Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Satoru

March 31st, 2025

Satoru Gojo has never worked a day in his life, not in the way most people define it. Born into overwhelming privilege, he’s never known the grind of hourly wages or the pressure of making ends meet. Hard work, to him, was a concept observed from a distance, something other people did. That is, until his third year of university.

Naturally, he attends one of Japan’s most prestigious institutions. Nothing less would suffice for the heir of the Gojo family, the powerhouse behind Gojo International Holdings (GIH), a corporate empire with branches stretching from New York to Singapore to London. From childhood, Satoru was groomed for legacy. This was always supposed to be his path.

But whether it’s a path he actually wants ? That’s never really mattered.

Expectations were etched into his bones before he knew what choice felt like. He is the Gojo heir, the face of the future, and deviation isn’t an option. Still, sometimes, in quiet moments he rarely admits to having, he wonders what life would look like without the weight of his name. What would he have pursued if the world hadn’t already decided for him? Medicine? Too clinical. The thought of being elbow-deep in someone’s guts or managing entitled patients was a hard pass. Education never really stuck either, he could memorize things, sure, but it never meant anything to him.

But astrology… that was different. Since he was a kid, he’d been drawn to the stars. He would spend hours and hours reading books on horoscopes, ruling planets, elemental compatibility. He found comfort in it, the patterns, archetypes, predictions. It made the chaos of life feel a little more manageable. But now, at twenty, he knows better. There’s no career in something his father scoffs at as “nonsense.” Just a passing interest. A hobby. Something to keep tucked in his back pocket when no one’s looking.

Still, sometimes he wonders… if he hadn’t been born a Gojo, what kind of person would he have been?

It’s not that Satoru resents the idea of earning a business degree or eventually taking the reins of the Gojo empire… not exactly. What he does resent is the pressure that comes with it. The weight of constant expectation, the ever-present anxiety of knowing that excellence isn’t encouraged but demanded.

His parents have always expected him to be the best at everything he touches. And for the most part, he’s delivered. From classical piano to flawless calligraphy to charming social finesse, Satoru’s stacked with skills, but none of them ever felt optional to him. Taking over the family business doesn’t just require competence. It demands perfection. There’s no room for failure. Not in the Gojo household.

And while he’s never had to worry about the basics, food, shelter, stability… Satoru still works, just in different ways. He's not stupid, not by a long shot. He simply takes longer than others sometimes. He has to push harder to keep up, to grasp certain concepts. He learns like a regular person, but lives in a world where regular isn’t good enough.

His new roommate, though? That’s a different story entirely. (But we’ll get to him later.)

For now, it’s enough to say this: Satoru is entering his third year of university. Which means in just two more years, he’ll graduate — and walk straight into the golden cage that is GIH. Two more years of freedom, give or take, before he’s locked into a future he never really chose.

— — — — — — — — — — — 

Satoru sat at the sleek desk in his room, the glow of his computer monitor casting a cool blue light across his pale features. The hum of the LED screen reflected in his glasses, giving his snow-white hair a faint, icy hue. In the dim light, he looked almost unreal… smooth skin, sculpted bone structure, lips pressed in faint concentration as his eyes, a piercing shade of blue, flicked over his semester schedule.

It was almost unfair, how perfect he looked. A face like his invited admiration or envy… sometimes both. But Satoru hardly noticed. He was too busy muttering to himself as he compared course times with train schedules, trying to predict how long the daily commute from his parents’ penthouse to campus would take.

For the past two years, he’d lived at home, riding the train in and out of central Tokyo like clockwork. It wasn’t ideal, but it was comfortable. Reliable. Now, with the start of his third year just a week away, he was attempting to piece together a new routine. His phone buzzed against the glass of his desk, interrupting his thoughts. Still focused on his screen, he reached out blindly, flipping the device over with a flick of his wrist. The glow of the message lit up his hand, finally drawing his gaze from the monitor.

[Shoko]: hey utahime nanami and yu are going to the bars next weekend for opening weekend. u comin?

Satoru has never been one to say no to going out. 

[Me]: duh

[Me]: u think im ever gonna say no to drinking???

[Shoko]: alcoholism isnt a good look on u satoru

[Shoko]: girls dont find it attractive,,, especially since you cant hold ur liquor

[me]: not trying to impress anyone. im here for a good time, not a long time ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و

[Shoko]: thats apparent 

Just as Satoru was mid-text, a soft knock tapped at his door. He barely had time to glance up before it creaked open and his mother’s head peeked in, her long black hair cascading over one shoulder. She gave him that familiar gentle look, the kind only a mother could pull off, calm and warm all at once.

“Hi, honey,” she said softly. “Would you come out to the living room? Your father and I want to talk to you.”

He blinked up at her, then turned back to his screen. “Sure, just give me a sec. I’m trying to figure out which train lines run early enough for me to make it to class next week.”

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, hesitating. “Actually… that’s what we wanted to talk to you about.”

That got his attention. He turned toward her again, brows pulling together slightly. “Okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She smiled, and he returned it… soft and familiar. She closed the door behind her, leaving Satoru in the blue glow of his monitor.

His mother had always been the softer presence in his life. Warm and empathetic. The kind of person who made you feel like she saw you, even when you weren’t speaking. She never pushed him, just supported where she could. He admired that about her.

His father, on the other hand… was another story.

Satoru didn’t doubt that he cared, in his own rigid, distant way, but affection wasn’t something his father expressed often. He was always working, always planning. Even when Satoru was a child, the man felt more like a looming authority than an actual presence. And now, years later, he was the one pushing hardest to shove Satoru into the mold of the Gojo legacy. And no matter how much Satoru tried to accept that path… he couldn’t shake the resentment simmering just beneath the surface.

Satoru leaned back in his chair, stretching until his spine popped in a series of satisfying cracks. A low groan slipped from his throat as he flexed his fingers, rolling out the stiffness from too long at his desk. With a resigned sigh, he adjusted his glasses and closed his laptop with a quiet click. He rose from his seat and padded into the living room, where his parents were already waiting. His mother sat on the couch, legs crossed, delicately sipping from a porcelain teacup. Across from her, his father sat rigid in an armchair, eyes fixed on his laptop screen as his fingers moved swiftly over the keys.

Satoru dropped into the loveseat across from them, sinking into the cushions as silence settled between the three of them like a held breath. The only sound in the room was the soft clacking of his father’s keyboard. Finally, after a few more keystrokes, his father closed the laptop with practiced precision and looked up. The shift in energy was immediate. His father’s gaze, sharp and unreadable, landed on Satoru like a weight. His mother set her cup down gently, the delicate clink of porcelain against the saucer cutting through the quiet.

Satoru’s mother was the first to break the silence. She set her teacup down gently on the saucer and straightened her posture, casting a brief glance at her husband before turning her attention back to Satoru. Clearing her throat softly, she said, “Satoru, with this semester marking the beginning of your third year, that means you’ll be graduating in just two years.” Her hand came to rest lightly on her husband’s knee as she looked at him, then returned her gaze to Satoru. “Which also means… you’ll be preparing to join GIH.”

“Right,” Satoru says, glancing back and forth between his father and mother with a slightly confused look on his face.

What the hell are they getting at?

That’s when Satoru’s father finally spoke. “When you graduate, you’ll be living on your own.” He pauses for a moment before continuing "We've decided it would be best to set you up in a house near campus for the next two years, give you some time to adjust to independent living.”

Satoru’s face twisted in confusion. His brows pulled together. “And you’re just telling me this now?” he asked, incredulous. “Living on my own? The semester starts next week… how am I supposed to find a place in time?”

His mother quickly chimed in, her voice soft and reassuring. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve already arranged everything.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hesitating. “You’ll be living with a roommate. We don’t know much about him, but… we do know he attends the university.”

Satoru stared at her, blinking. “So I’m not living alone? I’m living with some stranger I’ve never met, and you’re just now dropping this on me?” His voice rose slightly as he stood, frustration bubbling over. “Don’t you think that’s a lot to spring on someone all at once?”

His father’s gaze snapped to him, cold and sharp. “Do not interrupt your mother.” The words landed like a slap. Satoru froze, jaw tight, before slowly sitting back down with a sharp exhale through his nose.

“We just thought this would be best for you,” his mother said gently. “A chance to get used to living on your own… without us.”

Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shutting tight in frustration. “How long have you two been planning this? Why am I only hearing about it now?” Living with someone I’ve never even met… this is bullshit.

His father let out a quiet sigh. “Satoru, don’t be dramatic. Everything was finalized weeks ago. We just hadn’t had a chance to tell you.” He reached over, resting a hand on his wife’s. “Your mother wanted to wait until I was back. I’ve been overseas for the past month, this was the earliest we could sit down together.”

Satoru scoffed. “But—”

“This isn’t up for discussion, Satoru,” his father cut in sharply, locking eyes with him. The kind of look that didn’t leave room for argument. Satoru knew if he pushed any further, he’d only be making things worse for himself. He let out a slow breath, lowering his head in defeat. “You’ll be moving in Saturday,” his father continued, already rising from his seat. “Get everything packed before then.” Without another word, he walked toward the balcony, no doubt stepping right into a business call. He rarely went more than ten minutes without a phone in his hand or a screen in front of him.

Satoru’s mother reached across the small table, her tone softer as she tried to bridge the tension. “I know this all feels sudden, sweetheart… but I really do think this will be good for you.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “And who knows… maybe your roommate turns out to be someone great. Mei Mei’s mother and I met the same way, and we’ve been best friends ever since.” She offered him a small, hopeful smile. Satoru glanced at her, forcing a smile in return, more for her sake than his. He could tell this wasn’t her plan; this had his father written all over it.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice low, eyes drifting toward the balcony where his father was already deep in conversation. “I’ll start packing tomorrow.” He turned and headed back to his room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Are you fucking kidding me…

Suguru

March 31st, 2025

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???

The words practically screamed inside Suguru’s head as he stared down at the glowing screen in front of him. His long black hair spilled over his shoulders, a few loose strands catching the light from the monitor. The snake bites at the corners of his mouth and the small hoop in his right brow shimmered faintly, glinting every time he shifted in his seat. His hair was tucked neatly behind one ear, revealing the sleek bar of his industrial piercing, along with matte black gauges that stretched his lobes.

Irritated, he reached up with his right arm, the one inked with a coiling snake that wrapped around his forearm and slithered halfway up his bicep, and absentmindedly tugged at his gauge, a nervous habit he hadn’t kicked. His dark eyes scanned the email again, slower this time, just to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding it. But no… it still said what he thought it did.

Dear Suguru Geto,

We hope this message finds you well.

We are writing to inform you of an update to your housing placement for the upcoming academic year. Due to an unexpected system error , we regret to inform you that we were unable to honor your original roommate requests with Riko Amanai and Misato Kuroi.

We understand how important living arrangements are to your college experience, and we sincerely apologize for this inconvenience.

The good news: A space has become available in one of our upperclassmen campus houses — a two-bedroom residence located at 313 Tenzen Row , just a short walk from central campus. The house includes a full kitchen, furnished common area, and on-site laundry.

You will be sharing the space with one other student , whose name and contact information will be provided in your move-in packet. We believe this arrangement will provide a comfortable and focused environment for your studies.

Please see the attached document for your updated housing details, move-in times, and next steps.

If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to reach out to the Housing & Residential Life Office at [email protected] or call (212) 555-1421.

We appreciate your flexibility and look forward to welcoming you to campus.

Warm regards,
Cassandra Amezawa
Assistant Director of Housing
Tenzen University

At the bottom of the email, in neatly formatted text, sat the contact information for Satoru Gojo , his new roommate, apparently. Suguru barely spared it a glance. The name meant nothing to him, and he didn’t care to make it mean anything, not right now. The nerve it took to casually drop a stranger’s number beneath such a ridiculous update only made his jaw tighten further.

He squinted at the email again, brow furrowing in disbelief. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, the words sharp and low like a warning. His fingers curled into a loose fist before he exhaled and leaned back in his chair, letting his head drop briefly against the backrest as if trying to physically reset his frustration. But the tension in his chest remained. He grabbed his phone off the desk with more force than necessary and swiped to his contacts. Without hesitation, he called Misato .

She was the level-headed one, always had been. Calm where Riko was chaotic, practical where Riko was impulsive. Riko had her own charm, sure, but this wasn’t a moment for jokes or dramatics. This was a moment for what the hell do I do? and Misato had never failed him in that department.

They’d known each other since elementary school… Suguru, Riko, and Misato, growing up on the same block, walking to school together, sharing snacks, secrets, and eventually life burdens. They were the closest thing he had to family outside his actual bloodline, especially after things got tough at home. Over time, Misato had become the voice in his head that usually told him when he was being irrational. Or, more often, when he was perfectly justified.

As the phone rang, he tapped his fingers impatiently against the arm of his chair, eyes flicking once more to the name in the email.

Satoru Gojo. He didn’t know who that was, but Suguru was already annoyed by him. Whoever he was, this guy was about to make his life a lot more complicated.

The phone picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Suguru,” Misato greeted, her voice light. “What’s up?”

Suguru didn’t answer right away. He let out a long, frustrated sigh, the kind that carried the weight of hours of pent-up irritation. “I’m so fucking pissed off right now. Did you get your housing assignment email?”

“Oh, finally? About time… they really waited until the last second.” She paused. “Wait. Why? What happened?”

“Just… check yours,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as he stared at his computer screen. “Read it.”

A beat of silence passed while she tapped around on her end, the pause dragging until finally…
“What the hell?”

“Exactly.” Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose and started pacing across the room, feet brushing against the scratched hardwood floor of his apartment. “I work myself into the ground trying to stay in this school and they can’t even honor my roommate request? What kind of bullshit is that?”

