It 's a disgustingly hot day, and the amount of books Satoru 's carrying is even more so.

'Where did you even get all of those? ' Suguru muses, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he sprawls on the floor of Satoru 's room- supposedly cooler from being more shaded. That 's a lie if he 's ever heard one. It 's practically sweltering, and it 's not even April yet.

'I hate abnormally hot days, '

Suguru thinks, and fans himself a little harder. It 'll only be worse when they go home for summer break in July, when the air conditioning will inevitably break and his dad will spend two weeks looking for the right part to fix it.

His eyes track Satoru as he carries the stack of books taller than his head to his desk, setting the wobbling pile down with a dull thunk. A quick glance at some of the few printed titles on the spines he can see gives him less information than their dusty covers. Half of them aren 't even in Japanese.

'The archive, mostly, ' Satoru answers, skimming down the pile until he finds the one he wants. He pulls it from all the others like a more dangerous version of Jenga, and the dust cloud that plumes when the book pulls free is genuinely sickening.

Suguru raises one brow, and finally unpeels himself from the floor. Wobbling over to the desk, he grabs the first book off the top of the stack, wiping the thickened layer of dust off of the cover as Satoru sits down, rummaging around in the drawers for his endless sticky notes. He squints down at the cover when the words appear on it below his hand, curving in unfamiliar loops indented into old leather.

'Is this in French? ' He mutters, flipping the thing open to page through old yellow paper.

'Yeah, ' Satoru absently replies, 'the other 's are in Mandarin, Russian, some more I can 't remember, and mostly Japanese. I think it might be old Japanese, though. ' He tears off a sticky note, writes something furiously on it, and shoves it into the book he 's laid flat on the desk. Then, he flips thirty pages over.

Suguru stares at him, squinting. He feels tacky with sweat, shirt clinging to his shoulders and the flyaway hairs on the back of his neck sticking to his skin. The small fan in the corner of the room whirrs quietly, mostly doing nothing but pushing around hot air. The century old book he holds in his hands feels heavy, musty, and full of secrets.

'What, and you can read all of them? ' He says, disbelief staining the words trite, and wonders for what isn 't the first time what secrets Satoru 's heavy with, too. It 's been almost four months, and he still doesn 't know what he 's been looking for.

'Pretty much, ' Satoru says, still not looking up from flipping through the big, old tome that, upon closer inspection, might be English. If it is, it isn 't any English he recognizes. He barely blinks at a page before he 's turning it over for a new one, eyes moving rapidly as he reaches for another sticky note.

'Since when, ' Suguru wonders, setting the old book he holds back onto the stack, moving to slump over the back of Satoru 's chair instead. It 's so goddamn hot, undeserved when every other day so far has been so cool, and his obnoxious boyfriend is studying, of all things. They could be doing something so much better than pushing paper, right now.

'Unfair, '

he thinks,

'Satoru doesn 't even do his regular homework. '

Satoru pauses in flipping through pages for a moment, seeming to think his question over. 'Uh, ' he says, 'huh. ' Suguru shoves his chin onto bony shoulder, and rolls his eyes at yet another ridiculous thing.

'I know I learned Russian and Mandarin as a kid, ' Satoru mumbles under his breath, ticking an unknown list off on his fingers, 'and English was a given with all the international shit, but when was ' ' He trails off, staring into the wall behind the desk as the cogs in his head grind to a halt. Suguru knows, because he can hear it happening right by his ear.

'Fuck, ' Satoru mutters, an annoyance in the squint of his eyes, and Suguru only rolls his own. It 's gotten easier to live with strangeness over the months, once it had turned from terrifying to uneasy, uneasy to merely unsettling, and unsettling to mostly ridiculous. Now, when Satoru does another thing he doesn 't have an explanation for, or says something that isn 't quite right, Suguru can take it, breathe through it, and let it be what it is.

'You 're so smart, ' he snickers, 'and so fucking stupid. ' Satoru shoves him for that, but he doesn 't care all that much. He just drifts back, still chuckling as he 's ignored in favor of old, dusty books, content to find a way to be a nuisance in their lazy, heat-hazed afternoon of summer-like spring weather.

'They 're old as hell, ' Satoru pipes up again after a while of nothing but the scratch of his pen and the dry, rustling paper of his flipped through pages, 'but they 're all pretty interesting. '

'Yeah? ' Suguru murmurs, eyeing the armless sides of Satoru 's chair. 'What 're they about? '

'Odds and ends, ' Satoru replies, 'old sorcerers, places, curses. Just the miscellaneous parts of our society. ' That actually does peak his interest, because as much as Suguru learns from being at the tech school and acting as a sorcerer, he wasn 't born into it like Satoru was.

Sometimes, he and Shoko will reference an old thing he doesn 't know about, or crack a joke at the expense of something or someone that sorcerer kids grew up with, but which he didn 't. It 's never lonely, but it is odd; off-putting, slightly, to turn a corner every once in a while and still be discovering something new.

The newest first years are as clueless now as he used to be, though. Nanami and Haibara are a nice reminder that he 's not the only person stepping into the unknown unknowing. They 're also both probably sweating their asses off in class right now, still stuck with their first year teacher while he, Satoru, and Shoko get the week off as long as Yaga 's absent on an overseas mission. At least they 're in the dorms- the classrooms are only about a million times hotter since they don 't have any engawa 's to cool them down.

'I 'd read 'em, ' Suguru says, walking around the chair to grab the front of Satoru 's shoulders and getting a pair of blue eyes looking up at him curiously for it, 'but I don 't exactly know French. ' He grins, something low slung and heat heavy as he swings a leg over Satoru 's lap and takes a seat, reveling in the way his eyes widen, how he puffs up like a spooked cat.

'Maybe you could read it to me, ' he murmurs, curling his hands around the back of Satoru 's neck as he leans closer, slotting his knees on either side of his hips.

'T-This is mutiny, ' Satoru stammers, black glasses forgotten on his head as his face steadily turns pink, pink, pinker. Suguru smiles, nose to nose with Satoru as he turns the color of a freshly bloomed rose, his hands hovering above Suguru 's sides like he doesn 't know what to do with them.

