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not-orphaned-account · 3 months

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You, Only You - Chapter 1

I've been writing this mostly for myself, as a sort of fluff bandaid as I work on Lean On Me. I decided I wanted to share it, but as it's just sort of plotless (for the most part) and more of a comfort thing with no set goal, it's going to be a tumblr-only fic. I hope you enjoy :]

It’s late when Satoru returns, so late that the lamps lining the stairs are illuminated and flickering as he slowly makes his way up. Not for the first time, he swears to himself that he’s going to master his long-distance teleportation before his next mission, so he doesn’t have to climb ten thousand million stairs when he returns with his cursed energy depleted and his body sore from the fight. The assistant supervisor walks a few steps behind him, more winded than he is despite not having been involved in any of the action, and they part ways at the top with a nod and exhausted goodnights. The assistant supervisor heads towards the staff dormitories, while Satoru crosses the courtyard to the student dorms, pace quickening and steps lightening the closer he gets despite his exhaustion.

He walks right past his own room, not even bothering to stop in for a change of clothes, making a beeline for the neighbouring door. It’s closed by not locked, and Satoru doesn’t bother knocking as he cracks it open and slips inside.

The lump in the blankets betrays Suguru’s whereabouts, and he sighs softly. Back when they started getting sent on solo missions, just over two years ago now, they’d wait for each other at the top of the staircase, sometimes with Shoko, for their long established post-mission hug; a sacred tradition from all the way back on their first mission, when they were overwhelmed with adrenaline and on top of the world, and the first thing they thought to do was wrap their arms around each other. After the Star Plasma Vessel, those feelings shifted; they were no longer invincible, and their victories were no longer assured. Their triumphant celebrations turned to something more like reassurance: Any broken bones? Did you eat okay? Whose blood is that?

They still wait for each other, but sometimes, things are different. Sometimes, they’ll be sent out on different missions at the same time, and Suguru will return to an empty staircase while Satoru urges the assistant supervisor to drive faster. Sometimes, one of them will be downstairs with Shoko, getting wounds treated while biting their tongue to keep from pushing her to hurry, they have somewhere to be.

Sometimes, it’s one of these days.

Satoru pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the floor, followed by his shoes, socks, and pants, until he’s kneeling on the edge of the mattress in just his boxers and his sweaty shirt.

Suguru is asleep, hands folded into loose fists on the pillow and hair messy from either sleep or the day he’s had. He looks peaceful like this, the usual weight on his shoulders and in his eyes absent for a time. Satoru almost doesn’t want to disturb him, but he knows that if Suguru found out that he’d come home without waking him up, he’d kill him for sure.

Unable to resist, he reaches out, hand blindingly pale in the dark room, and gently brushes a lock of hair behind Suguru’s ear. His hand lingers, tingling slightly at the sleep-warm skin under his fingertips, hesitating in limbo.

Suguru’s eyes flutter open as if called, and he immediately locks eyes with Satoru. He makes a soft sound and shifts under his blankets, like he’s trying to reach out but isn’t quite awake enough to move.

Satoru meets him in the middle, pulling the blankets back and laying down beside him. They’re close like this, two grown men in a tiny student dorm bed, face to face—well. Face to fabric.

As though reading his mind, Suguru finally moves, lifting a hand slowly as if through molasses and fog. Satoru feels his fingers catch at the edge of his blindfold, gently dragging it up and over his head until the piece of fabric is dangling from his fingers, and their eyes are finally meeting with no barrier.

It’s another tradition. As his powers grew and six eyes became stronger, his glasses started to not be enough. He still wears them sometimes, on calmer days hanging around the school, but on missions now he always wears a blindfold to protect his eyes, growing more sensitive by the day. Suguru removing it for him is like a cleansing, something like turning infinity off; the last person Satoru trusts with the most vulnerable and valuable part of him, unwrapping him and leaving him bare.

Speaking of…

He lets out a long breath as infinity deactivates, eyelids immediately drooping as the tension he’s bee carrying for the last week breaks and leaves him heavy and sluggish. It’s an unpleasant feeling, everything suddenly touching him at once; but he can’t bring himself to feel anything but elated as Suguru’s eyes soften and he seems to relax as well, tilting his face forward a bare inch until their foreheads are touching, no blindfold, no infinity, no spaces between: just Satoru and Suguru, how it’s been since they were kids.

