Chapter Text

Gojo Satoru

Wed, Aug. 15 at 5:33 PM

Gojo Satoru

we really need to talk

all I’m asking for is 5 mins then I’ll leave u alone

can u call me?

Wed, Aug. 15 at 7:24 PM

i know I fucked up and I’m sorry

Thurs, Aug. 16 at 10:08 AM

i’m a piece of shit and u have every right to be mad

i just need to hear ur voice

Thurs, Aug. 16 at 12:45 PM

if you don’t want to talk right now just lmk

I’m going crazy waiting for u to respond

Thurs, Aug. 16 at 2:58 PM

I can literally see that ur reading these and not responding :(((

guess I deserve that :(

Thurs, Aug. 16 at 5:20 PM

i picked up tayaki on my way back from Kyoto today

Attachment: 1 Image

Thurs, Aug. 16 at 7:53 PM

Sugu please

Thurs, Aug. 16 at 10:26 PM

???

Fri, August 17 at 8:15 PM

seriously??

you're still mad???

Fri, August 17 at 11:48 PM

it was one fucking mistake Suguru

Sat, August 18 at 6:40 AM

ur just gonna ignore me forever ???

good fucking luck

Sat, August 18 at 1:51 PM

silent treatment is real cute coming from u

Sat, August 18 at 8:26 PM

  Missed Call

  Missed Call

  Missed Call (2)

  Missed Call (6)

Sat, August 18 at 8:48 PM

stop being a dick and answer me

Sat, August 18 at 9:09 PM

where the fuck are you that you can’t pick up

i know you went out with Shoko

Sat, August 18 at 9:42 PM

whatever

fuck you

Sat, August 18 at 11:14 PM

baby please just respond

i need to know ur okay

i’ll beg if that’s what u want

Sat, August 18 at 11:50 PM

i’m so so sorry

feel like I’m going crazy

Today at 12:34 AM

please talk to me

i don’t think I can sleep another night without u

“Should've thought of that before you fucked him, dumb ass,” Suguru cursed as he clicked his phone screen off and set it face down on the coffee table. He turned back to the TV. Some K-drama was playing in the background, one he only recognized because Satoru had recently started watching it after his favorite show ended last month. 

Suguru hated that his brain harbored that knowledge. He hated that he was thinking about his ex-boyfriend at all.

The word still came as a shock, even when only spoken in his head. Ex-boyfriend. It sounded childish and downright wrong, but there wasn’t any other way to describe the state of his and Satoru’s relationship. 

You’ll get used to it , Suguru reminded himself. You broke up with him before. This is no different . 

On-screen, the two love interests shared a passionate kiss. 

❖

SUGURU KNEW he was lying. It was different. 

The last time he'd left Satoru, his head was filled with so many curses and devastating emptiness that he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than pain, day-in and day-out, let alone love someone else. It hurt Satoru and created a rift in their relationship that took years to mend, but the pain he caused wasn’t intentional—just unfortunate collateral damage.

No, this time, Suguru left that snowflake-looking, loud-mouthed, immature, whiny, sorry-ass-prick because he had fucked someone else. Got drunk off his mind and let another man touch him. Kiss him. Fuck into him until he was screaming a name that wasn’t his boyfriend of two years. 

The thought of that alone conjured murderous visions into Suguru’s head. He was supposed to be the only one who knew that side of him. How it felt to have Satoru wrapped around his cock, and the scorching heat of his body. How Satoru babbled when his senses were overwhelmed, set off by his hair sticking to his forehead or a cock catching on his rim. How he hiccuped when he was about to cum, thighs trembling like his body was begging for it.

Knowing someone else had heard Satoru’s whorish moans and seen the look on his face when he orgasms made Suguru feel sick. Literally sick, to the point he struggled to keep food down.

The phone buzzed again. Suguru snatched it from the table, powered it off without reading the message, and shoved it under the nearest couch cushion. 

He flipped through TV channels until he landed on a documentary about whales or something. He watched mindlessly as disturbingly close-up footage of the sea mammoths played on the screen while shoving handfuls of popcorn in his mouth. It was pretty much the only thing that wouldn’t upset his stomach.

He lasted all of two valiantly fought minutes before fishing his phone out and turning it back on. This time, he silenced it before sliding it under the cushion.

God was probably judging him, but at least he kept his eyes closed so he couldn’t read another one of Satoru’s mania-fueled texts. It helped a little but didn’t quiet the anxiety still thrumming in his ears. 

In his defense, it had only been a week since the breakup. Of course, he felt antsy and unsettled, fighting back waves of emotions every time he even thought of Satoru. And to make it worse, his asshole ex wouldn’t stop texting him. (Although Suguru refused to acknowledge that he could, in fact, stop the madness by simply blocking said madman).

He tugged at his scrunchie and let his locks fall to his shoulders. The high ponytail was giving him a headache. Suguru narrowed his attention on the documentary once again, pretending he actually gave a shit about…sea turtles? 

