#Dark kiss

[pursuitseternal]

“Dark Kissing:” 🫦 nsfw, making a Vampire Bride in “Our Blood is Thicker:”

(Ascended) Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 2.6K of the Nsfw Dark Kiss

Art by co-creator and illustrator @marimosalad , NSFW version on X

Summary: Cordehelia rouses herself to feed, but the Dark Kiss is far more dangerous than merely awakening. She must be checked, subdued, brought under control by her love and creator by any means necessary

CW: Rough Sex turns Romantic, blood kink, hair pulling, Feral Vampires getting freaky, The Knee™️, (lovingly) Dom!Ascended Astarion, my interpretation of Van Richten’s “Guide to Vampires” 2e, heartbeat kink, nothing like feral sex followed by soft cuddling aftercare

Previous Ch | ao3 Link | Masterlist

Chapter 19: Dark Kissing…

🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦💞🫦

“Astarion…” she purred, voice thickened with his blood, a bit strange on her tongue, as if she savored every letter in his name.

But that strangeness hardly registered, his body winding tight with lust as he looked into her own crimson eyes, as her lips drank him down for the first time. He could feel himself inside her, coursing in her veins, pumping in her whole body, not just that sweet, slick channel he longed to fuck into once more. Something deep inside him unlocked, robust and powerful and all consuming.

Blood ran down her chin, a sight that made his every breath race from his slack-mouthed, fang-licking grin. Her lips were cool on his wrist, warming hotter the more of him she drank. “Oh, my love,” he groaned, slinking to straddle her prone body between his thighs. “I could watch you swallow me down for hours…”

“You have, my love,” she chuckled, thick and deep in her chest as she hardly broke from his flesh.

A flash filled his mind, stronger than their tadpoles, their bodies and minds and souls as one. It was as if he relived every time she had sucked his cock, tasting himself on her tongue, feeling the way her throat closed with all the cum he spewed countless times over countless years. Instantly, his cock strained again against his leathers, that claustrophobic feeling of clothing suffocating his ever-growing desire.

His need to have her.

And yet she drank more. Until his skin began to tear, his head growing slightly light. “Enough, Cordehlia,” he whispered, a grind of his hips above her, his wrist freeing from her mouth.

Only to be ripped back by her fiercely strong grip once more. “But you taste so good, my love,” she crooned, “and I am just so hungry.”

Astarion recalled all that reading, gritting his teeth as he pulled against her, fought against the way both her hands clawed into his arm. “You will listen to me,” he ordered. Louder. “You must stop, or else you will die.”

Her voice made him shiver, unnatural and dark. “I think that’s already happened, hasn’t it?” One last musical laugh from her bloodstained lips, and she sank her newborn fangs into his forearm to feed all the more.

A growl on his lips, Astarion dug deep into whatever new well of power, of strength lay inside him. Never mind the way his heart actually began to rap harder in his chest, in lust and in fear. “You will listen to me, Cordehlia,” he hissed through clenched fangs. Wrestling his arm from her mouth, he felt every muscle in her body move to attack, ready to spring. Wanting more. “Ah, ah,” he smiled, darkly, determinedly. Catching her hands, he pinned them over her head, staying them with all the strength he could find, even as she thrashed and kicked and snapped her teeth. “Little Raven, I promised you I would save you, now you have to trust me just a little further. You are still being remade, turning into something so beautiful, so fierce I can hardly believe it. Why don’t we try a little something else to busy your lips and tongue with, hmm?”

A roar from her mouth, she bucked him off, sending him clean off the bed. Astarion braced himself against the wall, feeling less dizzy and stronger the less she drank. Somehow, his body knew what to do, more than that which was just between lovers. He knew he had to subdue her, keep her safe, lest she endanger herself.

A duck of his head, and he dove out of her tackle. Wild and crazed with bloodlust, she might be, but all that grace was yet to come back to her. He gripped her by the back of her shirt, his fingers easily tearing through that linen, baring her even paler flesh for him to see at last. “Come on, Cordehlia,” he laughed as she turned, eyes narrowed and breasts heaving with her pants, “you used to put up a better fight as a girl.”

Yes…. She took the bait, racing for him blindly, only to be shoved from behind and laid flat out on the floor at the foot of the bed. She froze for that moment, wind knocked out of her, even though her undead lungs required none of that now. He needed to finish this, needed to subdue her in more than one way. His hands ran down her back, lightly tracing over the bumps of her spine. “I’m going to strip you, my darling, going to take your mind off that pit in your stomach. You hunger, and I can sense how painful it is, my love. Let me ease that pain.”

“Want me… to say please?” She panted, breathless as she gasped for air.

“If you’d like, my darling…” he wasted no second of his advantage, shimmying down her trousers, ripping them like paper with such ease in his new and powerful hands.

“Fuck you, Astarion,” she grunted trying to get up, but he just covered her backside with his whole body and grabbed for her hands again to capture them against the floor.

“That is the idea, my love,” he tried to chuckle, the same jibe as they had made many times before. But never like this. Never with every instinct in his ascendant brain screaming at him to claim her and finish the task at hand. He settled heavily on her back, pushing her as hard as he could into the ground to keep her steady, her two cold hands in one of his, he tugged off his shirt and freeded the laces of his breeches.

But for all the pounding drumming in his head that could have blinded him, he looked down at her. Pinned, subdued, ready and panting and sweating.

He didn’t see some creation half-made. Didn’t see a servant or slave for his use.

It was her, addled and unsure and newborn. Lusty and scared. And he tried to slow that reborn and foreign beating in his chest.

“Cordehlia,” he leaned forward, tracing the pad of his tongue up her chilled, pointed ear. “My sweet, I’ve got you.”

Still she fought, twitching and jerking under his hold, but his hands rested on each of hers to slide them next to that mess of fiery red hair. He could see her breathing so hard as her skin pulled between her ribs. She needed calming, claiming… he suckled on that cool right ear, forcing the urge to bite into her flesh again back into his stomach. Something inside her purred, her voice maybe, her soul perhaps. But whatever it was, he did it again. And again. Suckling on the edges of her ear as it twitched. Feeling her flesh mildly warm now with his blood flooding her and her lust taking command.

Her breathing grew softer, steadier and less frantic, he sensed her rising heat, smelled the way slick began to gather between her folds. His cock jolted to feel her begin to buck beneath him, almost grinding against the floor as her hunger traveled below her belly to simmer lower and stronger. Shifting carefully if quickly, his knees spread her wider, his sharp ears hearing her arousal dripping to the wood beneath them.