Occasionally, he wonders when it 'll end, when the nervousness will finally trickle out and away. Wonders how many times and how many years it 'll take before Satoru will touch him like this like it 's easy when Suguru 's the one reaching first.

'Too long and too many, '

he thinks, curling a lock of white hair around one finger as he tilts Satoru 's chin up with a curled knuckle under it.

'Who said you were captain? ' He disagrees, and leans in to brush his lips against Satoru 's own. It only takes a moment of hesitation until Satoru 's leaning into him as well, slotting them together and pushing it more, far, farther.

For once, he has an answer to a secret when he 's reminded of it- of the obsession Satoru had grown overnight, twin to how he keeps his nails filed with an intensity reserved for little else. Lip balms and sugar scrubs and glosses had taken over the small spaces of their rooms and Shoko 's war on the bathroom cabinet, all sorts of products and all sorts of manic order that he hadn 't been able to find a rhyme or reason to, all of it so normal despite how it came from nowhere. Odd and puzzling and atypical, until he started looking a little closer, a little longer.

Lips bitten to ribbons, bloody spots where skin had torn off by weathering teeth, sores in his cheeks, pressed into delicate flesh by the points of molars and never given time to scab over. How they 'd only shown up when his lips had been dry, unglossed, lacking a distraction made to keep bone out of breakable skin.

It 's the same, he thinks, as the nails. Keeping them perfectly shaped and short so they won 't dig crescents deep enough to dot red when they bite; so they don 't drag down pale legs or arms or neck in the same pattern as the angry lines he used to catch scratched into his body; so they won 't make more of the thin little parallel scars, dug into the side of a hip.

There 's a fascination he has with Satoru 's obsession with bodily order that he isn 't sure comes from either the lack of answers he 's given, or something else entirely- an intrigue to the neatness that demands for his skin to be soft with lotion and products, his lips moisturized and unbitten, his hair always washed and clean. Cuticles perfectly pushed back, nails filed, no sharp edges.

He understands some of it, when his lips, his nails, have obvious answers. He can 't figure out the need to constantly be clean. Maybe it 's just how he is, and maybe Suguru could be content with that answer, if he didn 't recognize the way Satoru gets twitchy on long missions- the ones that drag out days and through school purchased hotels. How he gets more and more irritable the longer it is he can 't keep with his routine, his cleanliness, and how he winds ever tenser until he can.

He trades secrets for other secrets. Exchanges puzzle pieces for parts of the story. If he learns anything, he 'll always discover something else behind it in an eternal dealing of mysteries.

'That 's alright, though, '

he thinks, as Satoru 's arms wind up around him and cling like he 'll disappear if he lets go for even a moment. The desperate press closer and the timidly hopeful way fingers flight over the soft skin of his face, how one palm snakes down his back to find the beat of his heart behind his spine. Maybe he wants it, wants it so badly it feels like a head-spinning sort of insanity, but he doesn 't need to have meaning when there 's more important words being said with everything except his overly well-kept lips.

'I 've, ' Satoru starts, panting slightly as they break apart, 'I 've gotta go through those books. ' Suguru rolls his eyes and sighs, cupping Satoru 's plush face in his palms and squishing his cheeks together until his lips are pursed in a figure-eight. It 's amusing, nicer still that he has enough fat that he can.

'Yeah, ' he drawls, 'I know. ' He couldn 't help even if he wanted to. He can 't read even a quarter of those books, nevermind that he doesn 't know what he 'd be looking for. 'Let me stay here though, ' he asks, laying his head down on Satoru 's shoulder as he feels the cool, intangible river of infinity wash over him like a wave. 'It 's hot everywhere else. ' Shorts and a t-shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his shoulders still feel stifling among the humidity of the mountains, a crime if he 's asked.

'...Yeah, ' Satoru murmurs, the hands on his back trailing down his spine to pool over his waist, settling for a long moment before they 're lifting again, moving away in favor of paper and pages and the ever scratching pen. He sits for a while listening to Satoru comb through books, absently noting the suspicious increase in focus as he works, and eventually gets bored.

A drawer opening and a nudge to his side has him turning his head around. Satoru holds up his previously

missing

DS, the motherfucker, with a grin that isn 't guilty in the slightest.

'I may have wiped your save file on Pearl, ' he says, unrepentant, and Suguru sits and he glares for a long, eye twitching moment. He just bought Pearl. It only came out a few months ago. He was almost finished with it.

Satoru squeals as he 's socked over the head, hands flying up to hold at where Suguru 's hit him. He ignores this, snatching his DS and manically opening it, turning it on to find a full battery and his cartridge of Pearl still sequestered inside. Opening the game takes him right back to the start menu, already on the character selection page where Professor Rowan smiles before asking if he 's a boy or a girl, and Suguru can 't help the way his expression sours.

'I hope the next time you bother Iori she kicks you in the dick, ' he seethes, thumbing over to select 'boy ' for the second time in a month, and resigning himself to starting his game over again.

'That 's just mean, ' Satoru mumbles, shifting so Suguru 's draped over his shoulder again so he can reach the desk.

'You wiped my game, ' Suguru admonishes, and Satoru sighs, gusty and loud.

'It was an accident, ' he whines, sounding not very repentant at all, and Suguru scowls down at his screen where he hangs over Satoru 's shoulder, furiously tapping through dialogue he 's already seen and doesn 't want to read again. Accident his ass, he thinks angrily, bare toes skimming over the hardwood floor.

'It 'll be an

accident

when I put red dye in your shampoo, ' he threatens, dreading when he finally makes it back to the snowy mountain and the puzzle he has yet to solve to get to Palkia. Satoru jerks underneath him, the flipping of pages halting abruptly.

'Oh, ' Suguru smirks, still eyeing his DS, 'did that strike a nerve? '

'...Shut up, ' Satoru mutters, and they eventually fall back into something like peace.

