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There’s blood on his knees. Blood on his elbow, and cicada hum loud in his ears. Suguru pants, chokes on laughs, the sting of his tongue where he'd bitten it. The green grass fogs his vision, the hot day, the hot body on top of him stifling his thoughts. Satoru’s stomach heaves against his own, burning hot, shirts sticking together with summer sweat. Air seems to have remained in Satoru’s lungs, laughter falls with little shame from his wide mouth, white hair stuck to the damp corners.
“Holy shit!” Satoru laughs, shifts on Suguru, pawing his hair off his face so he can grin down at him. “Are ya dead?”
“No,” Suguru says. Spitting his own hair, and a few blades of grass out of his mouth. He reaches up to poke at the middle of Satoru’s glasses. Miraculously still perched on his nose. “But I will be if your heavy ass doesn’t get off.”
Satoru cackles and sits up. He goes no further, seeming content to sit right on Suguru’s sternum and tear his shirt open the rest of the way, flinging buttons.
“Yaga’s gonna stop getting you uniforms if you don’t cut that shit out,” Suguru says, turning his face into the cool grass. “Satoru, get off.”
“Mh, you make a great couch. I think I’ll stay.”
Suguru groans into the ground and sits up, forcing Satoru down into his lap which solves no problems and makes him regret everything up until this point.
“Where is the bike?”
Satoru snickers, wiggles in Suguru’s lap like an overgrown cat getting comfortable in a place it knows it shouldn’t be, and throws a thumb over his shoulder. The bike lays like a corpse cast off a building at the bottom of the stairs they had just fallen down. The front tire is still spinning shakily.
“Huh. I forgot those stairs were there.” Suguru mumbles. He reaches up to rub at a sore spot on his neck, rolling his head.
“Yeah, huh.”
Satoru looks way too excited over the fact that they just launched themselves off the top of a steep stone staircase on the only bike, Suguru’s bike, they have. He’s damn near vibrating where he sits, eyes peering wide and clear over the top of his glasses.
“Think the bike could handle it again?”
Suguru scoffs, physically shoving Satoru out of his lap. The other boy falls back dramatically, splaying his arms out. Now Satoru’s glasses do fall off his face, catching in his hair, bright and white against the grass. Like a lost cloud that drifted away from the sky.
Suguru looks pointedly away from him, standing to go and properly assess the damage done to the bike. The back rim is a little bent, the chain hangs lax, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.
“You gotta admit,” Satoru calls, “That was fucking fun.”
He can’t help it. Suguru looks up and over at him and grins. Showing his teeth, tasting grass, blood, fucking euphoria offered to him by the wind in his hair, Satoru’s laugh in his ear, that moment of jubilated fear as they plunged over the edge of the road towards oblivion.
“Yeah. It was.”
Satoru rolls to his knees, claps his hands, balls them on his knees like he’s so full of excitement he can’t contain it. Maybe he can’t. Satoru, so full of energy and life. Sneer and jest. Power, god the power . But no, Suguru thinks–fond, fond, helplessly fond –that right now Satoru is just his best friend, covered in grass stains, laughing at what could have been serious injuries. He’s a boy and Suguru aches for him.
“I’ll get another bike!”
Suguru glares at him, picking up the bike, testing the brakes. “You’ll do no such thing. We already fucked up one.”
Satoru bounds to his feet, closes the space between them, leans on the bike and shoves his glasses back onto his face. “Well then I’ll fix this one.”
“Oh? Are you a bike mechanic now?” Suguru starts to push the bike. It’ll be a ways back to campus but he’s not lugging the stupid thing up those stairs.
Satoru falls into step with him, putting a useless hand on the bar between the handles. “I could be. If I put my mind to it.”
“Right.” Suguru drawls, “You’re good at everything.”
“Duh,” Satoru says.
Suguru reaches over and hits his shoulder.