The way she raised her hips ever so slightly as he slipped between her thighs drew some kind of noise from his throat. Feral. Hungry. He loved it, laying his whole length down to cover her head to toe. Her skin was cold, a strange shiver raced down his spine as he pressed her into the floor. As he pushed her apart, letting his cock slip in so naturally, so slowly, finding that wet and tight warmth he craved more than air.

A low purr seemed to sound from her, her back arching against his chest. She hissed, a little roll of her hips, pleading for more of him. raising herself against him, she wriggled his cock deeper, bracing for his thrusts to begin. “Please, Astarion,” she breathed, voice honey-thick in her throat, “you wouldn’t leave your Bride unsatisfied, would you?”

Bride. At the word, he groaned loudly, fangs wet as he smiled, shoving his cock deeper inside as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. “Never, my darling,” he rasped. Another guttural noise, and he released one hand from hers, wrapping that length of bright fiery hair around his hand once… twice, and yanking her head back slightly. “You are mine forever now, my love until the stars fall down.”

Warm lips pressed against the cool ivory of her neck, careful to keep his teeth covered, lest he stir awake her bloodlust again. But Cordehlia wasted no time, slamming and wriggling her cunt against his cock, easing forward to easy back again.

A hiss rushed from his mouth against her skin each time she dared to move. Finally, he rocked into her ever so slightly, letting his cock sink all the way into her, letting that aching, pulsing head brush against that edge of her channel. Curling, she snapped her hips hard against him, stealing his breath.

Another snap, and he groaned, that insatiable hunger for her growing unbearable. That reality of his freedom, his power starting to course in his veins as she bucked back against him with even more fervor. “You’re an eager little thing,” he sighed, running his tongue over the scars on her neck, taking her ear into the warm, wet of his mouth once more. “I like you this eager,” whispering, he savored the way she shuddered beneath him.

“Then give me some of your own eagerness back, won’t you? I would hate to do all the work for you… my lord…”

Enough of coyness and carefulness he decided as he grasped her head, pulling her mouth to his to assume control. He needed her on his tongue again, needed to devour and consume and dance with her lips as they had a thousand times. “I love you,” his words breathed between her lips as he sucked more of her with each kiss. “I never want to do this with anyone but you ever again.”

A wish he had made once, so long ago under the elven forest and stars.

He could almost smell the woods near their homes, almost hear that babbling stream and feel the moss beneath them as every sinew sought the release they both craved. Thrust after thrust, he could feel her pressure rising, the way her thighs began to shake, her mouth panting and sighing heavily against his open lips. He could taste himself on her tongue yet, that rich iron, that tingling sensation of power, the same that raced down his nerves… and just like that, he knew she was about to seek more of him.

Drink more of him.

A yank of her hair in that fist, and he pulled her off his flesh just as her own razor-fangs snapped shut. “Tch, naughty, my bride,” he teased. A trail of caresses down her spine, and he raised himself. One hand rested on her shoulders, hair tugged just tight enough, he slipped his warming touch around her hips. Her clit was hard, aching and easy to find, and it was so simple to circle it. To make her moan for him, to raise her ass up just that little bit higher and take him all the deeper. To angle himself as he slammed into that spot inside that he knew better than she did herself.

He chewed into his own lip, clenching hard but not to draw blood. No, he needed her sated. Pleasured. Flooded with the bliss they shared now.

Lord and Bride.

Maker and beautiful creation.

Her pleasure tore into him, every muscle that clenched around him pounded as if his own. Her voice cried his name, that she loved him… her sweet words panted over and over again as she crumbled to the floor, boneless, bloodless, hot, and writhing.

Slowly, he pulled out, turning her on her back, longing more than anything to see her smile. Radiant, breathtaking, her breasts heaved as she caught her wind, her hair streaked over her damp and sweating face, and most beautifully, she smiled at him through her bliss. Her little fangs peeked beneath her rosy lips, her tongue wetting her mouth as she pulled those fiery, loose strands from her cheeks and chin.

Reverently, his own hands helped to clear her forehead, strand by precious strand. Laying his body atop hers, a groan slipped from his lips as she raised her hips to slot his cock back into her seeping, wet folds. He breathed her name, believing for the first time that she was with him again, saved.

Now made of one flesh.

Sharing one blood.

A blood that ran hot and thick forever between them.

He couldn’t hold her close enough, couldn’t thrust into her smoothly or deeply enough. He couldn’t taste enough of her on his tongue or feel her slightly chilled breath sweep into his own lung in any amount that would satisfy. His fingers gripped against the back of her head, weaving tightly again into that mess of her locks, the other wrapped firmly around her breast, the hard, cool nipple pressing into his palm like stone as he gripped it, as it swayed in time with his taking of her.

That tether between their bodies, that bond between their minds, something within them snapped taut, his heart beating in her chest, his very essence hers too. Every sensation between their bodies doubled, coursing harder as he drove her to the edge of her climax, thrown there himself as her side. She clawed at his back of ancient scars, body arching and trembling as she groaned her love for him again.

And this time, he followed, pouring every last bit of himself into her, making and remaking her anew. His cock shuddered, jolt after jolt of pleasure bursting from his core into hers. Seed seeped, hot and slick and mixed into one as he lowered himself into her arms.

Nestled into that bloodied crook of her neck, he could do nothing but breathe, forcing his eyes to remain open, to assure himself that this was it. That it was done.

That every little bit of trust she had put in him was replaced tenfold. And would be repaid again for the rest of their immortal lives.

Touch ghosting up and down his back, she smiled against his forehead, lips pressing their strange, cool kiss just beneath the edge of his curls. “I love you…” she whispered, almost imperceptible. Almost inside her own mind.

With a grunt of effort, he slipped from inside her, a tender kiss on her lips before he reached up and over the top of the bed to grab for the blood red covers. The heavy fabric fluttered as he draped it over them both, as his hands tucked it around her shoulders, her back. “I love you, my darling…” he kissed her cheek, “my consort…” he kissed her forehead before staring softly into those searching, crimson eyes, “…my bride.”

Astarion pulled her into his chest, rolling her to rest against his warm flesh and racing heart. “Rest, my love, we have eternity to make up for lost time now.”

