Chapter Text
September 6th, Friday: 4:35 P.M.
Two days had gone by since Satoru had met with his advisor and his voice was currently sing-songing through the opening doors of the library, “Suguru Geto!”, quickly quieting down as the judging eyes of multiple students stare him down.
He knew Suguru would be in here, thinking back to when Geto had explained his routine trip to the library every Sunday for studying, as the café was closed.
Suguru’s purple eyes looked up in question as he processed the voice, resting once he found out it was just the big-smiled idiot named Gojo. Pausing his loud music, Suguru reaches to take his airpod out of his ears as Satoru walks up to him.
Satoru sauntered over to where Suguru was sitting, dragging a chair beside him and slouching into it.
“The library is not the place to bring your personality with you, Gojo. You might be forced to read a book of rules… scary, I know,” Suguru pokes fun at Satoru with an evident tone of sarcasm, as Satoru isn’t the type of person to read or learn rules.
Satoru gasps theatrically, “Geto, don’t scare me like that… the word ‘read’ truly sent a shiver down my spine,”
“You’re an idiot,”
Satoru grabs at the part of his hoodie that was over his heart dramatically, “How sad. That’s really hurtful of you to say,”
“Why are you here, Gojo?” Suguru asks, trying to get Gojo back on track, as he assumed Satoru had come here for something specific.
“What, a guy can’t come to the library in a leisurely pastime? Joking, of course. I’d never do that. I came to ask a question, and that is… Do you take Human Behaviors in Organizations?” Satoru asks, leaning his chair back to grab a book about monkeys, his immature-self grinning at the cover picture with a collage of the primates.
“Are you stalking me or something? Yes, I do, but why is that important?” His black eyebrow raises, creating a subtle wrinkle on his forehead.
Satoru rolls his eyes, “It’s important because I was thinking of taking that elective,” He flips through the book of monkeys, “I was simply wondering if I’d have a chance to take the same class as you, and now my wonders have been answered. Now, do you take the Monday/Wednesday or the Tuesday/Thursday class— oh, and what times?” Satoru grins, pleased to find that Geto does in fact take HBO.
“You’re very eager to take this class with me, I’m honored, honestly. I do Tuesday/Thursdays, 11:00 till 12:15,”
“In the morning?”
“No, I take HBO at eleven in the night and stay up until twelve because the university definitely offers a class at that time. Yes, Satoru, in the morning, of course it’s in the morning,” Suguru shakes his head in amazement of how someone could be as odd as Satoru.
Satoru gets up and pushes the chair back to where it was before, shoving the monkey book into whatever gap in the shelf he could find, as he forgot where he found it. “Well, expect to see me on Tuesday at 11 in the morning, ”
Suguru nods as Satoru walks away, “I’ll see you.”
✮✮✮
September 10th, Tuesday: 11:00 A.M.
Tuesday morning, right at 11:00 A.M., Suguru is sitting at the back desk, the chair behind him empty. There was only one row behind his. Suguru figured that sitting in the back-most row would make him look like a complete loser, so he settled for the one in front of it. It’s the perfect spot (in his preference). There’s a spacious counter along the side to put his belongings on, it’s private enough compared to the front row seats, it’s not too bright, the general area is rather empty, and finally, he’s parted from the idiots who have no clue what they’re doing.
Suguru isn’t exceptionally smart, but also isn’t a complete idiot. He’s just smart enough to maintain generally good grades, nothing dazzling, but nothing worth worrying over either. He knows how to skim a textbook, how to make an essay sound more thoughtful than it really is, and how to show up to class just often enough to avoid suspicion. He’s the kind of student who doesn’t shine, but also doesn’t sink. Above average, but not overly above— just right.
Satoru is one of those people who you’d be able to call ‘exceptionally smart’. He was just born that way, no questions asked. The kind of person who never really had to try, but somehow still managed to ace everything. He doesn’t study so much as glance, doesn’t prepare so much as improvise, and yet always lands on his feet. It’s not arrogance, it’s just how his brain works. Annoyingly effortless. Brilliant in that casual, almost careless way that makes everyone else feel like they’re running uphill with bricks tied to their ankles.
Speaking of Satoru, here he comes, fashionably late, of course. Just over three minutes past 11:00, like he planned it that way. Not enough to piss anyone off, just enough to make an entrance.
He strolls into the class with all the casual confidence of someone who knows eyes will follow him whether he tries or not. The door doesn’t slam behind him, but it might as well have with the way heads subtly turn in his direction. His white hair stands out like a bright star in clear night skies of neutrals and hoodie hoods, and it doesn’t take long for people to start calling out to him.