“They didn’t give a reason?” Misato asked, her tone hardening.

“Nope. Just a vague little apology about ‘unexpected system errors’ and some shit about ‘limited housing availability.’ Nothing specific.”

“That’s so messed up,” she said. “I mean, at least you still got a place, imagine if they’d actually left you with nothing.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Suguru grumbled. “But now I’m stuck living with some random dude. Who knows what kind of chaos I’m about to walk into.”

“Who is it?” Misato asked. “What’s the name?”

He clicked on the attached roommate info, reading the name off the screen. “Satoru Gojo. Ever heard of him?”

There was a pause. Then…

“You’re kidding.”

Suguru blinked. “Why would I be kidding?”

“You seriously don’t know who that is?”

“Should I?” He held the phone between his shoulder and ear and began typing the name into Google.

“Uhh, yeah. The Gojos ? As in, heir to Gojo International Holdings? Huge company, owns everything from banks to real estate to- hell, I don’t even know what else.”

Suguru squinted at the search results. Sleek website. Corporate empire. Press photos of men in suits. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

“Yeah,” Misato continued. “People talk about him around campus sometimes. He’s a business major, I think. Always got people talking about him. You know the type.”

Suguru groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Great. Just what I needed… some rich legacy brat playing house with me for fun.”

“Maybe he’s not that bad?” she offered halfheartedly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You believe that, or you just trying to keep me from combusting?”

“A little of both.” She laughed. “But seriously, maybe try texting him? Feel him out a little. Could save you some headaches.”

Suguru sighed again, rubbing his temple. “Yeah… I guess I should. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now I need to not look at this screen or I’ll throw it out the window.”

“Please don’t. You can’t afford a new laptop.”

He huffed a laugh. “True. Thanks, Misa.”

“Of course. Hang in there, okay?”

They said their goodbyes, and when the line went quiet, Suguru stayed still for a moment. He stared up at the ceiling, hands covering his face, as if trying to physically press the annoyance out of his skull.

Suguru Geto has always been sharp. The kind of sharp that doesn’t need to flaunt it. He’s the quiet type of intelligent, the kind that cuts clean through a problem with precision and never pauses to gloat. Schoolwork came easy to him, sure, memorization, analysis, abstract theory, but nothing else about his life ever followed suit. Unlike Satoru, nothing in Suguru’s world was handed over in a silk-lined box.

He grew up crammed into a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a sagging building in the outer wards of Tokyo. The place creaked in the winter and baked in the summer. He shared a room with his two younger sisters, their bunk beds pushed into one corner, stacks of schoolbooks and secondhand toys shoved into every available space. His mother worked two jobs, sometimes three, and Suguru started picking up part-time shifts the moment he was legally allowed. Bills were constant. Quiet moments were rare.

College was never guaranteed for Suguru. It wasn’t a finish line waiting at the end of high school, it was a distant mirage, a question mark he chased down one exhausted step at a time. Every scholarship was clawed from late-night searches and essays written after midnight. Every grant application was filled out at the kitchen table with a cold cup of instant coffee and the weight of rent pressing on his shoulders. Suguru worked through the holidays, Missed school events, Held down two, sometimes three jobs, piecing together just enough for tuition, textbooks, transit fares, and the cheapest meal plan the university would allow.

He didn’t land a spot at Tenzen University because someone made a phone call or greased a donation. He got there because he bled for it. Earned it. Carved out a place through discipline and effort and exhaustion he still hasn’t recovered from. And he carries that work with him like a second spine, iit holds him up, but it also makes him heavy. That kind of life doesn’t leave room for fantasy. It builds realists. Fighters. People who understand that the world doesn’t hand out kindness, it demands something from you before you even get a chance to ask.

Which is exactly why someone like Satoru Gojo would get under his skin.

That guy…. He probably glides through life like it’s designed for him, like the entire system is curved in his favor. Money, prestige, influence, a family name that opens doors Suguru never even seen. He bets Satoru doesn’t even realize it. He probably tosses it all around like it’s nothing. Satoru Gojo is everything Suguru is not, everything Suguru spent his life learning to live without.

Suguru had to earn his place in the world and Satoru was born in the center of it.

Suguru

April 2nd, 2025

It had been two days since Suguru got the news that he wouldn’t be rooming with Riko and Misato, his childhood best friends, the people who had been his constant through every rough patch. It felt like a punch to the gut, a reminder that no matter how hard he fought, control was always just out of reach. After everything he’d been through to get here, the late nights, the relentless work, the sacrifices, this felt like just another damn obstacle thrown in his path.

But Suguru had been through worse. He’d survived empty refrigerators, long shifts with no breaks, and dreams that seemed impossibly far away. A difficult roommate was just another challenge. Maybe this Satoru Gojo guy wasn’t the spoiled rich kid Suguru had imagined. Maybe he wasn’t the walking nightmare his mind kept painting him as.

Still, every time Suguru reached for his phone to message him, doubt clenched tight in his chest. What if he said the wrong thing? What if Satoru was as arrogant and dismissive as everyone whispered? What if this roommate situation wasn’t just inconvenient, but unbearable? The fear of opening that door was almost enough to keep him frozen.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to take that step yet.

But today, something shifted. Maybe it was the steady rhythm of the morning or the way the sun cut through the cracks in his blinds, but Suguru finally picked up his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen as he began drafting a message to Satoru, fingers trembling just a little. Maybe this was the start of something less awful than he feared.

Or maybe it was just the first step in figuring that out.

Suguru stared at his phone, thumb hovering uncertainty over the keyboard. Just keep it simple. Professional. Set some ground rules before the chaos starts. He finally started typing.

[Me]: Hey. This is Suguru Geto. I heard we’re roommates this year.

He hit send, then waited. His eyes flicked around the room, half-unpacked boxes, the dull hum of the city outside, and his own restless thoughts spinning. Minutes passed. Then his phone buzzed.

[Roommate?]: is this my new house husband??

Suguru blinked, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Well, that’s a start. He scrolled down.

[Roommate?]: hi!!! (´▽`)

[Roommate?]: yes. it’s me. satoru. your future problem

Suguru sighed, shaking his head. Typical. He tapped out a message, keeping it practical.

[Me]: Wanted to touch base before move-in. Figure out who’s bringing what, split any shared stuff, and maybe set some boundaries.

Almost instantly-

[Roommate?]: oh, so we’re doing this responsibly huh (￢з￢)

[Roommate?]: okay okay

[Roommate?]: i call dibs on the bigger room… unless you’re scary in person

[Roommate?]: i have a rice cooker and a blender

[Roommate?]: no furniture tho

[Roommate?]: just vibes ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و✧*｡

Suguru’s eyebrows shot up. No furniture but a blender? He typed back quickly.

[Me]: No furniture but you’re bringing a blender?

[Roommate?]: priorities, bro

[Roommate?]: what if i wanna make a smoothie while emotionally spiraling??

[Me]: I’ve got a coffee maker and a TV. Can bring cleaning supplies too.

[Roommate?]: perfect! I never clean

[Roommate?]: not on purpose, i just forget dust exists

Suguru paused, rubbing his temple.

[Me]: We’ll need to talk about that. Also, what’s your general vibe? Living habits, schedule, all that?

[Roommate?]: oooo responsibleeeee love that for you

[Roommate?]: ok here’s my vibe:

[Roommate?]: night owl

[Roommate?]: cook sometimes (mostly toast and instant ramen)

[Roommate?]: don’t snore but sleep like i’ve been murdered

[Roommate?]: laundry’s done when socks run out

[Roommate?]: emotionally avoidant but in a cute cool way

[Roommate?]: btw do you smoke weed? or hate it? asking for a friend (me)

Suguru raised an eyebrow.

[Me]: So... messy. I smoke cigarettes. Outside only.

[Me]: Do your thing, but don’t stink up the place or throw late-night parties.

[Roommate?]: so you do smoke

[Roommate?]: mysterious

[Roommate?]: troubled

[Roommate?]: philosophy major vibes

[Me]: Guilty.

[Roommate?]: I KNEW IT

[Roommate?]: called it

[Roommate?]: anyway

[Roommate?]: this is gonna be fun

[Roommate?]: or terrible

[Roommate?]: but i’m hot so you’ll forgive me

Suguru furrows his brows. I cannot get a solid read on this guy…

[Me]: Undecided. See you on move-in day.

[Roomate?]: can’t wait, roomie ( ˘ ³˘)♥

What a unique character. Suguru set his phone down carefully, screen first, on his cluttered desk, his eyes narrowing slightly. The guy was... a lot. He can already tell that he is loud, irreverent, and probably spoiled beyond reason. Suguru had dealt with his fair share of wealthy kids before: the type who believed charm could excuse any mess they left behind, who could tear a room apart and walk away grinning like nothing happened. Its fucking exhausting.

Yet, there was something about the way Gojo texted, shamelessly humorous, borderline chaotic, but with a sharp intelligence barely contained beneath the surface, that made Suguru’s mind linger longer than he wanted. He told himself it was irritation. Curiosity, at most. But if that were the truth, he wouldn’t be sitting here rereading the same string of messages for the third time. He wouldn’t be caught wondering what kind of person sends kiss emojis to a complete stranger, whether it’s a joke or some kind of challenge.

Does he text like this with everyone? Is this his version of normal?

Suguru scoffed quietly. Yeah, maybe he was a bigger pain in the ass than he’d imagined. And yet... there was something else. Something like fascination—or maybe the reluctant recognition that this mess of a guy was going to break through the walls Suguru had built around himself, whether he liked it or not.

Chapter Text

Satoru

April 4th, 2025

Satoru had packed very few things into his suitcase before fully losing interest, flopping onto his unmade bed. Everything else he was planning to bring? Scattered across his floor in what he liked to call "organized freedom" and what his mother referred to as a disgrace to the Gojo name. Thank God for the maid keeping the house clean, including Satoru’s pigsty he calls a room. Poor girl doesn't get paid enough…

He lays on his bed, phone balanced on his chest, screen still open to the text thread with Suguru Geto.

Suguru Geto.

The name felt weird in his head. Sharp. Heavy. Too grounded for someone Satoru hadn’t even met yet. But the guy had this way of texting… blunt, dry, kind of rude in a cool, intellectual way that stuck with him longer than it should’ve. Satoru didn’t usually overthink strangers. He barely remembered the names of people he flirted with at parties. But this one? He hasn't reached out since their first convo but he had read their text thread three times. Maybe four. Not that he was counting or anything.

Still, Satoru could already tell this was going to be a disaster. He’d never lived with someone like that… intense, efficient, intentional. Someone who planned. Someone who probably alphabetized his thoughts and labeled his spice rack. He's been so used to living with his parents and living with a maid that he's never had to worry about simple everyday things such as cleaning.

Well maybe Suguru liked cleaning? He sounded like someone who liked order, or at least hated chaos. Which meant, statistically, he was going to hate Satoru within forty-eight hours. Probably less.

But even now, even knowing that, Satoru was smiling like an idiot rereading:
“Undecided. See you on move-in day.”

Not warm. Not playful. Just sharp and cool, like a blade he wanted to lean into a little too much. 

Satoru isn't one to get hung up on someone so fast but this Suguru Geto guy has a bit of a mysterious aura to him, peaking Satoru’s interest. 

He sighed, tossed the phone aside, and flopped onto his back dramatically, staring at the ceiling like it owed him answers. Maybe this year would suck. Maybe they’d fight. Maybe they’d never speak again after the semester.

He rolled over onto his stomach, chin buried in a pillow, eyes back on his phone before he could even pretend to resist. The text thread with Suguru was still open — sterile and dry, with barely a dozen messages, most of them his own. He scrolled up, reread the word “Undecided,” and felt something stupid flutter in his chest.

What did that even mean? Not no, not can’t stand you already, but not a yes either. Just vague enough to stick in his brain like a song lyric with no resolution.

Satoru stared at the blinking cursor for a full thirty seconds, typing “you like spicy food?” then deleting it. Then “big coffee fan?” then deleting that, too. No shit he likes coffee if he's bringing a coffee maker . He just wants something to text him about, if he’d scoff, ignore it, or throw something snarky back. Anything to get another glimpse of his personality. I mean, there has to be a reason why no one wanted to be his roommate and why Satoru got stuck with him. But theres an even better question:

Why is he so honed in on trying to talk to this random guy he hasn't even met yet?

It wasn’t like that. Obviously. Satoru just wanted to get a read on the guy before they moved in… normal roommate prep, totally rational. He wasn’t interested interested, just… curious. Suguru was kind of a mystery, and Satoru hated not knowing what someone’s deal was, especially if he was going to be living in the same house as him, sharing a space with him. That was it. That’s why he kept thinking about their texts, and why he kept imagining what Suguru’s voice sounded like when he was annoyed. It was just prep work. Like doing recon before a test except the test was a guy who smoked outside, had zero patience for bullshit, and somehow managed to make the word “boundaries” feel like a challenge. Satoru was just being thorough. Cautious. Responsible. Not weird.

It was so dumb. They hadn’t even met. It was literally just one guy. A guy he was going to be living with, no less. But that was the problem. Satoru could already tell this wasn't going to be a situation where he could float in and out, joke his way through the tension, and vanish when things got complicated.

No, this guy was solid. Intentional. Already lodged under his skin in a way that made him itchy and intrigued all at once.

He started typing again:

[Me]: heyyyy are you allergic to anything?

Pause. Delete. Too boring.

[Me]: i call dibs on the good shower btw

Too aggressive. He wanted a response, not war.