His hands traced through the softness of the blanket, and his warmth seeped into her skin. She wouldn’t let it out from her lips just yet, how strange it was now to be the one corpse-cold, to be the lover to seek the warmth of her love. But as she nuzzled closer into that perfect dip in the muscles of his chest, she smiled.

A tear leaked from her eye.

To hear that ancient pattern of his heart beating beneath her ear again.

[xxgothbitchfromhellxx]

guys from bands if they were bath and body works fragrances. btw. if you even care. /ref PART 3: SHE MADE ANOTHER ONE

marilyn manson: dark kiss (described on bath and body works dot com as “a sweet, seductive night in, with notes or black raspberry, burgundy rose, bergamot incense, dark vanilla bean and plum musk”)

james iha: blackberries and basil (“fresh blackberry, pink pomelo, sweet basil and jasmine petals”)

joey jordison: sun-ripened raspberry (“the sweet and fruity scent of raspberries with the comforting aroma of warm sugar”)

spencer smith: blueberry sugar pancakes (“sugared blueberries, fresh pancakes, and caramel cream drizzle”)

patrick stump: apple blossom and lavender (“a pretty fragrance of sweet apple blossoms, lilacs and lavender petals”)

[slavicafire]

in this new year I want you to be alright. I hope you move out. I hope you have enough money to feel safe. I hope you abandon shame and forgive yourself. I hope you get enough sleep and some good news. I hope you laugh a lot and the heaviness of the world eases a bit. I wish you to be alright.

[haveusmelledthisperfume]

Have you smelled this perfume?

Fruity but make it dark and deep--Dark Kiss from Bath & Body Works probably revives a lot of sentimental memories for many. Read more on Fragrantica.

[allthingsscented]

Bath & Body Works Haul! little bit of fall little bit of holiday little bit of other things😍 here are my first impressions/reviews:

Dark Kiss- i’ve loved this one since i was a kid! it’s a deep berry and plum with some floral. 💜

Pure Wonder- an amazing scent i needed a backup for. this one is very sophisticated and wintery! ❄️

Sweet Cinnamon Pumpkin- bought 2 on accident oops! i’m not complaining though. this is one of the best fall hand soaps 🎃

Tis the Season- this is one of my favorite holiday scents! it’s a perfect holiday combo of fruit and spice! 🎄

Fairytale- such a warm and cozy floral. i love this one. i’ve heard it’s coming out this winter but to me it’s more of a fall scent. glad to see it back though! 🌹

Relaxing Midnight Sky- chamomile and patchouli relaxation! i love it so much. 🌌

Butterfly- i love this in the spray and am glad to have it in the shower gel now. it’s super sweet raspberry goodness!🦋

Spiced Pumpkin & Patchouli- i’ve got this going now for fall. i love it so much. this is a spicy cozy scent that’s perfect for those rainy fall days 🎃

Freshly Brewed Coffee- i’ve heard this is a really nice pure coffee scent. i’m excited to try it out! ☕️

Sleep- lavender and vanilla serenity. i love this scent. it relaxes me so much and has been a favorite of mine for years. 💤

[lazylittledragon]

so how about that durge

[bi-writes]

can't stop thinking about dark!simon with a sunshine!curvy!fem!reader, it's gnawing at my brain. (18+)

greeting him when he comes home in a little apron with dough smeared across your cheeks. you're bouncing in the kitchen, giggling as you wrap your arms around his neck. one burly arm hooks around your waist as he palms one side of your ass, and you kiss his lips over his blood-soaked mask again and again as you coo, "missed you so much, made you chocolate chip..."

you talk and talk and talk and talk. you're always talking. you're always whispering in his ear and chattering as he drives and telling him some story about something he missed while he was gone as you tidy up the flat. you never stop talking, never run out of things to tell him, and despite the monotone voice and the lack of response, he hears every single word that you say, and he forgets nothing. when he makes his way back on base, johnny is waiting, eager to hear an update about the receptionist at your work and if she is actually sleeping with your manager.

you wash his clothes without even blinking. you're at the sink, a bucket of cold, suddy water there as you scrub at his shirt. there's peroxide at the side, and you use a delicate hand as you scrub at the stains on it. ghost watches from the doorway as you hum to yourself, in a little pair of shorts with your hair tied up as you rinse the shirt clean. blood runs down the drain, and his shirt is clean as new.

you always find some kind of weapon around the house. you bend down to brush crumbs off the kitchen chairs, and you scold simon with a glossy pout because he left a bloody knife taped under the table. you whine when you find a grenade sitting in the same drawer you keep your tampons in. you complain when you take out the jar of rice to make dinner, and there's a small handgun hidden between the grains. but your face always softens when he cups your cheeks with two big hands, kissing you warmly, muttering, "gotta keep y'safe, luvvie...know there's a bloody line waitin' for a taste of y'r cunny, baby."

you visit him on base once in light wash denim and a white tshirt, sneakers hitting the linoleum and purse swinging as you wave at him. he's standing in front of a line of privates, watching them do jumping jacks, and his eyes light up a little when he sees you waving at him enthusiastically. when he finally makes it to you, he shoves you into the nearest supply closet and tugs your jeans down just enough to fit his cock between your thighs. when he's walking you out, the boys watch as you cling to simon's arm, a lovesick grin on your sweaty face as you flutter your lashes up at him.

he loves when your manicured hands touch him. scratching along his scalp, tracing the edge of his jaw, cupping the bulge in his pants. you're so sweet, the most giggly girl, and he loves tasting the strawberry of your gloss as you make him cum with your hand, cooing against his lips about how strong he is, how much you love him, how you would do anything for him.

he loves it most when you see him for what he really is. when he comes home battered and bruised, bloody clothes sticking to him, a snarl to his voice and the adrenaline of an op still pumping through his veins. he loves that nothing about him scares you. that even like this, you lean up on your toes and kiss him softly, that you get some of the blood and dirt smudges on the pink of your pajama pants, and you don't care, that he strangled a man with these very hands only hours ago, and you still want him to touch you.

he loves that you love him. that when he feeds his cock into you that night, in nothing but your baby pink lingerie, that you barely need any prep at all from how wet you are. thick thighs spreading apart, sticky slick shining on your skin, cunt nice and ready for him because you have missed him that much. he loves that no matter how ugly he feels, you always find him attractive, that no matter how many people he tells you that he killed tonight, all you do is smile and pucker your lips, and tell him, "it's okay, teddy bear, they deserved it, didn't they?" and yeah, they did, cause it is kill or be killed, and there is no universe where ghost does not fight to get back here, to get back to this pretty pussy, to get back to the bed he shares with you so he can watch those pretty tits bounce every time he fucks his cock into you.

ghost loves his pretty girl. all smiles. all soft, so cute, just perfect. ghost casts a shadow over the room, and you just brighten it right back up. ghost tracks blood into the house, and there you are to cover it all up with citrus and soap.

yeah. always just sunshine and smiles at home.