He allows himself a few moments to revel in the warmth and comfort under Suguru’s sheets. Suguru watches him, eyes flitting over his face, and a smile curls at his lips when he realizes what he’s looking for.

“I’m fine,” he whispers; he sees the hint of his breath move Suguru’s bangs slightly. “Just some bumps and scrapes. I probably won’t even need Shoko.”

Suguru doesn’t answer, but he feels him relax further. His smile softens, and he finally allows himself to cup his face, running his thumb over his cheekbone.

This is it; this is what makes it worth keeping up their tradition. Suguru’s skin is warm and soft in his hands, and his breath is even and his eyes glimmer in the darkness, and Satoru can’t help but touch, can’t help but stare, can’t help but memorize everything about the man in front of him and tuck it away in the little corner of his brain that Suguru has unknowingly reserved for himself. Their post-mission hugs have evolved over the years, as the missions themselves have grown more dangerous and every day more precious. As Satoru grew more and more unattainable, infinity strengthening and power reaching monumental levels, Suguru too changed, retreating into himself and his mind. Satoru gained a shield; Suguru, a shell.

Days like these are less common than they were in the time following Riko’s death, but they still happen; days where Suguru is all but unable to get out of bed, when his thoughts are too loud and make his body heavy and his heart heavier. On these days, when he doesn’t meet Satoru at the top of the stairs, when his eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot, the touching is no longer for Satoru.

He runs a hand through Suguru’s hair, mumbling an apology when he catches on a stray knot and makes him jerk. He trails his fingertips gently along the soft skin under Suguru’s eye, runs his hand over his shoulder and down his arm before wrapping his arm around Suguru’s waist and pulling him close. He doesn’t need any more prompting that that to curl into him, burying his face in the junction between Satoru’s neck and shoulder and letting out a long, slightly shaky breath.

They lay like that for a while: Satoru rubbing slow circles into his lower back, Suguru simply being, breathing against him. In times like this, quiet nights with Suguru in his arms, he truly can’t imagine being any more at peace than he is in this moment.

“How are the girls?” he asks after a while. It’s a bit of a code for them; if Suguru doesn’t feel like talking, he’ll give a generic affirmation, and they’ll just hold each other in silence. If he’s up for conversation, though, talking about the twins always opens a sort of door, inviting him to tell Satoru about everything they’ve been up to, from the moment he left for his mission until Suguru tucked them into bed that night.

He feels Suguru’s lips pull up in a small smile, and he grins into the darkness, his heart swelling.

“Nanako learned how to write her name,” he says. “I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s everywhere: scrap paper, the blackboards, outside. After she wrote it on one of the classroom walls, Yaga dug up some sidewalk chalk from somewhere, and she’s been absolutely obsessed with it.”

Satoru laughs softly, delighted at the mental image.

“I didn’t see,” he says, tracing the bumps of Suguru’s spine with his fingertips. “You’ll have to show me tomorrow.”

“Oh, you’ll see it,” Suguru laughs. “Trust me, as soon as you go outside in the sunlight, it’ll be the first thing you noticed. Mimiko tried to copy her, but she couldn’t get the hang of it and just started drawing. There’s chalk on every conceivable surface.”

Satoru hums. His fingers brush the ends of Suguru’s hair, and he lets himself play with it for a moment, loosely twirling the strands around his fingers.

“They ran into Nanami and Haibara on their way to physical therapy,” Suguru says, voice quieter now, and Satoru pauses. “By the time he was done, they’d covered every inch of pavement outside of the clinic with chalk. You’ll have to get Mimiko to show you tomorrow, she’s very proud of her rainbows.”

The pieces click together in his head, and he holds Suguru a little tighter. The bad days don’t always have a concrete cause or trigger, but when they do…

“How is he doing?” he asks. Suguru chuckles a little, though it sounds strained.

“The same as always. I was outside with the girls the whole time, but he was just as cheerful when he came out as he was when he went in. He let Nanako help push his wheelchair back to the dorms.”

“That’s our Haibara,” Satoru says with a small smile. He adjusts his hold on Suguru, sliding his arm around his shoulder and wrapping a hand gently around the back of his neck, just holding him.

“He’s really good with them,” Suguru murmurs, melting into the touch. “And they absolutely love him. He’ll be a great teacher.”