The heat drags on, sweat dripping down his neck despite the cool barrier of Satoru 's infinity, the quiet chiming of Pok 'mon Pearl 's music a backdrop to the rustling of paper pages and the scrawling of a pen.

It 's not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Having Suguru so close to him all the time only fuels the flames burning at him to find it.

'God, I miss Google, '

Satoru thinks as he wanders through the library at the Gojo estate in the middle of the night, quietly pulling books off the shelves as he goes, a layer of Limitless warping around him so his bare footprints don 't disturb the dust on the hardwood floors.

No matter how many books, indexes, genealogies, or grimoires he goes through, he can only ever find whispers about the Prison Realm. A single, referenced sentence; a word, here or there; occasionally mentioned as the most dangerous sealing based cursed object, and never anything more.

It makes him sick when he thinks about it, the fear that

they

have it rattling around in the hollow of his skull. As the months pass with only faint words or old recollections from dusty, ancient books, he gets more and more frantic to find it. He knows it disappeared decades ago, lost to the hands of a Thai sorcerer and then supposedly passed around for half of a century, always kept quiet and hushed up behind thick doors and thicker talismans.

He 's got a hunch it might be in Russia, somewhere, but he just doesn 't have enough information to know.

Bound by the simple fact that he can 't just leave the school to go searching for several days on end, he 's stuck with nothing but old, printed words, and the rumors of the clans that forever whisper around him.

Freezing where he is as a noise stops him cold, Satoru holds his breath, halted amid pulling another book off the shelf in the guarded library of his first home. No one knows he 's here. He hasn 't officially been back since he left so many years ago to start his real first year of schooling. He 's clung to Suguru for every break he 's had in this second lifetime, refusing to set foot back in the old walls in anything except secrecy and moonlight.

It 's probably a good thing he hadn 't developed teleportation until he was in his twenties the first time around, he thinks, as the door opens and he falls back into his dorm at the school in a blur of the world around him and a slight falling sensation, not a sound to indicate he 's disappeared, or that he was ever there at all. No one knows that he can.

The clan will be up in arms with the missing books when they find out they 're gone- he knows that from experience, snorting at the thought of the outrage he can imagine as clear as anything as he swipes out a quick undetection talisman on the piece of paper and marker he left on his desk before he went. The greatest thing about his family being a clan, though, is that they won 't

tell

anyone they 're missing as they try to hunt down what isn 't stolen at all. Pride, he reasons, is a grace as much as it is a sin.

A ripped piece of tape sticks the hastily crafted talisman to the small stack of books he stole, activated and powered by a little burst of imbued cursed energy. Hauling them across the room, he shoves them under his bed with all the others, and sighs as he lets the strewn blankets drop to the floor again, hiding the crawl space beneath where months of his research sits, waiting to be returned to their rightful shelves and entirely useless.

He hasn 't made any notable progress, and it 's likely that he won 't until he has freedom of movement again, Satoru thinks, slinking out of his dorm room and sliding the door shut with a soft

snick.

It 's miserably frustrating.

'You smell weird, ' is the first thing Suguru mumbles when Satoru slips into his room and under his blankets, dusty from the estate 's ancient library. 'Where 've you been? ' He doesn 't even open his eyes when he asks, only lifting an arm for Satoru to find a place under.

'Here and there, ' he whispers, sliding his hands under Suguru 's tattered old t-shirt to leech the warmth directly from his skin. Suguru 's so tired he doesn 't even protest it. 'Go back to sleep. '

'Wh 'tv 'r, ' Suguru grumbles, inhaling where his face is pressed into the top of his head, before dropping back off again.

'I 'll find it, '

Satoru thinks, staring up at Suguru 's unconscious face, and thinking of how he slots himself into the search without even knowing what it is they 're looking for, and yet never demanding an answer. He lays there for a long time like he does every night, silent and still but never quite able to sleep.

'I 'll find it, and then I 'll tell you. '

He gets the first inkling to where those sentient, overly-talkative curses are a little over a third of the way into his second, second year, completely by accident.

'It 's a mission, ' Nanami says, his awful, terrible emo bangs front and center, 'but I don 't think Yu and I will be able to do it. ' He sighs, as grumpy now as he was as an adult. 'You 're second years- does this look like a grade three to you? '

Suguru frowns beside him, reaching a hand out to take the manila folder full of papers that Nanami offers. He flips through them for a second, face getting more and more dower the longer he looks, and Satoru tilts his head, hands stuffed into his pockets. Some people never change, it seems. God, what is it, a game to give first years incorrectly labeled missions?

'No, ' Suguru says, slowly looking up from the report, 'I don 't think so either. ' He turns to Satoru, holding out the folder as he says, 'look through this. Do you actually believe this is a grade three? '

Satoru takes it, setting his glasses on his head to read the words printed onto the page.

'Boring, '

he thinks, reading about how massive craters have started surfacing in the wooded areas out in the boonies,

'what a- '

He cuts off inside of his own head as,

'wildfires, '

stares out at him in accusatory kanji. Wildfires randomly igniting, craters being formed in odd places, towns catching alight and going up in flames. The quotes of terrified witnesses with just enough fear to catch the tail end of a curse, written on the next page;

'a single eye in a face like a mountain, wavering in the flames of the fires. '

'Found you, ' he mutters, nearly giddy with the combination of sheer nerves and vicious excitement that rips through him. This is different from before, and he doesn 't know why, even if it is fortunate. He 'll have to do some investigating into that, as well as something nice for Nanami later- maybe a thank you cake or something. The insistence he 's had that Suguru perfects Uzumaki is about to finally pay off because of him.

He looks up, interrupting Suguru and Nanami as they quietly talk, their conversation dying as they turn to look at him. 'I know this curse, ' he says, instead of explaining, grinning when he cheers, 'it 'll kill you, Nanami. '

Nanami makes a face, slouching where he stands. Satoru wonders when he sees him now how exactly it is that he grows up into the confident man he remembers Kento being, from this quiet, downtrodden boy. He 's so different as a kid, although, perhaps the worst part is that as of right now, he still has taste. Where and how the leopard print tie becomes fashionable remains a mystery to him.