[sevenwoods]

Easy now darling，youve got this，and Ive got you. ​​​

[julls]

Durgetash sketchpage by wonderful @mureh ♡!! Scenes of Gortash x Durge Juria before and after "my wife has amnesia" bg3 events (⸝⸝ᵕ ᵕ⸝⸝)

[fairydrowning]

– Via "twinnedpeaks" on Tumblr

[TEXT ID: / july didn't even say goodbye. the years don't kiss you goodnight anymore. they just leave behind this empty space, a phantom pain. and still i ache, i ache, i ache! / END ID]

[astenik]

[choccy-milky]

🖤 his light 🤍

[enisteyjia]

[daneecastle]

Angst War Page 8 and 9

@goodomensafterdark @vavoom-sorted-art @gahellhimself-blog @gleafer @kotias @lauramoon1987

A little fluff with the angst I did and plan on doing. I’m not done yet! There is more to come. Next week will be three pages. Good luuuuuck!

[metamorphesque]

kiss me hard enough to invert me

Yves Olade, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Nickie Zimov, Carmen Tyrrell, Stefano Dania, Edvard Munch, Angelica Alzona

buy me a coffee

[envy-of-the-apple]

Earth Kills Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 6.3k

Part two of Sun Eats Moon

Synopsis: A retelling of Sun Eats Moon in Suguru's perspective

(Warnings: forced relationships, bullying, non con touching, non con kissing)

Suguru liked you. 

It wasn't even a crush. A passing interest, maybe. You were pretty. You had a nice smile. Though, he'd never directly spoken to you, he could tell that you were kind. Not in the artificial cherry most people were. Natural, like honey, never spoiling. You share the same homeroom as Satoru, and he'd always tended to be observant, unlike his friend. One thing he liked about you was how observant you were. You were constantly looking out for your friends, mere acquaintances, and everyone in your vicinity. Often, Suguru wondered if being a people-pleaser was natural or from a fear of not fitting in. 

Suguru is observant. He notices the lingering gaze Satoru gives you when you walk away, hurrying to catch up with the rest of your friends. Satoru then turns back to the carton of chocolate milk you'd left him.

"Cute," Satoru says after a minute. It's more of an afterthought than anything. He pops the carton open. Suguru hears the fabric tear. He hums in agreement. The topic switches to something else, a hot celebrity maybe? Suguru can't remember. That day had been so insignificant to him. It hadn’t mattered to him for Suguru to remember anything further.

A few days later, Suguru noticed Satoru was spending a lot more time with you. 

It was hard not to notice, actually. His friend attached himself to you like he'd die if he couldn’t. Satoru went everywhere with you now. Suguru caught him walking you from school, offering you rides in his new car, following you to the lunch hall. And if he couldn’t go to where you were, he’d drag you back to him. Watching you and Satoru was a bit like watching two magnets. North pole and South pole. So different, yet constantly finding the other. 

“Tryna’ run away from me, now?” Satoru asks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he watches you fiddle with your bag.

You laugh, continuing to fish out your lunch box. “Just grabbing lunch.” 

“Eat with us,” Satoru insists, “we found a great spot up at the rooftop.” 

You meet Suguru’s gaze just then. He’d been silently lounging on a nearby desk, observing the two of you. He gives a smile. You return it. Polite. He wonders if your mother taught you to smile like that.

“I thought students weren’t allowed up there?” You ask Satoru. 

The boy rolls his eyes. “So, who cares? It’ll be fun.” 

You pause, right then. The tiniest of hesitation. Suguru wonders if you’re noticing just how different you and Satoru were. You, the people pleaser, meek, always more than willing to bend towards authority. Satoru was rougher, more resilient, uncaring of signs and rules. The gap between the two of you is astronomical. Could you feel it as well?

Whatever you’re thinking, it’s gone in a moment. You rise, giving Satoru another laugh. To Suguru, it sounds pretty. 

“Well, have fun for me. Besides, I can’t ditch my friends. They’re waiting for me.” 

With that, you give both him and Satoru a tiny wave, before disappearing out of the classroom. Suguru waves back. Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes on your back until he can’t see you anymore. 

“Got ditched again, hm?” Suguru teases. Satoru only groans, tossing his head back as he leans dangerously on the chair.

“Always leavin’ me for ‘em, too,” he complains, “so fuckin’ annoyin’.”

Suguru can only smile, getting up to follow his friend out the door. He can barely count how many times he’d seen this before, each with a different person. It starts the same. Satoru will cling onto you for a couple more days, and then ask you out. When you say yes, he’d date you for a few weeks before eventually getting bored and dumping you. 

It’s a cruel cycle, something that’s just an inevitability with Gojo Satoru. The boy can’t stay in one place, he’s constantly moving around, never one to stop. For Satoru, Suguru was the most permanent thing in his life. Which made sense, they were pretty similar in terms of ideals. 

A cruel cycle, and Suguru feels a tiny bit of sympathy for you. You were sweet, unlike the type Satoru typically went for. Honey. Natural. Truthfully, Suguru was a little disappointed as well. The type of disappointment he’d feel when someone took the last crab stick before he could. A fleeting feeling, one that ultimately wouldn’t matter. 

◉

From the day they first met, Suguru knew one thing: Gojo Satoru has never been told no before. 

It made sense. He was the only child to one of the most powerful families in the country. Spoiled from day one, some could say. Satoru grew up knowing nothing but wealth and prosperity. They met when they were both still in elementary school, still with high-pitched voices and large eyes. Suguru’s family was fairly affluent as well. Now that Suguru thinks back, perhaps their meeting had been orchestrated by meddling parents in order to form more connected. It didn’t matter, either way. It had benefitted all three parties, after all.

Yes, Suguru knew from the moment Satoru pointed at him and declared him his ‘best friend’, that Satoru had never been told no before. 

