
But Suguru reached out to him with a gesture, and Satoru recognizes the game for what it was.
So this is what Satoru does:
He tempers his grin into a measured smile. He pulls back from Suguru's space, leans his cane against the wall, and takes a seat in the chair opposite of him. Whereas he normally would spread himself to take up what minimal space is available, bumping his foot against Suguru's or stretching his arms out on the small table, he contains himself — simply leans back in the chair, keeping all his limbs to himself in the process.
He allows Suguru to refocus them on the topic, and he says:]
Nah, it's nothing that extreme.
[Though Suguru is right; it would have been, those years ago. Satoru would have enjoyed seeing him walk through town in something as loud as his own suit. But back then, Satoru would have been walking alongside him, watching for reactions. Now, he and Suguru operate independently until they have no choice.
The prize itself is therefore simple.]
Your hair tie.
[Satoru doesn't take. He asks. And in doing so, he keeps that line set firmly between them. Because whereas Satoru himself has pulled Suguru's hair tie free many times before — out of curiosity, in an effort to tease, or so he could run his fingers through Suguru's hair with a slow, gentle touch that Satoru would offer to no other — now he simply rests his hand on his side of the table, his palm facing up, a gesture of his own.]
[age allegedly comes with all manner of things: wisdom, patience, restraint. the willingness and the ability to pull in the reins, which once seemed impossible for someone as excessive as satoru—and yet here is satoru, slipping back into his own space as opposed to demanding more of suguru's. impressive, really. as suguru watches satoru settle into his seat, suguru is once again confronted by the fact that they are both different people; they have both changed, have both grown, and this is satoru both recognizing and respecting that. the line between them is legitimized.
which should be a relief—and it is, in its way, but something within suguru twists all the same.
(because what suguru always admired about satoru—what suguru liked best—was satoru's refusal to conform. oh, it could be frustrating; suguru was often the bridge, the tether, the person tasked with keeping satoru in check, but wasn't it fun to be swept up in it all? to ignore what was expected and to do what he pleased, if only for a time.)
but this new, subdued version of satoru is what suguru all but demanded in the last car, and thus suguru is forced to accept it. nothing that extreme, satoru says. of course not. maintaining a certain distance is their new "normal."
and that should make satoru's chosen prize—what? simpler? motive- and meaning-free? a hair tie is such a small thing, after all; it's certainly better than satoru requesting the prize he'd missed in the museum car, and yet, as suguru studies him for a moment, suguru considers how strangely intimate an item a hair tie is. something that is worn day in, day out; something that few are ever allowed to touch. he wonders, then, what makes this a worthwhile prize in satoru's mind: its personal nature, or the minor inconvenience it poses...
...but there is satoru's upturned hand, kept at a respectful distance.]
That's all?
[an amused exhale—a not-quite-laugh—as suguru brings a hand to the back of his head, slipping a finger beneath the tie looped about the base of his bun. it doesn't take him long at all to unwind it; a few practiced twists of his wrist and his hair is free, much of it falling forward to frame his face. it's sure to irritate suguru in a day or so, but for now, with the smallest of smiles:]
Trying out a new hairstyle to match your new outfit?
[it could be stunning. but that aside: with his hair tie now dangling from the tip of his pointer finger, suguru stretches forward, entering satoru's space to present his prize—and if suguru lingers? if he chooses not to drop the hair tie, but to press it to satoru's palm with the tips of his fingers, testing the infinity between them? that, too, is a gesture.]
He told himself it was due to the benign nature of the object — something small and noninvasive, free of the complications that come with Suguru's other, very limited belongings. He figured he'd get a little enjoyment out of seeing Suguru annoyed at his hair falling into his face whenever their paths cross. And it seemed like a harmless way to gloat, free of the tension that could arise from less subtle rewards: Satoru would wear the band around his wrist, Suguru would know it is there, and there would be no repercussions to the way Satoru occasionally hiked up his sleeve to remind him of his win.
But when Suguru reaches behind himself to remove the tie, Satoru's attention is entirely arrested by the way his hair falls free around his face. He finds himself resisting yet another impulse: the desire to reach, to touch, to tuck the strands away.
The last time Satoru saw Suguru with his hair down, Suguru breathed his last.
And maybe that's the reason behind the slight hitch in his chest as Suguru holds the tie between them — as Suguru crosses the line between them to touch. Maybe that's why Satoru's Infinity allows him in without so much as a conscious thought, inviting the contact of his finger against his palm. Maybe that's why Satoru closes his hand before Suguru can pull away, catching both the tie and his finger for a fleeting moment.