Nanami 's dry when he speaks, a grimace on his lips and a curve to his shoulders. 'Thanks, Gojo. ' He could be rolling his eyes under his stupid bangs for all Satoru knows.

'You 're welcome. Suguru, ' he says, switching topics rapidly as his thoughts start racing with all the careful planning he 's been organizing for nearly over a year now, finally beginning to line up at the start of the race. First the fire curse, then the walking tree. Patchwork will be saved for last as the youngest of the three, because Satoru needs the thing 's technique to be properly developed by the time Suguru gets to it, if he wants any chance of him being able to heal himself with it at all.

'We 're taking this mission. You remember what I said last year? In that restaurant bathroom? ' He asks, watching as Suguru 's face begins to dawn with a stark realization.

'I said I 'd do it. What 's it? ' He answers, a slight challenge in the words as he stands a little straighter, intent with the promise of having another secret unraveled, at having an out, one Satoru 's been promising and waiting on. Slowly, he smiles. Nanami darts his eyes between them, royally confused.

'It 'll be a special grade, ' he warns, 'but not the only one. There 'll be two more after it. If you take the first, ' he says, a note of something heavy in his tone, 'you have to take the third. '

Suguru narrows his eyes at the bargain, suspicion coloring his dark irises almost violet. 'Semi grade one, special grades? Or beyond a grade one, special grades? ' He asks, catching on effortlessly and falling into the silent request just because he was asked to, his half of the hidden conversation evidently appealing enough if he 's contemplating consuming three more curses. Maybe it is, if it means he never has to eat one again.

Satoru takes the time to think for a moment, because the first time he 'd encountered that flaming cyclops curse he 'd been twenty-eight and nearly twelve years into the future. The tree had been annoying, but weak. He can 't say anything for Patchwork. He doesn 't know how long they all had been alive before, though judging on the sentience of them, he assumes it 's been hundreds of years at the very least. It was easy for him back then, and it would be easy for him now. Suguru, however, hasn 't had the same chance, and doesn 't have the same convenience.

He certainly wouldn 't struggle, Satoru can happily admit, but it wouldn 't be a casual fight, either.

'Bet on it being beyond one, ' he says, and Suguru nods, a decision fixing his face steady.

'Alright, ' he agrees, 'all three of them. ' Satoru starts to smile, elated, before Suguru gives his ear a yank hard enough to get him to bend his head down.

'You 're

dealing with all the stomach aches collecting the waste 'll give me, ' he jabs, a crooked thing splitting his lips, and he laughs.

'Don 't I do that already? ' Satoru snarks, and gets a dull fist to the shoulder for it. Flipping through the folder one last time, he sets his glasses back on his nose, shoving the papers at Nanami. His brows are furrowed, and there 's a look on his face like they 've been speaking in tongues for the past minute and a half.

'Hope you 're ready for some heat, ' he grins, grabbing his phone from his pocket to call an assistant, 'cause we 're going to Nagano 's active volcano. '

Mount Asama is beautiful, even from the sight within the car as it pulls jerkily onto the shoulder of off-road by the side of the highway, in between pavement and the beginning of the tree line.

'I can 't wait to destroy it, '

Satoru thinks, manic excitement jittering his bones in his body.

'Don 't kill anyone, ' 'Shoko had drawled as they 'd rummaged through the weapons storeroom, leaning against the door next to Satoru as Suguru debated between nunchucks or brass knuckles. Leveling a mountain could probably be included in that. 'And don 't kill yourselves. I 'm not in the mood to reattach any severed limbs. '

'Such a buzzkill, ' Satoru had responded, shoving his glasses up his nose, and from further within the armory, Suguru had snorted.

'Come back in one piece, ' Shoko had said, a smirk of a smile pulling at her lips as Suguru had walked back to them, weapon of choice finally slung over his shoulder and heavy talismans packed full of cursed energy lining his pockets, the checkout roster marked with a new black signature.

'Hey, hey, ' Satoru had trilled, meeting Shoko 's mirthful hazel gaze, 'just who do you think we are? '

'I 'm gonna bust that thing 's ugly, explosive head, '

he thinks, fingers twitching with a viciousness that used to be playful, instead of borderline angry.

'This is as close as I get, ' the assistant says, and Satoru whistles a wordless,

'see ya later, '

as he climbs out of the car, listening to the opposite door shut as Suguru does the same. Even the weather is nice here; cool and still, not a trace of the heat that 's been hitting Tokyo early.

The window rolls down as he 's trading out his glasses for the new custom blindfold he 'd requested. 'Remember to place a curtain over the mountain. There 's a town to the east that could see fighting from here. There 'll be a two hour window that I 'll be back to get you two, about three hours from now. '

'Yeah, yeah, ' Satoru says, flippantly waving the man off, rolling his eyes at the overbearing reminders to a chagrined look he ignores. 'We 'll hurry. ' The assistant scoffs before rolling the window back up, special grade spiel well and truly practiced when he 's heard it for years, backing out of the shoulder to turn onto the road again. Satoru watches him drive away, fiddling with the blindfold.

He 's glad to have it on again, even if he 's keeping his hair down and still in his face, but the make is different than what he 's used to. It better hold up, he thinks pissily, unwilling to admit that the simple fact is unnerving, because he doesn 't like fighting without it. His glasses don 't block out enough visual noise to focus well, and just the begging it took to get Yaga to allow him off the mountain long enough for him to find a tailor to make one had been hell. He 'll be pissed if he has to do the whole thing over again.

God, he misses autonomy.

'Whatever, '

he thinks, pushing all the thoughts away as he exhales out all the air in his lungs. Raising a hand, two fingers straightened, he breathes in, pulling his cursed energy into the channel they create.