Whatever. Anything to get his mind off of Satoru. 

He nearly pulled a muscle in his corneas, keeping his eyes glued to the TV. Absolutely not letting them drift around the apartment to look at all the little things that reminded him of his ex. 

Like the digital photo frame on the bookshelf—a housewarming gift from Shoko when he and Satoru moved in two years ago. It was right after Suguru finally graduated. A year late, but hey, better late than not graduating at all.

The image flipped to a photo from their second year, the two young men smiling wildly into the lens of Shoko’s new camera. Satoru’s arm pulled Suguru in by the shoulders and squished him into a lopsided hug.

Nope. 

He wasn’t going to think about that. And there was no way in hell Suguru would waste a single brain cell ruminating on the smell of Satoru clinging to the blanket stretched over his lap.

…the ring of dust collected on Satoru’s unused coaster.

…the candy wrapper on the floor that had somehow evaded his manic cleaning episode the day after he kicked Satoru out.

The white-haired man had jumped when Suguru pointed toward the door and told him to “get the fuck out.” One of those full-body reproaches like an outdoor cat startled by a vacuum cleaner. Followed by a long, blank stare while the words settled in.

And Suguru stared back, watching the cycle of emotions contort his face into visages of horror, then disbelief. Anger. Disgust. 

He’d never seen Satoru look at him with that sort of contempt. Not even when he’d confessed to nearly decimating a village after finding two little girls in cages. Nor when he drunkenly admitted he couldn’t imagine life as a jujutsu sorcerer and didn’t want to share the title “the strongest” anymore. 

Satoru had even kept his composure when he found Suguru six months later holed up in a run-down warehouse, sleeping on a piss-stained mattress and so high on a drug cocktail that he could barely remember his name. 

All those times, Satoru wore the same goofy-ass, nonchalant smile. Cocky as hell, like nothing Suguru said or did could break him.

But this face? 

It was like Satoru had realized he couldn’t rely on the unspoken promise that Suguru would forgive and forget every dumb thing he did simply because…well because it was Suguru and he was Satoru, and that’s just what they did. 

“You’re not kicking me out. I live here,” Satoru eventually said, as if it were a simple yet obvious fact Suguru forgot to consider.

“Too fucking bad. You’re leaving. Get some shit, pack a few bags, and get the fuck out of my sight. Now.” In the low light of their kitchen, Suguru could see the splotches of red on his cheeks and under the stretched collar of his shirt. 

Satoru was drunk—again. A new habit he picked up after a string of particularly bad missions.

Suguru couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. He wasn’t in the field anymore to fight alongside Satoru, which meant Satoru had spent the last few years carrying the weight of being the strongest alone.

The guilt ate away at Suguru and made him hate himself. Maybe if he’d been stronger or hadn’t given up so easily, Satoru wouldn’t have been alone and wouldn’t have needed to turn to Soju to cope.

“Fuck you,” Satoru jabbed, his words just barely slurring. 

“Wasn’t me you fucked was it?”

“Jesus, will you give it a rest?”

“No, Satoru, I won’t! I’m sick of listening to your bullshit. I don’t want you within spitting distance of me, so just get the fuck out.”

“Ha! No. This is my apartment just as much as it’s yours. Or did you forget who bought it?” 

Suguru gritted his teeth. Leave it to Satoru to flaunt his wealth just to get under his skin.

“Not my problem. Sounds like you made a shitty, short-sighted decision. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Satoru scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. 

They’d been going in the same circle for hours. Shuffling back and forth between every room in the tiny apartment. When one man fled, the other inevitably followed, fighting to get a leg up and win the argument. 

“What do you want me to say, Suguru? I’m sorry? I’ve said it so many times I feel like a broken record. I’m sorry, okay? I messed up. Had too much to drink a-a-and just…I don’t know. I didn’t mean to. I was sad and so fucked up, and Higuruma was just there. One thing led to another. But I swear it didn’t mean anything. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because what it meant doesn’t matter!” Suguru erupted, chest heaving. “You let another man inside of you! How am I supposed to move on from that? Do you really expect me to say you’re forgiven and let it go? I can barely fucking look at you.”

“That’s not what I—“ Satoru shouted, cutting himself off with a loud smack of his open palm against the countertop. The marble shivered and cracked on impact. 

“No, okay? Obviously, you’re upset. But, you know what? You could at least listen to me. You could at least acknowledge that as soon as I pulled my shit together, I came home and told you right away. Do you know how many guys would do that? I could have just pretended like it didn’t happen. I could have fucked Higuruma again on our next assignment. Shit, maybe I should. Not like you’re around to know any better.” 

He was bluffing. Suguru knew every tactic Satoru liked to pull in an argument. The man was shit at lying. He’d never be able to keep an affair secret. 

“So you want me to reward you for your honesty? Is that it, Satoru? Thank you, Gojo Satoru, for being so forthcoming about your infidelity. Real stand-up guy.”

