Archive of Our Own

Mocking Shinto gates.

Never-ending ascending stairs.

Too much quiet, even with nature blossoming everywhere around it.

The jujutsu college reveals its true face at night, the prettiness of the moonlight only adds the sharp, uninviting image and only brings out the cruelty. It’s less eerie without the sun’s deceiving veil.

It’s ironic that the infirmary attached to the morgue would be the most comfortable room but Shouko’s presence has been engraved in its every corner; from the markings of her latest cup of coffee drying on her desk, to her colourful pens, to the well-worn presidential chair to the spare lab coats on her half open locker. It’s obvious she’s been living here more than any other room, and her aura of comfort drains a bit of tension from Suguru’s shoulders.

Only for it to come back at the cold touch of her fingers. The antiseptic on cotton is freezing and startling in the humid June heat but it provides no relief to him as he holds back the flinch at every time it touches him. The wet towel doesn’t either, although it’s appreciated to have the dried of blood wiped clean off him.

Shouko cleans and probes and touches and is walking the fine line between her professionalism and carefulness and her childish excitement and curiosity.

Suguru slouches in his seat and resigns to let her have her fun, even if it’s in his expense in a way. He’s too tired to focus on anything else than holding on to his restrain of not snapping at her and clenching his jaw to keeps his guttural sounds of pain at bay. Like her, he’s been having insufficient sleep time and quality for the past days but unlike her, he’s not used to it and can’t survive without it and it’s never been clearer than now.

“Fuck!” he’s not always successful as she gave him no heads up for the needle she was going to use in an extremely sensitive place. He’s grown resistant to the pain, he wouldn’t make it this long, but this is all new and the pain climbing up is spine and rattles in his brain is disgustingly uncontrollable.

“Almost done.” Shouko says, and he ignores the hints of disappointment in her voice.

At least she gives him two painkillers when she’s done and he downs them with the now cold last drops of her coffee.

“I assume that’s new, for you to be here at all.” Suguru shrugs, “What grade?”

Suguru clicks his tongue, “…Special.” Shouko whistles, “Yeah. Took me weeks to track it and fought it three days straight. And it took out two of my first grades and now it tries to take me out too.”

He rubs his eyes to ease the bright sting of the lights. Just when he knows the limit of bullshit the side-effects of his cursed technique can reach and how much he anticipates them, there are always surprises. Oh joy.

“I guess that’s one possible answer to what will happen if you eat one of sukuna’s fingers.”

He parts his mouth for his usual remark in that particular curiosity of hers but he doesn’t get the chance to.

The air shifts significantly and the signal travels in every nerve of his body. Someone’s coming. All guesses are bad, one is the worst.

And because his luck’s been shit, Gojou Satoru – the worst possible outcome- slams the door open and runs in the infirmary like it’s on fire.

“What do you want? I’m working.” Shouko says. Satoru doesn’t give her an answer. His attention burns holes through Suguru who becomes conscious of his lack of shirt, the torn remains of it cut again and peaking from the trashcan, the hairs on his nape rise.  

The motion and sound of Shouko getting up from her chair breaks the deafening silence, “I’m going to analyze the sample. Wait here, it won’t take long.” And she leaves the infirmary for the lab two door down, the sound of her heels clacking fainter and fainter until the faint slam of the door silences it.

The air thickens significantly now that it’s the two of them, Shouko’s absence taking the few bits of comfort Suguru had in the first place, leaving tense-filled awareness of himself, of his predicament, of Satoru instead.

This silence heavier between them in comparison the one with Shouko, isn’t any better.

It’s not funny at all how they ended up like this.

“Yo, Satoru.” He gives him a limp wave.

“Suguru…” Satoru trails off, “Those are wings.” Is the first thing he says to him.

Irritation sparks within, built up from the examination before and it’s been not enough time for the painkillers to take action. His back throbs at the reminder of the extra weight and the miniscule moments he can’t control but is all too aware of.

“Very good! Thank God for your eyes because I didn’t notice them sprouting out of my fucking back.” he rubs his eyes and musters his best and fatigued sneer, his eyes narrowing into slits.

In a tiny fraction of a second, Satoru’s demeanor changes drastically from astonished assessment; he laughs, loud and fake. “Didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers there!” his fangs are on full display as he grins. “Must be convenient! Did you fly your way here with your new gadget?”

“Nanami brought me with his car actually.” Suguru assures and Satoru’s grin falters so little that it’d be unnoticeable to anyone else. “We can’t all teleport everywhere we want with minimal effort.” He gestures to the abominations behind him.

The door of the lab unlocks and Shouko returns before this charade of a conversation can continue, looking at both of them and rolling her eyes, sitting on the chair that engulfs her.

“Good news: The wings are all flesh and bone and match your DNA miraculously so. It’s not cursed energy and so it won’t spread further.”

Suguru doesn’t relax yet, braces himself.

“Bad news: your test results are shit. You’ve not been eating or sleeping and it shows. And the fight with the special grade took so much out of you and after that your constitution didn’t make things better, it wasn’t completely subdued by your technique.” She waves her hand to his direction, specifically to the extra appendages that grew out of him. “Tall order, but get your shit together and it’ll pass.”

“So what I need to do is get back to my usual life. Eat better and maybe start yoga.” He summarizes, “Thanks for your time, Shouko. I’ll be on my way-.”

“Stay in the college instead.”

His stomach drops.

“Huh?”

Satoru and he exchange looks at their unison, Suguru having forgotten his presence by how quiet he’s been.

Shouko doesn’t miss a beat, leans back in her chair and looks at them straight in the eye. “I’ll need to have you under medical supervision just in case a complication happens. There is a lot more space here for you to move freely and recover.” Her eyes start to gleam from the dark abyss of her eyebags, “I want to record the process. Consider it my payment.”

Suguru bites the remark on his tongue, presses his lips in a tight line.

“How long?” he grits out, arms crossed in front of him. Shouko only shrugs.

“I can’t say. It’s the first time I’m seeing this.”

He wants to argue, a lot. But his head is heavy, the wings in his back are heavy and the gazes of Shouko and Satoru are heavy and Suguru hasn’t slept well in two weeks at least and the light of the infirmary is starting to sting his eyelids.

“Fine.”

Shouko nods, “I have to write the report to Yaga tomorrow to notify him. Go rest. I’ll ask details tomorrow.” she glances at Satoru.

“I’ll take it from here!” Satoru says, “Come on then! Careful to fit the doors!”

“I know my way.” Suguru grumbles but follows, biding a curt goodnight to Shouko.

“There might have been some renovations.”

How he wishes that stuff has changed. But it’s still the same maze-like hallways he has walked millions of times before. He can still navigate them even blind.

And in the end, Satoru takes him to an all too familiar path and stops in an all too familiar room.

“You said there were renovations”

“Did I? I meant repairs, on the other side of the college.” Satoru answers all to perky for this too late or too early hour, “This stayed the same. But if you notified us that you’d visit, we’d have found a nice tree for you to nest. Goodnight! You heard what the good doctor said!” and he passes by the door Suguru expected him to disappear to, in the dark and empty hallways.

Suguru stares like Satoru will appear again for a last zinger to put the cherry on top of this tasteless joke but minutes pass and nothing but crickets outside happen.

He opens the room to his room – his before and his now- and the familiar scent of the past filtered with bitter nostalgia enters hits him. It lulls him to well-practiced steps and into a sense of security he despises to fall on the comfortable and smaller than he remembers bed and fall asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

“The girls are worried about you.”

Suguru holds back his sigh as he rubs the back of his neck, his sandaled feet echoing on the wooden floor as he continues his arhythmic pacing.

 “Tell them it’s not anything serious.”

“Didn’t look like it.”

He smiles ruefully to himself. “I know. Just tell them I’m not dying. I… Shouko just wants to keep an eye on me so I’ll have to stay until it passes. I won’t be long. I’ll call them myself later today.” Hopefully. “Will you be fine with them? Should I call one of the others?”

“We’ll be fine. Yu’s already packed and brought some of their things to our place. If something happens, I’ll make any necessary arrangements.”

“As expected of my juniors. Always so reliable.” He chuckles, “Thanks for the drive too, Nanami.”

“Have to make up for reckless seniors.” Nanami shoots back evenly.

Suguru’s wings twitch in the vibration travelling in the air.

“-Is that Nanami on the phone!? Gimme!”

“Speaking of.” he doesn’t get to finish his sentence or warning before Satoru grabs the phone from his grip, looks at the caller id and puts it to his ear.

“Nanami!~ It’s your most favourite, bestest senpai! Did you miss me?”