Or maybe, for all that Satoru is trying to restrain himself, he can't hold back from asking for a little more — from accepting that which Suguru is giving freely, then chasing it before it fades, seeking to prolong something that, for once, does not feel like it is plucked from the past, but born entirely of the present.
Briefly, Satoru's fingers close, and when he chooses to pull away — capturing the hair tie, but removing himself from Suguru's hand — it is less due to reining himself in than it is the fact that Suguru's touch is cold. And that, too, makes him think of the last time he saw Suguru with his hair down.]
I would...
[He speaks with as playful of a tone as ever, dropping his attention to the hair tie in the center of his palm, opening his hand to reveal the simple prize. Easier to look at the tie itself than to think of the many ways in which he could brush back the burden of unruly hair from Suguru's face. Easier to slip the tie about his wrist than to consider how the loose strands soften Suguru's features, making him appear younger.]
But where's the fun in that?
[To use the tie for its intended purpose would make it functional, a prize claimed for a reason, which takes away from the minor inconvenience of losing it. Hence, it becomes a bracelet for the foreseeable future.
Even the stupidest prizes have a cost, Satoru thinks. And when the band is snug around his wrist, he pulls it taut, then releases it, allowing it to snap against his skin. On the surface, this is as obnoxious of a move as Satoru banging his cane. But this, too, becomes a kind of reminder.
Then he holds his wrist up, still firmly behind the line that exists between them.]
I'll wear it like this.
[And only then does he meet Suguru's eyes again, that smile still on his lips, only smaller now — weakened, when he considers Suguru's hair, Suguru's touch, and the elasticity of a band stretched a little too far.]
[initiating contact is not a mindless action; there is a reason for it, though, if pressed, suguru would find it difficult to nail down. is it a test? a reward for good behavior, as patronizing as that absolutely is? the simple desire to touch? suguru would like to think it's anything but—and yet, as satoru's fingers loosely close over his own, there it is: an unmistakable, undeniable spark of something, serving as both a temptation and a warning. ah.
even the smallest indulgences are dangerous, as suguru well knows. they are often the start to something larger, a snowball that grows and grows and grows as it rolls, unchecked, down a steep hill—but suguru sets his sense to the side, for the moment. ignores all that he expects of himself in order to do what seems, feels, fitting, because satoru once again let him in; the least suguru can do is stay.
(while thinking, stupidly, of how easy it would be to twist his hand, fingers finding their way between satoru's. another gesture; a far more meaningful one, at that, but the price is too high, too high.)
satoru, however, remains the responsible one, releasing suguru's fingers after only a few seconds. the briefest touch, as if this is a re-do of, or an apology for, seizing suguru's hand in camp—and suguru should be pleased; he supposes that he is, on some level, but as he draws his hand back to his side of the table, he glances down at it, wondering if this exchange was a step forward or a step back.
but it isn't over, is it? even as he watches satoru slide his prize over his wrist, suguru knows that everything has looped back to him—because there is something almost vulnerable about satoru, now. a sadness that suguru can sense, thanks to his ring, but he never needed that in the past; he could read satoru as easily as anything.
and some things are better left alone; maybe this—them—is one of them, but suguru considers the difference between closing this door between them or leaving it ajar. he could easily do either, depending on how he'd like to move forward; all it would take is the right (or wrong) words.
so.]
Don't break it.
[a mild chide as suguru places his elbow upon the table, resting his chin in the hand that satoru was (almost) holding a few seconds before. satoru's smile shrinks; suguru's smile softens, just barely, before he adds:]
I still have to win it back.
[an offering, small as it is. a tentative way forward.]
Edited (i TOLD you i'd mix up their names one day) 2021-09-11 05:15 (UTC)
[Those words, coupled with that small smile, catch Satoru off guard. It isn't what he expects to hear or see, despite being privy to the occasional glimpse into Suguru's emotions — despite the way Suguru touched his palm entirely on his own accord. Maybe Satoru is, to some degree, more guarded than he was at the beginning of this arrangement; maybe he's trying to keep himself rooted because Suguru is giving when he should be withholding. The chide is familiar, but the offering that follows is as dangerous as it is wanted — or rather, dangerous because it is wanted.
Each game they play returns them to a place that neither of them are meant to occupy; it will do nothing to stave away the inevitability of the end of their arrangement. It will put them at risk. And yet, if Satoru is as honest with himself as he has vowed to be with Suguru, he has no choice but to admit that he missed this. He missed the one and only person who understood him, who complemented him, who knew exactly what to say when Satoru felt less like the strongest and more like someone who might easily crack if given a just right amount of pressure.
