Chapter Text
It was the kind of day Suguru could use more of.
The temple was in Suda’s care. His calendar was clear. There wasn’t a curse in sight–at least, not the type Suguru was responsible for. The only reasonable worry Suguru had left was the same one he lived with every day.
As far as the Jujutsu world was concerned, Suguru was the most wanted criminal alive. He didn’t put much effort into keeping himself hidden. The only reason no sorcerers came after him was because there were only two special grades qualified to try. One of them, Tsukumo, never would have bothered. Gojo chose not to.
It was a shadow on each day, that Satoru Gojo could simply change his mind, and Suguru’s life could end. He learned to live with that shadow.
It drew some attention, to wear monk’s robes in public. Still, it hadn’t seemed worth his effort to change. The public’s opinions didn’t matter to him. If a non-sorcerer chose to stare, that was their problem. “Master Geto! Master Geto!” Nanako pulled on his sleeve. The fabric stretched so easily, Suguru barely felt her pull him.
“You don’t need to call me ‘master’ in public,” Suguru tried to assure her. “Just Geto-san is fine.”
“No. You’re Master Geto!”
Suguru met her smile gently. “I don’t have to be.”
“But, you are!”
Suguru raised the same hand that Nanako was reaching for. He ruffled gently through her hair.
Nanako raised her head, accepting the head pat with a smile. Mimiko raised her head, silently expecting a head pat of her own. Suguru let his hand drift over, repeating the gesture.
Nanako put her hands on the table, giving herself leverage to sit up–as far up as a grade schooler without a seat booster could stretch, anyway.
“You’ve gotta stay a master! You’re amazeballs!”
Her enthusiasm made it sound like a compliment–but it didn’t stop Suguru from feeling confused.
“What do you think I have to do with balls, exactly?”
The waitress at his side gripped a stack of menus towards her chest. She looked down, her customer service smile clearly uncomfortable. “Should I… come back?”
Suguru turned. A false smile stuck firmly in place. “It’s alright. We’re ready.”
It wasn’t his fault that the waitress was uncomfortable. It was even less his fault that she smelled like a curse.
Suguru supposed it was something that couldn’t be helped. Non-sorcerers couldn’t sense their own malice, or the stench of the cursed energy that pushed through. There wasn’t an active curse on this woman. Even so, the shroud around her was so thick, the pressure alone made Suguru’s stomach turn.
Suguru put on his best customer service smile. He wasn’t being paid to be here, but it would make the trip more enjoyable for the girls if he didn’t cause a scene.
“We’ll take two chocolate strawberry mini-crepes,” Suguru started to order. Before he could finish, Mimiko raised her doll’s hand.
“And extra strawberries!”
The waitress turned to Suguru. He nodded. “With extra strawberries, then. And three waters.”
“Yes, sir.”
The waitress started to turn away. She’d almost made it past the table when Nanako nudged Mimiko’s doll by the hand.
“You don’t need strawberries. I should have them.”
The bickering was so familiar, Suguru didn’t have to think before speaking. “Nanako. Leave your sister alone.”
He also didn’t have to look to tell Nanako was whining. “Not her. The doll! Dolls can’t eat! She’ll get dirty!”
Mimiko’s head stayed behind her doll’s. “She’s clean.”
“Yeah, ‘cause she can’t eat stuff!” Nanako leaned into the table. Her tiny fists set in front of her, newfound determination turning her face red as the berries would be.
Suguru put his hand over Nanako’s, holding her fist down. “You both have extra strawberries. You’ll have as many as your sister. If she wants to share with her doll, she can. Alright?”
It was a choice that Suguru knew he might regret later. If Mimiko did try to feed her doll, he’d be the one washing stains off a cursed object. He had a feeling that Mimiko knew better. If the sudden look of sympathy that Nanako sent him was any indication, she knew better, too.
“What about you, Master Geto?” Nanako asked. “Where’s your strawberries?”