Suguru watches Satoru pestering Nanami with all types of questions and chattering one-sidedly, counts the seconds of Nanami’s patience. Just when Nanami’s time limit for tolerating Satoru is up and he’s going to hang up, he hears Haibara’s loud voice echoing ‘Is that Gojou-san?’ and taking over. Suguru tries to take back his phone, but Gojou slides away from his grip and pettily uses his infinity to push him back, continuing his lively conversation, one so reminiscent it’s ill.

Everything has been disturbingly unchanged. Stilted in a past era of their lives. His room has been perfectly how he left it; his closet still full, his books arranged how he did, the spines devoid of dust and the pages with no spec of yellowing. Everything smelled the same, not a hint of decay from the passage of time after three whole years.

His closet is still full of the clothes he wore back then, that he left behind in his hurry to escape. If anything is missing, he won’t ever know and it doesn’t matter. All his needs now are a few summer shirts to cut so that he won’t be exposed. Cutting off the sleeves and deep at the sides, it’s suitable for the hot weather and the wings fit between them. The area between the wings is covered; it has been extremely sensitive by the aftershocks of how it was torn apart to accommodate the newly-developed appendages. Even his own hair has been uncomfortable and the fabric mutes the sensation to mildly bearable. Ready to face the day.

Less surprising, the hallways and lounge area haven’t changed either, except a newer television model. When he stares out the window, all the landscapes are pulled right out of his memory.

The morning thus far has thrown him back in time and Satoru’s antics are making him even more immersed; the type of glasses and casual clothes he wears, talking with their juniours like they are in a days-long mission and not making their own lives away from this place.

It feels like mockery.

He’s thrown out of the loop, or back into it. The loop of their school days, their sweetest and bitterest years. It’s uncanny how similar it feels and how different his emotions then and now are, after all that has happened to all of them that has changed them.

“Why don’t you come visit and eat with your dear senpai-oh it hung up.” he’s shaken out of his thoughts by Satoru speaking dejectedly to the black screen before tossing it back to Suguru.

“I’m surprised it lasted this long,” He comments dryly. “If Haibara-kun didn’t cut in, you wouldn’t get a word out.”

“He’s just being a big tsundere.” Satoru argues with an exaggerated pout. Suguru wants to remind him of all the unanswered texts and calls Nanami has been getting from him, but it’s bitter for him to address as well- he wasn’t the only one having those, especially in the first year- and he remains silent.

It’s a bit less easy to navigate the kitchen. Not because it has changed, it hasn’t- another sign of jujutsu society clinging to their ways. From the arrangement of the utensils and the foods to the possessive notes of names and warnings to punish if eaten by someone else, mostly towards Satoru. It’s because the fucking wings take room he’s not used in the smaller spaces and he bumps into counters more than he’d like. Satoru of course sits and laughs and only shuts up when he pesters Suguru to make breakfast for him as well.

The damn wings don’t even allow him to sit normally in the chair and he has to turn its back forward; little things such as this and his shredded wardrobe are what puts this side effect high on the list of the most annoying ones.

He doesn’t realize it until after the fact that he has made too much out of habit and takes an additional tray to Shouko, who as expected has pulled and all-nighter in her office, next to her a significantly fuller astray and thrown around cans of black coffee.

“How did they come out?” she starts, mouth full, taking bites as she writes notes and takes photos.

“Tore out of my back while I was sleeping last night,” He massages his temples, hiding his face from the camera, “I had mild irritation and soreness on my back for a couple of days now, but I thought it was from the fight. Then all of the sudden, pain stabbed through me. I think I passed out and when I came to, they were already fully formed. The blood you saw what merely a sample from back home.”

“And now?”

“It doesn’t hurt, but-” he hisses when Shouko grabs a handful of heathers, “-they feel very sensitive.”

She hums in interest and takes the wing by its tendon and extends it to its full stretch, its black, purple and gold expanse larger than the span of both her arms, moves it into different angles and asking if it’s painful and sensitive, messing with the feathers. Suguru clenches his jaw and grits out his answers.

His skin is on fire, his vision spotty with every persistent touch at the marginal covets and scapular. Like taking a bullet out without anesthesia or a medical procedure, his body is dug and prodded. The taste of blood on his tongue, the marks in his palms and his cursing are barely keeping him together.

Shouko pulls at the secondary coverts and the newfound reflex kicks in; the wing escapes her grip and lashes out with a force that creates a strong gust of wind to scatter half her desk on the floor and sends her stumbling backwards. Her fall stops short, her body hovering mid fall and Suguru notices the white fluff of hair that wasn’t there before as she stands.

She waves off Suguru’s apology. “It’s nothing. That was my bad.”

He nods thanks to Satoru and looks at the offending wing, now closing to safely tuck behind him. With enough focus, they both extend to their full wingspan, taking up an impressive amount of space.

Shouko blinks at it, rushing to take more pictures of it with her phone and measuring them, this time her excitement more tampered. Satoru’s lips are parted, glasses fallen down the bridge of his nose to see his eyes ever-glowing blue and reflecting the black and purple and the golden pencil markings in his irises.

The weight of their stares is heavier than those alien things open behind him.

The quiet procedure is interrupted when door opens and Yaga enters unceremoniously, breaking all the tension in the room and creating a new one.

“Yaga-sensei. It’s so nice to see you.” Suguru’s voice drips with hostile sarcasm.

“You didn’t need to come down here.” Shouko frowns, back turned to the principal. “I’d tell him to come.”

“He wouldn’t have come.” “I wouldn’t have gone.” It’s bad enough that he has to stay here, but he’d roam the maze that is the jujutsu college, hide at its darkest corners to avoid seeing his former teacher’s face.

“Caring for your students? How rare of you Sensei- I’m sorry, you’re a principal now.” Suguru smiles a bit too widely. “I am so very grateful for your hospitality.”

Yaga shakes his head and sighs, “I can kick you out anytime I want, Suguru. You have become unwelcome here.” The words make him grin wider.

Please do, I’m betting on it. I’ll return to my real home. Suguru prays in his head. He only stays because of Shouko in both her logical arguments and the personal favour she asked.

But it wouldn’t be hard to find an open space to relocate until this passed and found a solution. What once was the renamed time vessel association’s cult may have had some changes under his command but the influence and resources it has available are greater than ever. And while not as talented and skilled as his former friend, he can think of a few names from his family with medical expertise and knowledge that could help instead.

“He’s a patient of mine. This is out of your jurisdiction.” Shouko interrupts, sharp and firm, “He has come to me for treatment and it’s my responsibility to do so. You have no choice in that matter.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow at the odd time Shouko remembers her Hippocratic oath. Her words have the desired effect and Suguru is certain it’s more from the power she has by how precious the jujutsu world finds her abilities than their goodness of their heart and so-called righteousness. She’s just as a precious weapon and pawn as Satoru is, only Shouko picks when to not be antagonistic and strike to get what she wants.

“Sensei!” Satoru suddenly perks, sensing the weight of the tension becoming unbearable, “I’ll watch over him while he’s here too. Don’t worry!”

Suguru closes his eyes and tries not to despair, regretting the rash decision he made last night to seek help here.

But Mimiko and Nanako were frightened by his shouts and displays of pain, their eyes were full of tears and it only added to the agony he was feeling that moment. They had stayed by his side, small hands covered in his blood. And Nanami’s arguments to drive him to Shouko were too logical and too sane and too reassuring and Suguru was too exhausted and in hurry to soothe the girls that it seemed the right idea in spite of his vow to never look back and step foot in this cursed place.

Yet here he fucking is mere four years later.

“Fine.” Yaga relents to his former students’ -that weren’t excommunicated- demands, “I’ll leave it to you then. But I won’t limit your missions, Satoru.”

Of course he won’t, Suguru wants to spit out, but Satoru only beams, his cheekbones pushing his glasses higher and covering the hints of mischief and something else Suguru doesn’t catch in his eyes.

With a last warning look to Suguru, at which he makes a show to roll his eyes, Yaga leaves the three of them together again.

“Easy there.” Shouko says, nodding to his wings when he looks at her questioningly. Feathers puffed up to make them look even bigger, raised above his shoulder blades, all primaries extended in a series of blades in an arsenal.

He refocuses and slowly wills them to fold back behind him. On the list of annoying things that the wings have caused him is a new entry: revealing his emotions. It’ll be of the first things he works on them, after basic movements.

“You did get your feathers ruffled after all, Suguru!”

The half empty mug of coffee that his hands reach first doesn’t hit Satoru due to his infinity, but Suguru at least got the satisfaction of throwing it.  Plus, Shouko makes Satoru get a mop and clean it up by himself, which is satisfactory on its own.