'Emerge from the darkness, ' he murmurs, the low ritual words familiar, easy to conjure, Tengen 's presence like a whisper along his spine, 'blacker than darkness. ' Suguru is a shadow over the edge of his shoulder, watching passively as the curtain begins to drip from the sky. 'Purify that which is impure. '

He wanders over to where Satoru stands in the amber light of the color changing clouds above, scuffed boots crunching on the gravel as he walks, Playful Cloud swinging at his side from where it 's hooked on his belt- somehow having found its way to the school earlier than last time.

'So, ' he says, looking around where they stand, 'what exactly are we looking for, Mr. I know this curse? '

It 's reminiscent of the question Suguru had asked him on the long car ride up to Nagano, before Satoru had slumped into a conscious doze against him. 'What exactly does it have that you want me to repossess? ' He 'd murmured into his ear, wary of the driver overhearing, and Satoru hadn 't been able to completely suppress an anticipatory smile.

'You 've never seen a living volcano before, have you? ' He 'd snickered, and Suguru had turned to look at him with eyes as wide as saucers, mouth agape as he 'd taken the words in.

'...You 're shitting me, ' he 'd hissed.

'Not in the slightest, ' Satoru had murmured, and the latent excitement of the coming fight that has been crawling in his veins since only grows more present as he throws a grin over his shoulder.

He reaches out to grab Suguru 's arm to yank him close. 'Oh you 'll know it when we see it, ' he says, and then they 're flickering out of existence with nothing but a faint disturbance to the ground they 'd stood on.

'Wh-

Shit! '

Suguru yells when they rematerialize three thousand feet high in the air, hanging above the side of Mount Asama with a perfect view of the sprawling forest surrounding it. 'You could have

warned me,

Satoru! ' Is shrieked in his ear as Suguru clings onto his shoulders, staring down at the fish-eyed ground like he 's about to fall and die, or something.

'Quit being such a pussy, ' Satoru chides, 'look over there. Half of the forest 's gone. '

There 's a massive scar cut jagged into the earth maybe a mile or two away. It almost looks like something Purple would have done, except the dirt is blackened and charred with the residuals of a technique based in heat. Just farther up, the houses leveled to the ground in the wreckage are scorched beyond repair- literally visible even with the blindfold with how drenched they are in leftover cursed energy.

'Flames, '

he thinks, and can 't help the grin that splits his face.

'Shit, ' Satoru tones, whistling as he uselessly shields his fabric-covered eyes from the sun, sounding just a touch too happy about it. 'That was a village. '

'What? ' Suguru says, cursed energy rippling in agitation. He hasn 't gotten hold of Rainbow Dragon or the manta ray yet; has had no reason to be used to flying and heights and won 't until he swallows it. That 'll change soon, Satoru thinks, remembering the explosive power of the cyclops curse that they 're about to steal. 'I can 't see anything from here, dumbass. '

'Don 't worry, ' he hums, tightening his grip around Suguru 's side, 'you 're about to. '

'WAIT- '

Suguru has time to yell before they 're warping again, following the trail of ash and ruin and charcoal.

They find the curse after a half hour of chasing after charred, and then cindering, and then burning foliage.

'You remember what I told you? ' Satoru murmurs into the shell of Suguru 's ear as they hover fifty meters away, enough for him to get a perfect view of the ugly bastard but for Suguru to only see trees and leaves.

'Distract and strike, ' Suguru responds, repeating the warnings and the plan Satoru had outlined to him on the ride over, all traces of mischief wiped from his face like old eyeshadow. 'The smoke is a signal he 's about to blast, taunt him to make him reckless. ' Suguru side-eyes him where they hover, his cursed energy rippling wildly in anticipation of a fight.

'Once he 's beat down, ' he says, 'I 'll absorb him. '

Satoru smiles, the grin stretching wide over his lips, so close to the first step forward he 's nearly buzzing with it. 'Ready to kick ass? ' He murmurs, and Suguru snorts beside him.

'Born for it, ' he snarks, twirling Playful Cloud to the ready in his palm, and then they 're descending.

The trees turn into a black and green blur as the ground rockets up to meet them. Suguru hits the forest floor at a run when Satoru drops him, released out of range when he plummets into the clearing where the curse sits, turning around with its singular eye widening just in time to get Satoru 's heel smashing into its ugly face.

Volcano-curse goes flying, ripping through the trees like a cannonball from the force of the cursed energy he put behind the strike. Satoru laughs when he de-and-remateralizes in the flight path of ugly, holding steady for the second it takes for it to come hurling into his clasped, raised, and waiting fists.

The crater the curse makes from his second hit is disgustingly gratifying after nearly a year of not playing rough. 'Hey! ' Satoru crows from where he hovers twenty feet above where volcano wannabe has been smashed nearly entirely underground, 'you 're as fun as I remember! '

'What? ' The ugly thing screeches as it pulls itself up from the dirt, steam and sloshing lava bursting from the miniature volcano on its head, 'I don 't even know who you are! '

'You will, '

Satoru thinks, whipping out one arm to gather and twist the energy necessary for Red,

'but not for long. '

The purposely weakened version of his technique meets the flames of a rage filled fireball, and explodes out into the foliage in a burst of intense heat, color, and absolute devastation, blasting far up into the sky like the dregs of a supernova. The wind force alone blows back ash and the trees hard and long enough to reveal Suguru launching out from behind them, Playful Cloud arcing over his head in a broken, cursed energy coated line.

He strikes hard enough to split down the thing 's shoulder, leaving a gouge that 's so deep it bites into purple sinew and bone, carving a jagged canyon nearly down to its hip. He darts away again before he can be struck in turn, disappearing into the trees as Satoru takes his place.

The curse yells something foul as he sends another spinning blast of raw cursed energy tearing into the ground where it stands, the resounding explosion kicking up dirt, roots, and shards of the rock below it all. Suguru darts out of the forest again while the curse is in the air, twisting Playful Cloud into another long range strike aimed for its ribs.

'Smoke! ' Satoru yells, right before a geyser sprouts from the ground and spews a pillar of blazing fire, angry flames that blast wildly out of control where Suguru was half a second past, erupting the trees behind him as he runs from it into high reaching fire. If it had been parallel to the ground, over a hundred feet of it would have been gouged from the earth.

