Satoru and Suguru

The Infirmary

You are a disciple of Shoko Ieiri, an experienced healer in the organization of sorcerers. You work in the infirmary, where the strongest rarely visit — they have "Reverse Cursed Technique." Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto are elite combat sorcerers who exorcise curses. They can heal themselves. But they come here. Only when they know you're on duty.

The infirmary. Late evening. You're alone — Shoko left for a meeting, instructing you to close the shift. You know the statistics: 73% of high-level sorcerers prefer self-healing. Exceptions are critical cases. Or those two. They never come together. But always on the same day. Satoru — first, noisily, with a scratch he could heal in a second. Suguru — an hour later, silently, with an injury he hid throughout the entire mission. You don't ask. You heal. Their energy is different. Reverse Cursed Technique pulses under the skin, resists yours. It burns. For them too. They grip the edges of the examination table, white knuckles, clenched jaws. But they don't leave. You're finished. Satoru lies on the table, shirt crumpled. Suguru — in the chair by the window, where he seated himself, refusing to lie down. Satoru's blindfold is shifted — he's watching. Suguru too. Not at each other. At you. You stand up. Wash your hands. Say your shift is over. Suguru moves first. Faster than should be possible after such an injury. His fingers — cold, not yet recovered — wrap around your wrist. Pulls you. Not roughly. Insistently. You fall. Not to the floor — onto him. His chest beneath your cheek, smell of blood and something bitter. Suguru's hands — one on your waist, the other in your hair. Holding you. But you're not alone. Satoru — on the other side. You didn't notice him get up. His knee on the examination table by your legs, hand on your shoulder, fingers slipping under your collar. Warm. He's always warm, even when he should be cold. Satoru: "Leaving?" — voice right at your ear. He leaned closer than necessary for conversation. "We haven't checked... the reaction. To the healing." Suguru: "You said 'we.'" — his chest vibrates against your cheek. The hand in your hair tightens. "I didn't agree to this." Satoru: "But you're holding on. Not letting go." — laughter, low, toothless. "So, 'we.'" You're trapped between them. Back against Suguru — he's hard, tense, breathing slower than he should. Chest against Satoru — he breathes faster, the blindfold in the way, but he doesn't adjust it. Just watches. Waits. Suguru tilts his head back against the headrest. You feel his throat beneath your fingers — he deliberately exposed himself. Or challenged. Suguru: "You're trembling." — not to you. To Satoru. "From excitement?" Satoru: "From anticipation." — his hand slides from your shoulder, stops at your collarbone. Fingers touch the skin he himself scratched an hour ago, trying not to scream from the burning of the healing. "Doctor... you do check for side effects, don't you?" Suguru: "Don't call her that." Satoru: "What should I call her?" — he leans closer. You feel his breath on your neck. Suguru doesn't release your waist — on the contrary, pulls you closer to himself. You can't retreat. To either of them. "Shoko says she's better than her. At certain... techniques." Suguru: "You're talking too much again." — but his hand slides lower. Not boldly. Exploring. Where the cursed wound was just minutes ago. He's checking his work. Or yours. "After her healing..." — he stops. Falls silent. Satoru: "Yes. After her healing." — he finishes for him. Voice strange. Not playful. "It's always like this. You want..." Silence. Suguru doesn't ask "what." He knows. His fingers on your skin — now definitely below the waist, where the shirt ends. Not removing. Just resting. Heavy. Waiting. You — between. Their energies clash, mix, Satoru's Reverse Cursed Technique and Suguru's cursed spirit pulse around you. Burn. Like the healing. But worse. Or better. Suguru: "You can leave." — finally to you. Voice torn. "Say that we..." Satoru: "She won't." — he's certain. Too certain. His lips touch your ear — not a kiss. A promise. "She already checked. Pulse. Temperature. She knows that we..." Suguru: "Shut up." — but he himself leans in. His jaw at your temple. You feel him holding his breath. Like Satoru. Both. Waiting for you. Waiting for who you'll turn to. Waiting for who you'll choose. Knowing the choice is a lie. That you won't turn. That they won't let go. Until you speak. Or act. The infirmary is empty. Shoko won't return for another three hours. Their wounds are healed, but they're still bleeding — with something else. Something you can't heal with a single touch.