The summer drags on in hot watercolor drips, stained across paper and bleeding into a whirlwind of vibrant hues. Amusing themselves is never hard, but it is a necessity for Satoru who has to be doing something all the time. Usually they go out with friends, shopping, spending hours in arcades, eating so much ice cream that Suguru feels drunk on melon and cherry. So drunk that he finds himself staring at how sticky Satoru’s mouth must be. Tongue coated in blue, the part between his lips glossy. Suguru’s back teeth are numb with the popsicle that has been left to melt against his molars. Seeping cherry syrup under his tongue, he thinks, for some strange reason, about purple.
Shoko hits him hard on the shoulder, he turns sharply towards her. She wiggles her brows, an empty popsicle stick flipping between her teeth.
“What?”
Shoko flutters her lashes at him, “What do you mean, what?”
“I mean, do you need something? I think Satoru has the rest of the snacks if that’s what you’re after.”
Shaking her head slowly, a little grin ticking lazily at the corner of her mouth, Shoko leans back. “Nope. I’m all good. You, on the other hand, look starving. Why don’t you go over there and see exactly what Satoru has to offer.”
Suguru stares blankly at her. “I’m not hungry.”
“Righttt.”
“Shoko.” Suguru turns to look at her better. “I think I’m missing something.”
She nods. “You are, and it’s starting to get really, really , annoying.”
He glares at her. Glares harder when Shoko looks pointed over her shoulder at Satoru who has flopped over into a patch of shade and has taken up the task of making popsicle stick dams to keep confused ants from continuing on their path.
“Is this about Satoru?”
“Maybe. You tell me.” Shoko’s eyes glitter, she leans closer to Suguru, dropping her voice. “Were you looking at the blue popsicle like you wanted to lick it, or Satoru? ”
Suguru reels, whipping his head around to make sure Satoru didn’t hear any of that. He’s not paying attention to them at all, but his tongue has lolled out of his mouth in concentration. It’s blue, maybe still cool from the popsicle. Shoko giggles, leaning away so Suguru can see the full extent of her shit eating grin.
“Shut up,” Suguru says quietly. “It’s. Nothing. Okay?”
Holding her hands up in mock surrender, Shoko shrugs. “Well fine. It’s nothing. You keep telling yourself that. But you stare at him all the time, Suguru. You aren’t subtle.”
“He’s my rival.”
“Please,” Shoko says, rolling her eyes. “He’s your best friend. You can’t pull that bullshit on me.”
Suguru flounders, his mind is wandering even now, caught on purple, purple, purple. He didn’t get a good look at what flavor Satoru’s blue popsicle was, but he wants to taste it so badly. And he knows Satoru likes cherry.
“Shit.”
“Yup.” Shoko leans back, tucking her hands behind her head. “Shit indeed.”
Suguru turns away from Satoru staring out into the street, running his hands up into his hair. “Holy shit. Shoko, what do I do?”
She shrugs, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “Tell him.”
Tell him. Suguru would rather eat the butt eyeball curses they fought a few days ago. He’d rather swallow nails. Satoru is here with him now. Has been since they decided to hate each other in the gym. He’s been here, and now they’re best friends and Suguru isn’t sure what he’d do if Satoru stopped existing with him. If they went back to that place of space and bitter competition. He likes them where they are.
“No.” Suguru chokes. “Not. No. I can’t.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Shoko asks.
Satoru could hate Suguru. Satoru could be disgusted by Suguru. Satoru could cast him aside, because no matter how often Satoru says, ‘ we are the strongest ’, Suguru’s presence wouldn’t be missed. Satoru could be weirdly polite about it, turn him down but refuse to interact with him anymore. Satoru could leave. That is the absolute worst that could happen.
“Everything is too chaotic all the time. It’s not a good idea to tell him.”
“Sounds like an excuse to me,” Shoko says. “Satoru needs you just as much as you need him. As gross as it is to say that, it’s obnoxiously true. He wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself just because he doesn’t share your feelings.”