“What’s your opinion of a possible patient transfer? Or an early release?” Suguru suggests when alone with her again after Yaga’s eventful appearance.

“Nope.” She cuts him off on the spot, “We made an agreement and you’re not getting out of it that easily.”

“At least I tried,” he finally relents to his fate and exhaustion. He gazes at her as she meticulously writes her notes, “Shielding a fugitive, standing up for me to your superiors, on who’s side are you on? Is that interesting, my condition?”

“I don’t have a side,” Shouko responds looking at him straight in the eyes, “I treat whoever I want. Is that so hard to imagine?”

On the ten-day mark of his stay, Suguru feels eager to break some bones. Anything to make him feel something other than impatience and chasing despair, like being immobile for too long and you have the need to feel pain to feel present.

It’s been ten days of walking around in eggshells, of walking down an unpleasant memory lane and trying to get a grip of his mind, heart and body.

One of those is easier than the others; he feels that he’s got a decent grip on the wings, after having spent the past nine days getting to know their movements. At this point they behave more like a separate entity -a parasite- than a limb- probably something from the unruly special grade that started this by not giving up. At times they shoot up more than he wanted, their wind waves stronger and pushing his whole body back, and other movements seem to lock the tendons and drag slowly.

Haibara had said that he had a similar experience during the physical therapy for his lost legs. That it should be expected for the mind and body to be in a miscommunication at the start, and the frustration that comes with it. Haibara had said that support from others would help, but Suguru is in a place that he has none of that.

He has no patience idling around feeling useless.

Calling upon his inventory of curses is out of the question for obvious reasons. His teenage years of summoning in the school grounds has been exhumed and replaced with his unwillingness to deal with anything administrative on this school. Yaga’s threats about kicking him out are tempting but they ultimately stand nothing to the stupid sentimentality he still has for his classmates.

He never could deny Shouko a favour, especially one that was hard for her to admit being sentimental about. And Satoru.

Well, Satoru is a chronic ache that will never fully heal. It’d been hurting with every breath, every second. Near, far, wherever he is- it hurts. Suguru has been familiarized with it and its intricacies but every time he comes to check on him, something whispers in disagreement.

Normally, he’d go for a jog or on the training field to practice his combat. But the wings have screwed his focal point and balance by rearranging his gravity, making those options impossible and his body thrumming with pent-up frustration and energy to unleash in some way.

Thus, he decides to break the idle loop he’s found himself in by using what’s new- what’s left. Using the wings, the way they are meant to be used.

The school has too many temples, empty and decorative, but their roofs are perfect for gaining momentum and flight, he has plenty choices at any height he wants.

He flaps the wings once, twice, elevating off his feet half a meter for half a minute before touching the ground again, the biggest accomplishment of the past couple of days. They can hold his weight easily, thanks to the large wingspan of a bit over two meters, made of powerful bone and muscle. Without momentum however, they can only create gusts of wind and keep him of the ground in small heights and times.

They are meant for high and long flights and that’s what Suguru is going to try.

Visualizing his route, he takes a deep breath and concentrates. Then he starts running towards the edge as fast as he can.

And he jumps.

Gravity pulls him but he has taken worse falls in his life for this to cause him any substantial fear.

The wings take exactly two seconds to react and soon Suguru finds himself staying in the air, looking down at the roofs of the buildings, the temples and the jujutsu college from high up above. With the movements he practiced, he’s sliding smoothly in the air.

It feels different from when he rides a curse like Rainbow Dragon to fly. He can’t fully explain how the wind hitting his face is different, it just is. There is a sense of freedom as he wills the wings to take him around the property, higher and higher to the sky and everything shrinking down to fit the palm of his hand.

He doesn’t know how long it passes until the wings need a reprieve soon. He extends them to their maximum length and slowly, carefully descents.

Mid-distance, he realizes that landing will be much harder than take off was.

Shit. Shit!

He flew too high and the gravity and acceleration aren’t working in his favour. The momentum guarantees a graceless fall no matter how he tries to cut it off. Fuck. He had thought that the take off and falling off the rooftop would be the one that did it, but in the end, this will be the time for fractured and broken bones.

Just like with combat training, the weight of the wings messing up his sense of balance comes into play.

“Suguru!”

He doesn’t notice or hears anything beyond the wind hollering into his ears and he crashes into the ground.

“Fuck.” He groans and tries to orientate himself again. There is an odd lack of pain in his hands where they must have been scathed.

“Ow, ow!” he hears from underneath and he promptly understands why that is when he lifts himself up.

“Satoru?” he gapes.

Suguru’s hands are found splayed across Satoru’s chest, looking down at him laying down on the ground. Satoru has one hand on the back of his head and the other on the displayed skin of his waist. His lips form a discomforted grimace, eyes bare and his sunglasses tossed away somewhere.

Suguru frowns. “What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps.

“You should be saying ‘Thank you for saving my life, Satoru-sama’ instead of yelling at me.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, “It’s not the first time I’ve fallen from high up.”

He looks down at his hands, touching flesh, feeling Satoru’s rapid heartbeat beneath.

The Infinity is off. Suguru’s stomach plummets in spite of itself.

“Are you okay?” he sits up and pulls Satoru to do the same, checking his back, “Let me see!”

“What a nag. I’m fine.”

“You’re an idiot.” His uniform jacket is torn horribly, but his shirt underneath much less so, which means it shielded him well. His fingers travel up to his neck and feels up the back of his head, holding a squirming Satoru down with his body weight until he stays still, “Does it hurt somewhere?” Satoru shakes his head and Suguru sighs in relief before letting him go, only to slap the back of his head, “What the fuck was that?!”

“I should be asking that!” Satoru snaps back.

“I was bored and tried flying. It’s not a big deal.”

“You should have told me.”

Suguru wants to punch him so bad, “Since when?!”

“Since you’re already here because you’re hurt and since I’m supposed to be watching you! I came back and just saw you falling down.”

He scowls, staring at the other in flustered anger. It’s the first time during his stay he’s seeing Satoru something other than overly cheeky or with a completely silent poker face.

“Why didn’t you use your infinity on me, instead of this?” he waves towards his current position.

Satoru looks taken aback for a second, before his expression becomes something Suguru can’t read.

He’s been out on missions a lot, Suguru reminds himself, something sharp stinging in his chest. An old shrapnel lodged that hasn’t been pulled out.

He reaches for Satoru’s glasses and stands up, clenching his fist in a moment of hesitation before offering his hand to the other. His breath hitches when Satoru takes it without hesitation and lets Suguru pull him up and close, handing him back his, now ruined, glasses.

“For a first flight, it went alright. I need to fix the landing.” He concludes to himself, closing his eyes. Stretching and shaking of the dust and dirt on his wings, he lets them take in the warmth of the sun and barely felt summer breeze.

“Was it fun?” He hears Satoru ask.

Suguru keeps his eyes shut, his mouth twists into am effortless, tranquil smile.

“Yeah... Yeah it was.”

“You look better.” Shouko remarks casually one morning in their daily check-up.

“I hope so.” Suguru quirks an eyebrow, “Or else I’m really going to start questioning your doctor’s license.”

Shouko rolls her eyes and tugs at a primary feather. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then?”

“You just seem happier. Less annoying at least.” She turns her back on him, mumbles something he can’t quite hear. “Don’t overthink it.” she calls out before he heads out.

His mind is spinning with her words, unlocks a realization he’s been avoiding unconsciously and now he’s hit the wall with the brazen writing.

Something has shifted ever so slightly.

He hasn’t thought about leaving in some days, when before the impatience and anxiety were chasing him down in every corner.

The wings feel more and more like his even if he will be glad when they finally disappear. He’s overcoming a fever or a virus that has put his body under less-than-optimal condition and out of his control, control that he now starts to regain.

It feels easier to breathe, easier to move after getting used to his shifted gravity center. He finds out how the sensitivity of the wings can alert him when someone is approaching from the slightest shift in the air. It’s why he can sense even Satoru approaching, the couple of times he tried to sneak up on his with his speed, before giving up, because even his teleportation alerts his feathers.

His boredom takes the backseat now with flying, same with the danger of being lost in the unpleasant memories of aimlessly roaming the hallways of the college. He feels the movements of his wings as they soar him around the mountain, when he lands increasingly better on the ground, how they glide through the air and regulate the speed. It takes him some days and some rough falls, scrapped knees and hands but he masters it once he puts himself into the mindset of his martial arts training and considers the wings as additional appendages.

It's not only been an escape, but also exhilarating.

Wonderful.