Satoru hums, rubbing slow circles with his thumb into the edge of Suguru’s hairline. It’s true; though, he does suspect that it has something to do with how much he spoils the kids.

“Oh,” Suguru says, as though he’s read his mind, “Yaga wants to know if Megumi and Tsumiki are coming back here for their school break.”

“Huh? Is that already?”

He can practically feel Suguru rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Satoru. Next week, remember?”

Oh shit. Right. Satoru coughs a little.

“Of course I remember. I was just testing you.”

“Right,” Suguru says, in what seems like the most sarcastic tone of voice he can physically muster. “Have you talked to them about it at all? Or the school, for that matter?”

“Calm down, it’ll be fine,” he says, and Suguru huffs. “Megumi probably doesn’t want to, but I’m sure Tsumiki will, and it’s not like he’s going to stay at the school without her. I’ll just go get them on the weekend.”

“Why don’t I come with?” Suguru asks, slipping his arm over Satoru’s waist and hooking his chin on his shoulder. “We can bring the girls, make a day of it. It would be good for them to get out and see the city, I think.”

The twins’ conditions have improved greatly over the last two years, but it’s still better for them to stay on the campus instead of the boarding school Megumi and Tsumiki attend. Still, they’re able to go on small outings now, as long as Suguru is there and they have lots of opportunities to rest away from crowds.

“Sounds fun,” he says. “Maybe we should ask some of the others if they want to tag along?”

“Megumi might like it if Shoko or Nanami came with.”

“But if Shoko comes, then Utahime’s gonna want to come too.”

“I mean…”

They continue to talk, voices soft in each other’s ears and hands wandering, calming, holding. The exhaustion of the mission weighs him down, but his heart feels light as Suguru tells him little stories from the week they were apart, catching him up on everything that made him smile. Finally, his voice quiets and his breathing evens out, puffing warmly against Satoru’s neck as he goes lax in his arms. It’s only then that Satoru allows his own eyes to close, letting himself hug Suguru closer to his chest like an overgrown teddy bear. He still feels a bit gross in his dirty shirt, but as Suguru mumbles in his sleep and loosely clutches it in his fingers, he can’t bring himself to mind all that much as his thoughts finally begin to slow, and sleep takes him under.

#satosugu #gojo/geto #geto suguru #gojo satoru #you only you #new fic

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not-orphaned-account · 2 months

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You, Only You - Chapter 2

In which Satoru thinks very heterosexual and platonic thoughts. Also breakfast.

Satoru has always been told that he’s a restless sleeper; anyone he’s ever shared a room with has been very vocal about his flailing, talking, sometimes even sleep walking. It’s not like it bothers him much when he sleeps alone, aside from the few times he’s accidentally rolled out of bed in the middle of the night. On top of that, he’s a light sleeper, probably something to do with his six eyes or having his infinity up more often than not. But when he falls asleep with Suguru in his arms, he always wakes up slowly, feeling fully rested, in almost the exact same position.

This morning is no different. He wakes up first, floating in the golden fog of half-sleep as his thoughts slowly begin to come back online. He doesn’t feel the need to open his eyes right away, just letting his brain turn on as he starts to become aware of his surroundings. He feels the weight of Suguru against his chest, the warmth of his skin, the slow shifting of his back under Satoru’s hand as he breathes.

Suguru has always been somewhat peaceful in comparison to him. While Satoru is restless and fidgety, Suguru is stoic and calm. To anyone on the outside, he probably seems chill, laid back and relaxed. But Satoru knows him, he’s the only one who does, he knows that under that calm exterior, Suguru’s thoughts roil and roar like the curses he eats, putting creases in his brow and shadows under his eyes and painting his face with a thin smile that seems to fool everyone but Satoru. Things are different on mornings like this, though; his forehead is smooth, his mouth is lax, and he always looks like he’s never known a trouble in his life.

It’s one of Satoru’s favourite sights, and he realizes all of a sudden that he’s missing it with his eyes closed. He fixes that immediately, dragging them open and blinking the fuzziness from his vision.

He was right, as usual. They seem to have turned sometime during the night, with Satoru ending up on his back and Suguru half-laying on his chest, leaving his cheek pressed against Satoru’s shirt and his fingers curled over his pec. His hair spills over his shoulders and pools on Satoru’s chest like ink, and there’s drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth and soaking into his shirt, and he finally looks truly, genuinely peaceful.

