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“Ah,” Suguru can’t help saying when he is met with resistance as he tries to open the metal door that he had forgotten to hold with his foot.
A voice pops up from behind, reminding him of the trespasser who shouldn’t be here in the first place.
“What?” Gojo Satoru asks while squatting on the floor, sandwiched between boxes filled with cones and badminton nets.
Suguru just faces the door with a sigh, not bothering to turn around and having to look at this stupid pair of black shades. “It’s locked,” he simply answers, not wasting his breath further and already thinking of a way to get out of this place safe and sane. Yes, sane, because he is sure that spending more than two minutes in the presence of the class lunatic with white hair will seriously damage his brain.
Said brain is still trying to process why, of all places in the entire school, the other had chosen the gymnasium basement where they keep all the equipment to skip class. It is an acknowledged fact that the Gojo Satoru doesn’t attend sport lessons, both teachers and students growing accustomed to the silence that came when his name was spoken during register until it wasn’t even spoken at all.
Suguru couldn’t care less, his interactions with the weird kid at the back of the class are inexistant to say the least. The other doesn’t seem to have any interest in exchanging a word with anyone, content with himself, whistling when walking in the corridors and always being the first to exit the room when the bell rings. He doesn’t even seem to have proper fun, only appearing here and there when it seems to suit him, a sly smile always adorning glossy lips as sunglasses mock his surroundings.
Annoyance is what Suguru feels each time he is unfortunate enough to cross the other’s path. But luckily, this unsettling character is constantly absent from Thursday’s afternoon PE, easing everybody’s nerves.
So, Suguru has to admit he was startled when he saw him lurking in here when he was told to store the remaining bibs after the last match. All in all, he is now stuck in a small, bad lightened room packed with shelves and boxes and very little space to breathe with the last person on earth he wanted to see. Fantastic.
A foot suddenly sprints forward and collides with the door he still stands in front of, the metal shaking under Suguru’s still hand.
What the hell, he blinks and stares at Gojo Satoru withdrawing his leg with phlegm and a grimace that translates anything but the evident pain that such a blow would have brought to anybody.
“Nope, doesn’t work,” the latter shrugs and goes back to his initial position, leaving a puzzled Suguru with furrowed eyebrows and a frown on his face.
Did he seriously think that would work, he tells himself, now staring at the slim figure of the other student who just gets his phone out of his uniform’s pocket and taps his thumbs on it, the artificial screeches of a game filling the silence.
“Guess we’re stuck until someone opens up from the outside” he says in an exasperated tone as if Suguru’s presence was like the plague, well, good news is that the feeling is mutual. “Who still makes this kind of doors anyway,” Gojo Satoru complains, absently tapping on his phone and uttering a ‘ah shit’ when the noise of a sword slicing flesh echoes in the air.
Suguru can feel a vein popping on his temple but decides to redirect his attention to the main problem: the door.
He sets a hand on his sweatpants’ pocket, its emptiness confirming what he already knew; he left his phone with his stuff in the locker room of course. A thought strikes him then, remembering he has a literature essay and a presentation to finish for tomorrow. Surely, it must be a little past five now and he unfortunately can’t hear any chatter or footsteps. Looks like his classmates completely forgot about him. Nice.
“Do you have the time?” he asks and the other shrugs as he flips his phone in sly fingers.
“Three past five, damn I’m gonna miss my evening show!”
Suguru sighs as he observes the lock, bending forward to see through the key hole. It is a rectangular handle, unmovable from the inside obviously, and Suguru has to agree with Gojo Satoru on this one. Who still keeps doors like these in a goddamn school? He tries to force the lock by pulling all his weight on the handle, shoulder pushing against the cold surface.
“Save your strength. Didn’t you see the kick I threw at it?”
Suguru huffs, blowing a strand of hair away from his eyes. “Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to do,” he answers as he draws a hairpin from his bun.
He knows there is one percent chance it will work, but what can he do anyway? May as well try the most hopeless tricks at his disposal, the current one including a hairpin like in cheesy spy movies. Shoko lent him one before sport class, saying his weak ass tie wouldn’t hold his shock of hair together during handball. Suguru hates to admit she was right, because he feels the tie literally break when he takes the pin out, ripping it in the process. Shit.
A mass of jet black hair cascades on his shoulders all at once and somehow he feels like Gojo’s absent eyes are resting on the back of his head with a newfound intensity. Ignoring the twitch at the back of his neck, he twists the pin between unsure fingers before inserting it in the lock, hoping all the movie shit he saw actually worked. Quite evidentially, it doesn’t.
