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What the actual fuck.
Like, actually.
What the fuck.
Satoru stares at himself in the mirror, bloody handkerchief in hand, nervous sweat beading his pale face. At least he’s alone in his room now. But what the fuck.
He could’ve been casual about it.
He could’ve acted like a normal fucking human being.
But no .
Satoru just had to walk into the motherfucking door — accidentally, although he kind of wanted to knock himself out at that moment — when he saw Suguru wearing that… that… God, had he always worn that under his uniform?
Satoru shakes his dizzy head. Why did his brain turn to mush with Suguru? He’s just Suguru.
But the image of Suguru braiding his long, black hair in that… that… tank top . It burns a gaping hole in Satoru’s mind. The way Suguru’s arms — those arms — were so lightly flexed as he started pleating his hair at the top of his head. The way his hair tie was held so gently between his teeth. The way he leaned, so nonchalantly, with his weight on his left leg, hip popped slightly out. The way (damn it all) his tank top lifted when he moved, revealing his skin, skin , and the boxers that peeked out from under his sweatpants.
Is it normal to get like this when you see your best friend?
It’s not like he hadn’t seen Suguru’s body before. He could imagine countless nights they lazily showered next to each other after missions. Oh, the way Suguru leaned his head back and closed his eyes to feel the spray of warm water on his face. The way his arms and his back moved when he lathered up soap to wash his hair. The way his soft skin steamed when he stepped out—
There’s a knock at the door.
“Satoru?”
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“Are… are you okay?”
Bless and curse his Six Eyes because Satoru has moments to think and overthink about what to do next:
- What does he do if Suguru is still wearing the tank top? God, he hopes he is. Wait, no. Yes. No.
- Does he look okay? His nose is bleeding, so there’s that. Whatever, Satoru always looks hot. He thinks.
- Why does he keep thinking about Suguru naked? Like what the fuck? How is that supposed to help?
- Oh, but the cute belly folds he has when he sits down. And the two moles he has on his right bicep. And the—
- Focus, Satoru.
- FUCK. What was he supposed to do about his… um…
The knob turns slowly. “Uh… I’m coming in. Hope you’re dressed.”
Why would he say that? Satoru looked great undressed, thank you very much.
This is not the time.
He rushes over to the bed and sits awkwardly, throwing a blanket on his lap to hide his… you know… and trying to look as presentable as possible (with blood all over his face, and all). Suguru walks in and closes the door behind him. Satoru catches a glimpse of skin. Damn it all.
Suguru steps towards Satoru and hesitates, “What the fuck are you doing?”
How could he possibly look even better? It’s actually not fair. Suguru stands with his hands on his hips, weight shifted onto his left leg. The goddamn black tank top hangs loosely from his body, allowing a choice amount of collarbone and chest to peek out. His bangs and baby hairs fall from his loose french braid in delicate and tasteful wisps, still slightly damp from his shower.
“Satoru?”
Fuck.
He wouldn’t be surprised if he’s drooling. He’s an idiot.
“Uh, yeah?”
A totally normal and casual response to, like, four unanswered questions. Suguru’s brows furrow and Satoru gulps.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Satoru finally replies (it’s a lie, naturally).
“Uh, okay…” Suguru looks confused but shrugs. “You’re just acting fucking weird.”
He pulls a mini first aid kit out from his bag. He brought a bag? How did Satoru not notice? Suguru starts walking towards the bed.
“Anyways… I told Shoko you hit your dumb face on the door — you know, like an idiot,” he gives an evil little grin, “and she chucked this at me and told me to fuck off. So here we are.”
He stops, dangerously close to Satoru, and starts looking through the kit. Wow, he’s really tall. He’s also slightly leaning over Satoru. Is it normal to find shitty posture attractive? Not that Satoru finds Suguru attractive, or anything… Please, Suguru is far from attractive. How could he like his devilish smile? Or his dumb bangs that frame his elegant face? Or his lazy voice that Satoru only gets to hear first thing in the morning when they’re brushing their teeth? Or the way his hands look when he’s driving—
“… and yeah, so I’m just gonna stop the bleeding with this and clean any cuts you have because I know that door’s got splinters.” Suguru bends down to meet Satoru at eye level, warm washcloth in hand.
Had he been talking this whole time?
“Actually,” Suguru stands upright and reaches down, “Let me move this blanket; I don’t want to get it dirty.”
FUCK.
No no no no no no.
With the way Suguru looks when he bends over, Satoru would never survive his treatment without his trusty blanket in his lap. Damn it all.
“Um!” Satoru practically yelps. Fuck, this is embarassing. “Actually, it’s okay, I don’t mind.”
Suguru gives him an odd look, “Don’t mind… getting blood on your blanket?”
Well when he phrases it that way it sounds bad.
“Uh…” Satoru stutters, “I-I’m cold.”
It’s summer.
“And I was gonna wash it tonight anyways so it doesn’t matter,” he adds quickly, before Suguru can respond.