Suguru doesn’t want to think how much of this has to do with Satoru taking an interest in joining him after that first time, with his infinity allowing him to stand at the skies together. Shouko comes as well, to check on how the wings work while in action and after being dragged out of her underground hole by Satoru.

It’s fun, so fucking fun. Suguru hasn’t laughed until he’s breathless, from true and light happiness in a horribly long time. Weightless in his head and heart.

Satoru’s face too, it lights up every time he sees Suguru, eyes so impossibly bright the skies pale in comparison; the fragmented part of him wishes he were flying in them.

It’s the curse of this place, the trap of his memories his mind has been caught on. It’s easier to think about the misery and they pain in his soul, it helps justify himself for leaving. But this, touching up the golden parts, or the buried treasures is unbearable to look away from.

He was happy here, once. The hallways weren’t always haunted with sadness. He had run on them, laughing and content. Had made himself a home here to return and be safe in a world that could break you any moment.

Suguru didn’t like to call himself broken once, preferred the world bruised or maybe scarred because broken means being weak and unfixed and he was deluded he was one of the strongest sorcerers.

Then Okinawa landed its series of blows. And he kept on cracking, in heart and in resolve.

And he was on the verge of shattering, in that early summer day of June when the village mission came and he saw Nanako and Mimiko being shunned and abused by the other villagers, treated worse than pests, dirty and barefoot and clinging to each other as their only solace, their parents gone.

One of the villagers had suggested locking them in a cage. Suguru had beaten the man nearly to death, blinded by rage and pent-up despair, his white knuckles splotched with red filth and the skin split.

He took the girls and under the looming threat of imminent threat, they let him go without much futile resistance with the girls clinging to his arms with the little strength they have in their small bodies.

Suguru had been hanging from a thread, slowly wearing out. If it were later in time, if he had seen the girls in the cages when he arrived, he would have left carnage and ruin behind him.

Even if he didn’t, he knew he going back was impossible. He took on a different route with the time vessel association’s cult and its influence, working on his own, occasionally helping on Yuki’s research and distancing himself from the hierarchy of the jujutsu world he’d been under, building it anew and strong to never cower before them.

He’d been happy with them, and his family didn’t stop at the girls, even if it were the closest to his heart. The family kept expanding, with Haibara’s unexpected arrival, soon followed by a worried and resolute Nanami.

Due to a failed mission, Haibara was severely injured and therefore judged as useless by the jujutsu world. Suguru was more than glad to take him in after he found he had nowhere left to turn and pull strings for Haibara’s sister as well, in order for her to have the life her brother hopes for her. Out of the three of them, only Nanami is still a registered sorcerer, still on the call, going to missions as ordered, separating work and homelife as perfectly as always.

Threads still connected him and Satoru, nooses tightening around his neck. If he wanted to reach out to him, if Satoru wanted to reach out too, they would have done so easily, they would have found each other as they used to.

But neither of them did.

He doesn’t know Satoru’s reasons, but he can safely assume it’s because of the weight of being the strongest entails. His thoughts have delved deeper, on the nights after his departure, at the new, foreign and still cold house he bought. When it wasn’t home yet, when home was called the place he had abandoned.

Satoru must have gotten over them. He never liked to associate himself with the weak, he didn’t like to slow down for those that were left behind, bound with words like meaning and easily breakable. He had run so far ahead of Suguru that he couldn’t see him anymore, left alone and heartbroken in the emptiness.

It’s hard when the one you love doesn’t need you anymore, that you can’t do anything for them.

Not sure if they ever loved you like you do.

It had been an unspoken thing- the one between them. A fluid and natural stream of water that they both took for granted. With fleeting, unquestioned and unanswered touches, late nights in the same room, articles of shared clothing, fights and shared afternoons in detention and then shared afternoons outside detention, injuries while on missions and movie nights and just being two of the handful teenagers in this unconventional, fucked-up high school life.

Two kisses far apart, born from pure impulse and childish arguments. Came and went in brief, blissful moments. Both faded into their memories and trauma right after.

It was never clear who initiated the first kiss. Nor the second. All Suguru knows is how close, closer than ever Satoru was. How he tasted like sweet red apples.

Suguru had thought of those lips in Shinjuku, moments before he turned his back to Satoru after seeing his furious face. The infinity that separated them.

They have become monuments, unwanted gifts whenever Suguru has a bad day. Swirling among everything he has lived in this very place.

And much like monuments, Suguru stops and glances at the genuine smile Satoru has, when he speaks. Catches himself marveling how pink his lips are, gleaming like the rest of him, yearning for the answer to how they will taste now.

This place is poisoning him again. Toxins sweet in their fragrance. Lulling him to sleep and waking him in a dream.

The secondary coverts are the fastest type of feathers to regrow.

Three weeks into his stay, he’ll see Mimiko and Nanako again.

Their visit to a lot of thought in Suguru’s part, hesitant to let them near the school and to such a central part of the jujutsu world. A paranoid part of him whispers that they’ll take them away from him, throw them into danger with no regard for the lives as they did him.

Daily calls and texts don’t compare to Suguru seeing them in the flesh, making sure they are safe and alright, soothing their worried voices about his condition, tugging at his heartstrings, rendering him unable to deny them for longer.

The wings have been fluttering from the anticipation since he woke up, so much that even Satoru called him neurotic, clutching his phone and looking glancing every so often at the text Nanami sent him about just starting the drive, counting down each minute and second that passes.

“Getou-sama!”

He hears them calling him before he sees them and moments later he has an armful of two seven-year olds, laughing shakily as they cling to him, ruffling their hair, forgetting the world around them.

They tremble in his embrace, small fists on his shirt- his neck wet with their tears.

“Shh. It’s alright. I’m fine, I’m fine.” He repeats over and over -for them and for himself alike- until their sniffles cease. He wipes their tears and kisses their temples.

From behind them, Nanami approaches, looking around in alert.

“We missed you so much, Getou-sama.” Nanako says, eyes still a bit glassy.

Suguru smile softly as he reluctantly lets them go, “I missed you too. I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly.”

Curious and cautious eyes glance at the wings, then back at Suguru who squeezes their hands.

“There was a lot of blood…” Mimiko trails off, unable to stop looking at them.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Suguru says, his tone lowering to a whisper, “It’s like that time Mimiko ate too much strawberry ice cream and her stomach was hurting after.” He chuckles when the girl in question flushes red, “I ate a large curse, that’s all.”

Their expressions loosen just a bit, tiny matching quirks of their lips breaking the bulk of their anxiety.

He stands up and greets Haibara and Nanami from over Satoru’s shoulder as he babbles to his juniors, fingers playing with the girls black and blonde hair, “Thanks for taking care of them.”

“It was nothin, Getou-san!” Haibara smiles, “We have fun, right?” the girls nod slowly.

“Yu-kun showed us how to ride a bike.”

“Oh did he?” Suguru wonders.

“And we played with their rat.”

“Guinea pig.” Nanami corrects them.

“It doesn’t look like a pig.” Mimiko whispers and Suguru chuckles.

Nanami sighs resigned, as if this conversation has happened multiple times; he reserves his strength now that Satoru is here, hanging off his and haibara’s shoulders and chatting happily with the later.

Suguru turns to the girls again, who look at Gojou curiously, tagging closer to him. Their eyes dart to Satoru, the new person, and the new environment around them, assessing. Anxiety, about the new place perhaps, being at a vital point of the jujutsu world even though they have familiar faces in. Same thing had happened when he had taken them out at a store for the first time, shuffling in their seats and cautiously looking around.

Despite his own complicated feelings, he puts on a smile, “Let’s leave them to catch up and give you a tour around, okay?”

He smiles through the glare Nanami burns into his skull and the other two cheering and takes each of the girls’ hands to take them around the compound.

It resembles a walk in an empty park, and down memory lane as Suguru tells them bits and pieces of his life there, how he trained in those fields, where he was sitting in the old classroom and by the time they arrive at this room, both Nanako and Mimiko look a bit more like the kids they are. Suguru lets them play around with his stuff inside, putting their own touches in this relic. Mimiko leaves the doll she brought on Suguru’s bed and his heart swells, full of warmth.

Not long after, comfortable to be in Suguru’s space, they start to let their questions out.

“Can I touch them?” Nanako asks, the same determination in their eyes. Suguru smiles and sits closer, letting the wings open up enough to provide access.

He doesn’t register their touch at first, careful and light as it is, no stronger than an evening breeze. Their fingers graze his primaries and the wing twitches slightly, startling them.

“Don’t worry. It’s just ticklish.” Suguru reassures.