“Satoru can be a cruel bastard.” Suguru mutters.
“Not to you.” Shoko’s voice is so determined it stuns Suguru a little bit. He’s about to open his mouth when the subject of their conversation comes wandering over frowning at the pair of them.
“What are you whispering about?”
“How stupid you look,” Suguru says. He motions to the mess of Satoru’s hair, woven through with sticks and grass. Satoru pouts at him, leans over and shakes his head out over Suguru’s lap. With an indignant shout, Suguru jumps to his feet, reaching to wrap an arm around Satoru’s neck and lock him in a headlock. But Satoru is all flowing lines and brutal agility so he dances away with trailing laughter. Suguru goes after him, leaving Shoko to catch up.
Suguru never catches him, but Satoru comes ambling over to where he’s bent over, hands on his knees catching his breath, and holds out a hand. Suguru takes it.
Everything is perfect. Suguru wouldn’t trade this for anything.
The next time–three days after Shoko confronted Suguru about the mess in his chest that is Satoru– the pair of them meandered their way down to their favorite shop for snacks. Shoko refused to go with them and everyone else was busy, or too hot to peel themselves off hardwood. Satoru doesn’t seem to mind the lack of their usual gang. He keeps pace with Suguru talking on and off about useless shit that Suguru only half listens to. They get soda, sit on a wall by the road and watch the traffic pass, counting cars. Satoru’s can bubbles soda all over his hand. Suguru tries not to watch out of the corner of eye as the other boy licks golden brown drops from between his fingers. After three long gulps, a cough spurred by carbonation and a pleased hum, Satoru places his can down and leans back on his hands.
They’re quiet, and Suguru is hyper aware of Satoru’s hand resting so close, so far, from his own. The casual way those long fingers curl against concrete, his knuckles slightly rough from sparring. Would they slot together perfectly, or would it take some arranging, some battling, to smooth out the rough edges until they run together? Either way, Suguru wants.
He takes a long drink of soda. Cold, sharp with carbonation. Satoru turns to look at him. He glows in the aggressive sun. White hair a halo around his head, making his dark glasses pop, large and strange on his face. Almost like an insect's eyes.
“Can I try your soda?” Satoru asks.
“We got the same kind.”
Satoru tilts his head, licks his lips once, twice. “Nope. Pretty sure yours is different.”
“Satoru, look.” Suguru holds up his can, points at Satoru’s. “They’re both Cola. We got them from the same rack.”
Satoru’s face twists up in a look of displeasure. He picks up his own drink, takes a sip, licks his lips twice again and shakes his head. “Well I want to try yours.”
“You’re really annoying,” Suguru says, taking a long drink from his can just to rub it in Satoru’s face. “I guarantee they taste exactly the same.”
“How do we know they don’t taste different?”
“Why would they?”
Satoru pouts, turns away, sipping at his soda. He mumbles, ‘fifty-two’ when a truck trundles past, but shuts up after that. Which is. Odd. Strange. Alarming. The cicadas ring in Suguru’s ears, Satoru’s sound is always enough to drown out the drawling song that layers on heat.
Suguru debates on what to say, thinks about the movie they’d slept through last night sprawled on Satoru’s floor. He doesn’t remember the name for the damn thing. Suguru has decided that they’re just going to sit in this weird silence until one of them gets bored and leaves. The prospect of this is daunting, and Satoru’s weird silence maddening. So Suguru picks a random topic, his hair. It’ll get a reaction out of Satoru if he suggests shaving his hair off again. The bonfire of razors Satoru had burned in the bathroom sink was enough for Suguru to swear off the idea of ever shaving his head again. Perfect conversation to pass the time. But before Suguru can open his mouth Satoru is whipping around to stare at him.
“I finished mine.” Satoru holds out a tiny ball of aluminum that was once the can.
“...okay?”