Unable to resist, Satoru gently brushes a lock of hair behind his ear, giving him an unobstructed view of his face. Suguru really is pretty; definitely not the same kind of pretty as a girl, but it’s somehow better. He’s a kind of pretty that doesn’t seem as though he should be called ‘pretty’ at all; a kind of pretty that other people would probably edge into ‘handsome,’ because there’s something so specifically masculine about it that calling him pretty might be frowned at.

He is pretty, though. His hair is soft and shines somehow darker in the sunlight. His cheeks are fuller than they used to be, a bit of a healthier glow to his skin than there was a few years ago. He has a strong chin, Satoru thinks as he runs his thumb along it, and a good jawline. Nice eyebrows too, dark and smooth and delicate, though they ruffle a little when he drags his thumb along them the opposite way, snickering as they turn into little caterpillars under his touch. Serves him right, really; he’s too pretty, the world couldn’t handle it if everyone knew just how pretty he was without Satoru messing him up a little first.

He wonders if, when Suguru finally finds a girlfriend, she’ll be as pretty as he is. He wonders if maybe she’ll be petite and feminine, delicate and traditional with a pale complexion and striking eyes; or if she’ll be taller and more muscular, stronger, loud and a bit too brash, someone to hold her own weight alongside Suguru.

Both ideas make him wrinkle his nose, and he ruffles Suguru’s eyebrows again.

He wonders if she’ll see how pretty Suguru is, or if she’ll do as everyone else does: chalk him up to his strength without considering how he looks in the early morning light, how his voice sounds whispering about all of the things that make him happy, how soft his smile is when he looks at the girls, or at Haibara, or at—

Suguru’s brow furrows, and he makes a quiet noise as his nose twitches. Satoru watches in amusement as his face goes through a series of strange movements before his eyes finally flutter open, just barely, just enough for him to see the dark irises. For a moment, he's not even sure if Suguru is awake; then, his lips curve up in a slow, sleepy smile, and he finds himself smiling back.

“G’morning,” Suguru mumbles, lazily rubbing his eyes with his fist. Satoru grins.

“Morning, leaking beauty.”

Suguru’s brow furrows in confusion; Satoru thumbs at the wet spot on his shirt where his face was mashed into it.

It’s always funny to see Suguru flustered; his face goes red and he frowns, making Satoru grin wider.

“So gross, really.”

Suguru narrows his eyes at him. In one swift move, before Satoru can react, he shoots up, licking a hot, wet stripe up the side of his face.

Satoru splutters and shoves his face away as he settles back down with a shit-eating grin, folding his hands over Satoru’s chest and resting his chin on his fingers.

“How’s that for gross?”

“You know, you really abuse my kindness,” Satoru sniffs. Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“What ‘kindness?’”

“Lowering infinity,” Satoru points out. “You know you’re the only one I do it for. And then you go and do stuff like this! Truly so mean to me.”

Suguru rolls his eyes so hard that Satoru wonders if he can see his own brain.

“Oh, of course. How could anyone possibly be so cruel.”

“At least you recognize it.”

Suguru thumbs his forehead and Satoru laughs, batting his hand away. His fingers close around his wrist, not entirely on purpose, and they follow the movement of his hand as he lowers it to lay on Satoru’s chest.

“Do we have anything to do this morning?”

Satoru hums, folding his free arm behind his head and absently running his fingers up and down the length of Suguru’s wrist.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ve got to do my mission write up, but that’ll take, like, two seconds.”

Suguru snorts quietly.

“I think Yaga would prefer a clear, complete report over something you wrote on the back of a napkin in under a minute,” he points out. Satoru gives a long suffering sigh.

“I’ll be fine. The curse is gone, I’m back in one piece, et cetera, et cetera.”

He yelps as Suguru digs his chin into the centre of his chest, and retaliates by stabbing his forehead with a sharp knuckle.

They settle down after a few more pinches and jabs, Suguru laying across his chest again and Satoru’s fingers finding his hair. It’s fun to play with, especially since he’s been growing it out and wearing it down more. He still ties it up for missions and training, but for classes and lazy days around the school, he’s adopted a sort of half-bun that leaves most of his hair draping over his shoulders. It’s pretty, and Satoru likes to watch his hair flutter and swish as he walks.