“I didn’t get strawberries,” he answered honestly. “They’re for you.”
Nanako’s stare set a little wider, her eyes glossing with sudden pity. She put her hands down.
“Do you want some? You can have mine.”
“No. I don’t need any. I ordered them for you.”
“But, they’re good. You should get strawberries, too, Master Geto! You can have mine!”
As soon as Nanako started offering, Mimiko did the same.
“You can have my strawberries, too.”
Suguru tipped his hand. He closed his eyes into the smile, his tension lessening just enough to dismiss. “It’s alright. I ordered them for you. If I needed strawberries, I’d have ordered more.”
“But, you did get more! You got extra!”
“For you.”
Whatever turn Suguru’s insistence had taken, it wasn’t loud enough to keep from hearing someone else join in. “Can I have some? If they’re up for grabs, you don’t care, right?”
Suguru knew the sound.
His empty stomach dropped. His pulse crashed with it. A cold sweat fell down his neck. As familiar as that voice was, Suguru wasn’t supposed to hear it again. If he did, then, the day he heard it was the same day he’d die.
Nanako shot up in her seat “No! They’re not yours! They’re for Master Geto!”
Mimiko stretched her doll’s arm across the table. She tapped Nanako’s arm. “He’s not master, remember? It’s Geto-san, here.”
Nanako winced. “Oops. Sorry, Geto- san .”
It didn’t matter how Suguru felt, or what questions he might have. He understood what would come next. The only thing he could reasonably fight for, now, was to keep things calm enough that the girls would survive.
Suguru turned to face her. A false smile fixed to his face. “It’s alright, Nanako. It doesn’t matter.”
In the simplest sense of the statement, Suguru had meant what he said to the girls. Whether they called him master, San or dad, any option would have been fine. They weren’t the concern.
The concern in the room leaned over Nanako’s shoulder. “Why not?” The man asked. “Sharing’s caring, right? You could share.”
Suguru outstretched his arm. The cover of his sleeve draped between the girls and the man like a curtain. “Leave them out of this. Satoru.”
A face Suguru never planned to see again turned towards him, if only halfway. Where Satoru’s eyes would have been, Suguru only saw a black cloth. His smile twisted towards one side, as light and casual as it had always been.
There was a time that Suguru would have found that grin assuring. That time wasn’t today.
“Then why’re you taking them out, and not me? You know sugar babies aren’t supposed to be actual babies, right?”
The scent of Satoru’s cursed energy was enough to eclipse Suguru’s senses. His presence alone felt like drowning in vanilla—sweet, dark and overwhelming. No one thought of vanilla as something dark. It wasn’t, if it was diluted, or blooming. In the place they stood now, there was nothing else it could be but the end.
From the day Suguru left his button, and chose his new family, Satoru Gojo held Suguru’s life in his hands. Every day Suguru lived past that, it was because Satoru chose to let him. It was inevitable he’d change his mind, and strip that right away.
Suguru kept himself wrapped around the girls, to make a shield from himself. Nanako tucked under his right arm. Mimiko, his left. Satoru ignored all of them. He flopped down at the table, stretching across the open seat across from them.
Suguru didn’t know why Satoru sat down. He knew better than to ask. Every second that passed was another that Satoru hadn’t struck him down, right there.
“Master Geto?” Nanako squeaked into his shoulder. Suguru wrapped around her. He whispered a shush into her ear.
Satoru leaned back. His foot tapped Suguru’s ankle. The contact was enough to send a shudder down his spine. At the end of the shudder, Suguru realized just how strange that was. Satoru—infinite, untouchable Satoru—was touching him.
“Master Geto?” Satoru raised an eyebrow over his blindfold. “You make little girls call you master? That’s weird.”
However casual the criticism was, the fact that it was criticism made Suguru straighten himself.
“Leave them be. Please. They have no place in this,” Suguru said, as calmly as he could. From the way his tone stayed level, it hardly sounded like the begging they’d both know it to be. At least, Suguru thought they should both know that. From the way Satoru faced him, Suguru wasn’t sure.