He groaned and rolled onto his back, holding the phone over his face. Maybe he should just say what he wanted to say:
You seem interesting. I want to know more.
But that would require a level of honesty he’s not handing out for free. He might find it a little creepy too.

Eventually, he settled on:

[Me]: hey btw whats ur star sign???

He hit send. No emojis this time. No caps. Just enough of a baited hook to see if Geto would bite.

Then he tossed the phone aside like it hadn’t taken him ten minutes to draft the dumb thing and stood up to kick his suitcase closed with the heel of his foot.

Move-in is tomorrow.

He was already in trouble.

Suguru

Suguru was halfway through folding his last stack of shirts when his phone buzzed against the hardwood. He didn’t check it right away. He liked to finish one thing before starting another, a habit drilled into him by necessity, not preference.

He folded his last shirt, reached for his phone, and saw it:
[Roomate?]: btw what’s ur star sign

He stared at the screen. Blinking once. Then twice. A long, flat silence settled into the room.

Seriously?

It was such a ridiculous question. Not because it was astrology, Suguru had grown up around Riko and Misato who read birth charts for fun and planned sleepovers around retrogrades, but because he never cared. He didn’t believe in pre-written patterns. He believed in effort. In work. In showing up even when you didn’t want to.

Still… he didn’t delete the message. Or roll his eyes. Or set the phone down like he usually would when someone tried to tug him into small talk.

Instead, his thumbs hovered.

[Me]: Aquarius. Should I be worried you’re asking?

He hit send, then hesitated before typing again.

[Me]: Let me guess. Sagittarius?

It was low-effort banter. Casual. A way to toss the ball back without giving too much away. And yet, his chest felt annoyingly warm. He hadn’t expected Gojo to follow up. He hadn’t expected anything , really, beyond the standard cohabitation truce, avoid my stuff and don’t piss me off.

But Gojo was weirdly… persistent. Not in an aggressive way, just present . Slipping past his guard with half-jokes and dumb questions, like he wasn’t even trying.

Suguru stood there for a moment, phone still in hand, waiting for the typing bubbles to flicker again. When they did, he shook his head, quietly, to himself.

He didn’t like people like Satoru Gojo. He didn’t trust people like Satoru Gojo. But somehow, that didn’t stop him from wanting to see what he’d say next.

He hears his phone vibrate. Without missing a beat he picks up his phone.

[Roomate?]: no fukin waaaaay how did u know????

[Roomate?]: u also an astrology nerd like meeeee???!! (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

[Roomate?]: but yes, proud sagittarian here
[Roomate?]: and nah, not worried. just trying to see if we’ll survive living together without contemplating murder

[Roomate?]: its NOT looking good btw lol

[Roomate?]: ur gonna luv me tho im real fun

He scoffed under his breath.

Real fun. That was exactly the kind of thing someone said right before they started playing music at 2 a.m. or left pizza boxes on the stove for a week because “they forgot.” Gojo sounded like the type who didn’t take anything seriously… the kind of person who thrived in chaos and expected everyone else to find it charming.

Suguru didn’t find it charming.

He didn’t want a fun roommate. He wanted a quiet one. Clean, respectful, invisible. Someone who wouldn’t throw his whole routine off just by existing too loudly. And yet…

There was something unsettling about the way Gojo spoke like they already knew each other. Like this was going to be something. A shared mess. A clash. An inevitability. Or something worse.

Although he would never admit it, a tiny part of Suguru wasn’t dreading it as much as he should’ve been. More curious than anything but fully expecting and preparing to be disappointed.

He types back:

[Me]: My friends I grew up with were really into astrology. I just happened to pick up bits and pieces. I'm definitely not “into” astrology like that.

[Me]: I’m more worried about your definition of "clean." Can you elaborate on how you just “forget dust exists”?

[Roommate?]: rude. i never forget… i just ignore it. i simply choose peace (＾▽＾)

[Me]: Peace through ignoring basic hygiene?

[Roommate?]: no no it’s strategic laziness… I HAVE GOOD HYGIENE BTW… i'm justa lil bit messy
[Roommate?]: u wouldn’t understand. ur probably the type who alphabetizes his spices

[Me]: …They’re organized by region, actually.

[Roommate?]: oh my god

[Roommate?]: this is gonna be so fun

[Me]: I don't think “fun” is the word I’d use.

[Roommate?]: c’monnn don’t be like that. It sounds like u need someone to shake up ur routine

[Me]: And it sounds like you need someone to keep you from setting the kitchen on fire.

[Roommate?]: perfect match then?

[Me]: Or a slow-motion disaster.

[Roommate?]: potato potahto. see u tmr, aquarius.

[Me]: Looking forward to it, sagittarius. Kind of…

Suguru stared at the last message on the screen…
“see u tmr, aquarius”
and resisted the urge to rub his temples.

He took a slow breath, then instinctively hit the screenshot buttons. The image saved instantly, the preview flashing in the corner like it already knew who it was going to.

He opened his messages with Riko, the top of their thread still filled with her blowing up over which toaster to get for her new apartment with Misato. Without hesitating, he dropped the screenshot in and followed it up with:

[Me]: This is who I’m living with. Pray for me.

It took her all of five seconds to reply. No shocker really, Suguru doesn't think he's ever seen her without that damn phone in her hand.

[Riko]: OH MY GOD
[Riko]: he texts like a 14 yr old with an energy drink addiction
[Riko]: but also??? kinda funny ngl lol do you like him

[Me]: No.

[Riko]: hmm that was toooooo fast. suspicious………

[Me]: He called himself “strategically lazy” and asked if I alphabetize my spices…

[Riko]: ok but DO YOU??? that is so something u would do tbf

He closes his eyes and sighs before replying:

[Me]: Don’t start.

He set his phone down and sighed, the faintest twitch of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before he forced it back into place.

He didn’t like Gojo. Obviously.

He was just… bracing for impact.

[Riko]: maybe thisll be a good change of pace for u dude, like, making a friend OTHER than me and miso.

One thing about Riko, that girl loves to come up with nicknames. Miso is Misato’s and Sugie is, unfortunately , the nickname that stuck with Suguru.

Suguru stared at the message for a few seconds, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He hated when she did that. Said something soft, too close to the truth. Not even teasing, just… honest. Like she knew he'd been running on fumes lately, keeping his head down, sticking to routine like it was armor. Like she’d noticed before he had that maybe the structure wasn’t holding up the way it used to.

[Me]: Doubt it. Probably just more chaos.

He paused. Didn’t send it.

Deleted it.

Typed again, slower this time:

[Me]: I can already tell he’s loud. And nosy. And doesn’t seem to take anything seriously.

[Riko]: so the opposite of u. perfect balance.

[Me]: You say that like it’s not going to drive me insane.

[Riko]: or maybe it’ll remind u how to be a little insane. sugie not everything has to be a survival strategy yk. live a little

Suguru stared at that one longer. He didn’t respond right away.

She meant well. She always did. And somewhere, buried under the weight of every scholarship deadline, every shift at work between the bar and the cafe, every time he’d told himself he didn’t have time for people who played games, a part of him wondered if she was right.

Maybe he had gotten a little too good at keeping his world small. Predictable. Safe .

And now there was this guy, this stranger, bulldozing his way in with those stupid emoticons, making Suguru feel off-balance with just a text.

He wasn’t sure he liked that.

But he also wasn’t sure he didn’t.

Satoru

April 5th, 2025

Satoru woke up exactly twenty minutes later than he meant to, half of his face still smushed into the pillow, hair pointing in six different directions. For a few blissful seconds, he forgot what day it was. Then he saw the half-zipped suitcase on his floor, the crumpled to-do list under an empty water bottle, and remembered.

Move-in day.

Fuck

He groaned dramatically, rolled over, and immediately checked his phone. No new texts from Suguru. Not that he was looking for them. (He totally was.)

His suitcase was still only halfway packed… clothes, chargers, and all 7 of his sunglasses. He was pretty sure he’d forgotten toothpaste, probably deodorant, and lord knows what else.

He immediately gets to work with finishing up packing, throwing whatever is in his vision in the suitcases. If he's forgetting something, there's stores around. He can just buy whatever he needs next. It's not like his parents look at their cards anyways… Satoru could buy whatever he wanted and it would hardly make a dent in their bank account, which is exactly what he does, hence the numerous name brand glasses he owns and other bullshit he felt like he needed at the time.

Satoru stood up and stretched once he finished. He wasn’t dreading the move, not exactly… just the idea of all the newness. New space. New rules. New person.

Suguru Geto.

That part stuck.

He wasn’t sure what it was. Just something about the guy’s texts, clipped, a little judgmental, probably smarter than him in a way he’d pretend not to notice, that made Satoru both roll his eyes and want to text him again. Constantly. Just to get a reaction.

He had no idea what it would actually be like living with him. It could be a disaster. A complete personality mismatch. Maybe they’d argue about dishes or air fresheners or music volume and spiral into passive-aggressive post-it note warfare by week two.

But also... it could be interesting.

And Satoru Gojo hated being bored more than anything.

He tossed a hoodie into the suitcase, zipped it shut with a wince (the zipper caught on something, definitely a sock), and slung his sunglasses onto his head like armor.

Showtime.

— — — — — — — — — — —

Sartoru’s parents sent him with their personal chauffeur, the chauffeur was instructed to only drive Satoru to his designation. He was not to help him unpack, it was something about Satoru and independence or whatever. Satoru was only half listening to his parents then because he's still pissed about them bringing this whole situation up to him at the last minute. He feels like he didn't even get a chance to fully mentally prepare. 

Satoru stood in front of the house, one hand on the handle of his overpacked suitcase and a bunch of other shit stuffed in the back of the car. His other hand is shading his eyes against the sun like he must be looking at the wrong address.

This couldn’t be it.

The house looked like it had been thrown together as an afterthought sometime in the late '80s and then immediately forgotten. The paint was chipped around the doorframe. The lawn was patchy, dead in some places, overgrown in others, and the steps creaked under his weight like they were filing a complaint. One of the windows had a duct-taped crack running across the bottom pane like a scar no one bothered fixing.

He unlocked the front door with the code from the email, at least that worked, and stepped inside.

It was... worse.

The second Satoru stepped inside, he was hit with the underwhelming reality of the house. The front door opened directly into a combined living room and kitchen… one wide, shared space with no walls to separate them, just a scuffed-up island acting as a divider. The island’s surface was worn with scratches, probably from years of keys, backpacks, and cheap takeout containers being slammed onto it. A couple of mismatched bar stools leaned around it like they'd seen better days. One had a wobbly leg, the other had tape around the seat like a sad attempt at repair.

The place smelled faintly like dust and cheap detergent. The floors were scuffed laminate, the walls an ugly off-white dingy color, and the living room had exactly two pieces of furniture: a sunken gray couch that looked like it had survived a flood and a scratched coffee table with someone’s initials carved into the side. The overhead lighting made the place feel like a damn hospital. The kitchen was a straight shot from the living space… small, dated, with laminate counters curling up at the corners and a fridge that hummed so loudly he thought it might take off.

To the right, just off the main room, was the first bedroom. It was technically functional… a queen-sized bed with a basic wooden frame, a cheap dresser, a closet with a stiff sliding door, and a small desk tucked under the window. The one redeeming feature was the attached private bathroom, but the room itself felt cramped, like it had been carved out of spare space rather than built with purpose.

To the left of the kitchen, a short hallway branched off. Three doors lined it. The first on the right opened into the second bedroom. No attached bath, but it was much roomier than the one near the living area, with more space to breathe and better lighting from two windows instead of one. Same furniture setup: bed, desk, dresser, closet… all standard-issue and slightly worn.

Directly across from that room, the only door on the left was the shared bathroom. It was narrow, with a chipped sink basin and a mirror that had lost its silvering around the edges. The last door at the end of the hall was a utility closet, though from the smell wafting out of it when Satoru passed by, it hadn’t been cleaned, or maybe even opened, in months. In there sat the washer and dryer along with other utilities such as an ironing board with an iron, a vacuum, broom, and mop.

It was barebones. College-budget bleak. The kind of place you learned to live in, not one you showed off on Instagram. Definitely not what Satoru was used to.

No fancy espresso machine. No dimmable lighting or automated anything.

His parents had said something about this being “good for his growth.”
“It’ll build character, Satoru. You’ve never done anything on your own.” Right…

And now he was doing it entirely on his own, they didn’t even come to help him move. Just dropped off a box of “essentials” (it was shampoo and basic cleaning supplies) and told him to send a selfie once he was settled.

He sighed, dragging his stuff through the narrow hallway. He ultimately decided on the biggest room located in the hall. The floorboards groaned, and he had to kick open the bedroom door because it stuck at the bottom.

He dropped his duffel bag onto the floor, looking around the room. A shitty queen bed with no sheets, no pillows. Just a bare, plasticky mattress.

He should have prepared better.

Despite everything he mumbles “Suguru’s not here yet?” to no one but himself, lifting his head and checking the hall. Empty. Dead silent.

He almost texted him, u alive? , but decided against it. Let him show up and see that Satoru already claimed the better room. It’d be a power move. Not that he cared… (he definitely did).

He drops his head looking at the thin and worn out carpet beneath his expensive shoes before picking his head back up and heading out to the car to get the rest of his belongings.

This was going to be a nightmare.

— — — — — — — — — — —

It had been four hours since Satoru lugged his suitcase through the front door, and the place still felt like it didn’t want him there.

He’d spent most of the afternoon unpacking, begrudgingly wiping down cabinets with the industrial-strength wipes his mother slipped into his duffel like she knew this place would be beneath him. She wasn’t wrong. The cabinets were sticky. The fridge smelled like something had died in it and been reborn as off-brand yogurt. He’d found dust on top of the ceiling fan and nearly called the police.