He hears a snort from behind that makes that vein on his temple pop again.
“Man, don’t you have a credit card too?” and Suguru glares past his shoulder, deciding to take the snarky remark seriously.
“It wouldn’t work on that kind of lock.”
Another irritating sound of a warrior screaming ‘kill them all’ reminds him of the precious device in the other’s hand that could actually be useful.
“Could you make a call?” he asks, a little bit of hope blooming in his chest. Literature essay, here I am, he thinks.
“Nah man, network’s dead here.”
Hope is only treachery.
“Why, you wanna call your mom?”
“A classmate would be smarter actually,” he ignores, thinking for a brief instant of sending the hairpin right in that shit-eating grin for Gojo to choke on.
“I don’t have any of their number,” and before Suguru can suggest the group class they use for work he reminds himself the other has most likely never even opened the chat, his hypothesis confirmed right away with a “M’ not in the group chat either! What’s your name again?”
At that, Suguru looks away in plain annoyance. No, he really can’t stay here for much longer or he’ll have murderous urges.
He goes back to his vain attempts of deblocking the lock with the pin when he hears another snort followed by a very irritating set of laughs.
“You really do think it works like in spy movies?”
“At least I’m doing something to get us out of here instead of laughing like an ass.”
“Chill mister hairpin!”
Suguru slams a palm on the door as every hope he had to get out of here quickly twists at the same time the pin does in his fingers. “Getou Suguru” he responds as he reconsiders his idea about sending the hairpin in the other’s mouth. At least he would have a semblance of peace.
“I knew that already, I was just making conversation!” the Gojo kid laughs, taking the black haired student by surprise. “If you want I can try to kick it again,” he offers as he gets up, and Suguru finds that he can’t even oppose to that. He can literally hear the unfinished essay on his desk crying for him.
Without waiting, Gojo Satoru lets his right foot fly with -Suguru must say- impressive strength, hitting the thick surface of the door in a dull sound. That makes Suguru suddenly wonder why he doesn’t take part in sport class. He could easily enter the boxing club. But then he remembers that it’s probably because he’s a self-centred prick who doesn’t bother to meddle with the common people, at least that’s the image he gives off.
A second kick makes him almost wince from the noise.
“Hey that’s actually fun! Good way to let off steam!” and soon Gojo is grinning like a maniac and giving repeated kicks to the door, creating a cacophony of thuds and making the walls tremble. Suguru watches him with wide eyes, more worried about the boy’s sanity than the late night hours he’s going to spend working on his essay for a moment.
The print of a shoe emerges from under the handle, the metal slowly budging from feral blows. But it is not the only thing to budge unfortunately.
Suguru catches a second too late the pile of mats behind the other progressively falling apart, the one at the top suddenly sliding slightly before bringing the others with it, just above Gojo’s head.
“Hey-“ he warns but moves anyway, unconsciously grabbing the other’s collar and yanking him to avoid dealing with a ko student buried under several sticky sports mats. It wasn’t a good thing to do either as Gojo crashes against his chest and sends them flying against the shelf that was apparently right behind him, basket balls raining on them as soon as his back meets the fence and ripping a loud ‘ugh’ out of him.
In a ballet of orange spheres bouncing, electric blue mats lying flat on the floor and a loud ‘fuck’ from Gojo Satoru, they find themselves sprawled on the ground, Suguru crushed by the other’s weight. The sunglasses guy, despite his lean stature, is heavier than a fucking bear.
“Ouch” the latter whines, voice muffled in Suguru’s jacket and glasses hurting his chest. “What was that for?”
Suguru groans as he hears his back cracking when he tries to move upward and sets his weight on his elbows. Yet, his attempt to shift appears to be a total failure as something pulls him back, a sharp sting hurting his head and making his teeth clench.
“Fucking great,” he mumbles when he realizes a strand of hair is neatly stuck and perfectly twirling in an infernal loop around one of the shelf’s bar. “The mats were collapsing from your crazy stomping,” he finally answers, of course he was not getting any ‘thank you’.
Gojo Satoru lifts himself on both palms against Suguru’s sides, shifting his weight on the student’s legs and cutting his breath for a second. “Ah sorry,” he says in the least compassionate tone possible as he replaces his glasses on his redden nose with one hand. “You good?”
“My hair’s fucking stuck,” he groans again, blindly reaching for the knot as he still lies on his back.
“Wait, I got this!” Gojo says confidently as if he was just given a fun challenge to do.