“Don’t—“

“You’ve got your head shoved farther up your ass than I thought.”

“And you’re an insufferable bitch.”

“Then leave!” 

“It’s my fucking house!” 

They were back at square one. 

Behind Satoru, the microwave clock read 5:18 AM. For a moment, nothing but the sound of their labored breaths filled the room, spent from all of the yelling. Until a laugh cut through the quiet—cruel and sarcastic. 

“Something funny?” Suguru snarled.

“You always do this, you know,” Satoru said, leaning against the counter to keep himself upright, his voice dropping. “I know I fucked up, but you always do this to me.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“This. When it gets even a little bit hard, you run.”

“Don’t you dare put this on me. You’re the one who cheated.” 

“Yeah, I did. And did you stop to think about why?”

It was the last straw. Before Suguru's brain could catch up to his body, he felt his knuckles connect with Satoru’s jaw, knocking the taller man backward. A weak punch, considering Suguru’s strength. He’d hit the man harder while sparring in high school.

But this wasn’t a fight. Suguru had no reason to hit him like he was battling for his life. This was retaliation. Catharsis. 

Satoru righted himself in time for Suguru to swing again, and his fist connected to Satoru’s eye socket. This time, he didn’t give Satoru a chance to stand. He swung again and again, the sharp pain of bones smashing together shooting through his hand.

How could Satoru do this? How could he throw away everything they’d been through in one night? And for what? Cheap sex in a dirty hotel a prefecture away from the man he claimed he loved? That wasn’t love. 

If Satoru loved him, he wouldn’t have come home at all.

He wouldn’t have let Suguru smell the other man’s cologne on his skin.

Or let Suguru see how he winced when he walked, hole used by some law-abiding, self-serving prick. 

It could have been 5 minutes or 15—Suguru wasn’t sure. His vision had gone blurry, ears ringing as Satoru let him hammer his face until he tasted blood. When he was done, his knuckles were broken and bruised purple. 

Without a word, Satoru got up and walked to their bedroom, slamming their door shut. Suguru watched the clocked, the minutes ticking by for so long that he ended up wondering if Satoru had ignored everything that happened and went to sleep.

Right when he’d resolved to sleeping on the couch, the door opened, and Satoru emerged with a single duffel bag.

His face was swollen, and his capillaries strained against the whites of his eyes. Noticeable tear stains streaked through the mix of blood and snot under his nose and crusted into a pool on his chin. 

Like a coward, Suguru looked away as Satoru grabbed his keys and left.

❖

DAYS PASSED without any contact from Satoru—no calls, no texts, nothing. 

This wasn’t the first time their fights ended explosively, and he was ashamed to say it wasn’t the first time they’d exchanged blows. Too often they’d defaulted to the violence they were taught as children when words seemed too difficult to express.

He didn’t want to count how many times they’d fought like that, but Satoru had always fought back. This was the first time he hadn’t, and something about that made Suguru feel he couldn’t face him if given the chance.

On Monday, Ijichi accepted Suguru’s sick day without question, along with the quiet tears he choked on as he spoke.

“It’s been quiet since that special grade disturbance in Kobe. Nitta and I can handle your casework for it. I think it’d be best if you took some time off, at least an additional day or two.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Suguru argued, his throat tight and burning with the threat of another onslaught of tears. He was in no state to work. His hair was a tangled mess, and his shirt was wet with tears and snot, but it was the principle of the matter.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate to inconvenience you guys.” 

“You won’t be much help to us if you’re not feeling well. Don’t worry about it. Besides, when was the last time you took a day off?”

“I don’t need—“

“I’ll see you when you get back,” Ijichi cut him off, then hung up.

Suguru’s eyes burned as he curled under the blankets and stared at the empty space on Satoru’s side of the bed, trying to make sense of the cold sheets and tidy pillows.

It was over. Like, really over this time. 

Their relationship had always teetered on unstable ground. Now, it had finally slipped off the edge. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he’d been waiting for this day, steeling himself in the moments of happiness growing fewer and farther apart.

Satoru was boorish, dismissive, and selfish. He took what he wanted when he wanted, with little concern over how it would affect others. Sure, he’d learned not to be so obvious in the few years since high school, but that didn’t mean those ugly traits were gone. They were just better disguised.

Cheating wasn’t something Suguru expected, but when he thought about it, they did fit in with Satoru’s self-centered, manipulative behavior. Yeah, the more he mulled it over, the more he realized how stupid he was to miscalculate the extent of Satoru’s plethora of shitty traits. 

You’re better off alone, he assured himself. Satoru had made his choice loud and clear. Dwelling on the pain is useless.

Maybe if he said it enough times, he'd start to believe it.

With a groan, Suguru stretched and maneuvered out of the mess of blankets and tissues covering their—no—his bed. A shower would quiet his mind and wash away the urge to think about how much this hurt.