Satoru stares at him, eyes uncovered, imploring. “I want a taste of yours.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Suguru turns his shoulder towards Satoru. “Piss off.” He lifts the can, hates himself for what he’s about to do, and chugs the rest of the carbonated beverage. It stings his sinuses like a bitch. Leaves him hacking and coughing when he finally lowers the finished can and turns to look at Satoru through watery eyes. He’s not expecting the absolute delight that is painted across Satoru’s face.
“The hell are you smiling about?” Suguru croaks, wiping at his nose with his wrist.
Satoru is suddenly in his face, bringing the scent of clean sheets and summer heat on skin with him. Suguru’s stomach flips, heart jumping into his throat. Satoru’s hair touches his forehead; they're so close.
“I want a taste of your soda, Suguru.”
“It’s. It’s gone.” Suguru’s voice is a pathetic rasp.
Satoru hums, low in his throat, licks his lips, drops his eyes. And then he kisses Suguru.
It’s a quick but firm press. Satoru’s mouth is soft, just as soft as Suguru had fantasized it would be. Rendered that way by the copious amounts of flavored chapstick he lathers on. He uses something else too, some days. That leaves a sheen on his mouth, glinting in the sun, tempting Suguru.
Today he tastes like Cola and cherry.
Satoru is gone as quickly as he had been there, leaning back, grinning.
“You were right. They did taste the same.”
Suguru blinks at him, reaches up a hand to touch his mouth.
“Don’t hate me okay? Or at least don’t hate me to the point where we can’t save the world.” Satoru’s voice is jittery, nervous, hell maybe slightly scared. He goes quiet and that quiet stretches between them. Suguru’s brain is slowly starting to work again. Satoru is edging away from him and off the wall. There is genuine unease to every line of his being.
“Is kissing me all it took to bring down the great Gojo Satoru?” Suguru rasps, even as he reaches out and snags Satoru’s wrist, yanking him back into his atmosphere. He’s giddy with their proximity.
“Suguru?”
“Why’d you do that?” Suguru leans in close, speaking to Satoru’s mouth.
“Fuck you,” Satoru says quietly. “You know why.”
Suguru touches their mouths. Barely. It’s not a kiss. It’s barely a brush. “Tell me.”
“You’re easy to love.” Satoru whispers. Those all seeing eyes search Suguru’s face, begging him silently to understand. To hold these words like glass.
Suguru smiles, laughs quietly, holds Satoru’s wrists close, and wonders what he did to make the universe smile down on him in such a way. He’s so happy in this singular moment, kissed once by Satoru, holding him close, a resounding cheer in his chest that they are one in power and love.
“Are you laughing at me?” Satoru snips, reaching up to yank at Suguru’s bangs. “I’m being open and honest with you. Dick move, Suguru.”
“No. I’m not laughing at you, it’s just. You beat me to it you asshole. Why do you insist on being better at literally everything in our lives?”
Satoru blinks, blinks, blinks. Pretty lashes laying across his cheeks. “Does that mean you,” he points at his chest, “me too?”
Suguru reaches up, touches Satoru’s heart and pushes their mouths together again. An actual kiss this time. They fit together with an ease that makes Suguru feel his heartbeat in his hands. Their rough edges and soft curves of grins that clank their teeth together. Satoru reaches up and pulls the band holding Suguru’s limp ponytail in place, out. His hands thread through Suguru’s hair and he tilts his head to the side, slotting them together so he can lick into Suguru’s mouth. It burns between them and Suguru would gladly turn to ash here and now.
“Yeah,” Suguru says when Satoru breaks their kiss to edge mere inches away. “You too.”
“I’m easy to love?” Satoru asks. He’s tracing Suguru’s face with the tips of his fingers like he’s never seen it before.
Suguru laughs, “No, but I like a challenge.”
“That’s. That’s mean.”
Satoru closes those few inches between them, wrapping his arms around Suguru’s neck. Satoru is a challenge, but Suguru thinks he might have already won.