Satoru stretched his arms in front of himself. “So, what’s with the costume?”
Suguru’s attention shot back to Satoru.
“Wha—“
“It’s not Halloween, is it?” Satoru asked before Suguru could finish. “Not like it’s a kink. I’d know.”
There was such a casual tone to Satoru’s questions, Suguru could tell he wasn’t joking. It was strange enough a question for Satoru to ask without joking that Suguru fell into the trap of asking back “Shouldn’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“My… status.”
Suguru hadn’t made a point of actively averting what he was up to, but he had no illusions about the extensive reach of local windows. He met with enough people at the temple to assume at least a few of his former patrons had contact with sorcerers. It came with the territory of being a wanted man. Even without the influence of the six eyes, logically, Satoru would have known exactly where Suguru was. It was that logic that made it all the more baffling when Satoru cocked his head to one side.
“Status? Like a mission?” Satoru tipped his head. His glasses slanted, the lenses falling out of place just enough that Suguru could spot him squint. “What kinda mission makes you dress like a tent?”
The more Suguru looked at Satoru, the more he realized two things. First, that Satoru was exactly as beautiful as the impossible being Suguru remembered him to be. And second—
“…You don’t know,” Suguru said, suddenly sure.
“Know what?” Satoru asked, just as oblivious as he used to be.
Suguru held himself still, not in horror, but disbelief.
“What I am. Who I am. You don’t know.”
“Of course I know that! You’re Suguru.”
Satoru’s legs stayed entangled against him, the skin of his ankle soft against Suguru’s own. The narrow gap between Suguru’s pants and his sock was warmed by the passing brush.
The Satoru who Suguru turned his back on knew better than to touch him like this. Hell, the Satoru that he’d left didn’t touch anyone. The world around Satoru Gojo could be only as near to Satoru as he allowed it to come. It had been years since anything, even Suguru, broke through that.
Suguru held the thought inside him. Satoru held his stare.
“What’s up?” Satoru asked. “You need to piss or something? You’re looking at me weird.”
Suguru meant to lean back. He didn’t. “Satoru—“
“Yeah?” Satoru asked, without any of the conflict he should have had. With how accepting it sounded, even a single world felt wrong.
Suguru couldn’t form a question. He couldn’t get himself to budge. He sat upright, alarmed, awake in the presence of a miracle.
Satoru had always been a miracle, but, before this, it had been in ways that Suguru could understand. He was a miracle to the world. Here, now, he was a miracle specifically for Suguru.
Nanako pulled on his arm. “Master Geto—“
“It’s okay,” Suguru said, as assuringly as he could. “The crepes will be here soon.”
Suguru could guess that what he’d addressed wasn’t Nanako’s concern. The wrong guess would still be enough to keep Nanako quiet.
Satoru sat up straight. “Crepes? They’re crepes? And you’re not sharing? That’s so rude!”
“Then, you can order one when the waitress comes back.”
While Suguru was trying to come up with something reasonable, Satoru disconnected. He stretched his arm over his head, waving towards the waitress. “Wait lady! One hazelnut whipped cream banana crepe, please! And hot chocolate!”
Satoru’s shout was loud enough to carry across the full creperie. That included the waitress, who nodded stiffly. “...okay.”
“Satoru,” Suguru warned through his teeth. “That’s not how you order.”
“Yes, it is. I just did.”
“It was rude.”
“And I’m not rude? You say I’m rude all the time.”
“You shouldn’t be. It’s not any more effort to be gracious.”
“Yeah, it is. I’ve gotta think about it.”
“Then, it shouldn’t be more effort. That it is, is your fault.”
It wasn’t until Suguru had already spoken that he realized how familiar it felt to be scolding Satoru, like this. It was like he’d gone back three years. It was the first day of second year, and they were gathered around a table, scarfing down fast food while Satoru terrorized the new first years. If Suguru didn’t hear another sound, it could have stayed that way.