Never in his life has he put this much work into cleaning.

By hour three, he’d given up trying to organize his closet and had started pacing. The couch springs threatened to impale him when he sat, and the air conditioning unit rattled like it was coughing up its last breath. Still no sign of Suguru. No texts. No sounds. Just the fridge’s groan and his own simmering impatience.

Out of spite, or maybe boredom, he had his chauffeur run to the store to grab some basic groceries: bottled water, eggs, frozen dumplings, oat milk (in case Suguru turned out to be one of those ), and a suspiciously fancy-looking loaf of bread. He’d been told not to rely on staff during this independence-building year, but the chauffeur didn’t argue, as long as he was getting paid and Satoru did not run his mouth. He just nodded and said, “I won’t tell if you won’t,” before leaving.

Satoru checked his phone again. Still no updates.

Finally, after giving in to the irritation bubbling beneath his skin, he shot off a quick text:

[Me]: yo are u alive or wat

He let it sit. Ten minutes. Fifteen. He opened and closed Instagram twice, watched a moth bounce around the kitchen light, then finally — a reply.

[Aquarius]: Yeah. At work. I get off at 10. I’ll be there after.

That was it. No apology. No explanation. Just calm, clipped, and completely unbothered.

Satoru blinked at the screen.

Work?

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, maybe a “running late” or “got held up” or even a weak excuse. But there it was. Not everyone could disappear from a family estate and land in a fully furnished townhouse. Some people had jobs. Late shifts. Something that has never crossed Satoru’s mind.

He flopped back onto the mattress, which now has his bed sheets neatly made on it, and let the phone drop on his chest, staring at the ceiling fan that still ticked like a metronome for his anxiety.

So. Suguru was real. He just had a life. Weird.

Suguru

By the time Suguru stepped onto the front porch, it was nearly 10:45 PM. His backpack weighed heavier than usual, digging into his shoulder, and the duffel bag in his hand tugged at his already-sore wrist. The rest of his belongings were waiting in his car, but he ultimately decided that it's a tomorrow problem. His clothes still smelled faintly of well liquor and cheap citrus cleaner, the bar’s unofficial signature scent. It clung to him no matter how many times he washed his jacket. His hair is in a half up half down style but due to work, the bun has come out a bit. He looks a bit sloppy but doesn't have enough energy to care at the moment.

He stood there for a second, breathing in the damp night air, then keyed in the door code. He half-expected the house to be dark, empty, silent. But as soon as he pushed the door open, warm light spilled across the warped floors, it looks like Satoru bought some floor lights to get rid of the horrid “hospital” lights. But low and behold, there he was, lounging sideways on the crappy couch like he was born to commandeer furniture that didn’t belong to him.

Satoru Gojo.

Real. In the flesh. And apparently very comfortable.

“You’re late,” Satoru said without getting up. His voice was casual, but it carried that performative energy Suguru recognized instantly, like he was doing a bit, waiting for applause that wouldn’t come.

Suguru stepped inside, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. “Didn’t realize I was on your schedule,” he muttered, dropping his bag near the hallway and pulling off his jacket with a tired grunt.

Satoru grinned like he’d been waiting all night to deliver the next line. “Dunno, just thought maybe we’d liven the place up. Shotgun a drink. Roommate bonding. You know, college stuff.”

Suguru gave him a flat look. “I just got off a ten-hour shift serving people like you. I’m not bonding with anyone tonight.”

That only seemed to amuse him more. “People like me ?” Satoru echoed, sitting up finally. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Loud. Entitled. Think tips are optional and eye contact is flirtation.” He paused, then added, “Wearing sunglasses indoors.”

Satoru tilted his head, as if seriously considering it. “I am a hefty tipper for your information. But… Fair…”

Suguru sighed, too tired to argue, and grabbed his duffel. “I'm assuming you left me with the smaller room like you promised?” he says looking around trying to figure out which room is left for him.

“Hey I called dibs fair and square,” Satoru called after him. “But yeah, your room is the one to your right” He says pointing to the door right next to where Suguru was standing.

He didn’t dignify that with a response.

The bedroom wasn’t much, not much room but it did have its own bathroom. Suguru didn’t bother unpacking anything except his sheets. He made the bed with mechanical efficiency, bottom sheet, top sheet, blanket, pillow. The rest could wait. The suitcase stayed zipped, the clothes stayed wrinkled. He’d deal with it all in the morning.

He collapsed into bed with a sigh, head sinking into the pillow like gravity finally remembered him.

In the silence, he could hear faint footsteps from the living room, a door creaking shut, the soft thud of movement. Satoru’s presence already felt too big for the space, like someone had crammed a firework into a matchbox and dared it not to go off.

Suguru closed his eyes.

Just a roommate, he reminded himself.
Just a house. Just one year.

He'd survived worse.

Chapter Text

Suguru

April 6th, 2025

Suguru was up before the sun finished rising, already elbow-deep in a half-unpacked box by the time the house started to warm. The room was still a mess… clothes draped over the dresser, one suitcase spilling open at the foot of his bed, cords tangled, books stacked haphazardly on the desk like a tiny fortress of delayed responsibility.

He’d meant to be done by now. He hated dragging it out. But his body had given up on him the second it hit the mattress last night, and now he was paying for it with a sore back and that persistent ache behind his eyes that only came after late shifts.

His phone buzzed once. The cafe work group chat, reminding him of the morning cafe shift he should have been on but requested the day off for the move. Taking the day off had felt like failure in real time. One fewer shift meant one fewer check to cover groceries, utilities, textbooks, bus fare, tuition. He’d convinced himself it was just one day… he deserved it, but the guilt clung to him anyway, sticky and impossible to scrub off.

He dropped a stack of shirts into a drawer and moved toward the closet, folding his hoodie over the door frame when a voice called from the hallway, “You do realize it’s Sunday, right?” Satoru leaned into the doorway, hair a mess, holding a half-eaten toaster pastry like he was already on his third casual breakfast.

Suguru didn’t look at him. “Good morning to you too.”

“I just figured with how early you’re up, you were late for church or something.” He yawned. “Or a cult.”

“I took the day off,” Suguru said flatly, pulling a shirt off a hanger and smoothing it over the dresser.

Satoru leaned his shoulder against the frame, clearly not planning to leave. “You actually have a job?”

“Two.” Did he think I was lying before?

That made him pause. Suguru could feel the silence behind him, that subtle shift in Satoru’s posture, like he was finally really seeing him for a second. A little too long, a little too thoughtful. “Damn. Seriously?” Suguru didn’t answer, just kept folding. But satoru didn’t get the hint. “Where do you work?”

“Cafe in the mornings. Bar on weekends.”

“What…like, every weekend?”

“Saturday and Sunday. Twelve-hour shifts.” He shut a drawer a little too hard. “Except last night. Got out early for the move.”

He turned then, just enough to meet Satoru’s eyes, and saw it. That flicker of realization, the way his pride dropped for a moment and was replaced with something closer to curiosity. Or confusion.

“You don’t party on weekends? That’s also like... 50 hours a week?”

“Fifty-six. I work eight-hour shifts at the cafe in the morning on weekdays besides friday. And I don't have time to party.”

Satoru lets out a low whistle and scratches his head. “No wonder you’re so grumpy.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “No wonder you’ve never worked a day in your life.”

The jab landed. Not enough to spark real anger, but enough for Satoru to blink, like he hadn’t expected it to be sharp. “Okay not too much on me now… but…  you're not wrong.” he said after a beat, stuffing the last bite of his breakfast into his mouth. Crumbs hit the floor. Suguru clocked it immediately.

And just like that, the moment soured. Suguru bent down, snatched a nearby tissue, and wiped up the crumbs himself. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Satoru watched him do it. Didn’t move to help. “Paper towels are by the kitchen sink,” Suguru said as he stood back up. “Try using it next time.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Satoru speaks up, “You know, I was gonna say we should grab lunch later. Celebrate moving in and all that. But you’ve got the vibe of someone who’d rather die than hang out with me.”

“I would,” Suguru replied, reaching for another hanger.

“Cool,” Satoru said, giving a mock salute as he backed out of the room. “This is gonna be so fun. ”

The door clicked behind him, more force than necessary but not surprising Suguru. He exhaled slowly, jaw tight. They were only one morning in, and already, he was counting the days. Suguru let out a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck. His shoulders were already tense, knotted from work, travel, and now this... living arrangement. He’d barely been here twelve hours and already, Satoru had a way of getting under his skin without even trying.

Suguru wasn’t sure what annoyed him more… the crumbs, the sarcasm, or the way Satoru had looked genuinely surprised to learn he worked two jobs. Like the idea of someone having to pay their own way was completely foreign. He hung up the last button-down and closed the closet door with more force than necessary.

The truth was, Suguru liked structure. He needed it. It was how he survived growing up in a too small apartment with three other people and one income. It was how he clawed his way into this university, balancing double shifts, scholarship deadlines, and a GPA that couldn’t afford to slip, even once. His schedule was carved down to the minute: café shifts from five to noon, classes from one to five, studying in the evenings, bar shifts on the weekend. No wasted time. No room for error.

Living with someone like Satoru, with his half-eaten pastries and flippant comments and “you’re gonna luv me tho” texts, already felt like the beginning of a slow unraveling. Suguru dropped down at his desk, eyes sweeping across the now mostly organized room. It looked decent. Not home yet, but functional. His laptop sat closed beside a stack of worn philosophy texts. A cheap mug with instant coffee rested next to a pen holder that doubled as a chipped ramen cup. There were no posters, no photos. Just things. Useful things.

He cracked his knuckles and opened the planner on his desk. There was something comforting about seeing all the dates, shift blocks, deadlines. It reminded him that no matter how unpredictable his new roommate turned out to be, his own life didn’t have to spiral with it.

Still… Satoru’s reaction stuck with him.

That tiny beat of silence when he said two jobs. That moment of realness, rare and unpolished. Like Satoru hadn’t known people like him existed, or maybe hadn’t thought they’d be thrown into a house together. Suguru hated how that stuck with him.

Satoru

Satoru didn’t slam Suguru’s door, but he definitely didn’t close it quietly either. He walked away from the door, like it was on fire, muttering to himself as he tore open another pack of toaster pastries… his second breakfast, maybe third, who was counting? The sound of the foil crinkling gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the echo of “No wonder you’ve never worked a day in your life.” Low blow.

Not untrue. But still.

He flopped onto the couch, crumbs falling unbothered onto his shirt as he chewed and stared at the ceiling like it had wronged him. Okay. So Suguru was intense. That wasn’t new info, the guy basically texted like he was proofreading his own FBI file. But Satoru hadn’t expected this level of tension. It was day one, and it already felt like Suguru was building a legal case against him for existing, and yet there was something weirdly compelling about it. The seriousness. The silence. The way Suguru looked at him like he was trying to solve an equation that didn’t make sense.

Satoru pulled out his phone and opened the group chat.

[Me]: roommate update:

[Me]: aquarius. hates me.

[Me]: folded a shirt aggressively at me this morning.

[Shoko]: aquarius?? oh no. ur dead.

[Hime]: well what did you do…

[Me]: me?? Nothing!!!

[Me]: i breathed. i offered lunch.

[Me]: and then he hit me with a vibe so cold it reorganized my chakras（⌒▽⌒）

[Kento]: he probably works hard. be respectful.

[Me]: he has TWO JOBS ken…

[Me]: dude’s schedule is insane

[Me]: he wakes up before god and sleeps after death

[Yu]: wait is this the one you said was like weirdly hot for no reason ???

[Me]: STOP

[Me]: i said he had a good face

[Me]: there’s a difference

[Shoko]: you said last night and i quote

[Shoko]: “dangerously symmetrical with a voice that sounds like he judges you in lowercase”

[Hime]: interesting how you remember all of that lol

[Me]: ok?? Look

[Me]: i’m straight

[Me]: but i’m not blind

[Me]: the man looks like a philosophical cult leader and he smells like bergamot and suffering

[Me]: i’m allowed to notice

[Kento]: and so it begins

[Me]: the hell is that supposed to mean ???

[Shoko]: sagittarius + aquarius

[Shoko]: this is either going to be the best or worst year of your life

Satoru tossed the phone aside, a little too aware of the grin pulling at his mouth. He didn’t like Suguru. That would be insane. He just... couldn’t stop thinking about how Suguru had looked this morning. Tired. Focused. Hair pulled back messily, sleeves rolled, muscular toned arms, eyes sharp. Like someone who carried the weight of something heavy and refused to ask for help. 

It was kinda fun to push his buttons a little bit. It was easy.

Satoru bit into his pastry again and leaned back against the couch. “Definitely not my type,” he said out loud. And then, quieter, “...not that I have one.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The house was too quiet. This needed to change or Satoru would go mad. He decided to play some music to kill the painful silence and eerie humming of the fridge. He had his music on low in the living room, something chill and synthy, just loud enough to keep him from thinking too hard. He was sprawled across the couch with his laptop open, allegedly working on his class schedule but mostly clicking between tabs and watching the dust shift in the beams of afternoon light.

Suguru was in his room, door closed.That had been the story for most of the day: quiet footsteps, soft thuds of books hitting shelves, drawers opening and shutting with mechanical precision. No real talking, no casual small talk. Is this how normal roommates are???

Just the occasional creak of the floorboards and the sound of Suguru going about his life like Satoru didn’t exist. Which was starting to piss him off. It's not that Satoru wanted full on friendship immediately. But the icy silence? The passive disinterest? It was seriously starting to piss him off.

He sighed loudly, stretched his legs across the couch dramatically, and definitely not on purpose knocked a clean spoon off the coffee table and onto the floor.