He’s not quite sure what time it is, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much with Suguru’s weight over him and his fingers lazily drawing circles over his chest. Eventually, though, they do have to get up, the push coming when Satoru’s stomach growls so aggressively that Suguru’s cheek vibrates where it’s pressed against it. They look at each other for a few long moments before Suguru cracks up, muffling his laughter in Satoru’s stomach as he ducks to avoid his embarrassed flick to the face.

They finally drag themselves out of bed. Satoru doesn’t feel like going back to his room to change, so he simply raids Suguru’s closet, ignoring the sigh he hears from behind him as he grabs a long sleeved shirt and sweats. The pants are a little short and the shirt is a bit wide, but he’s always found any clothes he gets from Suguru’s closet to be way comfier than his own, even though they’re just regular clothes. Maybe it’s because Suguru actually does his laundry ‘properly’ (though Satoru still asserts that a ‘right’ way of doing laundry that isn’t just chucking everything in is a myth perpetuated by the washing machine companies), and the fabric is soft and always smells nice. He holds the collar of the shirt up to his nose and inhales, delighting in the familiar scent.

“You’re such a weirdo,” Suguru says from across the room. He’s combing his hair in the mirror by his bed, and Satoru watches the black locks spill down his back. He meets his eyes in the mirror, catching Suguru’s little smirk and rolling his eyes.

“You simply can’t understand my genius,” he snarks, taking another deep sniff of the fabric just to make Suguru roll his eyes and shake his head.

“Freak.”

“Loser.”

“Brat.”

“Asshole.”

“Suguru?”

Both of them turn, startled by the new voice. The door is cracked open slightly, and Satoru can just see a wide eye peeking out into the room; in the next moment, the door swings open, and two girls rocket across the room and crash into Suguru.

“Ieri said to wait for you, but we were so bored,” Nanako complains, emphasizing the words as though they spell a fate worse than death. Mimiko nods from behind her, though a lot more quiet, chewing idly on the ear of her stuffed animal.

“Sorry,” Suguru says, ruffling her hair with a smile. “Gojo was tired after his mission, so we slept in.”

It’s only then that the girls seem to realize that there’s another person in the room, and they both whirl around. Both of their faces light up, and he can’t help but grin as Nanako darts forward and wraps her tiny arms around his waist.

“Gojo!”

“How’re my two favourite girls?” he laughs, patting her head and reaching over her to do the same to Mimiko. He glances up towards the door.

“Sorry, Shoko.”

Shoko appears in the doorway, fidgeting a toothpick between her lips and looking mildly amused.

“I’ll live,” she deadpans. Suguru laughs again, while Satoru tosses a balled-up sock at her that she dodges with a disgusted look.

“Did you get hurt?” Nanako asks, drawing his attention back down to her. She looks genuinely concerned, and he tucks her hair behind her ear and pats her cheek; he doesn’t have as much of an ingrained childcare sense as Suguru seems to, but he can’t deny that the twins and the Fushiguro siblings have special places in his heart.

“Not even a scratch,” he says, unable to keep the smugness from his voice. Shoko scoffs from the doorway, but Nanako’s face floods with relief, and it’s worth it.

“Have you eaten yet?” Suguru asks.

“Not yet,” says Shoko. “There weren’t any leftovers in the fridge, so I figured we’d just wait for you to wake up.”

Suguru gives her an unimpressed look, and she holds up her hands.

“Hey, don’t blame me. I’m banned from the kitchen, remember?”

“Wait, were there no leftovers at all?” Satoru asks as the five of them leave the room, Suguru leading the way holding the twins’ hands.

“Nope. Nothing in there but raw ingredients.”

Satoru groans.

“Aw man, I totally left some cheesecake in there for when I came back!”

Shoko shrugs, clicking the toothpick against her teeth.

“The fourth years had cleaning duty, and you know how Nanami is about expired food.”

Satoru clicks his tongue.

“Don’t call them fourth years, they haven’t earned it yet.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, the same as she always does when this conversation comes up.

“They're already a semester in, I don't know what to tell you. Just because you're being a man child who refuses to move out of the dorms—”

“I'm not refusing to move out, I've been busy!” Satoru argues. “Besides, Suguru hasn't moved out either.”

