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“Did I ask if I gave a fuck?” Satoru asks, stuffing his clothes into his suitcase. He picked destinations at random, his bank having more than enough to throw both of them into the world at large with no issues.
The only issue left sits on Satoru’s bed, the ever deepening vacant expression staring at him. Satoru raises his brows, and then turns back to his closet to rifle through button downs and tees.
“No, but what about the elders? They won’t approve this.” Suguru responds. He’s right about that, but Satoru has never lived for the elder’s approval and he definitely won’t start now.
“I’ll spit in their face and you kick their knees in.” He says, snapping his fingers. He holds up one shirt, bright yellow with pineapple print as Suguru rolls his eyes. “How would this look?” He asks, distracting Suguru from inevitable disappointment.
“You’ll look like a street sign.” Suguru deadpans, rubbing his eyes.
“Are you telling me I’ll look distracting?” Satoru folds the shirt and tucks it into the suitcase.
“I’m telling you I’ll have to deal with a lot of shit taking unauthorized time off with you.” Suguru sighs, stress evident on his face. Satoru allows himself a split second to feel bad for him, then steamrolls past it to stubbornness. “You might be able to deal with them but I will actually face punishment for it.”
Satoru breathes out of his nose. There’s a bleakness to Suguru, a bone deep tiredness he can’t experience but can see clearly in the slope of his shoulders. Suguru needs a break. Satoru himself will see to it.
He bends down, tucks a lock of hair behind Suguru’s ears. “And I said, I don’t give a fuck. You’re coming with me.”
*
Suguru doesn’t complain to his face afterwards, but Satoru reads it in the set of his jaw up until they’re on the first plane to their first destination. He doesn’t see the need for a vacation, somehow.
Missions never sit well with Suguru, and Satoru would be the first to say he’s not suited for it, no matter how convenient he is. He grips the flimsy packet of snacks in his hands and tears one open for Suguru who’s seated next to him with a sleep mask over his eyes.
“Open your mouth.” Satoru whispers, and drops chips into it when Suguru follows.
“Did you get anything back from the elders?” Suguru whispers back.
A petty flash of anger rushes through Satoru, and he taps Suguru’s cheek with a reprimand. “I’m not checking my phone this entire week. Don’t ask me about them.” He presses more chips into Suguru’s mouth, and hopes he can distract Suguru away from obligations.
*
Wind ruffles through their hair on the observation deck. Satoru grins as Suguru’s hair flops around before he quickly gathers them in a bun, his bangs fluttering around his forehead.
“What are you looking at me for? We didn’t fly across the earth for you to look at me.” Suguru turns his face away from him, as Satoru laughs. That’s exactly what he booked this trip for, looking at Suguru in different environments.
“I’m looking at you with different scenery!” He says, wrapping an arm around him and bringing him in.
Fog drifts around the skyline, buildings shooting up in thick black lines not unlike their own home but uniquely different. Unfamiliar but familiar at the same time. Suguru looks at it, breathes in air and looks down at the dots of people walking around.
“They look like ants up here.” Suguru says, voice quiet.
“We would too. Dropping anything from this height would put a hole through a car roof.” Satoru says, mimicking dropping a coin. The funny trivia might not be true, but Suguru looks at him, and smiles at the idea.
Suguru huffs, runs a hand through his hair. “We do a lot for these ants.”
Satoru hums, leans on the railing. “You more than a lot. Step back from it?” He suggests, not really suggesting.
Suguru looks at him with confusion, and Satoru sees double, another future of him in front of students without blood on his face. The railing’s cold under his hands and he plots another goal for the trip; removing Suguru from actively chasing curses down.
*
The streets are crowded, more so than the ones back home from the lack of space. Somehow, New Yorkers slip by each other without touching on the sidewalk, cramped as it is. Satoru blends into them, his own repulsion making it easy.
“It’s like everyone’s repulsed by each other. A little of my technique in them all.” Satoru says, slipping past the crowd as Suguru frowns.
“They’re non shamans. They can’t know a curse if it bit them on their ass.” He says, hands in his pockets.