Satoru was the Sun. The universe revolved around him, catered to him. Suguru supposed he wasn't much better considering he too spoiled his best friend in that sense. They were different. They'd been born different, coming from families who cherish them with wealth and power. Suguru supposes it was natural for them to be so intertwined. Like calls for like. 

Suguru isn’t aware of the exact details, but he knows you rejected Satoru. 

The boy doesn’t have to tell him. His friend is uncharacteristically quiet during that weekend. He has no interest in the arcade, or the next basketball tournament his team is going to compete in. Satoru just sits on top of Suguru’s bed, casually sucking on a carton of chocolate milk. Suguru glanced down at the abandoned PlayStation remote. He’d lost yet another game against his dark-haired friend with no complaints. Satoru didn’t even play

You’d really done a number on him, Suguru thinks to himself. Suguru would assume it’s heartbreak, but he knows his friend better than that. Something burns in his chest, but he’s pushing it away before he can figure out why. Nipping it in the bud. It was a cruel thought. A bad one. He should ignore it.

Well, it’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Satoru would eventually get over it. He’s not known to sulk. 

He’s not there to see what Satoru tells them, but he’s there to see the effects. 

It starts out small. Or perhaps just not noticeable enough. Gojo Satoru has always attracted attention, whether it was satisfactory or not. Lackeys, Satoru often calls them because they're too far beneath him to even be called equals.

Suguru notices their sudden interest in you before even you can. A harsh word here and there. Giggling at the word 'easy'. You peacefully trek on, not noticing the abuse until it turns physical. That starts at the end of Monday. 

By Tuesday, they're already shoving you down each chance they get. You get surprised when it happens the first time, then the second, then the third. You have soft skin, plushy, Suguru could tell. He wondered if it was getting marked now. He wonders if you go home, peeling of your uniform, staring at the bruises of hands on your skin because you’re so fragile.

(They never go too far, not enough to completely injure. Suguru knows this because one time, one of the idiots had pushed you too hard. You’d stumbled, nearly hitting the back of your head with a metal locker. Satoru had seen. Suguru doesn’t know what Satoru did, but that particular one was gone the next time and the rest got the memo to scare, not injure.)

Satoru never takes part in this, but he keeps an eye on you sometimes. Tuesday evening comes and they both silently watch you through a window. You move through an empty hall, before they arrive again, slapping your binders out of your hands, chortling with each other. They're too far away to hear, but Suguru could bet it would sound like nails scraping against a chalkboard. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru watches his best friend. Satoru looks impassive, face blank as he stares down at your figure. Akin to a child watching ants burning through a magnifying glass, instilled with that innate desire to see them explode into ash. 

When the lackeys leave, you bend down on the floor, collecting your stuff. Your hair covers your eyes, so he can't see your expression, but he can see your shoulders tremble. Were you-

A corral of people run to you. They lean down, picking up the stuff you had missed. You look up, your eyes are shiny but you're laughing when they say something. You wipe at your eyes, standing up as they lead you out of the hallway. Suguru had seen them hanging out with you before. They all seemed like they supported each other, supported you. 

Suguru feels his frown deepen, conflicted. He doesn’t like it.

"It's not nice to pick on the weak, Satoru," he quietly says. 

Satoru's eyes trail your figure out the door. He gives a small hum.

By Wednesday, your friends disappear from your side. 

The abuse is getting worse, noticeable to the point where the rest of the student body is heavily avoiding you. Teachers won't raise a finger at what's happening. As much as they like to preach about their 'zero tolerance for bullying', Suguru knows they'll willingly turn a blind eye when matters involve Gojo Satoru. No teacher wants to deal with the wrath the Gojo family is more than willing to unlease for the sake of their heir.

Yet, you aren't getting it. You don't break, don't bend. He can feel the humiliation roll off of you in waves, yet you don't react. Which was strange because he knew your archetype. A people-pleaser, constantly bending over backward for other's sake. You want nothing more than to become part of the crowd again, completely invisible. You’re community-oriented. You thrive off of companionship. This ostracization must be killing you. Suguru doesn't get it until he spots your face, just once, narrowed eyes, anger. 

Pride. He'd forgotten other people had that too. Though, Suguru admires it, a part of him knows it shouldn’t last.

Suguru thinks he does it because he pities you. You're a little naive. Suguru has your thought process figured out. You think if you take the torment long enough, Satoru would eventually just forget about you all together. Once he's done with you, you'd focus on picking up the pieces that used to be your life. It's not a bad plan, if you weren't dealing with Gojo Satoru. 

The boy is a hurricane. Fast, unrelenting, unforgiving. Satoru won't stop. He won't stop until you're ruined and broken. Turned into a mere asteroid of what you once were. 

So, Suguru decides to give you a push in the right direction. 

The students have already created a wide circle for you by the time he steps in, bending down, picking up the stuff you had dropped. You're silent until he hands you his pieces. He doesn't bother responding to your timid thanks. 

"Give in," he tells you, watching the way your eyes widen as you look up at him.

You're weak. Physically, emotionally. He could easily pick you up with one hand, crush your body with his fist. Satoru could eviscerate your body from existence. You don't stand a chance with him. With either of them. 

His advice to you is good. Reasonable. And yet, he sees the face you make, the way you slowly get up. You won’t listen. That same burning feeling in his chest starts. It's gotten more painful. 

You don't listen to him until you lose nearly everything. Just as he warned you. Friday comes. You become Satoru's. And it's a little too late for everything. 

◉

Suguru doesn't think you ever learn that Satoru loves messing with you. 

Or, perhaps you do, but you can't help it. You're too honest, too open. He often wonders if that's how you were raised. To be honest, open, vulnerable. Your parents must have filled your thoughts with delusions, coddling you with words of cheap motivation. The world is your oyster. You just had to reach out and take it.

Maybe now you're finally realizing, sitting on Satoru's lap, that all men aren't created equal. 

Clearly, you weren't happy about it. Yet, you aren't complaining, sitting there pliantly legs firmly crossed, hands curled into tiny fists, staring rigidly on the floor. The first few times Satoru had done this in public, you were always biting your lip, tears threatening to fall. Now, Suguru thinks you just dissociate, coming back when Satoru laughs at something, jostling you in his arms. 

It's a bit like watching a helpless bird on the ground, twitching and spasming after it had just collided with a glass window. Pitiful, but there was nothing that could be done. It's the inevitability of it all that makes him pity you more than anything else, really.

