“Sugu, my loveliest~?”

“Mm.”

“Sugu?”

“Mm?”

“Suguru…”

A quiet, long-suffering huff slips from Geto’s nose. His eyes flick sideways, sharp and tired, finally landing on the manchild draped across his shoulders like excess weight he refuses to acknowledge.

“Yes, Satoru?” he asks, voice smooth but thinly stretched.

“Mm,” Gojo hums, cheek pressing more firmly against Geto’s neck. “Nothin’.”

For the past hour, your sensei has been harassing—no, adoring—your other sensei with the kind of relentless affection that feels illegal to witness. The walk back from the mission drags on, moonlight spilling across cracked pavement and scorched ground still humming with cursed residue. All three available special grades had been dispatched to deal with it: Geto, Gojo, and you.

Which meant, unfortunately for you, that you were trapped several steps behind them, forced to endure Gojo’s clinginess and Geto’s saintlike tolerance in real time.

Gojo hangs off him shamelessly, long limbs hooked around Geto’s shoulders, fingers loosely laced at his chest as if this were the most natural way to exist. Geto, for his part, continues walking like this is merely an inconvenience—like he hasn’t been reduced to a human coat rack.

“Sugu~” Gojo sings again, syrup-sweet. “My Sugu-sugi-wugi? Suguru~”

You have no earthly idea how Geto-sensei manages not to snap. Maybe it’s years of discipline. Maybe it’s love. More likely, it’s because he’s resigned himself to the fact that he’s stuck with Gojo—permanently.

Their matching rings catch the moonlight as they move, twin flashes of silver glinting with every step. Proof, if you needed it, that this absurdity is mutual.