Determined as he is to be responsible, to keep himself from pushing too far, there's only one answer that Satoru should give in reply. If Suguru will not shut the door now, before it's too late, then it should fall on to Satoru. All business, no pleasure, no games — Satoru should slam the door shut and look away. But if their time together on this train has proven anything at all, it's that Suguru is still, to this day, Satoru's weakness. Just as the sight of Suguru's body trapped Satoru in the prison realm, these words — this way forward — traps Satoru in a mess of his own making.
He says:]
You could try...
[And playfully trails off, the implication being that he is leaving the door as open as Suguru — that he will accept this tentative way forward, even if this path will prove painful.
Because that soft smile, the way that Suguru looks at him, the tone in which he delivers that comment — it reminds Satoru what it is like to be seen, known, and understood.
After that, the evening stretches on. Satoru eats his questionable meal, plays with Sprinkles, and takes up space in the small shack. Once night falls upon them and it comes time to rest, Satoru decides to stay. The atmosphere between him and Suguru is better after their game and subsequent prize exchange, and he really should rest, considering that this car promises to drain his energy quicker than the others, given the monsters and threats that lurk about. And failing to rest not only means that he could run out of energy, but also that he'll be at risk for contracting the mysterious illness plaguing this car. Rest is more important than ever.
For both of them. Suguru's well-being is also on Satoru's mind, and that's why he decides to mess around with the Happy Home app himself. It's safest for Satoru to stay in the same building as Suguru so he's protected while his technique is down, but it isn't wise for either of them to sleep on the cold floor without sufficient bedding. He therefore attempts to make a shelter of his own so he can bring a mattress, blankets, and any other useful furniture to Suguru's shack.
When he returns ten minutes later, he's empty handed.]
The app crashed.
[And now won't work at all! There's a friendly error message about trying again later, but Satoru is skeptical. This train hasn't exactly proven to have anyone's best interests in mind.
But there's nothing he can do, given the shortages of supplies due to the illness sweeping through the car, except walk over to the bed and take inventory of the blankets and furs. There aren't enough to make a reasonable pallet on the floor, and under normal circumstances, that wouldn't be a huge deal. But with the threats of this car...]
We've got to share.
[He says it with some amusement, although he knows that situation is, once again, too much. They've only barely just repaired what was ripped open when they held hands; to indulge such close proximity again would be foolish.
But they both need to sleep. Neither of them can afford to hit a wall of exhaustion and get sick. They're in this together, and that includes relying on each other's good health.
So! Satoru tosses a pillow at Suguru, attempting to keep things easy between them despite yet another difficult choice.]
You better not snore.
[Satoru is more likely to snore, especially given how hard he'll sleep when he finally manages it, considering all the energy he has to replenish. But once again, it's easier to treat this situation as lightly as the rest.]
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and yet, as suguru teeters on the edge of discomfort—ah. he is unprepared for a wisp of what is clearly fondness; it sends him straightening in his seat, pleased despite himself—how could he not be?—but also momentarily taken aback. he, himself, has felt flickers of fondness throughout this exchange; that was his own weakness coming into play, but satoru has been—
—well. it's a dangerous game they play; of this there is no doubt, but suguru looks at the stupid picture satoru sent his way, recognizing the emotion as a signal meant to accompany it. yes, i have a ring; no, it wasn't my prize. so satoru is a thief...
suguru, naturally, wonders if it was only because satoru felt entitled to half of the hand-holding prize? turns over the possibilities, both good and bad, in his mind even as fires off his second guess of the evening:]
Sunglasses?
[he has a perfectly good blindfold, but.]
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[It would be a good guess if the clownductor didn't have a weird sense of humor in granting Satoru the prize that he did (and, apparently, a desire to meddle, considering the prize that Suguru received and of which Satoru claimed half). But Satoru arrived on this train with only one belonging: his blackout shades, which he now pauses to exchange for his blindfold. Then he sends yet another selfie, this time of his face alone, staring at the camera just over his shades, a smirk on his lips.]
last chance
want a hint?
[Or a cheat code? Unlike Suguru, Satoru isn't a stickler for the rules, and he doesn't mind prolonging this exchange an unnecessary amount. After a day exploring the woods on his own, and after a couple of days stewing in the emotions that resulted from their hand-holding session, he needed this: a little bit of attention. A little bit of a reminder that things could be friendly, fun, fond, even if complicated and risky.]
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but—no, no. suguru takes a moment to consider possible prizes, ruling out the obvious things (re: sweets) that satoru would have mentioned. if satoru's prize is anything like suguru's rings—well. then this is an impossible game to win. a cheat code would be warranted.
and yet.]