He’s a goddamn genius. He’ll have to reward himself with candy later.
“Okay whatever. Dumbass.” Suguru rolls his stupid, pretty eyes and bends over to assess the situation.
A million thoughts race through Satoru’s mind. Well, maybe not a million — he can’t think that much, right now — but a lot, kind of:
- Why does Suguru smell so damn good? Okay, maybe it’s because he literally just showered. But, still. This is unfair.
- Where does Satoru look? Does he make eye contact? No, that’s weird. How about straight up? Eh, that’s not really his most attractive angle… Maybe just to the side—
“Dude. Stay still, I’m trying to clean your face.” He grabs Satoru’s face with gentle force and tilts his head slightly up.
Fuck. Satoru’s heart thunders. He wonders if Suguru can hear it. Where was he? Oh yeah…
- He should probably look at Suguru, so he doesn’t move his head. Where, though? Eye contact is weird. What about… Oh no…
He glances down. Fuck. Why did he think of it? He’ll never be able to look away.
Suguru’s tank top hangs loosely from his body, revealing his defined collarbones and, please have mercy, his chest. When he bends down to pick up the first aid kit, Satoru almost catches a glimpse of his abs. Suguru places the kit on the bed, behind Satoru. Fuck, he’s really close. Satoru can feel his soft, steady breaths and the warmth of his skin. And he can feel, yes, he can feel the five fingers and palm that cup his chin and the gentle taps of the cloth that touches his face. Suguru reaches past Satoru to grab a clean washcloth, leaning his entire body over him. Satoru had never been so grateful for the blanket in his lap.
“So…” Suguru wipes the rest of Satoru’s face and reaches for the antibiotic ointment (Satoru has a small cut across his nose), “… why did this,” he gestures at Satoru’s nose, “happen?”
What?
What the fuck is he supposed to say to that?
‘ Oh, I was just distracted by the way you look in that stupid tank top, you goddamn bastard. ’
“Whaddya mean ‘Why did this happen’?” Satoru asks, “I just ran into the fucking door.”
Suguru laughs. God, Satoru loves the sound of his laugh.
“No shit, you dumbass.” Suguru squeezes some ointment onto his finger. “I meant why did you get hurt?”
Satoru winces a little when Suguru dabs on the ointment.
“Shit, sorry. I’ll be gentle.”
“You’re fine.” It didn’t really hurt, Satoru just likes the way Suguru’s eyes look when he’s concerned.
The question sits in the air. What does he mean?
“What do you mean by that?” Satoru asks softly, breaking the silence. For some odd reason, the atmosphere around the two had changed. The narrowing gap between their bodies was no longer nervous or intimidating, but rather intimate.
Suguru stops for a second and looks Satoru in the eyes, “Your Infinity.”
Oh.
He hadn’t realized it before, but at this moment Satoru knew that he never had his Infinity on when he was alone with Suguru. For some reason, whatever it was, he subconsciously wanted to experience Suguru Getou to the fullest — without the infinite barrier between them. There’s nothing wrong with that, right? Wanting to know, to touch, to feel his best friend to the furthest extent his body and soul would allow him to? No, there’s nothing wrong with that. Because who wouldn’t want to experience Suguru Getou to the fullest?
But it’s not like he could tell Suguru that.
“I guess I just had it off.”
Who is Satoru Gojo if not self destructive?
His rapidly growing (and rather unhealthy) obsession with the idea of Suguru In Tank Tops™ had gotten to the point where the strong images in his mind (from the bloody nose incident) were not enough. No. Satoru needed to experience, to feel Suguru in his tank top one more time. It couldn’t be hard, right? After all, it’s just a tank top. And it’s summer.
Little does Satoru know…
His first plan — yes, first — commenced exactly two days after the bloody-nose incident (yes, only two days). He still had that stupid pink Hello Kitty bandaid across his nose (Shoko promised they were the only ones she had left in that size) and he still thought of Suguru in his tank top every waking hour (and sleeping hours; he dreamt of it).
So, it isn’t totally unreasonable for Satoru to sneak into Suguru’s room and steal his uniforms. Especially when they have outdoor combat training the next day (to practice maneuvering through the terrain) in the hot summer sun. What’s Suguru gonna do, fight shirtless? Well, actually, that would be nice. But tank top is the goal.
“What are you doing?”
Fuck.
He had planned everything perfectly: It’s the day before their outdoor combat training and Suguru is on a mission, so his last remaining uniform would be too dirty for the next day. Satoru had even stolen the detergent, so Suguru couldn’t wash his clothes. Satoru was embarrassingly proud of his planning skills.
But he miscalculated.
“H-heyyy Shoko!” Satoru puts on his best smile. Yeah, the one Shoko never falls for. “How’s it going?”
“Why are you sneaking out of Suguru’s room in the middle of the day with a full laundry bag?”
“… ‘Cause it’s too dark at night?”
Smartass. But also, he’s stupid. What should he do? Fuck.