Every so often, your eyes would catch his. It's a quick glance, as though you were wondering if he was watching. He can barely catch it, but Suguru is observant. Much like you. It's meaningless, and your gaze returns to the floor. Your fists tighten. 

Granting you mercy, Suguru stops looking at you during those times. 

He's not sure how Satoru sees you. Perhaps, you're akin to a dog for him. Though, that might not be very good for you. Satoru hadn't been very good with animals when he was younger. Satoru had always been rough with any pets he came into contact with, pushing and tugging. Suguru doubted that had changed. 

Satoru's is your official title. It isn't a relationship. It's an ownership. Unequal from the start. The one who holds the leash in the end, will always be Satoru. 

It took a while for you to fully learn that. 

Suguru didn't mean to catch the two of you. Looking back, it was probably because Satoru couldn't care less if someone was watching. Maybe Satoru was being obvious on purpose. It was a little while after school had officially ended. Suguru knew your usual routine would place you right at the library, scrolling through books. Satoru would most likely be there too, pestering you about this and that. It's the scene Suguru prepares himself to walk into.

Instead, you're wedged in between the white-haired boy and the wall, there's no space for you to do anything but sink. You're already crying (when was the last time you smiled?), trying to pull away but Satoru isn't letting you. He's gripping you by the chin, forcing eye contact. His sunglasses are off, tucked on his collar. 

Suguru's close enough to hear. You're begging. Apology after apology. It's barely a whisper, but they're spilling out of you like a prayer. He can't discern the context, but he knows enough. 

You made Satoru angry. 

He's still smiling, but it isn't sincere. Almost bordering on mania as he tightens his grip on you, forcing you further into the wall. Suguru doesn't think Satoru has ever hit you before, but now he's wondering if quick violence was preferable to this. 

"Don't be like that," Satoru chides as another squeak leaves your lips, "Where was that smile you were givin' him, hm? C'mon, pretty girl. You were wearin' it just a second ago." 

"It-it wasn't like that, I swear," you continue to plead, still not realizing that it's too late, "he was giving me his notes. Please-please Satoru-" 

"Wrong answer," he cuts you off, you flinch at his harshness but Suguru decides Satoru's being nice to you. He's been known to do worse, "we've been over this before, haven't we? Or did your stupid brain forget?" 

You're choking down another hiccup. It takes a minute for you to calm down enough to speak clearly. Ever impatient, Satoru's hand digs into your shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, Satoru," you say, "it won't happen again." 

He tilts his head, waiting. You wilt under his gaze. 

"I'm sorry...’Toru." 

Satoru gives a satisfied hum, pulling back and Suguru can practically see your lungs sag with relief. His mania is gone, replaced by something much more lighthearted and carefree. Suguru'd seen it before, but it was certainly something watching Satoru go from one high to the next. Even to Suguru, it's terrifying to witness. 

Suguru decides to make himself known right then. He comes out of the shadows, acting as though he'd just arrived. His friend lazily gives him a wave, curling an arm around your waist. You try to scrub away your tears with your forearms, unaware of how much Suguru had seen. Another mercy Suguru grants you. He doesn't acknowledge it. 

The three of you sit in the library for half an hour until you're done pretending that you're studying. When Satoru walks you home, Suguru follows. He notes that you barely hesitate to give Satoru a chaste kiss on the lips, and he wonders how often his friend has demanded one from you for you to be so casual about it. 

He thinks he gets it when he and Satoru are walking on the street without you. To Satoru, you aren't a dog. You aren't a pet, something that he keeps to see bark.

No, you are just Satoru's. 

◉

Towards the end of the year, Suguru realizes that Satoru loves you. 

He's nicer to you, now. Suguru doesn't think you've realized how softer Satoru's gotten, but the change is there. He spots less marks on you now. The biggest evidence he has is that stolen moment of you and Satoru. You'd accidentally fallen asleep during lunch break, dozing off on your desk. Satoru was right next to you, gently pushing your hair out of your face. Satoru loves you. 

You've changed too. Adapted, he should say. You cry less, now. Each time he sees you, you look more and more put together. As though, you're done mourning. The final stage of grief. Acceptance.

Despite how much nicer Satoru is to you, he's still just as clingy. Suguru notices that even now, none of your former friends speak to you. No one at school does. It's an unspoken rule to not mess with Satoru's things. 

Suguru can still remember the last guy who hadn't gotten the memo. A new student. Freshly transferred. Suguru had heard the conversation. The guy was hardly interested in you. It was nothing more than small talk. The pat on your shoulder had been thoughtless at least, friendly at most. 

Satoru beat him until the boy was bloody and had a broken nose. A week later, he'd transferred again. 

You're off limits. To everyone but Suguru. 

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

So, sometimes when Satoru can't walk you home. Suguru does. 

It was just the beginning of spring. The school year was starting to end. The school itself was starting to slow down. Teachers were getting less and less strict, less work was given out. It didn't matter. Colleges had already been picked. They were all close to the end. 

You don't say much when the two of you are alone. Suguru understands. It's hard to say much of anything when you're crushed by the weight of Gojo Satoru. But Suguru could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of relief when he came to pick you up and not his friend. You're clearly happier when it's him. Suguru decides he likes how that feels. It's a quick feeling of superiority. Something that quickly disappears when your eyes flick down. 

He knows where your house is, but he lets you take the lead anyway. Suguru figures it's the least he can do, give you that sense of control when nothing you do ever really does anymore. 

You and him have forged a shaky companionship. He's not sure what he is to you entirely, but you seem reliant on him in some way. it’s his fault, he thinks. He wonders if it has to do with the contraception he'd given you. He can still remember the trembling hands as you took it from him, curling the packet into your grip. That day he went home and his fingers felt strangely itchy. 

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

When he asks you a question, you answer. At least you aren't mute, though Suguru doesn't think he'd blame you if you ignored him. Your voice is stilted, with enough words to answer the question, but still not enough to fully sate him. 

And then, you break. 

Just a bit. 

A tiny piece of you shatters, and you show yourself to him. 

He'd been talking about something insignificant, college, his plans. Just ramblings. Somehow, Satoru comes into the conversation and he's talking about the area of his friend's college campus, how Satoru mentioned that he's looking for apartments for the two of you to stay in. And then, you're uncharacteristically scoffing. 

"Right," you say, head faced down on the sidewalk as you kick a rock, "because I'm following him there." 

Suguru can't help but place the sarcasm in your voice. The bitterness. He's heard it before, but it's a fascinating thing hearing it come from you. And then Suguru realizes that you accidentally gave something away. 