Fine. I'll take a hint.
I hope you're feeling generous.
[no hidden costs, please.]
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Eventually, he will need to rest again. And given this car, he may need Suguru's help at some point in the near future. However silly and ill-advised this game may be, it's what he needed. And maybe, given what Satoru has picked up from wearing the ring, it's what Suguru needed too.]
more generous than you
[Considering Suguru withheld! But he is feeling generous, among many other emotions, and hence:]
it has blue eyes
white hair
and talks a lot
[Like someone they know!]
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...for a single, solitary second, suguru imagines two satorus. impossible, he knows, and yet he can see it: two of them, side by side, whining and laughing in tandem.
but that nightmare scenario aside—what talks? a doll? an animal? oh, god, an animal—]
It can't be alive.
[can it?? now who's bending the rules...]
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The next reply is accompanied with a flash of cheeky amusement, a more usual (and safer) emotion than many of the others Satoru has felt so far.]
are you asking for another hint
[Because someone sure is demanding, considering that he didn't want to offer any hints himself!
But as Suguru likely already knows, Satoru can be convinced to offer more...]
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but a hint would be helpful, so.]
I didn't ask anything.
You could at least confirm that your prize isn't alive.
[since he's the one setting up their shelter! or... something.]
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if i tell you
and i still win
do i get to pick my own prize
[Because he has something in mind. Something that will likely annoy Suguru, but will be harmless, and hopefully free of the complications that would come from requesting other, more meaningful belongings from Suguru's limited pool — such as the something that Suguru held in the museum.]
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(and there is the chance that satoru could demand something ridiculous as a prize—that satoru has something ridiculous in mind at this very moment—but let's be honest: it isn't as though suguru has a prize in mind. this could possibly work out to his benefit! maybe.)]
This isn't a very generous deal.
[haha! just looping back around to that point because he can, but—]
Fine.
Is it alive?
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And since Suguru agreed to his terms, which surely he knows includes Satoru coming to claim the prize he chooses, he simply replies:]
nope!
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[the relief suguru feels? the relief suguru feels. the chances of it being a living, breathing creature were slim, yes, but the thought of satoru becoming the caretaker of a white-furred, blue-eyed cat, or dog, or whatever else... there is only so much room in their shelter(s), and god forbid a satoru-like creature take up an undue amount of space...
that aside, though: ah. that leaves talking as suguru's only hint—and while defeat is inevitable, suguru still takes a few minutes to think this through. the options are so limited; in the end, it comes right back around to:]
A doll?
[a satoru gojo™ doll, featuring satoru gojo™ catchphrases. that would track.]
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[After all those hints!
There's that flash of somewhat smug amusement again, even though Suguru was actually pretty close with his guess. If he had more chances, Satoru is sure he would have gotten it right, which is exactly why this game is traditionally limited to three tries. Given more, Suguru would easily narrow it down, no matter how obscure the gift.
Time for the reveal! Suguru receives (1) video clip of the long furby. It babbles in a way that seems to be celebrating Satoru's victory, with phrases like "Wah!" and "Yippee!" Behold, Satoru's survey reward, blinking its creepy blue eyes!]
i win!
[Guess who's starting to make his way out of the woods to claim his prize?]
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...but such a weird, unexpected twist makes this prize, like, perfectly satoru? as does the chatter, which suguru knows will grow tiresome in under a day—and that satoru will encourage at every available opportunity. this is what suguru gets for wishing to avoid a silent camp! this is the price he must pay.
speaking of camp—suguru glances down at his bowl of slop, wondering if satoru is planning to hurry on over to gloat. the answer is, of course, obvious; satoru never has been a very patient individual, so. time to stand up at last, sending one last text before he leaves this (rather miserable) establishment.]
That looks like a doll to me.
[google says it's more of a toy than a doll, but details, details. maybe this is suguru once again seeking ways to prolong this conversation? maybe this is a distraction as he heads back to their newest shared space: a drafty, one-room shack situated on the village outskirts. at least there's a bed! peasant living at its finest.]
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no way
[He types as he walks; it doesn't take him too long to near the edge of the woods, and since he's already taken care of a couple of monsters, he isn't interrupted by anything on his way.]
don't tell me you don't know the difference between a doll and a furby
[They're worlds apart! And Satoru will die on the hill of those technicalities because he wants his prize.]
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and yet this disagreement, if it can even be called that, is nostalgic? this is precisely the sort of thing they'd argue about after class, sending shoko wandering away to search for better company—which means that suguru should end it, not indulge it.
but, well—]
Children play with both.
That makes your doll the perfect prize.