Somehow the thought of the class lunatic touching his hair fills him with dread. “Uh no it’s o- uGH-“ Suguru chokes on air when the other literally sits on his stomach, knees caging him to the ground as Gojo leans over him, fingers reaching near where Suguru’s head rests uncomfortably against the shelf.
What is literally happening, Suguru ponders with wide eyes. Any rational person would get off of him first, both from embarrassment and practical reasons. But it was Gojo Satoru he was talking about, and he was far from showing an ounce of mundane rationality.
“Doesn’t happen a lot in spy movies, huh?” Gojo laughs as his hands work precisely, knuckles brushing against Suguru’s ear, and the gentleness with which he works on his hair surprisingly eases him. He didn’t think the Gojo Satoru could show such care.
Suguru scoffs in return, cursing his hair tie the most for letting him down and then himself for even thinking the dumbass pin technique would work. Long hair was such a pain in the ass sometimes.
Since he has nothing better to do, Suguru decides to sets eyes on anything in particular, which happens to be the other’s neck, and stares. Gojo's collar hangs a little lose around the skin, wrinkled by Suguru’s previous grip. The muscles of his throat stretch when he moves, creating a long line leading to his jaw. The student notices a small mark on his earlobe, a faint cut indicating he wore earrings before, perhaps silver rings, it would suit him. And then Suguru wanders without really knowing where his eyes want to settle. It seems they’re searching for another pair of eyes to look into, so they land on Gojo’s blue, blue gaze, and Suguru goes still for a brief second.
What contributes to the mystery that is Gojo Satoru are the two black circles always hiding his eyes, making it impossible to decipher where or what he looks at, blocking any curious glance to pierce through his shell. They say the eyes are the mirror of the soul, and Gojo Satoru hides his from the world, and now, Suguru understand why.
Beautiful is the only word that comes to his mind when he catches a glimpse of this turquoise sea. It is bright cyan, it is deep aquamarine, it is every shade of blue the universe can contain. Like a canvas covered in a million of hues and on which a painter threw drops of pearl white, creating constellations to his masterpiece to make it even more vivid. It is a precious treasure that doesn’t deserve to be seen by anyone. Suguru suddenly feels like a thief trying to steal the most precious divine gem from the gods and fears the consequences of such offense. But it is too late to look away, and so, like a moth drawn to a flame, he drowns in the endless light sheltered within these eyes. These eyes that hold ambition, that hold a childish mischief and genuine curiosity, and that are meeting Suguru’s soul right down.
“Cat got your tongue?” Gojo grins, glasses sliding a bit lower and revealing more of those mesmerizing azure jewels.
Suguru doesn’t even have the strength to retort something. Don’t get distracted his brain lectures him, but his mouth remains sealed. Is Satoru aware of this? Is he aware of his spellbinding eyes, of the sparkling spot on his lips that betrays his chapstick, of his white lashes that rain over his cheekbones like snowflakes, of his messy mop of hair that glow in a ridiculous heavenly halo under the dim lights?
Because Suguru is suddenly very aware.
He is about to say the other needs to lose some weight if he doesn’t want to get through his seat in class when Gojo leans over him even more, a scent of raspberries and pomegranate hitting his nostrils all at once and making him dizzy.
“Aha! All done!” Gojo exclaims when he successfully gets the better of the hair knot, glowing with pride.
He then combs the tangled hair with a satisfied smile, engrossed in his success and apparently clueless about what the tender gesture does to a very silent Suguru.
Getting a grip on himself, the latter brushes off these confused bubbly feelings that blurry his mind and gulps before speaking.
And the moment Suguru utters a ‘thank you’, the door opens violently and hits the wall as the silhouette of a girl appears in the doorframe, Shoko raising one brow at the scene displaying in front of her.
“And here I thought I’ll find you crying like a baby,” she deadpans, eyes going from her friend to the renown lunatic of their class.
Suguru quickly shoves the other off him, hearing an outraged ‘Oi!’ as he gets back on his feet, impatient to exist this shithole and the intoxicating scent of raspberries clinging to his skin.
“Thank you,” he taps his friend’s shoulder and walks away, Shoko following close after glancing one last time at the infamous Gojo lone wolf still sitting on the floor, a wide grin spread on his face.
“See ya Suguru!” echoes in the empty gymnasium, words ringing with a bubbling laugh and filling space with a promise.
Suguru can’t help the smile shaping his lips as he hears his name roll on the other’s tongue.
“You look fucking stupid,” Shoko says next to him as they reach the locker room. Suguru picks up uniform and bag before stepping outside.
Turning to his friend, he asks, “You wouldn’t happen to have a hairpin by any chance?”