You were leaving. 

Somehow, it never crossed Suguru's mind that you were still rebelling, even now. And yet, he can't shake off the heat in your voice, your words. 

You seem to realize this too, freezing. 

He lets you falter for a few more moments before giving you a reprieve. 

"Satoru's idealistic like that," he let out. 

Your shoulders lower, and for the sake of both you and him, he doesn't press any further. 

He doesn't let himself let it go, even when he drops you home, arriving to his own house. Always cold. The mansion's lights are always off. No one's ever home. And Satoru's out of town. 

It's better this way, Suguru thinks as he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. No distractions, he can think better, as he replays your words over and over again. You were leaving. You were leaving. You were leaving Satoru. 

The night passes. When Satoru comes back to town, he's joyful as always, an arm slung around your shoulders. Suguru watches the way he coos at you, saying how much he missed you. You take his affections the way you always do, with a strained smile and wavering eyes. 

You glance at Suguru. Suguru stares right back. 

For a moment, Suguru thinks he understands why people are so enthralled with solar eclipses. The moon is seen as an underdog in most instances. It must be thrilling when a weak satellite can cover the sun's rays. Even for just a little bit. 

Suguru doesn't tell Satoru. He pushes the burning in his chest, ignoring the itchiness in his fingers. Things are better this way, right? After all, the two of you come from completely different worlds. It's nonsensical to think otherwise. 

Two weeks before graduation, you disappear without a trace. 

And Satoru breaks. 

It's a slow dissent. It comes in stages. The boy is angry at first, searching for you at school, when he can't find you there he loses his facade and demands where you are from your parents. They can't give him a clear answer because you're an adult now and you barely told them a thing before moving out. Suguru doesn’t think they knew what Satoru was to you. He doesn’t think they ever will.

The heat fades day by day, Week by week. Satoru starts to deflate the longer you aren't in his hold, his to mangle, and grab, and keep. He stops taking care of himself. His skin became paler, cracked lips, hollow cheeks. His eyes turn into this grayish blue that Suguru can't bring himself to look at for too long. He loses weight day by day. 

Suguru had never seen him react this way before. Satoru was always shining. He was the sun. Now, the center of the solar system was dying. He can feel himself dying with it. 

Satoru hadn't just loved you. Satoru had been obsessed with you. He breathed you in, inhaled your essence like oxygen. You'd been a part of him; a necessity. And then, you tore yourself away, leaving him bleeding on the concrete.

Guilt. Suguru feels it in his stomach, rising to his throat, threatening to stain his clothes. It's too late to say anything now, so he keeps it huddled deep inside of him. Suguru hopes it'll never come out. He helps the best he can, being there for his friend, his best friend. 

It takes a month for Satoru to start eating properly again. A few months later he starts regaining his usual physique. The gray in his eyes stays for a bit longer than Suguru likes. Suguru supposes he should take what he can get.

A year passes like that. The evidence of what you left behind fades, like bruises disappearing on skin. Suguru and Satoru become college students. Then, they graduate.

When Satoru joins the business, Suguru, his right-hand man, his second, his best friend, is right next to him. They’ve always worked well together, but that doesn’t change as they shift into adulthood. Despite how different Suguru and Satoru were, Suguru liked to think that their personalities were stagnant; unchanging even to the times.

What Satoru feels about you remains stagnant as well.

Suguru doesn’t think about you often, these days. Barely a few times a year, when he feels nostalgic enough to get out his old high school yearbook. He’d page through, spot your smiling portrait face. He’d find himself staring at you far longer than he liked too.

At first, Suguru thought Satoru was the same. Much like how one thinks about a lost toy they cherished when they were younger. The resentment would fade with time. Satoru didn’t speak about you for years.

Suguru hadn’t expected the girls, however.

He doesn’t notice the first one. He sees her, but he doesn’t internalize it. She’s hurriedly putting on her clothes after a clearly exciting night, so Suguru respectfully averts his gaze. He’s more focused on his exasperation at how Satoru had missed yet another meeting with the board. They would be less than pleased if they discovered Satoru didn’t show up because he was hungover.

The second time it happens, Suguru has a passing thought of how familiar the girl looked, despite being sure he’d never seen her in his life.

The third time it happens, Suguru realizes all the recent girls Satoru’s been bringing strike an uncanny resemblance towards you.

It’s not anything too obvious, but all of them would look a bit like you. Most would have your skin tone, your hair. One had your eyes, not the color, rather the shape of it. Satoru had kept her around the longest.

Suguru doesn’t say anything about it. Part of him wonders if Satoru is even doing it on purpose.

Suguru loves Satoru like he would his own brother, but his recent hobby was starting to get on his nerves a bit.

“So much work,” the man complains, “Why can’t we just send all this off to Ijichi?”

“He has his own work to complete,” Suguru reprimands, “the sooner you stop complaining, the sooner we can finish.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but moves to another page of meaningless paperwork; Something that would be scanned into their system and then tucked away into a random file cabinet. They currently sat in Satoru’s grand kitchen, lounging on the barstools after Suguru had pounded Satoru’s door in. Satoru had let him in with an irritated look, complaining that it was the weekend and he had ‘stuff’ to do.

“He’s my assistant,” Satoru retorts, “my work is his work.”

“The reason why we’re in this mess in the first place is because you kept pawning off your job to the poor man in the first place. You’ve given him wrinkles from just the stress of being in your vicinity.”

“That’s insulting,” Satoru counters, “my presence is nothing but calming.”

“You do the exact opposite, actually. A black hole that sucks the soul out of everyone who hangs around you.”

“You hang around me all the time and you don’t have wrinkles.”

Suguru smiles. “It’s because I don’t respect you enough to listen to anything you’re saying.”

Satoru’s about to respond, when another voice interrupts him. Alluring, feminine.

“Satoru,” she coos, “When are you getting back here?”

From his seat, Suguru has a clear view of Satoru’s bedroom. Only her head is peeked out, and Suguru notes her bare shoulders. Your eyes, and your lips this time. She’s tilting her head, mouth curved in a coy smile.

Of course. Suguru can only roll his eyes. There’s that same burning feeling in his chest. During the years, it hasn’t really gotten any better.

“Coming, coming,” Satoru calls back, “just a minute, babe.”

“Stuff to do, hm?” Suguru drawls with amusement. Satoru flips him off.