Nanako raised her hand off Suguru’s own. “That’s right! You should be polite, like Master Geto!”
Satoru flopped back on his chair. He turned towards Nanako. “You want to be like Geto? Blech.” He waved his fingers away from his mouth, flicking them like he was throwing up. Nanako raised her hands, instead.
“You’re blech! Master Geto’s amazing!”
“Yeah, yeah. Amazingly uptight.” Satoru shifted a little bit taller. He leaned in towards Nanako, to speak directly in her face and ask, “you find the stick up his butt, yet?”
Suguru struggled not to sigh. “Satoru–”
The struggle didn’t keep Nanako from standing up on her seat. She leaned in towards the table, stretching herself to meet Satoru’s attention with a puff of her own.
“You’re the stick-butt! Butt man!”
“Don’t look at my butt! You’re five!”
“No, I’m not! I’m seven! Dummy!”
“Dummy?” Satoru feigned a gasp. “How am I a dummy?”
“I don’t know! You tell me!”
“How could I? I’m dumb, right?” Satoru teased, already snickering. Nanako put her foot down. She glared.
Suguru put his hand down, too.
“Nanako,” Suguru spoke her name sharply enough to stop her. “Don’t stoop to his level. You know better.”
Nanako dropped her hands to her lap. She lowered her head, leaving her disheveled bangs and very pattable forehead in easy reach. “Sorry, Master Geto…”
Though she’d reverted to calling him master in public again, Suguru let that one go. It wasn’t the time.
“It’s alright,” Suguru tried to assure her. “Don’t do it again, that’s all.”
Suguru reached towards Nanako’s lap. Before he could reach her, he heard Mimiko faintly squeak. “Geto-san?”
“Yes?”
“What’s a stoop?”
Whatever details he could get into, Suguru didn’t think it was worth his time–at least, not when that same time had a man who should have been his downfall just a few steps away. He put his hand down on the table, and let his stare settle on Mimiko, feigning composure he’d long lost.
“It’s somewhere we don’t need to be, that’s all.”
Mimiko didn’t blink. She and her doll kept facing forward, just as calm, still thinking.
“You mean, like hell?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Then, what is it?”
“Aww. You’re so good at this!” Satoru leaned closer in. He kicked his feet under the table. “Should I call you daddy? If they’re not gonna do it, I can.”
If it had been from anyone else at the table, Suguru would have welcomed it gladly. He gave Satoru a warning glare instead.
“Satoru–” Suguru started to scold. He barely felt the last syllable leave his tongue when he spotted the flecks on Satoru’s shoulder.
The distortion was so small, and Satoru’s own essence so overwhelming, Suguru hadn’t felt the shift until now. The glow of Satoru’s cursed energy was thick enough that it was practically scented fog, clouding and enveloping everything it touched, even when that same something was touching him. Even now, Suguru almost didn’t see it–but he did. An infection of pale violet dots suspended in Satoru’s cursed energy, specks of foreign cursed energy bursting like perpetual sparklers.
“You were cursed,” Suguru realized.
It shouldn’t have been possible. At least, Suguru wouldn’t have thought it was possible, until Satoru nodded along.
“Yep! That’s why I’m here. It was you, or Ieiri. You were closer.”
Satoru pressed his hand against his neck. The distortion in his cursed energy seemed far more clear, there. His hand brushed through his hair, parting it enough to show silver threads of something else winding through. “There was a whole flock of these things. I got most of ‘em, but this sucker got stuck in there. Figured you’d help.”
Suguru was paying so much attention to try and see it, he didn’t notice the girls were looking the same way. Nanako pointed to Satoru. “That’s a curse? Looks like hair.”
Mimiko raised her doll. The doll flopped forward, nodding. “Or gum.”
“Gum? Isn’t that clumpy?”