[he's just sayin'.
anyway, with that said, it's shaping up to be a bitterly cold evening; suguru's fingers can only take so much, which is why he tucks his phone back into his pocket before picking up his pace. the shack isn't too far? yet another camp left in sprinkles' care—and as satoru has apparently made it his goal to spoil the curse, suguru is aiming to make it back before satoru has the chance.]
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And a furby is not a doll.]
you're jealous huh
[Who wouldn't want a furby with which to lighten the dour mood and various threats of this car? The rings serve a purpose, sure, but they're also dangerous.
(Granted, his furby isn't without risks of its own, but details.)
Satoru has been doing his part on getting his acquaintances' minds off of illnesses and the like with his prize, which he wears over his neck to compliment his obnoxious suit up until he gets close to Suguru's shack. As fun as it would be to inflict Whipped Cream on Suguru immediately, Satoru decides to hang it from a nearby tree, keeping them both safe from clumsy mishaps for the time being (and potentially frightening anyone who nears their camp). Then he faces the shack.
It's — a letdown. Maybe not as much of a letdown as the treehouse, but Satoru was holding out hope for something a little more comfortable, or at least something that looks like it can withstand the elements. There's a mansion in town, so the least the housing app could give them is a building that won't blow over in the next storm. And while Satoru takes most things in stride, living in squalor doesn't exactly come naturally to him.
At least he'll actually fit in this shack, instead of it being a repeat of the treehouse.
As he nears the sad excuse for shelter, he whistles for Sprinkles, who happily trots over to him. Curses generally don't care about the weather, but after lavishing it with pets, Satoru tells it to come inside to warm up with him. Sprinkles obeys and follows Satoru up to the door.
Satoru hesitates, only for a fraction of a second, taking the time to think about the ring around his finger and recall the cost of the last two times he and Suguru met up. For all that they may have indulged nostalgic games, the situation between them remains the same. And for all the ring has given him glimpses into Suguru's emotions, it serves as a reminder of Suguru grasping his hand.
When he enters the shack, he's greeted not with warm air, but with a more muted chill, making it immediately evident that the one-room building did not come with a heater or stove. And for the first time, Satoru's typical good humor is interrupted by a little, tiny blip of homesickness that he immediately ignores in favor of banging his cane on the floor and declaring:]
I'm here for my prize.
[And so is Sprinkles! Coming through the door right on his heels. Satoru closes the door behind him, because it's cold enough in this shack.
And because busying himself with canes and doors alike makes it a little bit easier to face Suguru in person once again.]
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it could also be much, much better, given that two people will be sharing this space. something suguru gives actual thought as he settles at the table, sensing satoru's approach—and then hearing him in the "yard," cooing to the curse suguru purposely allowed to continue wandering about. seeking and/or offering distractions is a weak strategy; it doesn't prevent so much as it postpones, but the memory of their last meeting is impossible to avoid. as sensible as drawing that line in the sand was, suguru does not want a repeat performance.
(but how does one effectively straddle that line? how do they effectively straddle that line? there's too much to ignore, too much to forget.)
thankfully, however, satoru proves as effective a distraction as ever, choosing to make an unnecessarily loud entrance simply because he can—while wearing an unnecessarily loud outfit. not a true surprise, thanks to satoru's many selfies, but as suguru takes in this suit and the cane...
...sprinkles ambles over to the table, investigating the floor beneath it just in case its master, like, dropped some tasty crumbs; suguru pays it absolutely no mind, because for the second time this evening: what in god's name is going on? how is he supposed to once again exist in the strange space between serious and ridiculous? satoru's specialty, perhaps, but it's been years since suguru has been caught up in this whirlwind; it's difficult to judge what is up and what is down.
so as suguru sits back in his chair, just barely raising a brow, he simply says the first thing that comes to mind:]
You didn't need to dress up for it.
[lordy.]
that icon lol
But Satoru doesn't get to make his complaint, because Suguru chooses to comment on his outfit instead. In response, Satoru dramatically turns his attention to him with a pleased grin. He didn't get to choose his clothing, but the outfit is a good ice breaker, and on top of that, it fits him: obnoxious in pattern and color, with an unnecessary cane that he now tosses up in the air and effortlessly catches, showing off and giving something else for Suguru to take in and potentially disapprove. Better than giving them space to consider the tension that still exists between them, however muted it may be in the wake of their text message games.]
Why not?
[He finally steps across the shack to the small table, since he is here for a purpose, and that purpose is to take something from Suguru — something benign but personal, that can serve as his prize without adding yet another ripple to their truce. Once the gap is crossed, he sets one hand on the vacant chair's back, and holds out the cane with the other, so Suguru can get a better look at the knob. Or even take it and try it out for himself!