“Satoru? I didn’t know you were taking this class,”
“Oh hey— come sit over here!”
“I got a spot for you next to me, dude,”
A few classmates, mostly girls and a couple of familiar faces from other business courses, offer their spots eagerly, sliding their bags off chairs and angling their bodies to invite him in. It’s a small ripple of attention.
Satoru flashes a few charming smiles, makes a joke or two, nothing too dismissive, just something to pull away from the crowd. His long strides carry him right past every offer, every outstretched hand or pushed out chair, until he reaches the back row, comfortably removed from the spotlight. And more importantly, right behind Suguru.
Without hesitating, he sinks into the empty chair like it had been waiting for him all along, stretching his legs out and setting his bag on the floor with a satisfied sigh.
The thing with all these other people, they’re all… well, fake. They might be close enough to call Gojo by his personal name, “Satoru”, but the name they address him with is insignificant if they only are friends with him to rise their ranks in the grand scale of popularity.
“Good morning, Geto. Are you surprised by my presence or did you remember our meaningful conversation in the library?” Satoru grins, his head resting on his hand as his eyes watch the flowing hair on the back of Suguru’s noggin.
“You don’t deserve an answer when your questions are stupid,” Suguru turns around to face Satoru, “I was half-expecting you to sit with the beggars over there,” the beggars are referring to the students by the window who were asking Satoru to sit with them, not actual beggars, of course. See, Suguru just calls people any names he can spew out, whether it be ‘beggars’, ‘herd of cows’, or even ‘the apes’ for his least favorite group of people.
“Sit with the group which has the most plastic smiles I’ve ever seen? No thanks…” Satoru’s lip curls in disgust as he looks at the artificial expressions across the room.
“Glad to hear you’re aware of that— I thought I was going insane after seeing how many people actually believe those smiles are genuine,” Geto adds, a shiver running down his spine as he looks at the group of uncanny grins.
Suguru turns back around to face the front of the room as the instructor clears her throat, says “quiet down” about three times, and begins the lesson, her short body reaching to grab the projector’s remote over the table, eventually getting a hold of it and turning the screen on.
✮✮✮
After 70 minutes of droning on, the lesson is dismissed, all the students scurrying to grab their bags and leave, looking like a passing army of ants as they walk out.
Satoru and Suguru were the last to leave the room, both unconsciously waiting for each other, Satoru slowing down the pace of how he would usually pack up and Suguru making his steps wider to match Satoru’s stride. Neither of them noticed what they were doing, even as they walked through the halls. A comfortable absence of conversation was shared between them.
Finally, once they reach the spot in the hallway where they usually split off, Suguru slows down, casting a glance toward Satoru like he’s about to say something? like maybe a quick “bye” or “see you later”, but nothing comes out. The moment lingers awkwardly for half a second before he gives up on the thought and continues down his own path, turning into the familiar stretch of white-tiled floors. He’s halfway down it when he hears Satoru’s voice. Loud, unmistakable, and entirely too enthusiastic.
“Geto— oh… Bye, Geto!” Satoru’s voice cuts through the hum of chatter in the crowded hallway like a siren. When Suguru looks back, Satoru is grinning wide, waving like they haven’t seen each other in weeks instead of seconds.
Suguru doesn’t bother yelling over the noise; he just stifles a laugh, fighting the amused smile threatening to tug at his lips. It’s so like Satoru to be that loud, that noticeable, even when doing something as simple as saying goodbye. Instead of responding vocally, Suguru just raises his hand in a casual wave, shaking his head a little as he turns back around, entertained by how unique of a personality Satoru has.
✮✮✮
September 10th, Tuesday: 4:03 P.M.
Both Suguru and Satoru’s classes have just finished up classes for the day, Suguru (of course) walking to the café, unaware that the loud footsteps behind him are Satoru’s. Or at least, until Satoru speaks. Loudly.
“Suguru Geto!” Satoru yells unnecessarily, as he was only a few steps away from Suguru.
Suguru turns around slowly, his eyes narrowed, knowing only one person who would call him like that, “Are you forever going to call me by my full government name everytime you greet me?”
Satoru nods, “It goes with the flow,” his arms come up to wiggle like an octopus’s tentacles. “I was following you for about two minutes and you didn’t even know. What if I was here to kidnap you? You wouldn’t even know it was coming…” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue three times like a disappointed mother.
“I’m surprised you could keep your mouth closed for an entire two minutes— is that a new record for you?” Suguru says, slowing down for a moment so Satoru could walk beside him, walking normally once he caught up.
