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[takumina]

Hey, it's Gojo.
You know what to do.

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[takumina]

( he isn't normally like this, no, and he would genuinely prefer if his past stayed precisely that instead of invading what would have otherwise been peaceful sleep. it's over, it's done, it had been done and they'd found themselves here, their effective chance to realize everything they'd missed out on when they were younger —

and here come the nightmares, ready to snatch it all away from him again like he'd never been meant to have it in the first place.

satoru inhales deeply, drops his head to rest his cheek against the other man's chest now, counts the number of his heartbeats and the spaces between them, one, two, three, four. and only when he thinks he can keep his voice from shaking does he finally respond. )

I'm not sure you could call it just that. ( he sighs, voice barely a murmur, muffled as it is with how he's pressed his face against him. ) Short answer, though … yes.

[shrove]

[ the short answer is yes, huh. it's not often that something like this will rattle him so, and suguru is quietly thoughtful, stroking his hair to soothe him. he can feel how he's pressing his cheek to his chest -- to listen to his heartbeat, perhaps. if he's using that to soothe himself, and holding him tightly earlier, then suguru might have a suspicion as to what it might be.

probably? he's not sure.

but the important thing is that he's comforted. the chasm between them had once been too wide to be breached, and satoru had ultimately killed him for the sake of the future. he understands it -- after all, satoru killing him isn't a pointless exercise, but the emotional fallout of it is something he can't quite imagine.

and he imagines satoru hasn't had much in the way of processing that particular grief since he'd died. he gives satoru a few moments before he shifts to grasp his chin with one hand, urging him to look up at him. ]

...do you want to talk about it? You don't look all right.

[takumina]

( he prefers to consider himself largely unrattled by most things, unshakable as he most often needs to be; it's been a long, long time since he'd had a nightmare like this one, maybe not since the first year following the whole ordeal that had ended up giving them to him in the first place, but how often had he woken in a cold sweat, shaking from the top of his head down to his toes, the corners of his eyes burning with unshed tears because he couldn't help it —

there had been no time to grieve. there had been no time for anything and there is a part of him he's still convinced hasn't let go of everything they had been before the beginning of their falling apart. he could never let go of that entirely, his best friend, his only friend, his.

one and only.

he inhales deeply and holds it, and only when the other man tips his chin upward to make him look at him does he finally let it go, and it comes out of him so shakily that he can feel the way it rattles all the way down to his bones. )

I dreamt I lost you again.

[shrove]

[ i dreamed i lost you again.

that confession surprises him, because if he looks this shattered and rattled, his death really must have an effect on satoru that is more far-reaching and devastating than he's let on.

it would've been easier if satoru genuinely hated him like suguru thought he did.

satoru has never looked so vulnerable to him, so shaken, and for a moment, suguru doesn't know what to do, how to react, when his heart inexplicably aches at satoru's words. how do you even begin to comfort the one and only best friend that killed you, and has been quietly suffering for it. things are harder to bear for the living. ]

I see...

[ is all he manages, his hand unfurling to cup satoru's cheek warmly. he exhales a quiet sigh, unable to look away from him; between them, a sea of every opportunity, every chance they've lost. ]

... I'm sorry it ended that way.

[takumina]

( he's carried the weight of what he'd been forced to do with him all these years, kept it locked away along with everything else he'd lost and kept it hidden, because it's never been anyone's burden to bear but his own, and he couldn't fathom letting the skeletons out of his closet just for the sake of a little bit of peace of mind.

( he hadn't had a choice. there was no other way. but the toll it had taken on him had been a big one, and he'd never thought he would ever actually find himself getting over it. )

satoru swallows hard, pressing into the hand at his cheek and all at once shifting to close what little distance remains between them, lifting himself up to straddle the other's waist and bury his face in the side of his neck, choking back a strained, strangled sort of sound at i'm sorry it ended that way. )

I never wanted it to be like that, Suguru. I never thought I would have to—

( do what i did.

he's shaking now, and a part of him hates how vulnerable he's made himself out to be, but if there's ever going to be a weakness he'll own with everything in him … it's the man he now shares a bed with without a second thought. )

Sometimes I think I'm dreaming. Here, you know? ( he murmurs against the beat of his pulse, lips brushing over warm skin, not wanting to pull back enough to speak properly. ) That I wanted you back so badly that this is some kind of screwed up coping mechanism for refusing to accept you were really gone. ( he pauses, then lifts his head to press a desperate kiss against his mouth, so out of his mind from a stupid dream that he doesn't stop to think for a moment that he shouldn't. )

I'm not still dreaming, right?

[shrove]

[ the things it does to him, this whole killing business.

suguru has once said that he is kinder of them both, with the implication that satoru is fully capable of carrying out cold-blooded, calculated acts -- he has demonstrated that on several occasions, but suguru also knows that gojo satoru is ultimately only human where it counts, and that the unbearable weight of killing the only best friend you have is quite something.

he's seen the quiet devastation in his face when he'd been dying, learned that even in his death, satoru, precious satoru, had not even given his body over to the higher ups. sentiment, perhaps, for someone who doesn't deserve it.

he can feel him shaking, that familiar, welcome weight above him a reminder that satoru is still a man, and his hands come to rest on his hips before his arms come to wrap around him. it's a raw, pivotal moment, this vulnerability that he displays in the darkest of the night. is it just a dream, he wonders?

maybe he's dreaming, too, and satoru is simply privy to the yearning of a dying man's last thoughts. but satoru feels real, and his heart hurts for him too sharply to be some sort of fantasy. he runs his fingers through his hair in silence as he parts his mouth for him, taking his desperation, kissing him back, tongue sliding sweetly against his.

he gives him the comfort he seeks, shaking his head in between kisses. he leads him into another kiss, and another, a third. ]

You're not. I'm here. [ another kiss. another. he draws the last one out longer, gently gripping his hair to tug, as a reminder of his presence. so he wants him back so badly, huh? ]

I'm here with you, Satoru. Right now, you're wide awake in a brand new world with me, and we're kissing, and we're pretending this is what friends do. I'm pretty sure even you can't actually dream up how annoying I can be.

[ ...and so he pinches his inner thigh suddenly. just because. see? annoying. can screwed up coping mechanisms pinch you suddenly in the soft spot and remind you of their shared denial? they can't. dryly, he murmurs, teasing him to keep him anchored, to keep his satoru here, with him: ] Give this a few more weeks, maybe you'll really want me gone, then.