09th beat: laid bare, all bone

[softpunks]

gojo satoru/getou suguru, getou suguru & ieiri shoko // ~2k
> 64 sensory prompts: a perfectly brewed cup of tea; eating disorders

He’s been getting “concerning” results on his health check-ups lately. They’ve always been concerning, technically, barely making it past the threshold of excusable, but those were for the mental health assessments, and for all of Suguru’s obsessions about excelling, it’s the one thing he never fails to fall short on. Then again, Satoru says a little bit of insanity is the true mark of a sorcerer.

Suguru’s sort of given up on the idea of excelling anyway, going the extra mile to prove that he can do more than what’s expected of him. Hours earlier, Satoru finally figured out a way to keep Infinity activated constantly, now on top of the strongest, so Suguru finds it pointless to even try to climb up one more step, not when it's only Satoru he'll find. Maintaining what he currently has is a difficult enough task.

“You’re horrible at maintenance,” Shoko tells him. “There’s a certain weight range you’re supposed to be staying in and maintaining based on age, body type, and a bunch of other factors. It’s dumb that I have to explain this to you. You already know this.”

Satoru’s left for a mission after showing off Infinity to Suguru and Shoko. Suguru just got back from his check-up and the Yaga said he failed everything, like these are tests you’re supposed to study for and pray you could get that perfect score. But those are for people who have big plans for the future, not sorcerers who just want to know if they’ll make it alive to have breakfast the next day. The reason they’re in Shoko’s room now is because Shoko’s the closest thing they have to a problem-solver because that’s what Suguru has become now: a problem that needs solving.

It’s one thing if his mind is beginning to wither, fraying at the edges, it’s another if his body shrinks in on itself, looking at the mirror and realizing you’re taking less and less space.

“Then don’t,” Suguru says. There’s a cup of tea that sits on his lap, “perfectly brewed”, according to Shoko, because no one ever tells her otherwise. “It’s not like Yaga-sensei will blame you if it doesn’t work out. Perks of being the only not-problem child in our year.”

“There are only three people in our year,” Shoko reminds him.

In the end, she doesn’t push it. The thing about problem-solvers is that they know what things are worth fixing and what things are worth leaving behind, and Suguru’s in the latter, but at least Shoko doesn’t leave him. She opens the window because she’s planning to smoke, and Suguru watches her light the cigarette. It doesn’t taste good, she always says, like ass, and then Satoru would make some kind of innuendo while Suguru would argue that curses taste worse, but Satoru isn’t here and it’s not like Shoko doesn’t know Suguru’s used to foul-tasting things, and she still won’t offer him a drag.

He takes a sip of the tea. He doesn’t drink it often because Shoko doesn’t make it often, but he’s had it enough to remember what it’s supposed to taste like—bitingly sweet with lingering spice. All he tastes is bitterness.

The only reason he doesn’t gag is because it's still better than vomit wrapped in cloth, the phantom touch of curses lodged in his throat and clogging his airways and making him feel weaker day by day even if the reason he swallows them is for the opposite. It’s why he’s failing his physical check-ups, why actually eating is a half-hearted option for him rather than something essential for survival. Strong curses have strong tastes, and every curse Suguru takes in is stronger than the last. People eat to sustain themselves, so why should Suguru still bother when all he needs are these curses, thrumming him with the power that demands he fight because he’s never had the option to do otherwise?

He doesn’t know why Yaga and Shoko don’t get it, or why they never ask about it, or why they never even tried considering it can’t be for any other reason but this looming cloud of gloom that hangs over him, taking form in hunched shoulders and dragging feet and weary lines on his face. It’s never been because he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but maybe if Atlas had to consume curses to lift his head, their concerns would make sense.

Satoru asked once—only once, because he knew Suguru’s answer wouldn’t change if he ever asked again. He hadn’t really done anything after Suguru told him, but they did curl in the twin sized bed of Satoru’s room later that night, Satoru rambling about flavored lip balms that smelled like chocolate bars and cakes and candies and how he wanted to try them. The thought was disgusting, which was why Satoru said it. They spent a lot of their first year in Jujutsu High trying to find ways to one up the other, even if it was for things as petty as trying to gross one another out.

They hit their growth spurts at the start of the second year. Suguru hasn’t slept in Satoru’s room since that time and he doubts they’d fit the same way they did before when Suguru can barely fit in his own bed all alone. It’s the first time he’s entertained himself with the thought, the first time he’s actually revisited the memory of something he thought he’d forget. There’s another tidbit about the memory too, but its authenticity eludes him: the thought of leaning forward to press his mouth against Satoru’s, wondering if he’d taste those chocolate bars and cakes and candies and the sweetness to Satoru’s character that he’d never admit to but still had.

