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Suguru does not like Satoru’s students.
It’s not the sort of petty hate Satoru thinks Suguru seems to bear, but an actual, deep-rooted loathing that soils the back of his throat with bile. It’s acidic in its nature and nothing short of monstrous the way it claws its maws up Suguru’s jaw and twists his tongue in vile ways.
Satoru can’t know, of course. But the hatred still remains.
It is petty, Suguru thinks, because he’s a little shy of thirty and the students are not even twenty yet. But that’s where the distaste begins in the first place, he comes to realize, because the students are not even twenty yet and they already have their tiny, baby-ish hands wrapped around Satoru as if the strongest sorcerer of the modern age is someone who needs protecting.
It’s infuriating, the way all those scrubby, little, tweens give Suguru bitter glances and twisted faces, their dislike of the curse-user so fucking apparent.
The worst is Toji’s son. Fushiguro – or as the boy himself asked Suguru to call him – ‘Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General Mahoraga because adapting to your bullshit is something I’m being forced to do.’
The boy also already has the kind of gloomy demeanor only people in their late forties tend to achieve. His dark eyes follow Suguru’s movements whenever Satoru manages to sneak the curse-user within the school campus. He even goes as far as to steal Satoru’s attention with a dichotomy of words that have no sense or meaning but before Suguru can even begin to understand what the fuck the boy is saying, Satoru is already by his side and then it’s the look that the brat gives him. The kind of look that simply seems to say ‘back-off’.
It's…it’s annoying. It’s also humiliating that the brat has Satoru wrapped around his tiny fingers.
The next is the monkey Zenin girl. She’s particularly nasty. Satoru would send him images of her pending assignments where instead of the answers she simply writes ‘monkey no understand human speech’. Even though variations of this happen at least once each month, Satoru, without fail, gets worked up each time. Grimaces and frowned brows, eyes glassy.
The approach of the girl is clear – to pick Suguru Geto up and throw him as far away from Satoru’s life as possible. But Satoru never argues with Suguru on that premise. Suguru…he knows that Satoru should. But he doesn’t.
Suguru also shouldn’t be surprised that the children figured out his motives that quick, scarily quick. Without the help of any adult.
Satoru never did tell him how he convinced the students to even stay in the same vicinity as them whenever Suguru does visit Jujutsu Tech, but they must’ve been massive fucking promises because Maki’s eyes scream murder and Okkotsu displays Rika in a vow of violence.
Amongst everyone, Suguru thinks that perhaps, the most verbal about Suguru-hate is the first-year girl, Kugisaki. She’s…she’s a different breed entirely. Spilling her drink on Suguru each time she gets the chance, fusing his room lights every time he visits, stomping on his foot whenever she passes, randomly throwing statements like ‘personally, I would never leave Maki over an argument because I love her. I’m sure everyone would agree.’
Satoru would laugh if Suguru ever does mention this unnerving resentment he has towards the students. Worse, he would get defensive over them and Suguru would do nothing short of rip his own hair out.
The funniest fucking part of all this being that the students treat the girls perfectly fine! They love them, in fact. Mimiko and Nanako are on Jujutsu Tech more often than not, chatting with the first-years and sparring with the second-years. Their only concern was Maki at the beginning but seeing her spar once had them being moony-eyed over the non-sorcerer.
They…they enjoy being around children their age, Suguru understands, but…the feeling of distaste doesn’t dissipate at knowing the facts.
One time he gave Satoru a light peck on the cheek in front of Yuta and once the teacher was out of sight, Yuta had scoffed and said ‘Call me Suguru Geto because I would never leave those who I love purely – oh, wait, Suguru Geto did. You know, my domain is something you can never understand, it’s called True Love, after all’. And immediately sauntered off after that.
And as though this wasn’t already enough, the boy had bought the cursed-speech user the next day Suguru and Satoru were walking around campus and made faces at Suguru the entire time. Gossiping. It was a stupid, childish notion but it was getting under Suguru’s skin. Those fucking brats.