Shoko glares at him. To be fair, that’s how she always looks at Satoru. But she glares at him, expecting an answer in 3, 2, 1—
“I was gonna do his laundry.”
“Oh?”
Why is she so intimidating? Satoru looks around nervously.
“Yeah uh… He’s been really busy with missions lately, so I thought I’d do his laundry for him.”
Wow, he’s really a saint. He should reward himself later. He’s such a great friend.
Shoko glares and squints her eyes at him.
“… Fine.” She accepts his bullshit. “Just don’t forget the fabric softener, Suguru likes his clothes to smell good.”
- What’s fabric softener?
- How does she know that?
- No wonder he smells so fucking good all the time.
“Uh… Okay? Thanks.”
She frowns then walks away.
Satoru sighs, then begrudgingly Googles “how to do laundry” for the first time.
[Miraculously, he does a good job (as good of a job one can do with laundry) and returns the clothes to their rightful place; all before Suguru comes back. Shoko, thankfully, does not say anything to Suguru the next day when he shows up — much to Satoru’s disappointment — clothed in his freshly laundered, totally unrevealing school uniform.]
It’s been exactly four days since the bloody-nose incident and the Hello-Kitty-bandaid-wearing-boy is suffering — or, as they say, “down bad”.
What he would give to see Suguru in that tank top just one more time. But seriously, he had a list of things he would give up to see Suguru in that tank top just one more time:
- my life
- Six Eyes
- all the strawberry daifuku in the world
- my Gucci sunglasses
- everything else
- my sexy legs
But, even better, he had a list of ideas to get Surguru to wear that tank top, just one more time:
-
steal his uniform(didn’t work) -
get on your knees and beg(too humiliating) -
ask politely(too humiliating) -
tell him he looks good in a tank top(too humiliating) -
buy him a tank top and ask him to try it on(too humiliating) - break the AC
Alas, four days after the bloody-nose incident, Satoru was left with his only good (but, is it really?) idea: to break the AC. This would result in widespread annoyance — after all, it is summer. But, as previously established, Satoru is a saint; so he decided to break the AC only in Suguru Getou’s room. It was foolproof.
But not idiotproof.
After a day of planning and learning how to fuck up an AC unit, Satoru successfully turned off Suguru’s cooling system, the night before the hottest day in summer. It was a Saturday, a day Suguru liked to spend in his room, sleeping in or doing whatever Suguru did in his room. Satoru expected him to invite him over halfway through the day, as he usually did, which was when he would soak in all that he could of Suguru in his tank top.
But no .
Of course.
This is the one day Suguru decides to sleep over at Satoru’s.
“Satoruuu.” Suguru whispers and taps at the door.
Why is he here? Satoru rubs his eyes and invites him in.
“Why the fuck are you here?” he says, mid-yawn. It’s 3AM and Satoru had just broken Suguru’s AC a couple of hours ago, prepared for the next (hopefully tank-top-filled) day. It’s hard work, being mischievous and all.
“I can’t sleep,” Suguru makes himself comfy in Satoru’s bed, already cuddling with his blanket. God, he looks adorable. “And your bed is comfier than mine.”
Satoru’s soft smile betrays his attempt to be stern. Why does Suguru have to be so fucking cute when he’s annoying?
“I hate you.”
He doesn’t.
Suguru smiles sleepily at him.
“Get out of my room.”
Please never leave.
Suguru closes his eyes.
Satoru turns off the light and climbs under the blanket, already defeated. Once Suguru was in his bed, there was no getting him out. Plus, whenever this happened (when Suguru spent the night, for whatever reason), Suguru and Satoru would sleep in and spend the entire next day together, always in Satoru’s room.
Suguru faces Satoru and cuddles into his chest. His hair rests gently on his cheek. Satoru tucks it behind his ear. The annoying bastard is already peacefully sleeping, a light smile on his face. Satoru remembers the feeling of his skin on his fingertips. Of his soft, steady breaths. Of the smell of his (freshly washed) hoodie. He puts an arm around Suguru.
Fuck tank tops.
This is better.
The next morning, Satoru wakes to skin kissed by sunlight, lightly tousled bed head, and a raspy, sleepy voice.
“G’mornin’, Satoru.”
“Good morning, Suguru.”
“Mmmph,” Suguru lazily nuzzles Satoru’s bicep, “Your twig arms are comfy.”
“I’m fucking built, what are you talking about?” Satoru lovingly squeezes Suguru’s head with his twig arms. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yup.”
He smiles drowsily at Satoru, eyes half closed.
“Hmmmph,” Suguru whines, “It’s so hot in your room.”
It’s not.
Satoru freezes.
And then.
Suguru sits up and grabs the neck of his hoodie, pulling it off in one fell swoop. The bottom of his shirt gets caught in the process, exposing his belly. He pulls it down.
It’s not a tank top.
Fuck tank tops.
Suguru lays down, cuddling back into Satoru’s arms, pulling the blanket over himself…
… wearing a goddamn crop top.