Suguru wonders, if he ever did it, if he would be disappointed—if he would only taste sourness at the back of his tongue, if kissing Satoru would leave him feeling bitter rather than breathless, if Satoru would pull away the moment they touch because there are curses and death filling in the space and crevices of Suguru’s bones and nothing about life. After all, the reason Satoru is the strongest is because he has a reason to live.

“You really need to eat properly, Suguru,” Shoko says, letting out a puff of smoke. She sits at the edge of her bed, and Suguru goes to her. She eyes him disdainfully because he’s barely taken three sips of the tea and he’s already setting it down, but the most she does is sigh when he plucks the cigarette from her fingers to take a drag. It tastes like ass, but it makes him feel full, any sense of hunger he might’ve felt stirring in his gut dispersing into the air.

“I’ll have an apple for dinner,” Suguru says, just to piss her off. It works, because she makes a face and jabs his side. He hands back her cigarette and lies back on the soft mattress of her bed.

“Suguru.”

He ignores her. “Maybe when we all eat together sometime. Somewhere nice.”

“The three of us?” she asks. “You’re impossible. It’ll never work with our schedules. You and Satoru are always everywhere.”

“Mostly Satoru though.”

“Mostly and always—same thing.”

“They’re not. You’re thinking of always and forever.”

“That’s even worse then.” Something in her tone has Suguru glancing at her, but she isn’t looking back at him. “Sometimes, I think, whenever Satoru’s out somewhere, he’s not going to come back. It’s already kind of happening. So maybe one day, when he leaves, because he always does, it’ll be the last time we see him. That guy will be gone. It could even be today.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’d never die on a mission.”

“I’m not talking about that. Of course that wouldn’t happen. He’s the strongest. But since he’s the strongest, it’s not like he has to keep on doing this. No one can stop him if he wants out. And when it comes to never returning, there are worse reasons than death.”

Suguru pauses. “You think he’d ever betray us?”

“He better not,” huffs Shoko. “But who knows with him.”

Suguru’s never considered the thought before. Then again, he’s never really thought twice about a lot of things, always grounded in this certainty about the world that left no room for anything else that now, he doesn’t even remember. Besides, what Shoko’s saying feels like thinking too far ahead, pondering on futures that may or may not happen. Suguru doesn’t even know if he’ll have the appetite for breakfast tomorrow. He wonders where Satoru falls in that spectrum, if he prioritizes the future or struggles with the present because he’s weighed down by the past.

“Either way,” Suguru says. “He should take us with him.”

“Because you want us all to eat out together?”

“At least I’m going to eat something.” He waves a hand. “This is a good thing for you. You can tell Yaga-sensei you did your duty.”

“You’ll do it hypothetically, it’s not the same thing,” she points out, but she isn’t mad, and her tone turns thoughtful. “We’d never be able to afford it though—eating someplace nice. It’d be too expensive. Satoru would never settle for anything less.”

“We can always dine and dash.”

“Or use sensei’s credit card,” Shoko chirps.

Suguru shrugs. “Sure.”

When the conversation lulls into silence, Suguru thinks that’s the end of it. But then she grabs his wrist when he sits up, and her fingertips touch one another with ease. She could easily snap his wrist, now that he thinks about it, but all she does is sigh. “At least eat something tomorrow morning. I’ll make Satoru convince you, since you don’t listen to me.”

What makes you think I’ll listen to him, Suguru wants to say, but he does listen, even if it’s about something gross or about something useless or something he’s better off not knowing. “Weren’t you the one who just said he wasn’t going to come back?”

She lets him go. “He will.” It sounds like a reason. For what, Suguru doesn’t know yet. “If only to take us with him.”

==

Satoru does come back, but not because he has any sudden impulses to run away but won’t do it without taking Suguru and Shoko with him. He just returns like he always has, missions a success and leaving him vibrating with energy. He wants to spar rather than finish his homework, Suguru thinks about eating that apple for dinner to fight the urge to steal a cigarette stick from Shoko, and they do none of these things.

What they do is this: retire early into the night, Suguru entering Satoru’s room because he wants to catch up and talk, except they don’t do that. What they do is this: tuck themselves in a twin sized bed that is so small for their long limbs. Their feet hang from the edge and they’re inches away from falling off the mattress. Their faces are so close together that they breathe the same air. Satoru smells sweet.

“It’s the lip balm,” he says, eyes bright. “I got it from one of the shops I passed by after I exorcised the curse. It smelled good, so I took a bite, but it was gross. Kind of like eating toothpaste but less… healthy.”

“You’re disgusting,” Suguru replies. Then, in the same breath: “Do you ever think about leaving all this behind?”

“Guess the flavor and I’ll say yes,” Satoru whispers.

Suguru is the one who leans in first, but he’s also the one caught with surprise because—there is no spark of sourness that touches his tongue, no trace of bitterness stained on their lips. Instead, Satoru tastes—

Bitingly sweet, with lingering spice. Like a perfectly brewed cup of tea. He tastes like a reason to live, and Suguru savors it.