'Fuck! '

Satoru can hear him shout, nearly singed by hungry tongues of cinder and heat, doubling back around into where the forest is still lush with greenery to hide in as he waits for Satoru 's next hit to create a strike opening.

'You humans- disgusting- filth! You think to disturb me? ' The curse spits as it staggers into a freshly charred clearing, and Satoru laughs again. What an outdated way to talk, he snickers.

'What? ' He jeers. 'Are you feeling a little outclassed? ' The punch he lands on the thing 's face is deeply satisfying.

'You! ' The curse roars as it goes sailing, slamming its hands together as spinning spheres of flame grow at its sides, dissolving into the bugs Satoru can vaguely remember as carrying a hidden, double attack.

The wall of infinity they slam into is familiar when the earth shatters behind him, trees rattling where they 're planted and toppling into one another as the intensity of the wind slightly ruffles his hair. It feels good, he breathes, to let loose like this. Cocking his head to the side, he grins.

'Me! '

He shouts back, baring his teeth with the excitement coursing through his veins like pure, addictive adrenaline, swinging his arms forwards as he chucks two miniscule voids of Blue one after another from his palms like they 're marbles, and not weapons of mass destruction.

He watches in elation as the curses ' single eye widens, warping above it as Blue hurtles towards where it stands, eating at the forest in huge, destructive bites as it flies. The burst of flame that meets it spirals high enough into the sky that it blots out the sun.

Suguru darts out of the undergrowth as the flames create a false shadow amid all the heavy smoke, the loud, flat thwacks of a true hit ringing in his ears as the bright energy of Playful Cloud shines in his covered vision. For all that it has no imbued technique, it 's devastatingly effective- maybe Suguru has no heavenly restriction, but he 's plenty strong without one.

Their distract and strike strategy works almost a little too well. As long as Suguru dodges the massive blasts of flame and swirling tongues of fire, the curse can 't retaliate, and Satoru 's free to wear it down. By the time that they 've got Volcano pushed to the very edge of a newly cratered clearing almost ten minutes later, it 's trailing purple gore everywhere it walks, corporal guts splashing out into the charcoal and dirt below it.

'One more hit, you think? ' Suguru breathes heavily as they stand opposite lava-freak, side by side. Satoru grins, splaying his hands in front of himself.

'Let it try to use its domain, ' he snarks, remembering how just the suggestion of weakness had made the thing blow its top last time he 'd fought it, 'I bet it 's too weak to even create a complete one. '

True to his memory, Volcano-head shrieks at the tops of its punctured lungs at the taunt, the corks popping out of its head as it literally blows its top. Satoru can 't help the deranged laughter that spills from his lips at the sight, welcoming the anger that 'll spur the remainder of this one-sided fight into even more excitement, the viciousness of twisted playfulness coloring his voice darker than he 's used to.

'You 're such a dick, ' Suguru mutters, but he 's smirking as he says it, eyes never leaving where the curse launches at them, hands signaled into a sign likely for the construction of a domain.

'And now you 've got an easy target, ' Satoru throws back as Suguru does a complicated spin with Playful Cloud, striking the curse clean in the middle with enough cursed energy to level a large building, blasting the remains of the forest in front of them with enough power to sway the remaining trees nearly a full ninety degrees sideways.

'Good, '

Satoru thinks,

'the talismans are working. '

He 's almost a little disappointed when volcano snaps clean in two, its torso separating from its legs in a purple, gorey splatter, smacking wetly down into the charred ground of the crater in two distinct sounds. That fight wasn 't as hard as it could have been, he grouses internally, although he 's fairly likely Suguru would disagree, limited from his curses to preserve them for Uzumaki.

He wants more, he realizes, where he stands in the scarred land of forest, desolated by destruction and insurmountable power, salivating for the unbridled freedom of the use of his own body. He wants to keep playing rough, wants to taunt and fight and laugh and laugh and

laugh

until he can 't remember his own name.

It 's probably a good thing Suguru 's killed it, he muses, hands twitching at his sides, a trickle of warmth beading under his nose.

'Is this what insanity feels like? '

He wonders, choking down on the want to cackle and kick the curse 's stupid, lava filled head over to the other side of Mount Asama.

'Oh, gross, ' Suguru says, returning him to reality with the wrinkling of his nose as he flicks a bit of purple blood off his cheek with his thumb. The talisman filled with Satoru 's cursed energy that he must have drained for that last hit starts to smoke in his pocket, the sigil written on it burning off the thin paper when he pulls it out, letting it float to the ground as it goes up in cinders.

Satoru lets him deal with it as he takes a moment to walk over to where the curse 's head digs into the dirt, the sight of his torn upper body a gruesome thing to look at if he weren 't already used to that sort of gore.

'Don 't kick it, '

he thinks,

'don 't kick it, don 't kick it. '

'Hey, ' Satoru tones, the word low as he tugs his blindfold down around his neck, careful not to smear blood on it, 'what 's your name? You 've got one, right? ' He watches as Volcano 's cycloptic eye narrows, hateful in the way it looks at him.

'Why would I give such a disgrace my name? ' It mutters, its voice gravelly disdain, and Satoru sighs.

'Guess I 'll just have to ask your friend, ' he shrugs, 'the one with the flowers? It ought to know. '

He grins when it actually gets him something like a reaction. 'Hanami will kill you, human! '

'Hanami, huh? ' He trills. 'Interesting. ' Volcano screeches against the dirt, its severed spine unallowing for the thrashing movements it wants to sweep its arms with.

'They were banded together this far back? '

He thinks, keeping the smile on his face even as he rearranges events in his head.

'That gives me less time. Dammit. '

'C 'mon! ' He cheers. 'Just gimmie your name! It 's not like you 're gonna live to keep using it, ' he says, tilting his head to the side just to be more annoying, hands stuffed in his pockets and an innocent smile decorating his reddened lips.

'I won 't die! ' The curse spits. 'I 've lived eons longer than you, brat! ' The black of its teeth reflect oddly in its mouth, Satoru notes, remembering how Yuuji had called it, 'Mount Fuji Head, ' and silently agrees.