Even fucking Nanami was siding with the little shits, breaking his stoic face once a day to give Suguru a nasty look that rivals Yaga’s before smoothening his features back once Satoru returned.
Shoko was a mercy, hence Suguru usually elects to stay by her morgue whenever he is at school campus.
Panda, being a panda, had given Suguru one look and deemed him ‘unworthy of human love and affection because even pandas understand basic human decency and if Suguru is unable to grasp the concept of “being there” then he was already worse than an animal’.
It grates on Suguru’s nerves, the way these students have made a border around Satoru like it’s a fucking battlefield and are throwing battalion after battalion at Suguru while Satoru doesn’t even realize. It’s almost like they want Suguru to leave Satoru and that just doesn’t fucking make sense because they were the ones who showed up during his meeting and bought Satoru in the mix. All this was their fault already!
Perhaps the only mercy between these bratty students was Itadori. He talked to Suguru normally, as if Suguru hadn’t massacred hundreds and caused his sensei endless amount of pain, as if Suguru was someone deemed worthy of talking to.
‘I think it’ll be hypocritical of me to judge you’ he had explained once, when Suguru asked him why he wasn’t following in his friends’ footsteps. ‘I mean, we all have hurt our significant other at least once, right? One time I accidentally ripped Megumi’s favorite blanket and he didn’t talk to me for an entire day. One time you killed an entire village of people to save Nanako and Mimiko and didn’t talk to sensei for ten years. We all have our ways to cope!’
It's a headache. It’s a mess. All this is. And Suguru feels to either bunch up these students in his hands and squeeze until every last one stops breathing, or break down crying for forgiveness in front of them. Satoru is still not with him most days, mission after mission thrown at him like Halloween candies. Whenever he is there Suguru doesn’t let it show because it’s…it’s childish, this grudge he has against the children who are right!
They’re right.
And that’s just the fucking worse.
All that brings him down to this moment where he’s at Jujutsu Tech, standing across from all of Satoru’s students and the looming spirit of Rika, along with Nanami.
“Satoru...said he’ll be here,” Suguru speaks under the weight of their judgmental gazes. His eyes flick to meet Nanami’s, then Fushiguro’s, then Yuta’s.
Maki scowls, “He’s off on a mission.”
“I’m actually glad he is,” Kugisaki continues, “I wouldn’t want him to spend even a second around you, if it were up to me that is.”
Suguru finds himself scowling, then molding his face into something more simplistic and sophisticated. “Listen,” he pinches his forehead, nails digging in deep enough to be visible but to not break skin. “I know that you have…issues with me, but I’m honestly here trying my best.”
And he is. He stopped his cult business after two months of seeing Satoru in secrecy. He disbanded the connections he had with other nations regarding businessmen, and had even started going on public places more often to cling to that monkey non-shaman scent, to get used to it, to embrace it. He was trying.
Collective groans and scowls and Itadori’s ‘hey, we should maybe lay off a little’ follow his statement. Suguru finds himself considering to actually inform Satoru of this…this meaningless action. There – what’s the point to this? If they want Suguru gone, they can have him gone. They don’t understand the power they have over Satoru. It would take one vocalized discomfort of Maki, one request of Megumi, one demand of Yuta, and Satoru would leave him. Suguru doesn’t even deny it because it’s true.
It’s true and it’s right because when Suguru left a hole deep enough in Satoru’s heart to grow weeds that slowly congested his being with concrete, these little children had broken limitless and skin and flesh to rip at the seams of those godforsaken weeds and ripped them out and pushed Suguru towards Satoru with an acrid demand of ‘fix him’.
It’s right of them to have this sense of protectivity over Satoru. It’s beyond right, it’s a kindness.