Satoru rolls his eyes, “Of course they wouldn’t.”
“Then what do you mean them sharing your technique?” Suguru asks, bothered.
“You won’t brush against one unless it’s on purpose.” Satoru explains, hooking a hand on Suguru’s forearm, leading him into a cafe.
*
There’s more trees and greenery in the city than both of them expected, and Satoru takes advantage of it to set Suguru in poses in the gardens.
He takes it with minimal complaint, and once Satoru’s done taking his share of pictures of Suguru, he tugs Satoru in with an arm around his waist to take selfies together.
“You take pictures, Suguru?” He teases, looking up at the slant of his jaw. It would be so easy to touch him, and he tilts his head to drop a light kiss on the underside of it.
Suguru’s breath stops entirely, freezes watching both of them through the phone’s screen.
Satoru reaches up to snap the picture, laughing at the look on his face.
“Why’d you do that?” Suguru asks, eyes wide.
“I wanted to.” Satoru says, watching the shake in his hands. “I won’t do it again if you don’t want to. It’s just affection.” He passes off, not looking too close at what he wanted to do in the moment.
Complicated expressions roll across Suguru and he looks down at the grass they’re sitting on. The park’s full of people, kids running around the lake and uncaring themselves. Satoru isn’t the most familiar with affection, dealing it even less than receiving it, but he’d come on this vacation with the express intent of getting rid of the ever present muggy haze around Suguru.
If he wants to kiss him to show the unfamiliar weight of affection, he will.
“Just affection?” Suguru asks, brows furrowed. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
Satoru looks over the rim of his sunglasses and flutters his lashes, running on instinct. “Some.”
*
His ideas run the brink of ingenious and pointless. Satoru’s not sure where this one sits, balancing enjoying this vacation along with stirring Suguru’s brain in the right way.
The train’s packed with people, shoulder to shoulder, swaying with the stops and starts. Satoru had run into the open doors and immediately sat down between two people, and Suguru held onto the railing over head to hold in place.
Train rides are vastly different between the two cities, even though both rely on them heavily. Suguru flicks at his shirt to get some air to his skin, not achieving much with the sweat on the walk over. Air conditioning isn’t active in the train.
When the train stutters, the sway of the crowd pushing until the engine runs and people stagger backwards, Satoru places his hands on either side of Suguru’s waist.
He looks down at him, eyes heavy.
Satoru shivers from it. “Just helping you stay still.”
Suguru raises his brow, pointedly looks at where he’s holding the railing. Satoru ignores it, warmed by the gaze Suguru levels at him as he runs his hand down the side of Suguru’s thighs. They’re heated under his palm.
“You’re very helpful.” Suguru says sarcastically.
“I am.” Satoru responds, sincerely.
Distractions have their use. Suguru pays attention to him the entire train ride, focusing on his hands on his waist. Satoru tests it casually, feeling tension change as he shifts his fingers, the dig of his index alternating with his thumb, sweeping across the space it occupies.
Suguru’s responsive to all of it. Satoru takes the trip of energy this fact gives him, and uses the repetitive motions of the train as an excuse to play with him. The feeling of attention Suguru gives him never stales.
*
There’s no efficient distraction to give Suguru to make him blind to curses. He wouldn’t want to either, no matter how much it would solve for him to turn away from the shaman world like Nanami had.
“Here, try this.” He drops a peach and strawberry drink in Suguru’s hands, ice swirling around a thin red straw.
Suguru takes it skeptically, looking at the bright blue drink in Satoru’s own hands. “Is it radioactive?”
“I don’t care if it is.” Satoru laughs, and drinks it all in one go, heat sliding under his skin and spinning in him. A little dribbles down the side of his mouth, and Suguru stares at it strangely. On the momentary heat in his lips, he licks it and grins at the way Suguru swallows.
Suguru raises his drink to his own lips and sips it, then sours his face. “This is way too sweet, what the hell. Why’d you get me this?”
Satoru grins at the set up. “Oh really? Let me taste.” He’s careful of the actual glass raised to him, and presses his lips to Suguru’s softly.