'Believe what you will, ' he says, shrugging nonchalantly. 'I guess your name will just die with you in the new world. ' He makes to turn around, stepping along too-merrily back to Suguru and ignoring the narrowed look from his dark eyes, waiting for the moment the curse snaps, and starts yelling-

'Jougo of the Iron Mountain will not die to your hands,

filth! '

It shrieks, and Satoru smiles, flashing Suguru a peace sign when he only shakes his head in dismay. It really is so useful that these sentient curses want to be human so badly. Pride he thinks of, a grace and a sin both.

'Well? ' Satoru starts, bumbling up to Suguru to bump him with a shoulder. Messing with the blindfold hanging around his neck, he bounces on his heels, gesturing towards where the curse is strewn along the ground, still yelling. 'I 'm done. Get on with it! I wanna see it in action! '

'You 're so

annoying, '

Suguru grunts as he collapses Playful Cloud to re-hang on his belt, evidently done watching Satoru extort his wanted information, and catches his breath from where he 's still slightly winded from all the running around. He takes a moment to widen his feet beneath him, breathing in as he layers his hands in a seal, cursed energy stilling, and then flaring around him in a bright, growing swirl.

'Maximum, ' he begins, meeting Satoru 's eyes from the corner of his own, before he 's staring out at the desecrated body of the curse by his feet,

'Uzumaki. '

The whirlpool made of all of Suguru 's collected and sacrificed fodder curses is as awesome and gruesome as he remembers it to be, made of a writhing mass of curses pulverized into pure cursed energy. It 's sickeningly amazing to watch how the body of the volcano curse warps into Suguru 's hands, its shouting cut off and permanently silenced as it 's compacted into a sphere of dense, boiling energy, the trade for all of Suguru 's current inventory they 've spent months gathering.

'Here goes nothing, ' Suguru faintly mutters, and with a distinctly unenthused expression, brings the orb up to his mouth to swallow.

Satoru watches, absolutely fascinated by the mixing and diluting of cursed energy within Suguru 's sternum as it dissolves into his own. He freezes as Suguru doubles over, hands clapped over his mouth as his eyes blow wide, holding shock still for a long moment he chokes on before he 's rearing back up, swaying slightly on his feet.

His breaths grow labored, his hands dragging off his mouth and down his chin as steam curdles from between his fingers, his head falling forwards as his body adjusts to the new technique. A sudden, intangible blast nearly knocks him on his ass, rippling out from Suguru 's body as his cursed energy expands like a balloon, swallowing up space around him as it fills higher than he 's ever seen it before.

'Suguru? ' Satoru calls after a long moment passes, biting down on his want to step forward as he waits for a sign of what to do, copper bright and loud where he licks it off his lip with a swipe of his tongue.

'...I think it worked, ' Suguru mutters, straightening back up, breathing out a cloud of hot steam. He flexes his hands until the tendons in the back of them streak lines down his skin, flames whirling to life around his fingers. A grin cracks on his face as Suguru brings his fire-filled palms up, and then he 's laughing, sharp and loud and bright.

'I 'm a fucking

fire-bender, '

he breathes, staring at his hands, and Satoru finally relaxes for what feels like the first time in years.

'...You seem quiet, ' Suguru says, and Satoru silently freezes where he 's stood a few feet away, toweling his hair dry.

'What makes you say that, ' he murmurs, refusing to look over his shoulder.

'Oh, I dunno, ' Suguru snarks, 'maybe it was the lack of chatting my ear off on the ride back. '

Satoru pulls his lips in between his teeth, shirt damp around his neck from their just finished showers. He 's fine, he tells himself, he 's perfectly fine. After all, Suguru has a brand new, special grade technique up his sleeve, well on his way to becoming his own sort of untouchable, and eventually unkillable. There isn 't a problem.

'I 'm not quiet. I 'm talkative. Look, see how chatty I am? I could talk for days, ' Satoru says, but his heart isn 't in it. He 's fine. Everything is fine.

'Why do I still feel like this, then? '

He thinks, ignoring the way his hands twitch at his sides, how the ringing in his head thirsting for violence only shrills louder.

'What, ' Suguru says, shrugging as he hangs up his towel and spins wet hair into a bun, 'something on your mind? ' He looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. 'Don 't tell me I 'm stepping on your toes, strongest sorcerer. '

Satoru shakes his head, copying Suguru 's actions before he pads out of the bathhouse, barefoot still and shivering in the less humid, less heat filled air of the hallway. ' 'S not that, ' he mutters, listening to the footsteps that hurry after him.

'Then tell me what it is, ' Suguru huffs, catching up to him with a hand on his shoulder. 'I can 't read your mind, 'Toru. ' His brows pull down, a frown tugging at his lips when Satoru glances at him from the corner of his eyes.

He stops in the hallway, Suguru 's hand on his shoulder as he looks down at his feet. They look sort of like his, but they 're not quite right. Probably because he was still growing at sixteen the first time around, and when he looks a little higher before the hem of his shorts cut off the visible skin of his legs, he can 't see scars there that he knew he had. They were created in the dark of that hell, the newest ones he 'd had in a long time. The jagged lines of them he remembers only from the feel of his own fingertips dragging along them should be there, but aren 't.

The feeling of the earth shuddering and falling apart under his palms remains like phantom imprints on his hands, the encompassing gravity of spinning Red between his fingers like a ghost haunting him.

'Kick it, '

he 'd thought, staring at Jougo 's head.

'I want to kick it. '

The dark, coiling anger twisting in his sternum is choking where it sits on his ribs. That has to be what it is. Anger feels like that, doesn 't it? Thick and cloying and heavy like a miasma.

Violence,

it crows,

give me violence, give me destruction, give me freedom.

'...I think I want to hurt, ' he whispers, the words barely audible, like they don 't want to be heard at all. He holds his hands up, staring down at his palms and remembering how it felt to be drunk on the pure power of Purple the very first time he 'd used it, and thinking about how this is different from that

.