Seconds later, a door opened.

Suguru stepped into the room, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the edge of a tattoo curling around his forearm, something Satoru hadn’t noticed before. His hair was tied back again in that careless, practical way, and in the soft afternoon light. It was the first time Satoru really saw him… fully lit, fully still.

The piercings were subtle, but they framed his face with almost obnoxious precision. Even the smudged eye bags from a night of shitty sleep on the prison-grade mattresses seemed to suit him somehow, giving his sharp features an edge that wasn’t quite soft, but not entirely hard either. 

His eyes flicked to the spoon on the floor. Then up to Satoru. “You planning to leave that there?”

Satoru looked down, feigning surprise. “Oh. Huh. Must’ve fallen.”

He sighs, “You’ve been sitting in the same spot for 2 hours.”

“I’m conserving energy.” Satoru throws his hands behind his head and closes his eyes.

Suguru blinked. “You could conserve energy and still not be messy.”

Satoru grinned and opened one eye to glare at Suguru. “Aw, you do care.” He just hears what he wants to hear, selective listening is a talent he has mastered. 

“I care about not stepping on silverware in my own house.” He says as he walks over to where satoru is sprawled out on the couch, where the spoon lays on the floor.

The word my didn’t go unnoticed. Satoru opened his eyes looking at Suguru standing over him, his long black hair falling over his shoulders as he looked down on him. Suguru is staring at him. Like really staring. Satoru can't tell if he's fighting the urge to punch him or if theres something on his face… Satoru speaks up and says, “You sure you're not overreacting a little? It’s a spoon, not an oil spill.” 

Suguru didn’t answer. He just picked it up, rinsed it off in the sink with crisp, quiet movements, then set it in the drying rack, all without looking at him again. Satoru watched him for a second longer, something tight curling in his chest that wasn’t quite annoyance and wasn’t quite... anything else he wanted to name. “Do you ever, like... relax?” he asked, sitting up from the couch, fixing his gaze to Suguru.

“Do you ever think before speaking?” Suguru shot back, not missing a beat.

Satoru blinked. “Damn. That’s how we’re playing this, huh?”

“I’m just matching your energy.” The words lingered in the air between them. Neither moved. Neither blinked.  Then Suguru turned, headed back down the hall, and shut his door with calm, calculated finality. Satoru sat in the silence for a long moment. Eventually, he grabbed his phone and sent one more text to the group chat:

[Me]: update: he might actually kill me
[Me]: if i go missing tell the cops to check the utility closet

Satoru figured the guy was probably running on fumes… between his ridiculous work schedule and the whole stoic suffering aesthetic, it made sense that he'd be a little pissy. But jesus christ, It was like talking to a brick wall that judged you.

Still… part of him couldn’t help thinking, Maybe he’s just bitter. Jealous, even. Not everyone had the luxury of showing up to college without a financial battle plan. Maybe Suguru couldn’t stand the fact that Satoru got to float through life while he had to claw his way to the same spot, working double shifts like it was a full-time punishment. Satoru sighed, tossing his phone on the couch beside him.

Suguru

Hours have passed since organizing and cleaning his room. Suguru stood in the middle of his room, hands on his hips, surveying the space. Honestly, it took way longer than expected but is very satisfied with the outcome. 

It was finally done. finally.

Books shelved. Clothes folded and put away. His laptop was charging on the desk beside a half-finished cup of convenience store coffee, and a single candle burned in the corner, flickering just enough to make the place feel less like a temporary crash pad and more like a livable space. Bare-bones, sure… the furniture was one step above a facebook marketplace giveaway, but it was his , for now. It would do.

He dropped onto his bed, back hitting the mattress with a quiet exhale, and pulled out his phone. There were a couple unread messages in the group chat, a few texts from Misato, talking about how it is living with Riko, and a blurry photo from Riko captioned “guess who spilled oat milk on the espresso machine again…” Suguru smiled faintly and sent a message back:

[Me]: Finally done unpacking. This house is... a little busted, not gonna lie. But it’s quiet and my room's decent. I am fucking exhausted though.

[Riko]: wow he lived

[Riko]: maybe this’ll be a good change of pace for uuuu

[Misato]: translation: stop being a hermit and make a friend

Suguru stared at the blinking cursor for a moment, then locked his phone without replying. He didn’t want to jinx anything by calling this a “change of pace.” Right now, it was just a roof, four walls, and one inconsiderate roommate. 

Okay… maybe Suguru was being a bit too harsh to him earlier, but he has been on his wits end ever since this whole house incident happened, not to mention the shitty shifts at the bar and the lack of sleep he was obviously getting. Of course he is gonna be a bit irritable, especially with a messy, sloppy roommate that has never worked a day in his life.

Earlier, he’d gotten a proper look at him, not a passing glance, but a real moment to take him in. And god, there was something disarming about it. His eyes were… unnerving in the way rare things always are… not just blue, but some electric, impossible shade of it, like glacier water lit from within. Sharp and bright, like they saw too much and cared too little. They didn’t belong in a face that pretty.

And then there was the hair, white, actually white, not blonde or silver, but the stark, icy color of untouched snow. Messy, unstyled, like he just woke up with it like that and never thought twice. It should’ve looked unnatural. Jarring. But somehow it didn’t. Somehow, it fit. The contrast made everything about his face stand out more, the high cheekbones, the infuriatingly smug mouth, even the earrings that glinted like he wore them purely to prove he could.

It pissed Suguru off how well it all worked. How someone could look that ridiculous and still pull it off. Pull it off well . He looked like someone built to be stared at, and knew it too. And worst of all: he made it look effortless.

Suguru shakes his head and sighs, he gets up and paddles out his room for some water, he catches the faint sound of music drifting in from the living room. Something upbeat. Synth-heavy. Lazily curated. And then the clink of a glass.

He opens his door to find Satoru on the couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table, an open bottle of vaguely expensive-looking champagne on the floor beside him and a half-full glass in one hand. His face was flushed, eyes a little glassy. Suguru blinked. “Are you… drinking?”

Satoru grinned like he’d been waiting for an audience. Face is flushed. “Celebrating.”

He sighs, “Oh lovely, you’re drunk.”

“I’m getting there,” Satoru said cheerfully. “Was gonna invite you, but you seemed like you’d rather die than sit next to me earlier.” he says looking at his glass, swilling the contents around almost like he was mesmerized by it.

Suguru crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “Still might.”

Satoru puts his hand on his chest, “Oof. Harsh.” He sits up properly and makes room, “Wanna sit anyways?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t leave either. Eventually, with a sigh, he walked over and sat on the far end of the couch, arms still crossed. 

“Peace offering?” Satoru held out a second glass. His hands were slightly shaky, not from nerves, but from the fact that he clearly had no business drinking more.

“Not tonight,” Suguru said, holding his hand up to stop him. “I also don't drink with lightweights.”

“I am not a lightweight!” he says offended and with a furrowed brow. The red that's spread across his face is basically telling on him. 

Suguru looks at him and lets out a small laugh “You’re flushed, your pupils are two different sizes,” he stops, and looks at the bottle he's been pouring into his cup, hardly anything missing. “And the bottle is barely touched.”

“Rude.” Satoru took another sip. “My body just knows how to savor every drop of alcohol.” There was a pause. The music shifted to something instrumental. Soft, lo-fi. It filled the space between them without pushing too hard. “So,” Satoru said eventually, “real talk. What do you think of the place?”

Suguru shrugged and sat back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling with a deep breath and exhales through his mouth, “It’s not the worst... Feels like every other half-condemned college house. I’ve lived in worse.”

Satoru glanced around like he hadn’t considered that. “Yeah. I thought it’d be nicer. My mom said it was ‘charming.’ Which I’m now realizing is code for ‘falling apart but still upright.’”

Suguru huffed a laugh through his nose. “Welcome to adulthood.” They fell quiet again, not uncomfortable this time. Just tired. Satoru broke it first. “Hey, what’s your schedule look like?”

Suguru pulled out his phone. “Classes start at 1pm most days. I work mornings at the café, four to noon so all my classes have to be in the afternoon.”

“Dude,” Satoru said, turning to blink at him. “You really weren’t exaggerating.”

He pauses and looks at satoru puzzled, “Why would I exaggerate about that?”

“Because people do. But you... you work like you’re trying to pay off a war crime.”

Suguru rolled his eyes. “I work like someone who wants to graduate without drowning in debt.”

Satoru held up his hands in mock surrender. “No shade, no shade. I think the hard work is admirable.”

They sat in silence again, each scrolling through their schedule on their phones until-

“Wait- wait ,” Satoru slurred, brow scrunching as he leaned way too close to Suguru’s shoulder, practically draping himself over the couch to peer at his phone. “ You’re taking Ethics and Moral Philosophy?”

No shit… I'm a philosophy major?

Suguru opened his mouth but before he could answer, Satoru shuffled even closer, squinting at the screen. “And Business Ethics? Brooo.” He turned to face Suguru, grinning lopsidedly. “I’m in those too! Different sections though, I think.” He tone sinks a bit. Almost sounded like he was disappointed.

Why the hell is a business major taking Ethics and Moral Philosophy?

Then he spun back to his own phone like he’d just uncovered buried treasure, tapping wildly until he found his schedule and held it up an inch from Suguru’s face. “ BUT LOOK!! Intro to Japanese History! Same class, same time! We’re totally gonna be desk buddies.” Satoru says with a nudge to Sugurus' shoulder. He looked at Suguru with wide eyes and a crooked, self-satisfied smile.

They stared at each other. Suguru blinked once. “You’re breathing in my ear.”

Satoru backs up and giggles. He throws his hands up “Sorry, sorry” 

Silence sits between them. After a moment, Satoru is the first to speak. “Okay but be honest... you only picked that class because you thought it’d be easy, right?”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

Satoru grinned and nudged Sugurus' shoulder. “Look at us. Academic soulmates.”

“Don’t.” Suguru says, leaning away.

“Too late. I've already decided I'm sitting next to you.”

He is suffocating. Suguru needed air. And maybe a cigarette. 

Or five . 

Suguru excuses himself and slips out the back door with a pack of cigarettes in his hoodie pocket, lighter already in hand. The screen door creaked shut behind him with a familiar metallic groan. Outside, the air was cool, thick with the scent of damp wood and something faintly sweet from a neighbor’s backyard. He leaned against the railing, lit the cigarette with one fluid motion, and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke coil upward into the night. It was the first breath he’d taken all day that felt like it belonged to him. 

He’d barely made it halfway through the cigarette when he heard the door creak again. The silence was good while it lasted…

“ Heyyy, ” Satoru’s voice drifted out, all loose limbs and shameless presence, like he hadn’t been silently judged just hours ago for barely knowing how to rinse a dish.

Suguru didn’t turn. “What are you doing?”

“Following you,” Satoru said casually, stepping barefoot on the wooden porch like he’d just discovered new territory. “You disappeared and I got lonely.”

“Go back inside, just came out for a smoke” he sighs.

“You’re mean.”

“Yeah I get that a lot.” He takes another drag. Satoru stood beside him now, closer than necessary, swaying just slightly. His breath smelled like whiskey and something artificial and sweet, the flavor of a drink made more for fun than taste. Suguru ignored him and took another drag.

“Can I have one?” Satoru asked suddenly, nodding toward the cigarette.

Suguru side-eyed him. “You smoke cigs?”

Satoru blinked, then grinned, sheepish, half-wasted, but sincere. “...No.”

“Then no.” Suguru says, averting his gaze forward.

“Aww, c’mon.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but eventually handed him one anyway after some more whining and begging from Satoru. 

“You lighting this for the aesthetic?” Satoru fumbled with the lighter like someone who absolutely didn’t smoke, or maybe because he was drunk? He did somehow managed to ignite the tip on the third try. He took a drag, coughed immediately, and then gave Suguru a crooked grin like the whole thing had gone exactly to plan.

“Yeah,” Satoru admitted, voice hoarse, “I just thought it would make me look cool.”

“For real? I thought you said you smoke weed? Can't even handle a cig?” Suguru says not amused.

“Ah- yeah. I did say that… Hmmm…” he pauses for a moment, looking up at the sky, “is now a bad time to say I lied? Never tried it, my parents would actually decapitate me if i came home smelling like weed.” he said, eyes half-lidded with exaggerated smugness. Then, quieter: “Wanted to keep a mysterious and cool vibe going on for you.”

Suguru exhaled slowly through his nose. Not surprised. “You already act quite mysterious.”

Satoru nudged his elbow. “You think I’m mysterious?”

“I think you’re drunk. And off 1/6th of the bottle might I add.”

“ I am not drunk, this is just my normal… mysterious cool vibe .”

They stood in silence for a moment, Suguru smoking like someone who needed it, Satoru holding his cigarette like a prop in an indie film he hadn’t read the script for. Suguru wasn’t sure what was more baffling, the fact that Satoru had followed him out here just for this, or that part of him wasn’t completely annoyed by it. He sighed. “Put it out before you burn your eyebrows off.”

“See you care.” Satoru says leaning drunkenly towards him. This time, Suguru doesn't lean away, probably because if he did, Satoru would fall over with the lit cigarette in his hand. Disaster just waiting to happen.

“I just don’t want to explain to your parents why their precious heir caught fire.”

“Wow,” Satoru muttered, no longer leaning on Suguru, stubbing the cigarette out on the railing with a lazy hand. “You really know how to kill a moment.” Suguru didn’t answer. He just kept smoking. But for the first time since they’d moved in, the silence between them didn’t feel sharp. It felt... temporary. Like maybe this year wasn’t going to be war, just long stretches of uneasy peace. And for now, that was enough.