Normally, Suguru would’ve warned the girls not to stare openly at a curse. In this case, he wasn’t sure it could stare back. Even if it could, what the curse did or didn’t spot was the least of Suguru’s problems.
There was something wrong. That much was clear. Small as the spots were though his energy, it was enough of an inconsistency to infer something happened. What it was, Suguru’s only clue was that thread, and the person who brought this problem to him in the first place. A person who, from what he’d just said, didn’t remember that Suguru wasn’t someone that he could come to.
“Satoru,” Suguru called, unsure what he should listen for.
Satoru looked back. “Yeah?”
“What year is it?”
“What’d you mean, ‘what year is it’? What, like I’m a time traveler?”
Suguru didn’t back down. He just looked ahead, and waited until he’d stared long enough that Satoru answered, anyway.
“It’s 2003!”
Nanako shook her head. “Nuh-uh.” Mimiko shook her doll’s head to match.
Satoru pouted. “Is, too! Constantine just started playing last week! We were supposed to go see it Friday, and then you had to go and get a stupid mission.”
Satoru leaned across the table, veering away from the girls to nudge into Suguru’s face, instead. “Like, oooh, I’m too good to go see Keanu Reeves in a trench coat. Well, guess what? You missed Tilda Swinton.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Suguru said flatly.
Satoru tipped back in his chair. “That’s your fault! You didn’t go! You’ll live life Swinton-less.”
Whatever Satoru was going on about, Suguru could understand at least one thing clearly. As good as Satoru could have been at acting, even he wasn’t this convincing. Whatever else this was, it was too strange to be a lie. Whether the disruption was a curse, battle damage, or highly pointed amnesia, the end result was the same. The Satoru in front of him wasn’t the one who lived in Suguru’s time. This Satoru was a ghost with a heartbeat.
“Suguru,” Satoru called out. “You’ll get my crepe, right? Can’t find my wallet.”
“...Sure.”
“Now, I know something’s wrong. You don’t treat me. Not unless I win something, first.”
“You always win.”
“Not always! Sometimes, I don’t play.”
Suguru looked up. He faced Satoru, straight on. Satoru didn’t budge. He lowered his hands, folding them in front of himself.
“Satoru.” Suguru repeated his name slowly, as if it had been so long since he’d used it.
Satoru tilted his head. “Yeah?”
It didn’t feel real, that Suguru could hear that voice, and have it not be shouting at him. That, somehow, they could sit face to face in a cafe, with either one of them smiling.
“It’s 2010,” Suguru told him. “Constantine came out years ago.”
Satoru tipped his glasses. “He’s gay?”
“What?” Suguru squinted.
“That’s what you said, right? He came out? Like, the closet?” Satoru looked to the side. “Did not see that coming.”
“No. The movie. The movie came out.”
“Ooooh! Oh, yeah. Yeah, that makes more sense. So, we’re in the future?” Satoru asked. “You got hover-boards yet?”
“No. We’re in the present,” Suguru corrected. “You’ve been cursed.”
So had Suguru.
Any second, this discussion could change. The Satoru who was supposed to exist could wake up, and remember that they should have nothing to do with each other. Any second, Satoru could remember it was in his best interest to kill Suguru, and end him. Or, worse, another sorcerer could come looking for Satoru, and find both of them.
If Satoru had been on a mission, the manager assigned to his case must have been looking for him. Hell, most of the sorcerers in Japan were probably looking for Satoru. And yet, when everyone else was searching for Satoru, Satoru was watching him.
Suguru looked across the table, too. “Satoru?”
It wasn’t until he heard Satoru answer, “yeah?” that Suguru knew he’d spoken at all.
It was such a simple word, it should have only had one meaning–yet to hear Satoru speak so easily, it felt to Suguru like he was living inside a memory he’d never had the chance to make. Whatever had caused this, Suguru couldn’t leave him. Not like this. Not again. They’d placed enough curses on each other, already.
The waitress came back over, balancing a large tray. One by one, she put the plates down.