'...Hurt who? ' Suguru asks after a moment has beat past, the snap of his cursed energy roiling in anxiety, even as he remains outwardly steady.

Satoru breathes out sharply, lips pulling up into a crooked smile as he runs his hands into his hair, covering his eyes, feeling for the scar on his forehead that isn 't there yet. 'I don 't know, ' he murmurs. 'Anyone. Everyone. '

He drops them again after a second, remembering the freedom that had filled his lungs throughout the fight like fresh air after an eternity spent among mildew and rot, how he 'd never second guessed how much to pull a punch, how playing rough had disintegrated into unrestricted, unrestrained brutality.

He wants that sadism, wants the rush of destruction and the excitement of the adrenaline of something real. Wants to feel that darkness again, the twisted thing of the playfulness that he remembers he used to be, but which has changed, now, into something worse than it ever was.

'I just want to fight it again, ' he says, and ignores the way the words shudder with the faintest tremble, the slightly wrong pitch, 'I want to play rough. I want to- to- ' He cuts off, drawing in a breath as he tries to explain in a way that makes sense, in a way that doesn 't toe the line of the madness he 'd felt earlier.

'I want to kick it. '

He jerks his shoulders up. The voice is loud when it 's only ringing in his head.

'I don 't want to pull my punches, ' he says, the words spilling out, 'I just want to hit something that can take it. I want a fight, a real fight, something that doesn 't feel like

plastic. '

He exhales, staring down at his feet instead of looking up. 'I want violence, Suguru, ' he admits, just a little wretched.

'I 'm angry? '

He thinks, resisting the urge to bring a hand up to his sternum where the cloying feeling pulls his chest tight.

'...I 've never really seen you fight like that before, ' Suguru hums beside his ear after a sticky, unsettling silence blankets them. Satoru looks up to meet his eyes, a little downtrodden with the admittance of his own emotions. He 's angry? What for? Maybe it 's the forever he spent in that darkness, or the vitriol from all the old people he hates that want to use him like a puppet.

Maybe it 's the memory of being told a mission was a grade low enough for his kids to handle on their own. Maybe it 's the way a Nanami he can barely remember had asked him for help, and how he would have been killed if he hadn 't.

Maybe it 's the feeling like he 's trapped inside of his own skin, in a body that hasn 't been his in a long time, with memories that shouldn 't belong within it.

'What do you mean, ' he breathes, and Suguru steps around him so they 're face to face, legs slotted between each other. The hands that slip through his infinity and tilt his face down are warmer than he knows them to be.

'You 're right that you hold back a lot, huh? ' Suguru murmurs, swiping his thumb along the edge of Satoru 's eye, where there 's a wetness growing he hadn 't felt. 'We 've got a lot of stress, you and me, ' he says, wincing a small smile. Satoru watches him, the curve of his eyes and the line of his sympathetic smile, the faint violet of his irises.

'Is it really so odd that you don 't want to go back to feeling limited, after you got to cut loose for a while? ' Suguru says, quiet when the words are nearly brushing his own lips, and Satoru lets his head fall down further into those overwarm palms, disregarding the stinging feeling in his waterlines. Not for the first time, he wishes Suguru will stay taller, just so that it 'd be easier to rest his head against him forever

He goes to open his mouth, but the only things that are in it belong to the anger that wants to crush him, and he doesn 't want to give that to Suguru, not when he knows he 'll have plenty of his own. Instead, he shuts it, and smiles into the quiet kiss Suguru presses against him, letting the absurdity and loveliness to it wash away the dark thing wishing to choke him.

If it 's anger, and it has to be anger, then he 's more than content with letting Suguru lap it away like cresting waves on a beach. Breath hitching a little as the point of a tongue coaxes his lips open, Satoru lets them part, hands coming up to twist into Suguru 's plain shirt. He doesn 't like feeling angry, doesn 't like that the weight of rage frays his control, how it makes him want to throw away careful and walk in stride with impulsivity.

The palms on his face are so warm, inviting like a hearth, and Suguru feels like heaven though he tastes like hell. Their noses brush and bump together through the kiss, as they smile between the press of lips and the exchange of spit he 'd thought disgusting back when he 'd been a kid.

As he breathes, he calms; the stirring in his head settles, the pressure against his sternum lessening. Suguru keeps him close, tangling them together as he brings him back down to earth. If Satoru ignites him, then Suguru snuffs him out. Quietly, he sighs, relaxing into the drag of their lips, sinking into the press of a body that feels like home.

'Wow, you guys are gross, ' Shoko calls as she turns the corner, whistling with a hand in her pocket and a medkit in the other. 'Who died? '

Suguru jumps like he 's been burned as they break apart, and then Satoru 's hissing in surprise as the hands on his face- already too warm- grow suddenly, inexplicably

hot.

Yanking Suguru 's arms away from his skin by the wrists, he stares down to where his palms blaze red and yellow and orange with heat.

'Uh, ' Suguru says, exhaling steam as his face turns a rosy pink that dissolves into heat-lit flesh along his throat, as if a flashlight were being shone through him. The inside of his mouth glows like a torch when he opens it, shining at the back like it 's being lit by a lantern.

'That 's new. Since when was he a fire breathing freak? ' Shoko says, brows raising, and Satoru laughs, brooding fully forgotten.

'You- you actually burned me! ' He crows, grinning as Suguru whips his head between him and Shoko, sputtering out the beginning of a denial.

'I didn 't mean to! ' He exclaims, his breath turning to vapor in the air, and then, 'how the fuck do I turn it off?! '

Satoru laughs again, a sharp, genuine bark of it as he lets Suguru 's wrists go, the stretch of his cheeks pulling at the handprint shaped burns on his face. They hurt as much as pain doesn 't anymore, stinging with residual heat, and they 're perfect for it. He 'll heal them in a moment, but it 's almost nice to take a mark made of love. He doesn 't want to rush its disappearance.

It 's a nice reminder. He isn 't alone, anymore. He can bear that anger, so long as it 's not his only friend.