Satoru

April 7th, 2025

Satoru woke up with a mouth full of cotton and what felt like a metal band rehearsing behind his eyes. “Ughhh… god.” He flopped his arm over his face dramatically, like maybe the weight of his own limb could keep the sunlight from ripping through his skull. The room smelled faintly of wood polish and leftover cheap whiskey. His tongue felt like it had been dipped in carpet lint. He peeled one eye open, groaning again when he saw the time.

8:13 a.m.

“ Shit. ”

He rolled out of bed, landed on the floor with a heavy thud , and laid there for a few seconds like a corpse. First day of class. No time to die now. Eventually, he forced himself up and stumbled to the bathroom. Suguru was already gone to his morning shift at the cafe down the road. The house was quiet, orderly. The door to his room shut, lights off. No sign of life. Of course he’s already gone, Satoru thought bitterly, splashing water on his face.

He didn’t like how clean the place felt when Suguru wasn’t in it. It reminded him that he was the one throwing the balance off. By some miracle, he was out the door by 8:50, iced coffee in one hand and sunglasses barely clinging to his face.

Schedule – Monday/Wednesday/Friday

• Composition III – 9:00a–9:50a
• Ethics and Moral Philosophy – 10:00a–10:50a
• Lunch/Study/Recovery Time (aka "napping upright in the library")
• Business Ethics and Social Responsibility – 12:00p–12:50p

Composition was fine. He took notes just to prove he could.

Ethics and Moral Philosophy was worse, not because it was hard necessarily, but because the professor spoke like someone who’d never been told to shut up, and Satoru’s hangover was actively trying to crawl out of his skull. He didn’t even realize Suguru wasn’t in the room until halfway through the lecture.

Right, he remembered. He's in a different time section. He works in the mornings.

That left the 11 o’clock hour for his usual trick: faking productivity in the library while secretly nursing a bottle of vitamin water and scrolling through his texts. There was nothing from Suguru. Not that he expected anything. Still, Satoru caught himself wondering what he looked like this morning behind the café counter. Did he tie his hair up again? Did he look exhausted?

Why the hell did he care?

He tapped a new message and stared at it for a second before typing:

[Me]: hey hows the cafe. u alive?

He watched the message hang there for a second. No reply. Then he sighed, dropped his head against the back of the chair. He can't tell if Suguru hates him, is just putting up with him, or is actually starting to warm up to him.

By the time 11:55 rolled around, Satoru had successfully convinced himself he wasn't obsessively checking his phone. He was just... glancing. Casually. Every five minutes. Like any normal person. Still no reply. He’s probably elbow-deep in oat milk and burnout, Satoru thought as he dragged himself out of his slouch and grabbed his bag for his Business Ethics class.

The walk across campus was a blur, sun too bright, air too clean, birds too happy. Everything felt aggressively alive in a way that made his pounding head want to explode. He pulled his hoodie over his eyes like a gremlin and shuffled into the lecture hall two minutes before class started. 

The room was cold, the lights harsh, and the professor already had a PowerPoint pulled up titled "Corporate Integrity in Late Capitalism." Satoru dropped into a chair in the middle row with a sigh. Ten minutes into the lecture, he’d only absorbed three things:

1. The professor used the word “synergy” without irony.
2. The guy two seats over was taking notes in full cursive. Like, Victorian cursive.
3. He was starving.

His phone buzzed just as he was considering skipping out to find a bagel.

[Aquarius]: Alive, barely. Cafe’s slammed. 

[Aquarius]: Did you die in class yet?

Satoru’s mouth twitched into a grin before he could stop it.

[Me]: still in it and still alive. this hangover was actually killing me this morning. if i go out tell my story. lie and say i was brave.

A beat later:

[Me]: btw we share 3 classes total i think… but its just intro to japanese history we have the same class time for right?

He hit send, then leaned back again, head lolling against the cool plastic of the seat.

The reply came faster than he expected.

[Aquarius]: Ethics and business ethics are different times for me, but yeah, intro is the same. 

[Aquarius]: And see… I knew you were drunk…

[Aquarius]: Let me guess, you picked them because they sounded easy? I don't know why a business major needs ethics and moral philosophy.

[Me]: obviously. why else would i voluntarily sign up for moral philosophy lmao

[Me]: wait is that why you picked them or are you secretly obsessed w the trolley problem

[Aquarius]: I picked them because I don’t have time or money to waste on electives that don’t count for anything.

[Me]: wow. ur no fun… -_-

He imagined Suguru at work, apron tied on, jaw tense, rolling his eyes at every customer who called him “buddy.” And for some reason, that image made his brain slow down just enough to feel warm. He sighed, rubbing his temples.

What the hell is happening to me.

The professor clapped his hands at the front of the room. “Everyone still awake? Let’s talk about accountability!” Satoru groaned under his breath.

[Me]: i’m skipping class with you one day. just warning u in advance.

Suguru

The house smelled faintly of coffee and detergent when Suguru stepped inside, shoes already kicked off before the door clicked shut behind him. He tugged his hoodie over his head, set his keys in the chipped ceramic dish by the door, and headed for the kitchen on autopilot. His whole body buzzed with the muscle memory of a long morning shift, shoulders sore from lifting, hands faintly sticky from espresso syrup, and the faint hum of caffeine keeping him vertical even though he hadn’t stopped moving since 4:00 AM.

He opened the fridge and pulled out the sandwich he’d made last night. He’d have maybe fifteen minutes to eat and regroup before his afternoon classes. Less, now that-

The front door opened again.

Satoru’s voice followed a beat later, dragging like a sigh. “God, that class was so boring I think my soul left my body halfway through.”

Suguru glanced at the front door from the island where he's eating. “Oh look, you did survive.”

He heard Satoru drop his bag on the floor with a dramatic thud , keys clattering onto the counter like he wanted the house to know he’d made it. “You look like you got hit by a truck,” Satoru said behind him.

“I was working ,” Suguru muttered, unwrapping his sandwich.

Satoru hovered near the kitchen entrance, sunglasses still perched lazily on top of his head. His hair was a little wind-tossed, shirt wrinkled from where he’d clearly been slumped in a lecture hall seat all morning.

“You seriously work that early every day?”

“Monday through Thursday,” Suguru said, between bites. “Bar on weekends. Like I said 3 times now.” he says while eating his sandwich.

Satoru blinked. “Fifty hours a week is crazy.”

“Again, like I said,” Suguru replied. “Fifty-six” He finally looked over. Satoru was staring at him like he’d just admitted to a crime.

“That’s... actually insane,” Satoru said, less mocking now. “How do you have time to exist?”

“I don’t,” Suguru said simply, and returned to his food. There was a pause. Just long enough for Satoru to realize that maybe, maybe, now wasn’t the time for small talk. But of course, he pushed anyway.

“Well” Satoru said, arms crossed over his chest now. “We’ve got that Japanese history class together tomorrow. Get excited, I alone will make this your favorite class just by the grace of my presence alone.”

Suguru gave a small nod. “Guess I’ll see you there,” he added, voice light. Suguru put his sandwich back in the fridge, wiped his hands, and picked up his messenger bag from the table. He didn’t bother changing. Just swapped out the café apron for his tablet and philosophy notes. “I’ll be back around three,” he said, already heading out the door.

Satoru saluted him lazily from the kitchen. “Don’t let the ethics get you down.”

“Too late,” Suguru muttered before shutting the door.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The quad buzzed with the usual start-of-semester energy, students sprawled on the grass, backpacks too full, everyone still pretending they were going to keep up with readings this year. Suguru weaved through the mess of it like a ghost, earbuds in, already thinking about the impending increase in workload that was about to hit him like a truck.

His first class, Ethics and Moral Philosophy , one of the classes Satoru was also taking, was small, maybe twenty students, tucked into a seminar room that always smelled like dry-erase markers and too much dust. The professor was sharp but fair, the kind who didn’t reward bullshit answers but respected people who showed up ready to think. Suguru liked that. It felt honest.

By the time the 1:50 dismissal came, he was already organizing notes for his next class, Philosophy of Mind at 2 PM, just a short walk away.

That one was more abstract. Less about what was right or wrong, and more about what it meant to be anything at all. What defines the self? Was consciousness just a trick of evolution? The guy next to him clearly thought he was the next Nietzsche, but Suguru mostly kept to himself, taking in what he needed and tuning out the performative debate team energy.

His final class of the day, Business Ethics and Social Responsibility, felt like a bridge between his academic life and the bullshit of the real world. The irony wasn’t lost on him, sitting in a class about corporate morality while surviving off two jobs and a nearing negative bank balance. Still, the material was useful… applicable. That made it tolerable. Wasn't sure why he needed this class… It makes sense why Satoru takes this class but why was this needed for his program? 

Whatever. As long as I graduate on time.

By 3:50, his brain was humming and his patience was thinning. His backpack felt heavier than it should. He ducked out of the building and headed straight for the quieter side of campus, phone in hand but unread notifications ignored for now.

Suguru shoved his hands into his pocket as he cut across campus, the soft hum of a headache settling behind his eyes. His bag felt like a second spine the way it dragged against him, heavy with textbooks and borrowed energy. He hadn’t even made it past the quad before his phone buzzed for the fourth time that hour. He finally pulled it out and thumbed through the messages, a backlog of texts he hadn’t had time to look at between classes.

[Riko]: u alive? blink twice for yes
[Misato]: you better not be dead in a ditch. also, are you off tomorrow?

He stared at that last one for a moment too long, thumb hovering.

He remembered sending that dumb reply earlier: “Alive, barely.”

Now he just sighed and locked the screen without answering. His feet were already on the sidewalk outside the house, and all he wanted was quiet, maybe some rice and five minutes of uninterrupted stillness. But the moment he opened the front door, still juggling his keys, he froze.

The house looked like a tornado had thrown a frat party and then left halfway through cleanup. One of Satoru’s hoodies was slung over the back of a barstool. A sock, just one , was under the coffee table. Empty energy drink cans sat on the island next to an open bag of chips, a t-shirt, which looked like it had been used as a napkin at some point. A crumpled towel hung halfway off the couch. There was even a shirt draped over the kitchen faucet like some kind of performance art installation.

Suguru dropped his bag by the door, standing there for a long, slow breath. He wasn’t mad, not exactly. Not yet. Just... exhausted. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with after twelve hours of movement and mental gymnastics.

He stepped further into the kitchen, kicking an empty bottle cap across the tile. The fridge door was slightly open, not enough to ruin anything, but enough to annoy him. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath.

Then, louder, toward the hall where Satorus room is, “Satoru?” No response. The silence was either a blessing or a sign of worse things to come. He took another look around, saw a bowl half-full of cereal sitting on top of the microwave for some reason, and gritted his teeth.

Suguru didn’t yell. Didn’t huff or storm or throw anything. He just walked over to the hoodie on the stool and flung it onto the couch with a sharp flick of his wrist. Then he started cleaning, not because he wanted to, but because it was either that or lose his goddamn mind. The silence was brittle. Suguru had the broom in one hand and a trash bag in the other, moving like he was scrubbing away not just the clutter, but the entire concept of Satoru Satoru’s existence. He’d cleared the counter. Wiped down the microwave. Picked up socks that weren’t his and dishes he didn’t dirty. The damn cereal bowl on the microwave had nearly sent him over the edge.

He was scrubbing the rim of the kitchen sink when the front door opened.

Satoru’s voice followed, light and careless. “Yo! I’m back,” he called, kicking off his shoes with a thud. “Shoko says hi, by the way. She’s already skipping classes. Iconic, to be honest.”

Suguru didn’t answer.

Satoru padded into the kitchen, lifting up his glasses. “Man, it smells clean in here. Did you-?”

He stopped when he finally looked up and saw Suguru’s face. The silence that dropped between them wasn’t accidental… it was dense, immediate, like gravity hit the house all at once.

Satoru blinked. “...Okay. What?”

“You left the fridge open,” Suguru said flatly, moving past him, not looking at him.

“That’s what this is about?” Satoru scoffed, tossing his sunglasses on the counter, which only made Suguru’s jaw clench tighter.

“No,” Suguru said, this time spinning back, facing him “It’s about the fridge. And the cereal. And your clothes. And your trash. And your sock under the coffee table. And the fact that I walked in here after three straight hours of back-to-back classes, after working a shift this morning, only to find the place looking like a crime scene.”

Satoru raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, relax. It’s not that bad—”

“Don’t,” Suguru said sharply, finally turning to face him. “Don’t tell me to relax like I’m overreacting when you haven’t lifted a finger in this house since you got here.”

“Are you seriously pissed over a sock?”

“I’m pissed that you treat this place like a hotel and me like the fucking maid.”

“Jesus,” Satoru muttered. “I didn’t realize I moved in with my dad .”

“You didn’t,” Suguru snapped. “You moved in with someone who doesn’t have the luxury of ignoring shit just because it’s inconvenient.”

That made Satoru’s posture shift, like the words actually hit. Suguru saw it… the way his jaw tightened, eyes narrowing a little.

“Oh, here we go,” Satoru said, voice low now. “The fucking 'little rich boy' speech. Thought we were gonna save that one for midterms or at least later, not day 3.”

Suguru scoffs, “This has nothing to do with your money-”

“Everything has to do with it!” Satoru barked, suddenly serious. “You resent me for it. Every time I breathe too loud or drop a crumb on the floor, you act like I killed your dog.”

“You walk around like the world owes you comfort,” Suguru said, stepping closer now, heat rising. “Like your time matters more. Like other people are just background noise in your little Satoru bubble-”

“I didn’t ask to be born into money!”

“And I didn’t ask to clean up after someone who treats shared space like it’s disposable!”