It’s a kindness because Hakari thoroughly won sixteen gambling matches with Suguru and declared that if anything happened to Satoru, no matter what his sensei desired, Hakari would kill him. It was said with sincerity, enough of it to let Suguru know that the third-year wasn’t kidding. That he could and would drag Suguru to his fight club and feast at his flesh like an insane animal if Suguru did so much as blink wrong in Satoru’s direction.
It's a kindness because Kirara didn’t even bother displaying any amount of strength, they simply give Suguru a once over with lidded eyes and declare that Satoru doesn’t need Suguru any longer. That Satoru has people to fill the void in his chest with. That Suguru was replaceable and is replaced.
He’s ours, all of them collectively scream at Suguru and Suguru can do nothing short of beg for forgiveness.
“See?” Itadori beams at Suguru, “He’s trying his best.”
Fushiguro scowls at that, “I’m still mad at you for not telling me that you were alive even though that was necessary and only for weeks at best. I don’t care what sensei thinks, all I know is that because of this man sensei had this forlorn look on his face whenever I talked about those flowers.”
Yuta nods in a buddha-like manner, as if Suguru’s speech had impacted him in a way it had never impacted Nanako or Mimiko. “You know how tired sensei is most days. Who knows, maybe he just wants a close friend and not a lover.”
“Salmon.”
A throat gets cleared loudly, everyone turns to stare at Nanami who has his face as stoic as ever. “Don’t get me wrong, Geto,” he speaks, voice crass like a broken violin being played on repeat, “I do respect you and trust you to save me in a grave situation.”
A wave of silent nausea permeates the air. The denial and vehemence clearly tinging the tips of the children’s tongues, and Suguru is lapping at the ounce of kindness he’s being offered.
Then –
“But if you hurt Satoru, I’ll kill you.”
Plain tiles of the morgue, dusted sheets of barely any cleaning and dimming lights of the ceiling as if midwinter had struck early and violated the space of the morgue, drenching it cold and dark and frosty. Crimson staining red the sheets that cover – that cover –
“Why don’t we give every mission to Satoru?”
“I won’t,” Suguru breathes. His lungs constrict and he speaks crassly too, as if the violin strings that had broken and wrapped themselves around Nanami’s throat that unfortunate day now grab at his throat, squeezing his voice and running the bow over and over on the bruised strings.
“I stand by that statement,” Yuta agrees, eyes glinting with tainted madness.
“I agree.”
“Same here.”
“Could not have said it better.”
“Salmon.”
One by one the students vocalize their agreement, a jukebox rapping at the same juncture and rewinding before rapping again. Suguru feels rags stuffed down his throat, bitter and harsh and every bit like him that he feels dizzy at the hatred. Agree. Disagree. Suguru does not want to change ‘I will not leave Satoru’ to ‘I cannot leave Satoru’. He does not want to taint Satoru with that thought.
The students before him don’t understand this even as Itadori protests and even as all of them disband. He does not want to taint Satoru. He does not want to taint Satoru. He does not want to taint Satoru –
A broken jukebox screeching at the seams of the same place again and again.
Clapping hands molding themselves into patting footsteps and shouting crowds into busy street. Angry, bewildered, pleading eyes and Suguru feels disgust.
That’s how Itadori finds him. Sitting on the slanted rooftop of the main building. Disgusted with himself.
“Hi,” the boy greets, teeth flashy and eyes almost screwed shut at his beaming face, every bit like – like –
Itadori sits next to him, hums at the scenery unfolding before the both of them.
Satoru still doesn’t get it. Satoru will never get it. Satoru is untainted, none of those rags used to clean shit and vomit touch him, those bedsheets stained crimson, that heavy rainfall, those bitter winds and even worse snowstorms, none of them touch Satoru. And here is Satoru, being tarnished inside out by Suguru’s hands, by Suguru’s mouth and Suguru’s tongue. It’s the way Satoru cannot be touched unless he wants to be touched and he chooses Suguru to want to pass through that invisible barrier that separates him from the world.