Suguru stills and presses back, tentative until Satoru slips his tongue out to trace the slit of his mouth, the sweetness of the drink buzzing under the sheer delight in kissing Suguru.
“It’s not that sweet. Here, taste mine.” He offers, fueled by the tension under his fingertips. He takes a gulp of his own drink, coconut and vodka crisp on his tongue, and runs his finger along Suguru’s jaw.
Suguru’s eyes widen and he reaches for Satoru with an intensity in his movements, holding onto his shirt, the same time as Satoru tilts his jaw and slots their mouths together, passing his drink over to him.
Some of it slides out of the corner of his mouth. Satoru plays with him, licks it off.
“This one’s sweeter, right?” Satoru whispers into his ear, laughing as an arm winds around his waist and places him in Suguru’s lap.
“Don’t ask me stupid questions.” Suguru tells him, then doesn’t let him say a word.
*
Satoru pleasantly stretches, feeling the kinks in his back straighten out. Suguru holds his hand and pulls, huffing at the noises Satoru deliberately makes to make him laugh.
“You’re not an old man yet.” Suguru complains, “Stop acting like you’re just a few seconds away from needing a cane to walk.”
“I have you to make sure that doesn’t happen. That’s your job.” Satoru lets go, then takes Suguru’s hands, lets him stretch his own back.
Suguru hums. A self satisfied smile, a joking question ready at the tip of his tongue. It’s Satoru’s favorite expression, and it lights him to be on the opposite end of it. “Who says I’ll do that?”
“I say.” Satoru claims happily, “Are you going to make me a liar?”
“Is that your plan?” Suguru straightens up, their hands still clasped, he pulls Satoru into him.
Say what he might about his plans, Satoru’s never been off about the results.
*
Suguru sits on the balcony of their hotel room, a cup of tea heating his hands as rain drips down onto the street, washing debris and pollution away into drains. Satoru watches him from the bed, covered in blankets.
The weekend draws closer by the second. He should check his phone if only to anticipate the shitstorm he’ll come back to, but instead he watches the flex of Suguru’s back as he twists around on the balcony, and pictures him just living like that.
Suguru sat away from curses, or at least given breaks between consumption. In the smallest fantasies Satoru allows himself, Suguru would use the quarry of curses he already has for practice for students at the college, an older and more effective way to bring change.
Suguru sips his tea and turns back to look at him. Satoru keeps his gaze, unashamed he was staring. Why would he be, at this point? Suguru knew he had motives bringing him here.
“What are you thinking?” Suguru asks, hair sliding over his shoulders. Satoru wants to tangle his fingers in it, never to let go.
“About you.” Satoru lowers the blankets.
Suguru nods his head, incredulous. “What about me?”
“I want to be a teacher.” Satoru says, and he’s never been quiet about the strongest duo. It’s inconceivable to think there’s a life where they don’t revolve each other. If Satoru wants to be a teacher, Suguru won’t be too far away.
Satoru explains what he wants for the shaman world. The upheaval of its current standards, the uprooting of the consistent impact of running yourself into brick walls. He watches the implications dawn on Suguru, and it’s a rope out of quicksand for him.
Suguru sets the cup down and sits on the bed. “Getting rid of Yaga?” He asks, as if the dust bag isn’t one step away from disappearing in thin air.
“He’s chewing gum that’s lost it’s stickiness. Do you want to?” Satoru grins.
It’s like it’s what Suguru’s been wanting to hear. Tremors line his hands as he cups Satoru’s jaw, drinks from his mouth. He kisses him firmly, a promise and an answer all together. Satoru runs his hands down the side of his torso, kisses him just as hard.
“Why? What did you want to do?” Satoru asks, just to hear it.
“I was murderous.” He says, simply. Satoru entirely believes it. It wouldn’t have been a big jump for Suguru to unleash hell as a special grade.
*
There’s shit to hear when they come back from New York, having traveled across the globe for nothing. It’s in one ear and out the other for Satoru, and he swears there’s vibrancy on Suguru’s face when he sees him again.