Sprinkles inspects it first, lifting its head from its search for crumbs to give Satoru the attention he's looking for.]
My win's worth celebrating.
[He meets Suguru's eyes as he makes that declaration, still grinning, though he feels a little internally unsteady — and tries not to wonder too hard about who he most expects to alter the tone of this meeting: Suguru, or himself.
As always, Satoru relies on his antics to pull them through this initial uncertainty — albeit from a distance this time.]
You should try out the Smoke and Mirrors app. Your costume clashes with this car.
[To be fair, Satoru's kind of does too, given its vibrancy, but hey.]
geto judgment (tm)
...well. this encounter is a test, of sorts; suguru would very much like for it to go well, because there's no telling how many more cars they'll need to work through before they find the exit. there's no avoiding one another? if this partnership is to work, satoru needs to return to camp in a timely manner as opposed to pushing himself to his absolute limits.
but there is a difference between recognizing the optimal option and actually pursuing it. as easy as this is—giving that cane a cursory look before shifting his attention upward, offering satoru a look that says, in short: really?—suguru is all too aware that such interactions always taken an emotional toll. he will think of all that he willingly sacrificed; satoru will remember all that he lost; they will both wind up nursing wounds that will be all but impossible to hide, thanks to these rings. neither of them win.
is it better, then, for one of them to lose?
the coldly rational answer is yes—but suguru feels satoru's underlying uncertainty; it's matched by his own, which is perhaps why he's able to relax that much further.]
And yours doesn't? [so far as suguru can tell, it clashes with absolutely everything in this dim and dreary town—something he confirms with another brief once-over, a short hum escaping him as his eyes find their way back to satoru's.] I think I'll pass.
[for now. give him a day or two and he will make a very, very bad decision, but until then he's free to sit here and judge? to reach out for the knob of that cane at last, albeit only to push it back satoru's way. he can only imaging the townspeople and/or passengers satoru has already annoyed with this thing...]
Unless that's your prize.
[bringing this conversation back to its purpose, because honestly, forcing suguru to wear a matching suit sounds like a very satoru thing to do.
(or it would have, anyway. once upon a time.)]
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And that isn't easy to stomach, when inseparable now means something entirely different than it once did. Now, the space between them can only be crossed with a significant amount of thought paid to emotional defenses. Both of them made sacrifices to link themselves together, and they continue to pay the price every time they meet. In this space, Satoru has no choice but to look upon Suguru not for who he once was, but for who he might be at the end of all of this — an inevitability looming before them both.
Old wounds are still so easily opened, never truly healed, raw under every weighted gaze and the tightening of fingers around something they should not have held in the first place.
(Do you? Suguru had asked.
But the truth is it wasn't long enough. Satoru had always wished for more time.)
The impulse is there: Satoru nearly shoves the cane back in Suguru's direction. He almost laughs and reaches for the prize he has in mind, pulling it free as he would have years ago, as though the wound isn't gaping between them. Satoru considers picking because it's easier for him to make the wound worse than acknowledge it at all. Because he's as stuck as Suguru, and when he picks up on Suguru's uncertainty relaxing, his knee-jerk reaction is to double down against his own.
But Suguru reached out to him with a gesture, and Satoru recognizes the game for what it was.
So this is what Satoru does:
He tempers his grin into a measured smile. He pulls back from Suguru's space, leans his cane against the wall, and takes a seat in the chair opposite of him. Whereas he normally would spread himself to take up what minimal space is available, bumping his foot against Suguru's or stretching his arms out on the small table, he contains himself — simply leans back in the chair, keeping all his limbs to himself in the process.
He allows Suguru to refocus them on the topic, and he says:]
Nah, it's nothing that extreme.
[Though Suguru is right; it would have been, those years ago. Satoru would have enjoyed seeing him walk through town in something as loud as his own suit. But back then, Satoru would have been walking alongside him, watching for reactions. Now, he and Suguru operate independently until they have no choice.
The prize itself is therefore simple.]
Your hair tie.
[Satoru doesn't take. He asks. And in doing so, he keeps that line set firmly between them. Because whereas Satoru himself has pulled Suguru's hair tie free many times before — out of curiosity, in an effort to tease, or so he could run his fingers through Suguru's hair with a slow, gentle touch that Satoru would offer to no other — now he simply rests his hand on his side of the table, his palm facing up, a gesture of his own.]
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which should be a relief—and it is, in its way, but something within suguru twists all the same.