“Wrong— once, I hadn’t spoken for a whole three hours because I sat next to a very tired old man on a flight. When I would open my mouth to say something to him, his eyes would just droop back to sleep. It was a very sad three hours,” Satoru wipes a non-existent tear from his eye, sniffling nothing but air.
Suguru suppresses his laugh to his best ability before putting on a sarcastically sad voice, “ Three full hours? Heartbreaking…Do you ever think that the old man was pretending to sleep because he didn’t want to converse with you?”
“What? No way— people love talking to me. Old guys just get tired quickly,”
“Yes, of course. Now, I would love to ask you how ‘old’ this man was, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” Geto puts his hands up in mock surrender.
Suguru wasn’t completely sure if Satoru had understood his tease. The whole thing was that the man was probably in his 30s, meaning he probably wouldn’t take long naps like that, thus meaning Satoru was being ignored. But, Satoru can be a few seconds (days) slow when it comes to understanding jokes with an above average complexity.
✮✮✮
They made their way to the crosswalk, standing beside each other as they waited for the sign to flash for pedestrians, engulfed by a crowd of people.
A gust of wind blew through the crowd, sending chills through everyone’s bodies. Suguru’s hair flew right up to Satoru’s face.
Suguru inelegantly tried to stuff his hair around the hood of his sweatshirt, probably causing a knot or two somewhere by his ends.
“Wow Geto, your hair smells very nice. Is it the shampoo?” Satoru grins, shooing away the last few strands, “I think your hair wanted a kiss— it practically drew to me,”
“Sorry but, I doubt that. My hair has both dignity and standards. And yes, it most likely is the shampoo,” Suguru says as the light turned gestured for the pedestrians to walk, illuminating in yellow.
They walked amongst the crowd, Satoru getting hit by some little kid with a balloon sword once getting to the other side.
“Geto, I’m under attack. Help,” Satoru held in his laughter to sound afraid of the kid.
“Help yourself,” Suguru walks to the end of the street, waiting and watching Satoru as he goes up against a small boy.
“He’s evil, Geto! Evil! I need backup,”
Suguru lingers by the end of the street, arms loosely crossed, the faintest grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He watches as Satoru, crouched to meet the small child at eye level, takes hit after dramatic hit from an inflated balloon sword. Every swing from the kid is wild and uncoordinated, but full of joy, tiny fists gripping the plastic handle with determination. The reason for the strong determination is left unknown by the child. Maybe he’s psychotic and has urges to kill, who knows? Satoru naturally leans into it with all the theatrics he can muster, letting himself fall backward in slow motion, groaning like he’s been mortally wounded, only to spring back up with exaggerated flair for the next “attack.”
Eventually, Suguru exhales a quiet breath, shoulders loosening as he steps forward and meanders his way toward them. The dry leaves covering the concrete crunch lightly under his shoes. As he approaches, Satoru catches his eye with a mock-pleading look, like he’s calling for backup, just before taking another balloon hit straight to the chest.
Suguru lets out a low chuckle, shakes his head in false-disapproval, and finally joins the two of them in the makeshift battlefield of a random street in New York City.
As he approaches, the kid pauses their attack, looking up with bright eyes, as if evaluating whether Suguru is friend or foe. Satoru, now sprawled dramatically on the ground, lifts his head slightly to call out, “Reinforcements, good— I was about to meet my doom,”
“Yeah? Looks like you’re holding up just fine,” Suguru says, his voice light as he stops beside them. He crouches, resting his forearms casually on his knees, making eye contact with the little warrior. “Mind if I join the battle?”
The child has almost a ferocious look in his eyes as he nods, moving over a bit to get in position to fight both of them. Suguru accepts it with mock gravity, lifting an eyebrow toward Satoru. “Alright, what’s the mission?”
Satoru shields his eyes with his forearm, still lying on the concrete like a fallen soldier. “Destroy the tyrant! But, uh—gently. That tyrant’s like, four.”
After a few more minutes of playing around, the kid gets tired and the parent silently thanks the two of them for whiling away some time with the kid. The parent slings the boy over their back and scurries off to wherever it was that they needed to be.
It’s enjoyable for everyone, the kid was obviously thrilled to beat two people up, the parent was relieved to have a chance to breathe, and both Suguru and Satoru were stifling their laughs in between pleas of mercy from the child, which must mean those two were finding delight in this small boy’s antics.
Suguru and Satoru make it to the café around 4:17, taking double the amount of time it would usually take for Suguru to walk down there by himself, due to a child who decided to pull a balloon sword out on Satoru. What an eventful afternoon.