"Worry 'bout yourself," Satoru says, "when's the last time you got any, huh? Honestly, when's the last time you've taken a break? A vacation?"

"I can't," Suguru replies, "I'm always stuck babysitting you."

“I’ve been waiting for half an hour, ‘Toru." The woman interrupts. "Can’t you just do it later?”

Suguru hadn’t even noticed it. He brushed it off, barely hearing their conversation as he shuffled around the papers.

Satoru had.

He hums. Straightening his back.

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. You should head on home.”

At first, he thought Satoru was talking to him. Then, he hears the woman’s annoyed huff.

“Hold on, you’re kicking me out?” She asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Satoru says, not sounding very apologetic, “I got a lotta’ stuff to do and you’re not gonna wanna stick around.”

His tone is light, but Suguru can’t help but place a sense of annoyance in them. The anger. His posture is stiff, almost like he’s primed for a fight.

‘Toru. She called him ‘Toru.

You used to call him ‘Toru.

“Seriously, I-”

“I hate repeating myself: Get the fuck out.”

There’s silence, and then Suguru can hear her mutter to herself as she shuffles inside the room. She comes out minutes later, not quite dressed, but presentable. She shoots Satoru a glare, to which he only waves off. The door shuts with a noticable thud.

“Back to work,” Satoru says, “do you feel hot? The AC has been acting up, lately.”

He carries on like that, back to normal, as though he wasn’t about to snap just a few minutes ago. Suguru follows suit, not aknowledging the outburst, much like he doesn’t aknowledge most things regarding you.

Later, Suguru laughs about the hypocrisy of it all. Satoru brings home physical reminders of you, but he refuses the remnants of you. The most intimate parts, he’d kept hidden away from his life, yet he still wishes to touch, to feel. He wonders how you’d feel if you knew that Gojo Satoru is wrapped around your finger, even now.

◉

Satoru had done something yet again. It's always something with Gojo Satoru. Suguru should have left him to deal with the legal team himself, but here he was, trailing beside the firm’s directors as the man droned on and on how well Mr.Gojo would be well taken care of how here our clients are family. He forces himself to push away that feeling in his chest, scorching his throat. He was getting sick of the constant blabbering. He’d glanced away for just a second.

And then he saw you.

You, not some remnant, not some picture, not someone similar. You. He knew it was you. A little older, a little taller. You’d switched the high school uniform for a blouse and a pencil skirt. Suguru stares. He’s tempted to say your name, seek you out, as though you’re old friends-

He reels himself back in.

You disappear through a frosted glass door, completely unaware of his gawking. You hadn’t seen him. Good. The firm’s director didn’t notice his pause, carrying on as though nothing happened. Suguru smiles and laughs at the horrible ice breakers, but he also steals a glance at the name of the door you went through.

Later, Suguru looks up Higuruma Hiromi. A well-established lawyer. Worked at the firm for nearly a decade.

You are his sole paralegal.

Law. He had never considered it for you. Now, he thinks it’s a little fitting. He can’t help it. He looks you up. You have no social media, most likely from a remnant fear, but he finds where you went to college, what your area of study was, where else you’d worked, your life. Questions he’d had for nearly a decade he finally has an answer.

Honestly, Suguru was a little mad it was all so easy.

He can’t see the entire scope of your life, but he knows you were happy after high school, away from Satoru. You seemed happy when he caught that glimpse of you. There was a slight smile on your face, you never did that with Satoru around.

Satoru’s a little pathetic, a thought he has to concede to. He’s still hung over you, while you clearly hadn’t thought of him in years.

Suguru stares at your picture a little more.

The burning feeling comes back again. Hotter, melting.

Oh.

Suguru is disgusted by you.

You, that bitch loitering in Satoru’s bedroom, that greedy firm director. Disgust, that sick feeling crawling down his stomach, seeping into his bones. He’s disgusted by the weak.

He’s even more disgusted when they think they can defeat the strong. Decieve them.

You always thought you were better than Satoru, better than Suguru, even from the beginning. Even when you rejected him. Even when Satoru’s goons were torturing you, you still thought you could get out of it somehow. Even when Satoru had his hand on your shoulder, claws sinking into your flesh, you were still looking for a way out. It was like watching a rat trapped in a cage, pathetically sniffing around for an exit.

The weak could never escape the whims of the strong. It was a truth of the world, something he’d always known and yet it’d take a decade for him to put the words together. The weak could never make a fool of the strong.

You are weak. A mere satellite floating along, before getting trapped in the Earth’s gravitational force. Suguru could crush you with one fist. Satoru could evisirate you to atoms.

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

“I’ve put together a legal team that will represent you.”

Suguru places the neat stack of documents onto Satoru’s desk. The white-haired man barely gives them a glance. Suguru knows Satoru won’t ever look at them, even when your name is hidden somewhere within the sheets, along with Higuruma’s. Suguru wonders how long it’d take for Satoru to figure it out. It’s a shame he won’t be there to see it unfold in real-time, but perhaps, once Satoru puts the pieces together, he’ll thank him.

Here, in the present, Satoru types away at his computer, barely paying attention to Suguru’s words.

“Oh, great,” Satoru says off handedly, “thanks, man.”

Suguru sighs.

“Uh, I love you?” Satoru tries again.

“Never repeat those words to me ever again,” Suguru responds, “I wish you’d be a bit more interested in this, considering it’s your fault the company is in this mess in the first place.”

Satoru gives a hushed hum of agreement. Suguru smiles.

“In other news: I won’t be here next week.”

That catches his best friend’s attention. Satoru gapes at him.

“You’re quitting?”

“No, idiot. I’m taking your advice. I’m taking a few weeks off. I already put it in the calendar that you never check so why did I even bother.”

“A vacation? You never take vacations, even when I beg you to,” Satoru squints at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Eventually, Satoru will figure it out. For now, Suguru wants to enjoy this.

“I worked hard this year. I should reward myself, shouldn’t I?” He reasons, “oh, and I have a surprise for you showing up in a week or so. Let me know what you think of it.”

“A gift? For me?” Satoru beams. “You really do love me.”

“Don’t push it.”

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then Suguru supposed he would be the Earth. Close enough to receive the star's radiance, but with a strong enough magnetitic field to shield from solar winds. 

If Suguru was the Earth, then Suguru supposed you would be the Moon. A tiny cratered satellite he tugs along with him, forever in sight of the burning sun.