(because what suguru always admired about satoru—what suguru liked best—was satoru's refusal to conform. oh, it could be frustrating; suguru was often the bridge, the tether, the person tasked with keeping satoru in check, but wasn't it fun to be swept up in it all? to ignore what was expected and to do what he pleased, if only for a time.)
but this new, subdued version of satoru is what suguru all but demanded in the last car, and thus suguru is forced to accept it. nothing that extreme, satoru says. of course not. maintaining a certain distance is their new "normal."
and that should make satoru's chosen prize—what? simpler? motive- and meaning-free? a hair tie is such a small thing, after all; it's certainly better than satoru requesting the prize he'd missed in the museum car, and yet, as suguru studies him for a moment, suguru considers how strangely intimate an item a hair tie is. something that is worn day in, day out; something that few are ever allowed to touch. he wonders, then, what makes this a worthwhile prize in satoru's mind: its personal nature, or the minor inconvenience it poses...
...but there is satoru's upturned hand, kept at a respectful distance.]
That's all?
[an amused exhale—a not-quite-laugh—as suguru brings a hand to the back of his head, slipping a finger beneath the tie looped about the base of his bun. it doesn't take him long at all to unwind it; a few practiced twists of his wrist and his hair is free, much of it falling forward to frame his face. it's sure to irritate suguru in a day or so, but for now, with the smallest of smiles:]
Trying out a new hairstyle to match your new outfit?
[it could be stunning. but that aside: with his hair tie now dangling from the tip of his pointer finger, suguru stretches forward, entering satoru's space to present his prize—and if suguru lingers? if he chooses not to drop the hair tie, but to press it to satoru's palm with the tips of his fingers, testing the infinity between them? that, too, is a gesture.]
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He told himself it was due to the benign nature of the object — something small and noninvasive, free of the complications that come with Suguru's other, very limited belongings. He figured he'd get a little enjoyment out of seeing Suguru annoyed at his hair falling into his face whenever their paths cross. And it seemed like a harmless way to gloat, free of the tension that could arise from less subtle rewards: Satoru would wear the band around his wrist, Suguru would know it is there, and there would be no repercussions to the way Satoru occasionally hiked up his sleeve to remind him of his win.
But when Suguru reaches behind himself to remove the tie, Satoru's attention is entirely arrested by the way his hair falls free around his face. He finds himself resisting yet another impulse: the desire to reach, to touch, to tuck the strands away.
The last time Satoru saw Suguru with his hair down, Suguru breathed his last.
And maybe that's the reason behind the slight hitch in his chest as Suguru holds the tie between them — as Suguru crosses the line between them to touch. Maybe that's why Satoru's Infinity allows him in without so much as a conscious thought, inviting the contact of his finger against his palm. Maybe that's why Satoru closes his hand before Suguru can pull away, catching both the tie and his finger for a fleeting moment.
Or maybe, for all that Satoru is trying to restrain himself, he can't hold back from asking for a little more — from accepting that which Suguru is giving freely, then chasing it before it fades, seeking to prolong something that, for once, does not feel like it is plucked from the past, but born entirely of the present.
Briefly, Satoru's fingers close, and when he chooses to pull away — capturing the hair tie, but removing himself from Suguru's hand — it is less due to reining himself in than it is the fact that Suguru's touch is cold. And that, too, makes him think of the last time he saw Suguru with his hair down.]
I would...
[He speaks with as playful of a tone as ever, dropping his attention to the hair tie in the center of his palm, opening his hand to reveal the simple prize. Easier to look at the tie itself than to think of the many ways in which he could brush back the burden of unruly hair from Suguru's face. Easier to slip the tie about his wrist than to consider how the loose strands soften Suguru's features, making him appear younger.]
But where's the fun in that?
[To use the tie for its intended purpose would make it functional, a prize claimed for a reason, which takes away from the minor inconvenience of losing it. Hence, it becomes a bracelet for the foreseeable future.
Even the stupidest prizes have a cost, Satoru thinks. And when the band is snug around his wrist, he pulls it taut, then releases it, allowing it to snap against his skin. On the surface, this is as obnoxious of a move as Satoru banging his cane. But this, too, becomes a kind of reminder.
Then he holds his wrist up, still firmly behind the line that exists between them.]
I'll wear it like this.
[And only then does he meet Suguru's eyes again, that smile still on his lips, only smaller now — weakened, when he considers Suguru's hair, Suguru's touch, and the elasticity of a band stretched a little too far.]
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even the smallest indulgences are dangerous, as suguru well knows. they are often the start to something larger, a snowball that grows and grows and grows as it rolls, unchecked, down a steep hill—but suguru sets his sense to the side, for the moment. ignores all that he expects of himself in order to do what seems, feels, fitting, because satoru once again let him in; the least suguru can do is stay.