“Two chocolate strawberry crepes. Extra strawberries,” she put the plates down in front of Nanako and Mimiko, respectively. “And one, hazelnut spread, banana and whipped cream. Anything else, sir?”
Satoru picked up his plate in both hands, stretching across Suguru on the way. Suguru’s sleeve nearly fell in the cream. He pulled back.
“Is this a bad time?” the waitress asked.
Suguru pulled his sleeve into his lap. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“A bad time for crepes? Never!” Satoru raised his plate. “Thanks!”
The warning “Satoru–” that Suguru started to hiss didn’t get far.
“Come on! I said thanks!” Satoru shouted. “That’s a polite thing!”
Before Suguru could argue, Nanako waved for him. “Master Geto?”
“Yes, Nanako?”
Nanako pointed across the table. Her finger all but jabbed at Satoru. “He’s eating wrong.”
Suguru barely turned to look. He saw the result too clearly. While anyone sensible would have grabbed their utensils, Satoru planted himself face-first into his crepe. The whipped cream smeared around his mouth.
Suguru let out a breath. He stared out, unsurprised. “Yes, he is. Don’t copy that.”
Nanako nodded, her bob bouncing along.
Suguru turned his head over his shoulder, back to the waitress. “Can we get some to-go boxes? We may need to leave quickly.”
The waitress barely met Suguru’s eye. Nanako tugged on his sleeve.
“We’ve gotta go?”
“To go?” Satoru repeated. “Go where?”
Suguru turned the other way. He angled in his seat to face Satoru clearly. He saw him so clearly, Suguru couldn’t help but to also see the completely empty plate. The surface was clean enough, it didn’t look like there had been food on it at all. Satoru’s nose, however, was tipped with leftover whipped cream.
Satoru handed Suguru the plate.
“Oh, you’re gonna get another one? Good plan! You didn’t eat yet, did you?”
Satoru swiped his sleeve away from himself to flash three fingers at the waitress, instead. Suguru struggled not to sigh. “I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, right! The girls!” Satoru raised the rest of his fingers. “We’ll take five! Keep ‘em coming!”
“ Satoru .”
“What? You can’t pay? I can pay!”
“No, you can’t. You don’t have your wallet.”
Satoru slapped his hands against the table. “Later! I’ll pay later! You’ll get it now, right?”
The waitress stood beside the table, clearly at a loss. Suguru didn’t dare to face her, or the girls. What he faced in their stead was Satoru, and the sense of every second they were wasting on this. Seconds they didn’t have. Seconds when the entire cluster of this mess could see out the store window, and anyone by the store window could see them.
Suguru reached under his robe, into his own pocket. He passed some money to the waitress.
“Three chocolate strawberry crepes to go. Extra cream on one,” Suguru told her.
“Yes, sir.”
“Three?” Satoru asked, raising a brow over his glasses. “Why three?”
Nanako raised her hand. “Four’s bad luck!”
Suguru lowered his head. “I’m not hungry.”
Satoru’s blindfold blocked any sight of his face. Even so, Suguru could feel him squinting. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Suguru’s lack of enthusiasm must have been proof enough, because Satoru leaned away. Just as he could have found a spot to settle, he thrust his hand back into the air.
“Extra whipped cream!” Satoru shouted.
Suguru strained not to sigh. “I already told her that.”
“Then, more than extra!”
“Where could you possibly fit more than extra?”
Satoru gave him the kind of sweets-eating grin that implied he’d been waiting half his life for this question. “In my mouth! Obviously.”
However troubling that boast could be, Suguru couldn’t doubt it was true. He also knew it wasn’t the time.
Suguru folded his hands in front of himself, giving Satoru his silence, and the last word. He made sure to sit beside the window. From the direction his eyes turned, it would look to anyone else like he was watching the outside. Only he could tell that, through the glass, he was watching the curse, and Satoru. No matter what else was around him, Suguru’s senses had to stay focused–not just for himself, or the girls, but because it was.