They don’t stray far, more interested in tracing the golden markings splayed all over the wings; the striations that whorl in all kinds of shapers, intermingling with the freckles of shades of purple on others and the black that fades from descending from the marginal feathers. It’s a darker colour scheme that the curse itself didn’t have when he fought it.

“You don’t keep your hair down, Getou-sama?”

He tugs out his loosening ponytail and lets his hair flow over his collarbone, “My back in sensitive and it’s hot out.” he reads the unspoken question, “Do you want to do something with it, Mimiko? Go ahead.”

While Nanako continues counting the infinite freckles in Suguru’s wings, Mimiko braids his hair into a simple fishtail braid. She must have been practicing more; braiding has been a way of expression for her, even is she were the more talkative of the two girls. Suguru didn’t mind when she asked for hair clips or to brush and do his hair, she was opening up and that’s what mattered.

“Who was that guy? With the white hair?”

Suguru’s face twists in a hesitant smile, “Satoru?” he wonders, trying to decide on his words. It’s easier to confide in the girls, ridiculous as it may sound, “He’s my best friend,” he admits, “A person very dear and important to me.”

“But isn’t he with the sorcerers with Getou-sama hates?”

“Unfortunately,” he says with a heavy heart, “We fought, long time ago, and it’s been like that ever since. The agreement for me to stay here is until I get treated.”

“That’s fine,” Mimiko declares in a surprisingly loud voice, “We’re here for you Getou-sama! We won’t leave you, ever.”

Laughter bubbles before he can help it, “Thank you, Nanako, Mimiko.”

Before he can get too melancholic, think about the visible future and how he feels about it, he changes the subject, “You seem to like them,” referring to the wings, “Do you want to try flying?”

The girls nod in excitement that wasn’t there a couple of hours ago. Settling on his arms, arms wound tightly around his shoulders. They squeal into his ears as they take off and lifted, their eyes closes until they are stabilized in the air, blinking them open one at a time.

Their way their eyes shine as they stare out the landscape before them, bright and youthful warms up his heart.

“It’s like riding on the pretty dragon!” Mimiko shouts, giggling all the way. Suguru had carried them in it sometimes, but since Nanako almost slipped, Suguru has been refusing to take them for a ride on it, not until they get older or he finds a more suited and safer curse that doesn’t nearly causes them a heart attack.

Suguru gives an overhead tour as well, taking them around the mountain and get a full view of the city skyline, the high buildings being so small from above.

The twins’ smiles are dazzling. Suguru can’t refuse them and he flies until either of them becomes exhausted.

It’s lunchtime when they finally land for good, the girls still winded and excited, their adrenaline settling down to realize their hunger. He makes a mental note to take them to an amusement park.

He’s not as tense as he maybe should have been at the fact that Shouko and Satoru will join them for lunch, Haibara coerces to stay more with his seniors he hadn’t seen in so long. And Nanami relents, partly in a form of revenge to grate at Suguru’s nerves.

“Need help?” Satoru asks from where he’s leaning in the kitchen doorframe, chopping vegetables for the meal, cooking the girls’ favourites.

Suguru quirks an eyebrow, “I’m good.” Satoru continues standing there, and he’s glad to have a task to absorb into, easier to ignore the weight of his covered gaze and overthinking whatever might be in the other’s mind.

“Getou-sama, can we help set the table?” Mimiko asks on behalf of both sisters, their little feet shuffling awkwardly. Suguru smiles and gives them a plate and a glass to put out, something easy to be focused on.

Not a minute later, he hears a yelp and strides out fast, staring at the image of Mimiko’s horrified face, looking down at the floating plate mere centimeters away from falling and shattering.

Satoru crouches in front of her, taking the plate from where it’s caught in his infinity and holds it up to her. Waits patiently when the girl tentatively takes it into her hands and reaches a hand to pat her head. Mimiko flinches at first, squeezing Suguru’s heart but she miraculously relaxes fast at the touch.

The only other person that she’d ever gotten used to fast was Suguru, which was natural. It took Haibara six months to stop the flinching and Nanami a little over a year since he doesn’t care about physical contact much.

Satoru catches Suguru’s astonished eyes and beams. His heart beats in a dangerous rhythm, his mind full of fluff and despite himself and all his logical reservations he smiles softly back, eyes curving.

Seeing all of them together around the table proves to be dangerous. Suguru’s heart is bombarded with affection, so sweet and enticing. Those are the people he cares about, each one unique bond that can’t be replicated. It feels natural, it’s the dream of the world that Suguru wants to achieve, where none of them will have to be in danger and hurt and toyed with any longer. Where death isn’t a soon but a far thought of when.

He puts a strand of Nanako’s hair behind her ear before it falls into her food, he teases with Satoru about Nanami’s very particular ritual of eating, listens to Shouko telling Mimiko about the funniest cases and some of Suguru’s embarrassing medical history.

Once done, he joins Shouko for a cigarette outside, staying in the twins’ direct vision through the window, lets them play games in his phone.

“Thought you’d quit.” Shouko comments outside.

Suguru takes a drag, lets it fill his lungs for a second before he exhales. “Once in a blue moon. When the kids are asleep or occupied and the weather is good.”

He doesn’t mention that those are the nights where the house is too quiet and his mind feels reminiscent to miss his previous life as an official sorcerer. That he wonders and looks over his shoulder.

Shouko hums, “Wouldn’t want to give a bad example to your dear daughters.”

“Says the health professional.”

“Do I look like I run some pediatric clinic?”

“Speaking off… Give them a general check-up before they leave. Just in case the separation anxiety caused malnutrition or something. Among others.”

“I’ll add it to your bill of favours you owe me.”

Suguru simply smiles, glances back inside. Where the twins have sat on either of Satoru’s sides and he holds his phone, most likely to beat a stage for them.

He curses and hurries inside, grabs the phone from an unashamed Satoru and gives it back to the girls.

“He snoops around. Don’t give it to him again.”

“Suguru-kun is afraid I’m gonna see something naughty!” he gasps dramatically. His head finds itself in a headlock the next moment.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying, Nanako, Mimiko. Let’s make that a lesson to not give our phones to weird strangers, okay? It’s dangerous.” the two girls nod, determined.

“Satoru-kun is no stranger, he’s a friend!” Satoru protests and that’s an invitation to close in his air passage tighter so that brain of his doesn’t get more oxygen.

“That’s what every creep says.” Nanami helpfully adds, now the one tasked with beating the difficult game level.

Suguru lets go of Satoru when he taps his arm, his lips curling into a frown when the catches Satoru’s too bright, artificial grin, the tension in his sky eyes the brief moment he catches them directly.

He puts it aside for the limited time he has left in the girls’ visit. Shouko does that check-up on them that she was complaining about before, taking blood samples with a lot of struggle and a lot of Suguru soothing them, even using his wings to distract them. Shouko played a huge role in that as well; she’s good with them, her voice softening and her tired eyes crinkling in a small smile, despite how she denies everything.

They nap on his room, feeling the most at east there when Suguru ironically didn’t. Nanami has some business to take care of on the side, sorcerer stuff that he doesn’t tell Suguru like the true neutral man he is.

When they leave, a part of him goes with them. Despite Haibara’s promises for fun at home, they are just reluctant to leave and don’t move from their spot at the school’s entrance.

“I’ll be back soon, okay? So be good until then.” He crouches in front of them.

“When?” Nanako asks, clutching her sister’s hand tightly.

Suguru sighs, “A couple of weeks. At most. If it takes longer, you’ll visit me again, okay? I get lonely.” He smiles and caresses their hair. “In the meantime, you can call me and text anytime you want. I mean it.”

They nod and he ushers them away, a little too paranoid whether someone will come and take them away.

“Bye Mimiko-chan, Nanako-chan! See you later!” Satoru shouts from next to him, waving like a madman.

Turning around one last time, Suguru’s eyes widen when they shyly wave back, their whisper of ‘bye bye’ echoing in the wind.

Suguru flies up when their silhouettes disappear to see the car driving away, only satisfied when they leave the premises completely and on time.

When he comes down, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

Satoru is watching him with an amused expression, one that signifies he’s close to imploding if he doesn’t say anything in two seconds.

“Out with it.”

“Didn’t expect you to be the overbearing type of dad.” Satoru chuckles.

“If Nanami finds out you agree on something, he’s going to have existential problems.” Suguru snarks before the frown finally takes over and weaves his fingers behind his neck. “I don’t think I am. Nanako and Mimiko are…sensitive, still. It’d been hard for them at that fucking monkey village.” He feels the rage momentarily blind him, the images of their small, beaten bodies flashing behind his eyelids and he has to breathe in and breathe out deeply to recover.