(while thinking, stupidly, of how easy it would be to twist his hand, fingers finding their way between satoru's. another gesture; a far more meaningful one, at that, but the price is too high, too high.)
satoru, however, remains the responsible one, releasing suguru's fingers after only a few seconds. the briefest touch, as if this is a re-do of, or an apology for, seizing suguru's hand in camp—and suguru should be pleased; he supposes that he is, on some level, but as he draws his hand back to his side of the table, he glances down at it, wondering if this exchange was a step forward or a step back.
but it isn't over, is it? even as he watches satoru slide his prize over his wrist, suguru knows that everything has looped back to him—because there is something almost vulnerable about satoru, now. a sadness that suguru can sense, thanks to his ring, but he never needed that in the past; he could read satoru as easily as anything.
and some things are better left alone; maybe this—them—is one of them, but suguru considers the difference between closing this door between them or leaving it ajar. he could easily do either, depending on how he'd like to move forward; all it would take is the right (or wrong) words.
so.]
Don't break it.
[a mild chide as suguru places his elbow upon the table, resting his chin in the hand that satoru was (almost) holding a few seconds before. satoru's smile shrinks; suguru's smile softens, just barely, before he adds:]
I still have to win it back.
[an offering, small as it is. a tentative way forward.]
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Each game they play returns them to a place that neither of them are meant to occupy; it will do nothing to stave away the inevitability of the end of their arrangement. It will put them at risk. And yet, if Satoru is as honest with himself as he has vowed to be with Suguru, he has no choice but to admit that he missed this. He missed the one and only person who understood him, who complemented him, who knew exactly what to say when Satoru felt less like the strongest and more like someone who might easily crack if given a just right amount of pressure.
Determined as he is to be responsible, to keep himself from pushing too far, there's only one answer that Satoru should give in reply. If Suguru will not shut the door now, before it's too late, then it should fall on to Satoru. All business, no pleasure, no games — Satoru should slam the door shut and look away. But if their time together on this train has proven anything at all, it's that Suguru is still, to this day, Satoru's weakness. Just as the sight of Suguru's body trapped Satoru in the prison realm, these words — this way forward — traps Satoru in a mess of his own making.
He says:]
You could try...
[And playfully trails off, the implication being that he is leaving the door as open as Suguru — that he will accept this tentative way forward, even if this path will prove painful.
Because that soft smile, the way that Suguru looks at him, the tone in which he delivers that comment — it reminds Satoru what it is like to be seen, known, and understood.
After that, the evening stretches on. Satoru eats his questionable meal, plays with Sprinkles, and takes up space in the small shack. Once night falls upon them and it comes time to rest, Satoru decides to stay. The atmosphere between him and Suguru is better after their game and subsequent prize exchange, and he really should rest, considering that this car promises to drain his energy quicker than the others, given the monsters and threats that lurk about. And failing to rest not only means that he could run out of energy, but also that he'll be at risk for contracting the mysterious illness plaguing this car. Rest is more important than ever.
For both of them. Suguru's well-being is also on Satoru's mind, and that's why he decides to mess around with the Happy Home app himself. It's safest for Satoru to stay in the same building as Suguru so he's protected while his technique is down, but it isn't wise for either of them to sleep on the cold floor without sufficient bedding. He therefore attempts to make a shelter of his own so he can bring a mattress, blankets, and any other useful furniture to Suguru's shack.
When he returns ten minutes later, he's empty handed.]
The app crashed.
[And now won't work at all! There's a friendly error message about trying again later, but Satoru is skeptical. This train hasn't exactly proven to have anyone's best interests in mind.
But there's nothing he can do, given the shortages of supplies due to the illness sweeping through the car, except walk over to the bed and take inventory of the blankets and furs. There aren't enough to make a reasonable pallet on the floor, and under normal circumstances, that wouldn't be a huge deal. But with the threats of this car...]
We've got to share.
[He says it with some amusement, although he knows that situation is, once again, too much. They've only barely just repaired what was ripped open when they held hands; to indulge such close proximity again would be foolish.
But they both need to sleep. Neither of them can afford to hit a wall of exhaustion and get sick. They're in this together, and that includes relying on each other's good health.
So! Satoru tosses a pillow at Suguru, attempting to keep things easy between them despite yet another difficult choice.]
You better not snore.
[Satoru is more likely to snore, especially given how hard he'll sleep when he finally manages it, considering all the energy he has to replenish. But once again, it's easier to treat this situation as lightly as the rest.]
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