The silence that followed that was sharp and white-hot. Satoru stared at him, chest rising and falling, but his expression had shifted, just slightly. A flicker of something else behind the anger. Something Suguru didn’t have the bandwidth to name.

They were standing too close now. Suguru could see the flush in Satoru’s cheeks, maybe from the yelling, maybe from the walk home, and realized his own hands were clenched too tight around the broom handle. He stepped back first. Quietly.

“I don’t care who your family is or how much money you have,” he said, voice lower. “But you live here now. With me. Clean up after yourself.” Then he turned away and grabbed the trash bag again, tying it with a single angry pull.

Satoru didn’t say anything as Suguru walked past him and out the front door. 

Suguru stood behind the house with the trash bag dropped beside the bins, a cigarette between his lips and a shaky exhale pushing past his teeth. The cool air bit into his sweat-damp shirt. He hadn’t bothered with a jacket.

He lit the cigarette and leaned against the back wall, jaw clenched. His hands were still too tense, like his body hadn’t caught up with the fact that the shouting was over.

That was stupid.

Loud and stupid.

And now he’d have to keep living in that same small, suffocating space with him . 

He pulled his phone out with his free hand and opened his messages, thumb hovering between Riko and Kuroi. He tapped on Riko. She’d answer the fastest.

[Me]: Literally just screamed at my roommate, like full-volume. Almost threw a sock at his head.

She was typing before he could even put his phone away.

[Riko]: OMG?? what happened?! what did he do now

[Me]: Left the fridge open, trashed the house, gaslit me about the sock, then made it a class war.
[Me]: Also I might actually hate him.

[Riko]: lmao u absolutely don’t you’re just sleep deprived and allergic to extroverts.

[Me]: and he’s allergic to accountability.

[Riko]: okay okay… u just need to breathe dude. sure its annoying especially with how hard u work but u need to like actually TALK to him. not yell. it is day 3…

[Riko]: yelling and lashing out doesnt solve anything sugie

Suguru took another drag, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the siding. He hated how easily she made it lighter. But also how she wasn’t wrong. The fight wasn’t about a sock or the fridge. Not really. It was about everything else, his exhaustion, the imbalance, the way Satoru floated through life like he wasn’t weighed down by anything while Suguru had to claw and grind for every inch of stability. Sure, he was jealous. Jealous that hes been living a life full of security that Suguru could only dream of.

It was infuriating.

But the worst part? Somewhere deep in his chest, in the part that paid too much attention, he knew Satoru wasn’t a bad person. Just… unbearable. And too charming for someone who clearly didn’t know how to do his own laundry.

He sighed and flicked ash off the edge of the concrete. The door creaked faintly behind him, and he didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Satoru didn’t say anything at first. Just hovered. Suguru didn’t turn.

“Fridge is closed,” Satoru said eventually. 

Suguru blew out a long, thin stream of smoke. “Great,” he muttered. There was another beat of silence before the door creaked shut again, and Satoru disappeared back inside. Suguru stayed outside a little longer. Just to breathe. Just to exist without someone watching him like a puzzle they couldn’t solve.

He knew this was only the beginning. And somehow, that was the most exhausting part.

Chapter Text

Suguru

April 8th, 2025

The alarm cut through the silence like a blade. Suguru didn’t move for a few seconds, buried in blankets, eyes open in the dark. His room was still, too still. He could hear the soft hum of the cheap fridge down the hall and the faint rustle of tree branches outside, but none of it drowned out the echo of last night’s fight. He’d replayed it all night, every word, every flare of temper. The way Satoru’s voice had dropped when he got serious. The way Suguru had thrown out lines meant to sting, and how they’d landed.

He wasn’t proud of it.

Dragging himself out of bed, he moved like muscle memory, the shower was too short, the towel too thin, the house still colder than it should be. He was out the door by 3:40am, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, a cigarette tucked behind his ear for his “lunch break”.

By 4:15 AM he was behind the counter at the café, apron tied tight, hands already flying from routine to get the cafe open for the day. There was something almost meditative about opening shifts. The world wasn’t fully awake yet, only the overworked, the overstressed, and the insomniacs made it out this early. The café was quiet in the beginning, the light still warming up, the machines blinking to life like slow beasts stretching after sleep.

He brewed the first batch of coffee. Prepped pastries. Polished the counter for the third time in an hour. But no amount of mechanical movement could push the weight off his chest. The argument with Satoru hung over him like a storm cloud that refused to pass. He didn’t want to care. He really didn’t. But the truth was, he felt... off. Unsettled in a way he couldn’t name.

Satoru Gojo was loud, irritating, entitled… and, apparently, living in his head rent-free.

He sighed and leaned his hip against the counter, watching the morning crowd start to pick up. He worked through the line with his usual dry efficiency, flashing the occasional tired smile, nodding at regulars, grinding beans and steaming milk until the rhythm started to ease the tightness behind his eyes. Still, every pause dragged him back to that damn kitchen. To the hoodie slung on a chair. The smirk. The silence after Suguru had snapped too hard and walked out.

At 11:41, he was wiping down the espresso machine when the thought hit him: Maybe I could… I don’t know… do something? Not an apology. Not really. But something… something small. 

He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering. He hated how long he stared at the blank message field. Finally, he typed:

[Me]: what do you usually get at cafes?

No context. No apology. Just an olive branch disguised as a casual question. It gave him a little deniability if Satoru decided to be his usual dramatic self. He locked the screen before he could second-guess it and turned back toward the espresso bar. If nothing else, he could guess based on what people like Satoru usually ordered, sweet, expensive, impractical drinks with too much syrup and not enough coffee.

But part of him wanted to get it right. And for reasons he didn’t like admitting, especially to himself, he wanted Satoru to know he’d thought about it. Suguru’s phone buzzed a few minutes before the end of his shift. He didn’t even realize how fast he grabbed it until he noticed his coworker giving him a side glance. Ignoring it, he thumbed open the message.

[Roommate?]: caramel iced latte, extra shot, whole milk. why? u gonna bring me one? (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Of course he’d use an emoticon… Suguru rolled his eyes but didn’t fight the small twitch at the corner of his mouth. He replied with a dry:

[Me]: I’ll be home soon. Don’t get used to it.

[Roommate?]: ur obsessed with me.

He didn’t respond to that one. Just set the phone down, pulled a to-go cup from the stack, and got to work on the drink. Caramel iced latte. Extra shot. Whole milk. Of course Gojo would drink something that dramatic and barely count it as coffee. Suguru had to fight the urge to water it down just out of spite.

The moment the drink was done, he capped it, scribbled a passive-aggressive “Don't forget to throw this away” on the side with a black marker, and clocked out. The walk home wasn’t far, but his shoulders were tight with the tension of having to speak again. He didn’t love conflict… not when it lingered like this. He preferred silence, clean endings, and clear roles.

But Gojo never let things stay clean. Back at the house, he stepped inside and immediately noticed the difference. It wasn’t perfect, not even close, but it wasn’t the war zone from yesterday. Some of the trash had been thrown out. The socks were gone. The hoodie was still on the couch, but Suguru decided to let that one go for now. Satoru was on the couch, hunched over his phone with his feet kicked up on the coffee table like he paid rent.

Suguru walked over without saying anything, dropped the cup on the side table next to him, and crossed his arms. Satoru looked up, surprised. “Wait… you actually brought me one?”

“I said don’t get used to it.”

“Wow. So cold.”

Suguru didn’t smile, but his posture eased just slightly. He leaned against the arm of the couch, arms crossed. “Listen,” he started, voice low. “About last night.”

Satoru tilted his head, waiting.

“I was… out of line yelling like that,” Suguru admitted. “I don’t take it back, the things I said. You do need to clean up after yourself if we’re going to live together and I’m going to keep whatever’s left of my mental health.” He paused. “But I shouldn’t have exploded like that. That part’s on me.”

Satoru blinked, then looked at the drink, almost like it helped him process. “That’s… probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me before noon,” he said finally, picking up the cup and taking a sip. “Oh my god, this is so good .”

“Yeah well I know how to do my job,” Suguru says walking over to the kitchen to grab a snack. There was a long pause. Not awkward. Just… quiet.

Then Satoru added, voice lower this time, “I’ll try. With the cleaning stuff. I’m just not used to, like… people caring if I do or don’t.”

Suguru nodded. He didn’t push. Just said, “Cool,” and turned to go toward his room. But Satoru’s voice followed him.

“Hey.”

Suguru stopped and turned his head in his direction.

“Thanks,” Satoru said, holding the cup up in a mock-toast. “For the drink. And… y’know. Not killing me.”

Suguru turned back to face his room, but there was the faintest lift and joking tone to his voice when he replied, “Not yet.”

He closed the door behind him with a soft click and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours. The quiet of his room hit different after the cafe. No hiss of the milk steamer, no chatter, no Satoru. Just silence and the low hum of the fan in the corner. Suguru pulled his hoodie off by the collar, tossed it onto the bed, and collapsed into his desk chair, spine curving forward until his forehead rested on the heel of his palm.

The scent of espresso still clung to his sleeves. His shoulder ached from pulling syrup bottles down all morning, and his back was in full revolt from standing since five a.m., but worse than all of that was the low burn of anticipation building in his chest. In less than an hour, he’d be in a classroom with Gojo Satoru. For 75 minutes.

Sitting near him. Possibly next to him. Listening to him whisper dumb jokes or ask if Suguru brought snacks or start fights with the professor just for fun. He could already feel the headache forming behind his eyes. Suguru leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. He rubbed his temples slowly and tried to talk himself down.

It’s just a class. It’s just 75 minutes. You’ve survived worse. You work two jobs. You can survive Gojo sitting near you and breathing too loud.

But still, the tension in his shoulders hadn’t gone away. That conversation from just 10 minutes ago, Satoru with his ridiculous drink and almost-sincere tone, kept replaying in his head. The “Thanks.” The “I’ll try.” It hadn’t fixed anything, but it shifted something small in the dynamic. It made Suguru feel… off balance. Like he wasn’t as sure of the lines between them anymore.

He wasn’t used to people apologizing to him, or meeting him halfway. He especially wasn’t used to it coming from people like him . The shiny, privileged ones who usually got a free pass in every room they walked into. He hated to admit it, but Satoru’s effort, however small, had registered. And now they’d be trapped in a tiny lecture hall together for an hour and some change, with nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen to a professor drone on about feudal systems and early Meiji-era reforms.

Suguru groaned quietly and dragged a hand down his face. He reached over, grabbed his water bottle, and took a slow sip, then stared at his open backpack like it might pack itself. Get dressed. Get moving. Be cool. Don't engage unless necessary. Don’t get dragged into whatever weird orbit Satoru Gojo operates on.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Suguru zipped up his hoodie and slung his bookbag over one shoulder, chewing the inside of his cheek as he checked the time again. He lingered by the front door for a moment longer, foot tapping, eyes flicking toward the hallway. Nothing. No obnoxious voice calling his name. No heavy footsteps. No sight of a lanky menace bounding out of his room with half his shirt tucked in and a dumb grin ready to fire off at full strength.

Just… silence. Suguru scoffed to himself and shook his head as he opened the door. 

Why did I think we would walk together…? He shut the door behind him a little harder than necessary. Almost like he was annoyed.

The walk across campus was brisk. Afternoon sun filtered through the tree canopy, scattering uneven light across the stone paths. Students strolled in pairs or buried their faces in iced drinks and course readers, a thousand little lives unfolding quietly around him.

Suguru walked alone, hands in his pockets, earbuds in but no music playing. He didn’t feel like being distracted. His stomach still had that restless weight in it… the kind you get before you see someone you don’t know how to feel about. Someone who shouldn’t take up that much space in your head. But of course, Satoru did.

Loudly. Constantly. Effortlessly.

Suguru pulled open the door to the lecture hall, stepping into a wave of cool air and the quiet murmur of early arrivals settling into seats. This class was massive compared to the tight, seminar-style rooms he preferred, a full-sized lecture auditorium with over a hundred seats arranged in a gradual incline. Projector screen at the front, a long whiteboard already half-covered in notes from a previous class, and a professor fiddling with his laptop near the podium. He scanned the room quickly, instinctively, and sure enough, in the very back row, a too-familiar hand wiggled lazily in the air like a flag.

Satoru.

Slouched with one leg stretched out, sunglasses perched on top of his head like this was a rooftop bar and not an actual academic environment. His stupid grin widened the second Suguru made eye contact. Suguru hesitated for half a second. Just long enough to regret coming in through the front doors where Gojo had a full view of him.

Then he exhaled through his nose and started climbing the stairs. Every step felt like a choice. He slid into the seat next to Satoru with as little fanfare as possible, dropping his bag between them and pulling out his notebook without a word. Satoru leaned in slightly, voice pitched low. “Took you long enough. Thought you were ditching our date.”

“It’s a lecture,” Suguru muttered, eyes forward. “And if this were a date, I’d be asking for financial compensation.”

“Whoa,” Satoru grinned, tapping a finger to his chest. “You wound me.”

Suguru shook his head, barely suppressing a smirk. He hated how easy it was for Satoru to act like last night hadn’t happened, like they hadn’t been two seconds away from throwing hands over dirty socks and passive-aggressive fridge notes. But here they were. Side by side. A full 75 minutes ahead of them. And maybe, if he ignored the way his stomach flipped slightly at the sound of that dumb voice next to him… he could get through it.

Satoru

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting a sterile, institutional glow across the lecture hall. The projector screen glowed with a painfully boring slide titled “Class Structure & Assessment Overview” in black Times New Roman on a beige background that looked like a stale piece of toast. Satoru stared at it like it had personally offended him.

