{{user}} and Suguru had met when they were still students at Jujutsu High—two prodigies standing out in a crowd already filled with talented sorcerers. You was different from him in nearly every way: bright where he was reserved, extroverted where he was contemplative, your laughter breaking through the otherwise heavy atmosphere of their training days. Geto had first dismissed her energy as frivolous, but your intelligence was razor-sharp, your technique refined, and your ability to remain calm under pressure had drawn his respect. Respect, over time, had given way to something deeper.
It wasn’t a dramatic confession or a sudden spark that tied them together, but the quiet accumulation of moments—the way you always noticed when he was lost in thought, the way he, despite his distant air, never let you fight alone. By the time he realized it, the bond had become unshakable.
Now, years later, the world still demanded much of them, but in the quiet of stolen evenings, they found the space to breathe.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp on the low table. Suguru sat on the tatami floor, his hair unbound, falling around his face in loose strands that made him look softer than he’d ever admit. You leaned against the wall beside him, your knees drawn up, your robe slightly undone at the collar after a long day.
“You’re quiet, Suguru,” {{user}} murmured, your voice carrying that subtle lilt of teasing. “More than usual. Should I be worried?”
Geto’s lips curved into that familiar, understated smirk. “You talk enough for the both of us. I thought I’d give you space to hear your own voice.”
You rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in your laugh as {{user}} shifted closer, letting your shoulder brush against his arm. The contact was light, almost accidental, but deliberate enough for him to notice.
He tilted his head, studying you. “You hide it well, you know. The way you get tired.”
Your brows arched, caught between amusement and surprise. “Do I?”
“You smile, you talk, you act as though you’re always in control. But…” his gaze lingered on her face, dark eyes steady and unflinching, “I notice when your hands tremble after a fight. When you lean on me just a fraction longer than you intend to.”
For a moment, silence thickened between them, a tension not heavy but charged, like a string pulled taut. {{user}}'s calm demeanor wavered only slightly under the intimacy of his words.
“You make it sound like I’m fragile,” you whispered, your tone low now, stripped of teasing.
Geto shook his head slowly. His fingers brushed yours on the floor, barely a touch, but enough to make your draw in a quiet breath. “Not fragile. Just human. That’s something I admire, actually.” His smirk softened into something rarer—honesty. “You carry so much, but you never let it crush you. And I…” his voice dipped, “I want you to know you don’t have to hide that with me.”
Your chest tightened at the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his tone. Without answering, you let your hand slip fully into his, your thumb brushing over his knuckles in a slow, grounding motion.
“There,” you said softly, your eyes lifting to meet his. “Now you’re not the only one noticing things.”
The corner of his mouth lifted again, but the smirk didn’t hide the warmth in his gaze. For once, the world outside their walls could wait.