“Your little business is still in danger. They’re itching for an opening. At best they’ll take them in and train them to be sorcerers too.”

“I won’t let them.” he says. He looks at Satoru, his throat tight despite his leveled voice, “Or you, if it comes to it.”

Satoru just looks at him, glasses low on the bridge of his nose and now Suguru can see the skies in them, brighter than the sky above them.

The years of separation punch him in their gut; an opening after relaxing and become immersed in a fragile fantasy dressed and the rosy parts of the past. Just like he was afraid of. When coming here, when seeing Satoru again. that he’d be caught up in an orbit he’d never get out of.

He doesn’t know who Gojou Satoru, the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer, is now. How he has changed during all these years and grew up from the boy Suguru once knew.

The boy Suguru is still in love with, so much that looking at the sky hurts some days.

“Is that what you think?” Satoru asks evenly, expression all serious, eyes commanding his attention.

“I don’t know.” he admits with a wilting smile, his hands dropping on his side and his pockets.  One day, he’ll have to face Satoru as an opponent, as an obstacle that stands in his way. He’ll have to go all out and most likely die by his hands. He can hold out on his own but he can’t ultimately come victorious in a battle with the strongest sorcerer.

“You should, Suguru.” Satoru smiles ruefully.

Suguru heads back inside the complex, not looking back like he did back in Shinjuku, locking himself into the room and not eating anything until the next day. It won’t be beneficial for his situation and counterproductive in his desire to get away from here and return home but all his thoughts are stuck in the past, at the Suguru of the past. Of the Satoru of the past. How both have changed. How they’ve interchanged parts of them from back then to who they are now.

Maybe that’s one reason he misses Satoru, because he’s taken a piece of him that he can’t get back. Doesn’t know if his wants to.

“You’re definitely coddling them.” Satoru declares, landing on the roof.

Suguru pockets his phone after answering the twins’ latest text. “I don’t need parenting advice from you.”

Satoru grins, eyes twinkling with mischief, “A miserable loss on your part!” he hums, “But I get it, they are cute and good kids. Did they manifest a technique?”

“Yes and that’s all you’ll get.”

“I’m asking as a future teacher!”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, “Since when?”

Satoru shrugs, a secretive but humourless smile on his face. Of course, it’s surprising, but it really shouldn’t- it’s been many and important years of radio silence from both of their parts.

Still, thorns of the reminders don’t fail to prickle at his skin.

“I saw potential in them. If you train them, they’ll become strong.”

Suguru snorts but it contains little humour. “You mean become like we used to be,” he sighs, “I won’t force them to do if they don’t want to.”

“Coddling!” Satoru laughs and they leave the discussion as is. Thankfully. The evening sky is quiet and beautiful bright even at the hour that it is. He stretches his legs, arms and wings and makes himself comfortable on the high roof after a long flight. He feels Satoru joining him.

“Hey, Suguru, it’s too hot.”

“So what? Can’t control the weather.”

Satoru gestures to his wings, “But you have these bad boys here, come on, make me a breeze.”

Instead of that, Suguru attempts to hit him with a wing. Satoru dodges it and smiles in satisfaction at the air that tousles his hair.

“Ah, what a nice breeze!”

“You’re covered from head to toe in the middle of June, Satoru.”

“Are you trying to get me to strip?” Satoru gasps dramatically, unzipping his jacket to the end and immediately zipping it back up to the collar, “But you know I don’t tan nicely.”

He knows, Satoru’s skin is too pale and absorbs no melanin, going pink and red like a lobster instead and peeling if he’s exposed to it for too long.

Normally Suguru would remind him the existence of sunscreen, to which Satoru would answer with explaining how sticky and gross it feels on his skin.

But now, “Find a room with air conditioning or boil to death.” He tries to hit him again but it has the same result.

Satoru doesn’t and silence falls. Suguru doesn’t let it become comfortable, pretends he’s alone.

But he’s tuned into every movement, chases it with the corner of his eye and catches himself from turning more than once. So he notices how Satoru moves his head around to look at the sun for long moments and then hug his knees and rest his head on them.

Suguru’s feeling restless, at the assumptions his mind provides from deduction and past experience, and he extend his wing to rest it above Satoru, shielding him from the sunrays.

That very same stare transfixes on him- he doesn’t want to know the expression this action causes.

“You make my own eyes hurt, dumbass.”

He expects Satoru to talk his ear off in some way or another but he’s met with silence.

He doesn’t expect for the press on his arm, the bump on his knee. The fluffy ivory hair becomes an unavoidable in his vision from the proximity. He feels his wing adjust to the new angle, still providing shade for Satoru to bask in and sigh in pure contentment.

“Your freckles match the ones on your wings.” Satoru whispers after a long pause, his eyes travelling to his shoulder and his arm. Suguru’s heart skips- he doesn’t know how to answer, so he doesn’t, hopes the warmth he feels on his face and the places Satoru’s iridescent eyes graze.

Shouko finds them there, muttering about normal chilling places, but joins them on Suguru’s other side, walking with her heels in hand.

Suguru’s other wing moves on its own, he’ll claim if asked. From the leftover tension of the flight. Nevermind that it feels so right.

He’s fully immerged in the quicksand, won over his resistance and drowned every attempt of escape, sucked him into the abyssal dream.

When Satoru suddenly barged into his room and declared ‘You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine!’ with his full chest, he had expected something completely stupid he had prepared himself.

He certainly didn’t expect this.

Suguru’s blood is frozen despite the hot summer weather, his mind reeling uncontrollably and numb and a sticky blanket of shame at those effects on him clings like second skin.

A miniature of that man stares back at him from his place next to a dark haired girl. His posture is demure and apathetic, reminding him of his twins, but without the submissiveness, fidgety state he works on growing out in them. The boy is indifferent and holds himself unbothered, ready to fight.

He knows the name of the boy before Satoru mentions it.

‘Oh, I remember. Megumi means blessings. I gave that name to him.’  He remembers every fucking word that bastard Fushiguro Toji had said, his voice rattling inside his skull enough to crack and Suguru has to bleed anew to not lose himself in it.

Satoru must have gone insane. Shattered the meaning of sanity for the second time, already far gone once he came back from the impossible, his eyes changed and deranged- flickering from too hyper and vibrant to dull and foggy when Suguru marveled at him standing and breathing.

Because of that man, because Suguru hadn’t pressed more, had taken his abilities for granted and infallible as Satoru reassured him.

The boy’s tilts his head- just like Riko’s had done from the velocity of the bullet busting her skull wide open- observes him with wariness. The girl smiles, seemingly good naturedly, and while his attention prioritizing her, he’s not fully letting her out of his sight.

Satoru continues to speak of introductions and his usual tangents and comments, standing too close on the boy, too familiar with the boy that stares at his wings with thickly veiled interest.

The vibrations of the feathers feel like an earth-splitting earthquake, each of them ready to react at the slightest movement. He might have a good control on them by now, but reflexes can never be controllable. Satoru is well aware of this- it’s the reason he polished his technique to be untouchable by everything.

It’s no wonder then, when the boy moves, -Megumi, but he vehemently refuses to use that name because it always comes in that fucker’s voice with the sensation of his filthy foot holding him beneath him- lifts his hand towards him, Suguru’s wings spread out fast to their full length and more.

One of them flies in front of Satoru to shield him from his vision. His rest of his body is locked in place, eyes locking at the boys like a hawk.

It’s a relief and a satisfaction when the boy recoils to himself, stepping behind and stumbling in his step out of surprise, nearly falling if it weren’t for his sister.

Satoru ducks under the wing in front of him easily, sparing a look towards Suguru.

“It’s all cool Megumi!” he perks up, uncaring and unfazed in a way Suguru can’t breathe, crouching in front of the boy, just like he had done so with his girls. “Suguru’s wings are just super sensitive that’s all. But look! I told you they are the coolest!”

The boy seems apprehensive and displeased by Satoru being so close and treating him like a kid, glancing back at Suguru warily. To an outsider, it might feel ridiculous how he stares down a kid with so much hatred.

Then again, Amanai Riko was innocent too- but that didn’t stop Megumi’s father from taking her life when she resolved to claim it back for herself.

Turning away slowly, as if to show he’s not intimidated, he mumbles, “Nue’s wings are still the best.”

Suguru’s eyelid twitches in annoyance, even though he doesn’t give a shit about this brat’s opinion. Even more so on those damn wings of his, that he now dislikes from causing this meeting a bit more than he dislikes Satoru for the same reason.