“Satoru.” Suguru called.
Satoru turned his head. “Yeah?”
Suguru reached across the table. He took Satoru’s hands into his own. Their palm lines ran in inverse, their skin touching–not just a brush, or the pushback of Satoru’s infinity keeping the slightest fraction of space between them, but actually touching. Satoru’s skin was so soft, it was as if nothing else in the world had ever marred him, except for Suguru. Only he knew what it felt like to hold these hands. If they weren’t in his embrace, then, they were in no one’s. Suguru told himself not to notice that.
“Promise me. Whatever happens, you won’t make a scene?”
Satoru snickered. “Me? A scene? Never.”
“You, always. Forget a scene, you’re the entire first act.”
“A first act? That’s lame. If I’ve gotta be a play, I should be the climax. It’s what I’m best at, right? A big finish?”
If Satoru hadn’t added the last part so quickly, Suguru would have scolded him again.
Satoru’s shoulders raised. His hands lifted along with it. He didn’t let go. Even when he was arguing, he didn’t let go.
“I always worry,” said Suguru. “Because you’re Satoru.” Whatever else was happening to him, or because of him, that much was still true.
“Fine! I won’t make one on purpose! Can’t help if someone gawks, though.” Satoru stretched farther back. His hands slipped from Suguru’s grip, to stretch over his head. The mere flick of his wrists seemed to beckon in attention, both from Suguru and otherwise. “So,” he asked casually. “Where’s the scene?”
However light-hearted Satoru could sound, the reality of it weighed more than Satoru would, or could, know. In the state Satoru was in, he didn’t understand the potential catastrophe they were both stuck in. Every second that Satoru spent smiling at Suguru was one he spent with a traitor, where the balance of the entire world of sorcery was at risk.
The world of sorcery had a delicate balance. Someone like Satoru Gojo defined that balance. If there was the slightest suspicion that Satoru wasn’t on the side of the rest of the sorcery world, the structure of it could have fallen apart. There were worse things than to redefine that structure intentionally–but this had no intention. It was nothing but a misunderstanding waiting to happen, and two others that already were.
Even if Suguru tried to explain to Satoru what was going on, he could tell Satoru wouldn’t want to believe him. The Satoru that was tethered to reality clearly, without a curse on his shoulder or over his eye, hadn’t wanted to believe it. One with other beings to encourage that illusion would like it even less. At best, he’d get disoriented, and that put everyone here at risk, including Nanako and Mimiko. Suguru could only think of one option. He didn’t like it.
“Home,” Suguru said, following it anyway. “I’m taking you home.”
It wasn’t safe to leave this curse in public. If Suguru tried to attack it here, the curse could target his girls in an effort to escape. Even more important than that, however, was to make sure he wasn’t seen in public with Satoru and the girls. If a window or a sorcerer noticed both of them there, together, they might suspect a conspiracy.
Suguru couldn’t leave Satoru like this. He’d barely been able to leave him the first time. To turn his back again, when there was a reason to think that for once, Satoru needed him, too, wasn’t something Suguru had the strength to do. He knew that, even if he didn’t want to.
He really didn’t want to.
Nanako pulled Suguru’s sleeve. The bell of the fabric bunched in her hands. “Master Geto–”
Before Nanako could raise her voice, Suguru raised his hand. He put his palm flat on Nanako’s head, patting lightly.
“It’ll be fine,” Suguru lied. “Don’t worry.”
Suguru nodded assuringly, as if the confirmation weren’t just for her, but himself, too. Nanako smiled, believing him. That made one of them.
Suguru waited until he was sure neither girl was still watching him. He looked to his side, away from the glass, to the far too familiar image of a face he should have forgotten. Despite the curse–or because of it–Satoru was smiling.
Suguru understood, then, that the order he’d given Nanako was true enough. There was no need for Nanako or Mimiko to worry about Satoru. Suguru would worry enough for all of them.