“At least I'm packing,” Suguru says over his shoulder. Satoru opens his mouth to make an off colour comment, but Suguru gives him a look at the same time that Shoko elbows him, so he stays quiet and mourns the missed opportunity in his head.

“Both of you should just move in together and be done with it,” Shoko says, not for the first time. “I mean, that's what's going to end up happening anyways.”

Satoru glances at her with a small frown.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Shoko just shrugs.

The kitchen lights always hurt his eyes, so he doubles back to fetch his glasses from his room. When he returns, the girls are sitting on the counter while Suguru searches the fridge and Shoko stands a safe distance away.

“What are we thinking?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at them. Nanako swings her feet.

“Hotcakes!” she says. Mimiko nods aggressively, and Suguru chuckles.

“You shouldn't be having that much sugar for breakfast,” he says, but he's already pulling out the ingredients.

“You're a bad influence,” Satoru clicks his tongue, drawing his attention. He raises an eyebrow, and Satoru shoots a sly grin at the girls.

“You should have more sugar for breakfast. It's one of the essential food groups.”

“Really?” Nanako asks, at the same time that Suguru exclaims, “It is not!”

Satoru grins and raises his hands in surrender.

“Don't listen to him,” Suguru grumbles. “And you shouldn't sit on the counters, it's dangerous.”

Satoru rolls his eyes at the same time that Shoko muffles a snicker. Suguru narrows his eyes at both of them.

Satoru is a disaster in the kitchen, and Shoko has been exiled by Yaga for setting dry ramen on fire, so Suguru makes the pancakes alone while they entertain the twins. He lets Mimiko ride on his shoulders, laughing when she squeals in excitement from being able to touch the ceiling, while Shoko sits on the floor with Nanako and listens to her talk about her drawings.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Satoru says, lifting Mimiko from his shoulders and casually tucking her under his arm as she giggles uncontrollably. “Suguru told me you've learned to write your name?”

“Oh no,” Shoko mutters with a wry grin, as Nanako’s eyes light up.

“Yeah! I can do it real good now, wanna see?”

“You can show me after breakfast,” he says, and she nods.

When the pancakes are almost done, Suguru enlists Shoko’s help to cut some fruit (because apparently, the strongest sorcerer of the modern age 'can't be trusted with sharp objects’ and ‘at least she can use a scalpel’) and gets Satoru to help the girls set the table. He can't bring himself to be too sulky, though, because the pancakes smell delicious and he's taught Mimiko how to hang a spoon off her nose, much to Suguru’s dismay.

“Eat your food, Mimiko,” he chastises, and she makes a face but obeys. Satoru catches Shoko’s eyes, and they share an amused look.

Out of the three of them, Suguru has always been the only one with any sort of parental instincts; however, nobody had expected him to be so motherly over the twins. It makes sense, given the fact that he rescued them, and the state they were apparently in at the time; still, sometimes Satoru has to remind himself that this is the same guy he spent his high school years with, the polite good boy who acted a lot more responsible than he was, who was just as much trouble as Satoru himself when the adults weren't looking.

Though, he thinks as he chews a strawberry and watches Suguru help guide Nanako’s hands to cut her hotcakes, technically, they are the adults now.

The thought makes him frown, and to shut it up, he scoops a blueberry up on his spoon and launches it across the table, snickering when it hits Suguru directly between the eyes.

The look on his face is gold: he blinks a few times, staring down at it as it plops onto his own plate. There's a stain of blue juice on the bridge of his nose, and Satoru has to fight down a laugh as he goes a bit cross-eyed while he slowly, calmlywipes it off.

“Very mature, Satoru,” he says, looking back up with a raised eyebrow and unamused expression. Satoru widens his eyes and innocently points at himself.

“Who, me?”

Suguru just rolls his eyes and wordlessly plucks Nanako’s spoon from her fingers as she takes aim to shoot a piece of kiwi at Satoru.

The rest of the meal goes smoothly, and the incident is forgotten—that is, until the girls are getting up to take their plates to the kitchen, and the moment they turn their backs, something wet and sticky nails Satoru right in the face. He splutters and wipes the whipped cream from his cheek, looking up to see Suguru grinning at him across the table.

Maybe they're not the adults quite yet, he thinks as he gathers the wayward whipped cream in his hand and lunges across the table towards him.

#satosugu #gojo/geto #geto suguru #gojo satoru #you only you #new chapter

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