The girl smiles and takes the boy away, smiling and bowing briefly. Only when they both disappear for good does Suguru speak.

“You’ve taken in his kid now?” he asks evenly. Not completely devoid of anger and accusation as he’d have wanted.

Satoru shrugs, like this is not a big fucking deal, “He’s a good kid. With potential.” He says and now Suguru’s blood boils, “Plus it pisses off the Zenin that they didn’t buy their precious technique.”

Suguru stares at him, really stares and the image he has clung to for years slips further out of his grip.

“He looks just like him.”

“I know but it’s the shock of the first time seeing him, Suguru. I told you, he’s a –”

“I couldn’t care less how good and great you tell me he is.” His gaze sharpens from ire, “You could at least feel a little ashamed, taking in the kid of the guy that almost killed you.”

“He has nothing to do with what happened.” Satoru levels, “I’m sure that what the people in that village think about Nanako and Mimiko.”

“It’s not the fucking same and you know it!” Suguru reaches out to grab him by the collar in an attempt to shake some sense into him, meeting no invisible resistance at all. When has he been successful in that? His hand drops to his side, wings winded tightly close to himself thrumming with the need to take flight.

“But I guess nothing fazes the strongest sorcerer. Amanai’s murder certainly didn’t.”

“Suguru-”

He cuts him off, “You know what hurt just as bad as you and her dying back then?” Once the dam has cracks, he isn’t fast enough to contain it and restricted words flow out of his composure, “That he left me alive. He could slit my throat, stab me, bash my head inside out any fucking time he wanted but he didn’t even consider it and just left me there.”

Truth is, Suguru was ready to die then, resigned under all that anger and shame and guilt. Because back then, living in a world where Gojou Satoru was dead seemed inconceivable, painful.

Satoru says nothing, he just stares at Suguru, completely bare in front of him despite trying his hardest to not show any of the weakness and vulnerability that his place evoked, burying it under all the contempt and the anger and hatred.

Suguru closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, forces his shoulders and wings to relax to their default.

“You were right, back then. About me. About being idealistic, stuck onto a misguided meaning. I was too naïve to realize.” He steps back, fisted shoved into his pockets. A bitter, broken smile escapes him, “But it’s alright now. Maybe that bastard Fushiguro Toji showed both our true selves. Maybe you’re paying him back for awakening your true strength. And I suppose, my true weakness.”

“I still hope he’s rotting slowly and painfully in hell. And I don’t plan on a second meeting with his kid. Have you forgotten, Satoru. That all this is temporary?” because Suguru is so tempted to forget, each second compelling his longing heart closer to the river Styx.

He chooses to fly away instead of walk this time, because his body is so taut with tension and the wings have been itching to be used, taking to the wide, darkening skies, grateful for their colour because the big, bright beautiful clear blue skies has never been the same since he met Satoru, since looking at his eyes put the real sky to shame.

He doesn’t look back if Satoru might follow, he already knows the answer. There is no need for more childish hopes, for more delusions.

Walking on the forest and the sitting on the high roofs doesn’t clear his head- of chasing memories, of that kids face and all it represents to him. Satoru probably learnt from those kids, so similar to the way he behaved to Mimiko and Nanako and it makes Suguru sick in such a familiar way even though the hadn’t consumed a curse while he was there.

It’s night when he returns to his room, bone tired in every way. He finds Shouko on the way that looks at him unimpressed and shaking her head, sending him to his room ‘on doctor’s orders’ and notifying him that Satoru was called for a mission. Suguru solemnly nods, playing fluidly into the scenario of the past, falling into dreamless and restless sleep.

Suguru has been in a shitty mood and eager to leave but that’s old news by now. The ticking of the clock, day in day out has been fraying his nerves since day one, past excluded.

This time, it feels different; if someone even breathes in his direction he’ll snap. Flying has feels off and takes hours until he falls asleep, each additional nerve now fully aware in a similar way as when the wings first manifested. He feels each of them as a separate entity, not in the way one feels their fingers, but when one feels aware of every pore of their skin.

He wonders if Satoru feels like that with his six eyes, and how the hell does he handle it.

That’s why he’s always had a screw loose, that why it’s completely off right now, another part of him provides.

Every movement has been a sensory overload, even breathing at times. Sleeping has been troublesome since the beginning but it’s never been this bad.

Suspecting and try not to expect from the new development, he’s sure Shouko is just as interested.

“When was the last time you preened them?” It’s what she suggests.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes and after a brief rummaging on her drawers, she shows him an open book.

“Preen, you know? The thing birds do to keep their wings clean. Like a haircut. Plucking the bad feathers so that the new, shiny ones can come in. Weren’t you doing that before?”

“This is the first time it happens.” He states, “The curse has regeneration, it could replace them fast, I tried it. And they heal fast if they become injured from a flight.” Realization quickly dawns on him, “If I’m shedding feathers-”

Shouko quickly catches up, “-there is a chance the influence is wearing off and the rest will disappear soon.”

Relief courses in his veins but it doesn’t fully overwhelm him. He thought, hoped, he’d feel totally ecstatic about leaving. Shouko smiles too, and gives him the last cigarette on her packet, insisting that she has more even though she makes no move to put a new packet on the table.

After a bath, he sits on his bed, takes hold of the right wing and experimentally begins the process, fingers splaying on the soft feathers carefully. He gets the hang of it quickly as it’s not something complicated, just feeling up the surface and sensing the difference and oddities in the texture. Similar to everything else about those wings, he instinctively recognizes when it’s something that shouldn’t be there and must be cut, like the split ends of hair or the need to trim nails.

Plucking the defective feathers proves to be strangely soothing. It stops that feeling of wrongness that was prevalent during the day, and plucking the feathers is a form of venting, one that doesn’t put his or anyone else’s head in danger. The pain is manageable, small but annoying when he makes a mistake and plucks a healthy feather, but those that need to go are already loose on the base. The floor becomes pretty messy, but he’ll be making that up by bombarding Yaga’s office as a farewell gift for his hospitality.

But as it is with those fucking things, they don’t come without problems. This time it come after hours of mindlessly going through the process when the areas he needs to inspect are getting closer to his back. The sensitivity rises and with the difficulty in his reach, his hands are clumsier and it causes unpleasant stinging. Any reminders of the peace he had before have evaporated and he’s left as frustrated as he was.

“You need something, Satoru?”

Satoru cocks his head curiously from his spot on the doorframe, eyes intent on the wings as he has done. “Shouko told me to come check on you.”

Of course she did; for someone that claims to not wanting to be involved in drama, she can’t leave them alone.

‘Tell him yourself, I’m not getting involved in this.’ she had said back in Shinjuku, her invisible hold barely there but rooting him in place and heart pounding as she ratting him out to a furious Satoru.

The words ‘I’m fine’ is on the tip of Suguru’s tongue, the default answer that is rarely true as of late. But he’s tired and they nagging feeling on the back of his head doesn’t let him do a half assed work. He hates that this curse has gotten occupied his mind like that. He’ll make sure to beat it in submission once all of this ends.

Satoru taps his foot impatiently, “So? I don’t have all night.” he asks and it’s so bashful and childish Suguru can’t help but smirk at the contrast with the sharp-cut lines the moonlight gives him.

There is something tonight, be it the hours of not thinking that lulled him to a dangerous place again, be it the knowledge it’s a matter of hours until he’s out of here that makes him a bit more amiable.

He doesn’t say anything, only takes off his shirt and scoots to make space behind him, wings half open and still.

Satoru’s steps are catlike in their silence, Suguru’s heart breath catches in his ribs when the bed dips with the added weight as Satoru makes himself comfortable.

“Do you even know what to do?”

“It doesn’t look hard.” he hears from behind him and Suguru has to hold back his gasp at how close his breath is to his ear.

Suguru can only nod in answer as to no make any humiliating sound but he’s sure Satoru can hear his rapid heartbeat even without his keen senses.

The first touch of Satoru’s long fingers sends a shiver all over him; he can actually graphically sense the callouses his fingertips in great detail it’s ridiculous. They part the feathers softly and comb them in their proper and right place. When he finds the ones to pluck, he does it so swiftly that Suguru can’t prepare himself for the gasp that manages to escape him.

“You good?” Satoru asks hesitantly, almost shyly.

“It gets sensitive near my back.”

“Oh.” The fingers stop their movements, slowly and hesitantly drawing back.

“Shyness doesn’t suit you Satoru.” Suguru stops them with a chuckle, “Keep going, you’re doing good.”

His fingers return bolder but the caresses don’t lose their softness. Every second of this slither inside his walls from his newly formed cracks, inside his even more messed up heart.

