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Satoru's love was an encompassing and overwhelming thing. It was a curse as much as it was a blessing. Once he'd said the words aloud to Suguru a flood of constant affection and sweetness had followed. It was an excuse to always hold hands, to always be a few feet apart, within arm's reach, in bed together. They had always been close, but somehow their relationship became so much more, something tangible to be held between them. It should have been enough. It should have been more than enough.
Suguru was empty sometimes; more often than he cared to let on. He had been full of rage at first, as he bandaged cuts and kissed better bruises for Mimiko and Nanako caused by the people who were supposed to take care of them. And then for a while, he had been full of bliss, too distracted by Satoru's love and by their strange, small family to linger on his demons. Two teenagers had no right to take in kids, but Satoru made it seem like the most simple thing in the world. They all had nowhere else to go, so why shouldn't they stick together?
But now he was empty again, going through the routine, wondering if Satoru was enough to keep him from teetering over the edge into unknown territory. On days like this Suguru didn't get out of bed and Satoru would make sure the kids ate breakfast and got to school. When the house was quiet, he'd slip back into Suguru's room, which had somehow become their room, climb back into bed, and whisper sweet words until Suguru dozed off, lulled into complacency by the safety of being loved.
He had never been the type to be complacent. He had never been the type to sit back and let others bear the burden. But he knew there was no other way, not if he wanted to keep Satoru and the kids. Asking Satoru to run away with him had been a desperate last-ditch effort because he knew Satoru would never agree to the alternative. Three years later that alternative didn't seem right either; he still didn't think it was wrong, but neither was he sure it was the only answer to the question he'd never stopped asking himself. Suguru wished he knew what to do. They were protecting the kids, Satoru would always argue when Suguru brought it up late at night. It should be enough to protect those they'd been given to protect.
They fell into the routine of a normal family so easily. Satoru was the fun one, the one with all the smiles and jokes. Suguru was the one who had to be strict when something went wrong because Satoru would have let the kids run wild otherwise. Weeks passed at a time in a blur of grocery shopping, scraped knees and partially burned dinners. Suguru still didn't know what Satoru told the school district about who they were to the kids. Cousins, maybe, though he was always trying to get them all to call him dad, not completely satisfied with the moniker of 'Gojo-papa' that the twins had given him. Life was mundane and kind. It should have been enough.
It had been three years and Suguru didn't understand why he couldn't forget everything and stop feeling like shit.
"Do you want me to get you coffee from that place you like?" Satoru was in the doorway, casting a tall, thin shadow against the far wall. Suguru watched the shape of him shift from one foot to the other.
