day bled into night, unusually warmer than the previous days, making it easier to smell the humidity off the soil and grass within the first minutes of darkness. it’s the perfect combination to make insects of all kind drop their guard, like now.
suguru stands below the lamplights, only a step away from the vending machines and his face is lit with the artificial lights but he doesn’t mind the reflection. his attention is focused on his palm, which lays open in the air as he watches a big, brown moth land on its surface. a piece of its wing is missing - bitten off, more like. the little thing struggles to even reach a vertical line with them, before they collapse back at its sides.
this place is full of broken things, he thinks.
sorcerers were a rare breed and so much rarer it was to make them submit to the rules and formalities of jujutsu society as it was. yaga’d been vocal about it, just the right amount to keep them aware, but leaving out any personal bias that could put him in a bad position with the higher ranks. they pulled boys and girls from across the country, the dregs of sorcery, until they filled up the classrooms with the bare minimum attendance. he figured they brought Haibara from the countryside, judging his accent. Nanami? he supposed a witch or two could be traced back in the family tree. if the letter came now, he doubted it would convince him the same way it did back then.
bitterness coats his tongue in a dull flavor. his fingers curl instinctively and the moth is crushed beneath. it’s late when he notices, the creature resembling pieces of torn paper, no hint of its previous nature. suguru clicks his tongue and wipes the remains lazily against his pants.
he hears more than he notices footsteps coming from behind. he’s pulled from his position before he can do anything about it, ‘ satoru? ’
stale air is replaced by a familiar scent, the solidness of a body pressed against his back and satoru’s arms are fast to wound around his waist. needy? probably, but he doesn’t mind. his gestures have the petulance of a kid whose favorite toy has been returned to him, though he knows satoru’s attachment has more depth to it than ownership. suguru’s head tilts only slightly, until he can make out the messy hair haloed by the moonlight.
‘ did yaga send you to find me? or are you that enthusiastic for conversation? both seem likely. ’ he lets out