He bites chews off the inside of his cheek, mostly for himself because he is paranoid and certain that Satoru knows even if he’s not latching on and pestering him about it, too focused on his task.

He actually yelps when Satoru starts touching the scapulars, it burns all the way to his skin.

“There is some gold here too, it’s not all black.”

Suguru hums. A bit lulled by the quietness of it all.

“They are pretty.” Satoru says quietly. Runs his fingers to the primaries and aligning them.

“Troublesome pests is all they are.”

“Well, I like them.” Satoru disagrees proudly.

“You’re not the one walking around with for the past month.”

“You’re here because of them. That’s why I like them.”

That rouses him, the skip of his heartbeat and the sudden dryness of his throat.

“It was a desperate decision.”

“You still made it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Satoru tugs on his hair, “Can’t you admit that you missed us, you asshole?”

“Will that change anything?” Suguru asks, “Will we then pretend nothing happened and go on without lives in the college?”

He’s already been carved open when he saw that kid being Satoru’s guard, might as well screw up and get it off from his chest now that he’s living. So that he goes back to his family with fewer regrets and nothing weighting him down.

“I don’t want it to be the same,” He continues, mind racing and words flowing in torrent, “I don’t want to be alone and imprisoned to these walls.” He says, “Alone and waiting. Wasting away.”

“I should have done something,” Satoru mutters, “Then, I just couldn’t stop moving… I just wanted to forget I screwed up everything-”

Suguru smiles, morosely. Now he understands more than then, deep in his helplessness and loneliness. He leans his head backwards and rests it on top of Satoru’s, “Self-pity doesn’t suit you either Satoru,” he soothes, “I never blamed you, for anything. Never hated you either. I don’t think that’ll ever be possible.”

A pause and then Suguru feels silk between his shoulder blades, trailing down his back and arms wrapping around him from behind, embracing him steady. Long legs come around him, entangling with his own. His back completely flushed to Satoru’s front, he’s rendered immobile and overwhelmed by the sensations and warmth rushing all over.

“I don’t like it here either.” Satoru admits to him, “There are more ghosts that living people. Everything here reminds me of the past. Of what we used to be. I think I get how you felt back then.”

“Suffocating, isn’t it?” Suguru asks.

“It sucks. But it was fun again, with you around.”

Suguru’s mouth twists into a smile, “It wasn’t as bad as I’d left it. With you and Shouko around.”

Satoru hugs him again, mumbles into the skin of his neck, “I missed you Suguru.”

His throat is tight, “I… missed you too Satoru.”

Satoru’s embrace tightens around him in response.

“I don’t want to miss you again.”

He’s swept away, heart pounding, “I don’t know about this.”

“Try with me. We’ll make it work, we’re the strongest after all.”

“Satoru, that’s not the case anymore-”

“You’re not weak, Suguru.” Satoru almost growls on his skin, “You never were.”

“But-”

“No, shut up! Only you think stupid shit like that! You took a special grade on your own and who knows what else you have in here.” He pats his stomach.

“Not with ease.”

“That’s because you don’t take care of yourself.”

“And you do?” he chuckles.

“No way! That’s why I’m telling you. We’re the strongest together!” he repeats, “I’ll keep telling you until you get it in that thick skull of yours. Idiot.”

Suguru laughs, rough and wet, tries to not let the sentimentality of the imminent farewell get to him but Satoru sounds so sincere and those are the words he has been wanting to here since Okinawa tore them apart and Satoru became a back Suguru gazed from afar unable to reach out.

Now it might be the moment when he’ll start to realize that isn’t the case.

It thaws at the fear of things left unsaid.

Satoru continues tending to his wings, keeping them close, even when there is no more preening to be done. Just runs his fingers through the feathers, marveling them, tracing the patterns and never forgetting to caress his skin as well.

Indulgence is one of Satoru’s primary traits and he shouldn’t have been surprised as the fingers knead the skin between the wings, causing Suguru to sigh and groan in relief.

“Better?”

Suguru tilts his head backwards in response, revels in the comfortable silence. He underestimated how much he yearned until the void is filled. He doesn’t realize that in his daze, his and Satoru’s lips brush.

He tries to pull away, panicked words ready to fall of his tongue but he doesn’t get the chance.

Satoru tangles his fingers to Suguru’s hair and gently turns his head to press their lips together. They are soft and taste of sugar and matcha. When the tip of his tongue graces the seam of his lips, Suguru breaks out of his stupor and decides to change the angle, turning to face him. In the process, one of his wings slaps Satoru’s head, to which they both have a surprised, hearty laugh, Satoru bearing the sunniest and most beautiful grin he’s seen. It tastes even better on his lips as he settles properly on his lap and indulges himself too with the desire he’s been harboring for so long.

One of Satoru’s hands cups his jaw, then his nape and stops in his hair, impatient as his lips and tongue to explore him. The other decisively settles on his back, that area between his wing has become a fascination of his. Suguru doesn’t mind it, he stretches his wings up from better access, twitching and fluttering in sync with what he’s feeling by the nibble touches and eager lips.

When they pull back, they are both flustered and red that’s only partly due to the summer heat. Satoru’s eyes shine with happiness, bare from any walls and more beautiful than ever. And it’s Suguru who is receiving that look; it makes him dizzy.

“You’re not leaving again.” Satoru declares to his lips.

His determined attitude proves to be contagious, “Neither are you.”

Two days later, all of the feathers fall off in a dark downpour, until nothing but the bare bones remain, after which -in an excruciating process that mirrors their manifestation- the wings crack and slowly retreat into his back. He grits through the pain and possibly fractures Satoru’s wrist, while eagerly and blindly downing the painkillers that Shouko feeds him. He tastes the copper of the inside of his cheek and his tongue, every twist of his ribs, spine and shoulder blades as they move to accommodate the process of ridding of them with sickening cracks. Once the hollow bone crawls under his broken and bleeding skin, it turns into cursed energy that courses through his neurons and runs through his veins like a freshly consumed high grade curse.

His vision turns dark and his weakened body slumps in exhaustion, waking up a whole day after with Satoru resting on his crossed arms by the side of his bed. Suguru’s fingertips dizzily toy with the fluffy cloud that soon gains life and leans into his touch.

He scoots aside. Satoru hops in and despite the summer heat, Suguru still has some leftover tremors racking his body from the sudden and unconventional intake of cursed energy. Satoru cuddling with him, arms around him and his breath on his neck are a good way to fight that.

“My home is better,” he states, “The bed is bigger.” Satoru grins against his shoulder. He doesn’t let him know that the twins seem to like him well enough from the texts he got, it’ll boast his ego to immeasurable proportions, if it hasn’t already.

The next day he spends it with the standard curse manipulation side-effects, throwing up and only selective foods staying in his stomach to begin with. With Shouko here, who have lived through it many times and Satoru sticking to his side, it’s the least troublesome part.

When he’s finally feeling his complexion, he calls for a ride back home. The twins are there and they squeal excitedly at having him back.

“Gojou-san called, while you were out cold. This is the last time,” Nanami says, displeased in more ways than one. “I owe you no more favours.”

Suguru smirks, “No promises.” Nanami hangs up on him and Haibara relays the message that he won’t be the one picking him up. The same evening, Nanami must have caved to Haibara’s puppy eyes as he gets a message stating the approximate time he’ll be arriving.

Some of the feathers go for the making two pillows to give to Shouko to have in the office and her room, in hope she finally gets a restful sleep. She accepts it, but not without whacking him with it until he agrees to send some good alcohol as well.

“No, I wanna go out and drink.”

Suguru laughs, “I know a couple of good places. Full of monkeys, but still.”

The rest of the feathers will be going as a late gift to Yaga for becoming a principal, along with plenty of tar. Satoru promises to record every second of it.

“Here.” He gives what he’s holding to Satoru. “It’s one of the primaries. Give it to that boy. It’s not the best, those are for Mimiko and Nanako.” It will be a long time until he can face the kid and not having old wounds bleed, a lot longer until he can call him by his name. But he agreed to try. For Satoru.

Satoru smiles, brushes the feather on Suguru’s chin, up to his jaw and to his lips and kisses them both at the same time.

“Pity you were so stubborn to get together that we didn’t get to explore it further.” He pulls down his glasses and winks, earning an unamused eye roll.

Suguru lets himself have, one, two, three last kisses before the honking from the car makes itself known. Satoru yells and waves to the exasperated Nanami.

“See you later.” Suguru says.

Satoru smiles and he’s beautiful.

There are still a lot to be said, a lot to be addressed and time to make up for. But that first leap makes everything possible again. Reachable.

They are never going to miss each other again.