I’m dirty. He wants to tell Itadori. Does your sensei not get it?
There is shuffling as Itadori stuffs his hands in his pockets, eyes darting once to Suguru’s face then off to the wild distance that stretches beyond them.
Another mission. Satoru is off. Suguru was equal parts horrified and surprised to find Satoru leaving as often as he did when he was seventeen. When he was still practically as young as the boy sitting next to Suguru now. Alone, holding the unholdable weight of the world beneath his layers upon layers of limitless. While Suguru was wallowing in his head considering crazy thoughts Satoru was bumbling around like an idiot with his bloody shoulders and ragged breaths and busted knuckles from holding the whole damn world.
Satoru told him a few nights ago that he was sorry for never noticing, for never caring. Suguru had bit his tongue then, holding back words like you meant nothing to me, I would do anything for you, I don’t know what I’m doing here, I don’t want to go back, leave me, don’t leave me.
“We don’t hate you, y’know,” Itadori says suddenly.
Suguru almost laughs but the knot in his throat is tightening day by day. Something that Satoru doesn’t still notice because he has the weight of the entire damn world on his shoulders and Suguru is only human against that pillar of godliness.
“It sure looks like you all do.”
Itadori laughs then, like windchimes, soft and childish like – like Haibara.
“We don’t,” he repeats himself, a broken jukebox, rapping at the seams of the same place again and again –
“We just care for our sensei more.”
He beams at him, teeth glinting at the setting sunlight, Sukuna’s eye slits almost vanishing at the gentle kiss of the sun.
“I…understand,” Suguru tells him. Because he does. Because he too would kill every person in the entirety of Japan if something happened to Satoru, but weakness has clawed its way beneath the layers of his uniform then his kimono, stopping him from killing the one person who did end up hurting him.
“No,” Itadori amends, “I meant…we don’t know why you left beyond your…” he gestures his hands around, “monkey concepts,” he finishes lamely. “You could leave at any minute.”
Don’t leave me again, Suguru.
A broken Jukebox, rapping at the seams –
“Sensei thinks so to.”
I won’t. Ever.
“He thinks it’s temporary.”
My students will surely kill you if you do, y’know!
“He doesn’t show it, but he’s…he’s worried, more than all of us combined.”
I shall keep that in mind, Satoru.
“Things lose meaning if you do them because you have to.”
The jukebox shuns, the seams bursting.
‘I will not leave Satoru’ turning to ‘I cannot leave Satoru’.
Suguru can only rasp, “Huh?”
Itadori huffs a laugh.
“I think…well, I know all of us think that you’re going to leave the first opportunity you get.”
Don’t leave me again, Suguru.
“We think you’re only staying because…well, because you don’t have any other choice.”
I won’t. Ever.
“And I-I think sensei thinks the same so y’know. We-we thought to keep it that way. Make you stay one way or another.”
Itadori shrugs as if he hasn’t broken the repeating jukebox even as it raps against the same seams again.
“I think,” Suguru’s voice is crass, like the broken strings of a violin getting played on repeat, “the one you love shouldn’t be the cause of your hurt.”
“That’s bullshit.” Itadori’s face is serious, the eye slits beneath his eyes glinting as if Sukuna is peeking through. “The one you love is always the cause of your hurt.”
Suguru blinks at him.
“You know what I think?” Itadori’s eyes glitter, the same boyish grin returning. “I think sensei needs a few words from you, as do you from him.”
A few words that bask beneath his ribcage and crush at his heart, the thumping louder and grating in his ears. Words that tug at the strings around his throat and kiss honey down his neck to heal the crassness. Words that dip beneath layers upon layers of infinity and find a bruised and broken body crushed under the weight of the world and lying down beside it.
Words.
Words.
Suguru waits for Satoru’s return.
Nothing can harm Satoru’s body, he’ll kill it before it can; nothing can harm Satoru’s heart, his students will kill it before it can.
Suguru will be the first to bare his throat.