He shifted in his seat, stylus twirling between his fingers, his tablet screen still mostly empty save for a few sarcastic bullet points and one crude doodle of the professor with a villain mustache. He wasn’t actually paying attention, not until the word quiz hit his ears like a sucker punch.

“…and as I mentioned in the syllabus,” the professor repeated, gesturing with slow, deliberate motions, “you’ll have a short quiz every class session . It’ll always be based on the previous lecture or reading.”

Satoru blinked once. Then again.

A quiz… every class period?

He sat up an inch straighter, glancing at Suguru out of the corner of his eye. The other boy hadn’t flinched. He was sitting calmly, one leg crossed over the other, pen gliding smoothly across his tablet like this was exactly what he’d expected. Which, to be fair, it probably was. Suguru gave off that effortlessly prepared energy, the type who read syllabi in advance and highlighted things like “mandatory” and “participation rubric.”

Satoru leaned over and whispered, “Tell me he’s kidding.”

Suguru didn’t even glance up. “He’s not.”

“But it’s the syllabus .”

“Page two,” Suguru said dryly, pointing at satours own tablet to show him the line. “‘Weekly comprehension checks at the start of each session.’ It was bolded.” he looks up at Satoru.

Satoru stared at the paper like it had personally betrayed him. Then back at Suguru. “You read the syllabus?” That earned him a slow, unimpressed side-eye. No words, just pure judgment wrapped in a tired blink.

Satoru leaned back in his seat and groaned. “This is oppression,” he whispered to no one in particular, and opened his notes app for real this time and scribbled nonsense including something along the lines of quiz every class??? syllabus quiz thurs. kill me…

He cast another glance at Suguru’s page. His handwriting was neat, sharp. Left margin perfectly aligned. Subheadings underlined. Different colored highlights for dates and terms.

Meanwhile, Satoru had written “Japanese war = probably bad?” obvioulty not paying attention, or as much attention as he should. He rubbed his eyes, muttering under his breath. “I thought this class was gonna be, like… free credit. Chill survey course. Watch some documentaries. Talk about shrines or swords or whatever.”

Suguru didn’t look at him, but said, “Should’ve taken Ancient Japanese Culture. That one’s the real blowoff.”

Satoru narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you take that one, then?”

“Because I’m not trying to coast,” Suguru replied. “And I already took that my first year.”

“Okay, nerd,” Satoru mumbled, but it lacked venom. He tapped the edge of his stylus against his chin and glanced at Suguru again, a little longer this time. Half of his hair was tied back again today, with that same front piece hanging in front of his face, neck slightly exposed under his hoodie collar, eyes flicking between the screen and his page. Calm. Composed. The exact opposite of Satoru’s internal state. And that was annoying.

Not because Suguru was competent. But because he made it look like Satoru was the one slacking , like Satoru was the distraction in the room. And okay, maybe that was true, but still. Rude.

He wrote another bullet on his notes: Geto thinks he’s smarter than me. Then immediately followed it with: He might be

He stared at it for a second. Grimaced. Then deleted the second one before Suguru could possibly look over and see it. When the professor finally moved on to the next slide, a dry breakdown of early imperial governance, Satoru sighed deeply and slouched farther into his seat, one hand lazily scrolling through the slides, the other still twirling the stylus.

This was going to be way more work than he planned. And the worst part? He didn’t hate it. Not because of the professor. Not because of the material. But because sitting next to Suguru, even in silence, made him weirdly aware of himself in a way that was… not altogether bad. He was just gonna ignore that realization. For now.

— — — — — — — — —

The minute the professor dismissed them, Satoru’s stylus dropped onto his tablet with a clack , and he stretched back in his chair like he’d just completed a triathlon. “Jesus,” he muttered, letting out a slow exhale. “He really said, ‘This class won’t be hard,’ and then pulled out pop quizzes and reading assignments like surprise weapons.” He tilted his head toward Suguru, who was already slipping his notebook into his bag with robotic efficiency. “So? Be honest. Did that feel like a casual gen-ed to you? ”

Suguru didn’t even blink. “I don’t think I used the word ‘casual’ once.”

“Yeah, okay, nerd. ” Satoru fell in step beside him as they filed out of the lecture hall, his backpack lazily slung over one shoulder, tablet still in hand like he wasn’t done complaining yet. But Suguru didn’t seem particularly inclined to start a conversation. He was just… walking. Calm. Focused. Like it was just another box checked off in a long, exhausting day. Satoru, on the other hand, was still reeling from the one-two punch of academic betrayal and the realization that he might actually have to try in this class.

The two of them hit the sidewalk outside the building, the sun warmer now in the late afternoon. Satoru shoved his sunglasses on and adjusted the strap of his bag, glancing sideways at his roommate.

“So, you liked it?” he asked. “The lecture?”

Suguru shrugged. “It was fine.”

“You’re impossible to read, you know that?”

“Yeah I get that a lot.”

Satoru smirked. “Cool. Love that for me.”

They kept walking. It should’ve been awkward. The kind of quiet you drown in. But it wasn’t. Not exactly. There was a rhythm to it, the scrape of their shoes against the pavement, the distant hum of cicadas, the buzz of scattered campus conversations passing them by. Satoru didn’t mean to match Suguru’s pace, but he did. It felt… natural.

They didn’t speak again until they were cutting through the last few blocks between campus and their off-campus house, the rundown one with the creaky porch and the shitty water pressure and Satoru’s socks still probably stuffed behind the couch.

“So,” Satoru said casually, slipping his hands into his pockets. “This what we’re doing now? Walking back together after class? Roommate bonding time?”

Suguru gave him a side glance. “Don’t make it weird. I have my 3pm class after this one but i forgot my books in my room, so no this is not ‘what were doing now’.”

“Not weird unless you make it weird.”

The corner of Suguru’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but not not one either. Maybe he was almost laughing at Satorus incredibly selective hearing.

Satoru looked ahead, focusing on the cracked sidewalk and overgrown weeds poking through the fence lines. He kept his voice breezy. “This isn’t weird, by the way,” he said. “Just two roommates. Walking back from class.”

“Sure.” Suguru said, monotone almost like he wasnt really listening to Satoru. Satoru nodded like that settled it. Totally normal. Not weird. 

So why was he suddenly so aware of how close their shoulders were? Of the way Suguru’s cologne was still faint on his hoodie from earlier this morning? Of the fact that walking in silence with him felt less like a lull and more like a conversation that didn’t need words? He shoved the thought away. It was just the sun. The walk. The class. The caffeine. Not anything else. Definitely not that.

They got back to the house just as the afternoon heat began to dull, shadows stretched across the yard like lazy fingers. Satoru kicked the front door open with a dramatic flair, dropping his bag right inside the entrance like it had personally offended him. “Another successful day of academia,” he announced, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rode up. He glanced sideways, fully aware of it. “Do I look smarter already?”

Suguru stepped past him without pausing. “No.”

“Cold,” Satoru said, grin sharpening as he closed the door behind them. “You didn’t even look.”

“I didn’t have to.”

Satoru followed him into the kitchen, still riding the high of their walk home, or more accurately, the fact that Suguru hadn’t immediately bailed after class like he expected. He was still testing the limits of how close he could hover without being told to go away. As Suguru opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, Satoru leaned against the counter next to him. “So… wanna do something crazy and help me not fail this class?”

Suguru gave him a sidelong glance. “Define ‘help.’”

“Like... sit near me while I pretend to study, offer judgmental commentary. You know, motivational support.”

“Do you think I have time for that with how busy I am?”

Satoru clutched his chest, mock-wounded. “Ouch. You're really immune to charm, huh?”

“Whatever you think you’re doing right now,” Suguru said, twisting the cap off his water, “it’s not working.”

“Didn’t say I was doing anything.” Satoru smirked. “Just trying to make friends with my favorite roommate.”

“I’m your only roommate.”

“Still counts.”

Suguru started to leave the kitchen, but Satoru trailed behind him like a dog who hadn’t learned boundaries. “You know,” he added casually, “you could at least pretend to like me. Wouldn’t kill you.”

Suguru paused just outside his door,, gaze flat. “I don’t dislike you, Satoru. I just like silence a little more.”

Satoru gave him a slow smile. “Only a little?” 

Suguru doesnt respond to with that, he grabs his stuff for his 3pm class and leaves the house. Satoru stood there for a second, rocking on his heels, grin lingering despite himself. Friendship shot down? Hard to tell, but not defeated. There was something about the way Suguru responded… sharp, blunt, not trying to impress anyone. He didn’t try to soften anything. He just said what he meant, let it land, and moved on. And Satoru… kind of liked that. Maybe too much.

He exhaled and flopped down on the couch, dragging his tablet into his lap. Just roommates, he reminded himself. Totally normal. Even if his stomach was still kind of warm from the walk.
Even if Suguru's voice, clipped and cold, had stuck in his head longer than it should.

Satoru flopped fully onto the couch, one leg hanging over the armrest, tablet on his stomach, phone in hand. He stared at the ceiling for a beat. Then at the front door where he just left. Then back at his phone. He opened the group chat.

[Satoru]: have you ever been intellectually backhanded before

[Shoko]: what did you do

[Satoru]: ME?? nothing. i was just being my naturally charming self (´꒳`)♡

[Hime]: well there’s your first mistake

[Yu]: omg wait what happened i need the full drama drop rn

[Satoru]: i asked if he wanted to study with me and he basically said it’d be a waste of his time…

[Kento]: sounds accurate

[Satoru]: kento pls shut up for once in your life

[Shoko]: hold on. this is your roommate right? the philosophy major? with the soft hair?

[Satoru]: …yes. the ONLY roommate. the one i LIVE WITH

[Yu]: the tatted one?? you said he was weirdly hot??

[Satoru]: I NEVER SAID THAT

[Satoru]: okay i said it ONCE. in confidence.

[Hime]: and we lovingly weaponized it 

[Satoru]: y’all are insufferable

[Shoko]: sounds like someone’s got a lil crush

[Satoru]: WHAT. no. i don’t even… like guys

[Satoru]: i think

[Yu]: ohhhh we’re in the denial arc

[Hime]: “i don’t even like guys” says the man actively flirting w his roommate bc he doesn’t know how to make normal friends

[Satoru]: OKAY RUDE but also maybe a little true

[Kento]: it’s entirely true

[Shoko]: give it 2 weeks you’ll be doodling his name in your notebook

[Satoru]: SHOKO PLEASE

[Yu]: this is better than any drama on netflix

[Satoru]: literally what is happening rn

[Hime]: baby’s first gay panic 

[Shoko]: don’t worry sweetie, we support you <3

Satoru let the phone fall onto his chest, staring at the ceiling again with a groan. He hated how fast they jumped on him. He hated how accurate they probably were. And mostly, he hated how he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Suguru hadn’t even looked at him when he said no, like Satoru didn’t even register on his radar. That? That was maddening.

Still, Satoru pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and tucked it around himself. The A/C was blasting again, and even with his pride in shambles, he refused to get up and turn it down. He checked the chat again.

[Yu]: it’s okayyy denial is the first stage

He rolled his eyes and typed back:

[Satoru]: i hope all of u fail ur classes

He didn’t send it, though. Instead, he opened the class folder on his tablet and stared at the syllabus for Intro to Japanese History again. And then, because apparently he hated himself, he glanced toward the door, wondering what Suguru was doing. Wondering if he’d already started reading the chapter for Thursday. Wondering what it would take to get him to smile.

Suguru

Suguru’s 3 PM History of Philosophy class had gone by without much fanfare. No dramatic debates, no eccentric professors going on hour-long tangents, just a steady stream of lecture material and dense readings that would’ve put most people to sleep. But not him.

He wouldn’t say he enjoyed sitting still for that long, but he didn’t mind it either. The material was rich, classical texts, metaphysical frameworks, the evolution of human thought laid out like a tapestry. He found something comforting in it, the way philosophy gave structure to chaos. Even when the lectures dragged, the content gave him something to chew on.

By the time the class let out, the late afternoon sun had dipped low enough to throw long shadows across the sidewalk. The sky was starting to soften, casting a pale glow over the quad. His bag felt heavier than it should, not from books, but from the mental load of the day. 

The wind picked up as he neared the house, rustling the hem of his hoodie. When he reached the front door, he could already hear the muffled buzz of a television through the walls, of course. The usual chaos of Gojo’s presence, probably a pair of socks left on the counter too.

He slipped inside quietly, not bothering to announce himself. The living room had the lived-in clutter of two very different people trying to coexist. He didn’t linger. Just made a beeline for his room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click .

Inside, it was quiet. His own little space carved out of the whirlwind of the shared house. Books lined up neatly on his desk, laptop humming faintly to life. He pulled out his notes from today’s lectures and settled in, highlighter in hand.

There were still things to get through, readings to annotate, quiz prep for Thursday’s class with Satoru, and assignments already starting to pile up. But in the silence of his room, with the world narrowed down to paper and ink and the steady scratch of pen across the page, things finally felt manageable again.

The quiet had been good for studying. For once, the house wasn’t cluttered with music bleeding from someone’s phone speaker or someone talking, very loudly, on his phone to his friends. Suguru had taken full advantage… books spread out across his bed, laptop humming softly beside his notes, earbuds in as lo-fi poured through and dulled the ache behind his eyes. He worked steadily for hours, only breaking once to respond to a quick text from Riko about plans for the night. He hadn’t even realized how late it’d gotten until the orange tint of sunset began bleeding through the edges of his blinds.

He checked the time, exhaled, and started packing up. Philosophy of Mind could wait, at least until tomorrow night. He stacked his books neatly, tucked his charger away, and pulled his hoodie over his head in one fluid motion. His eyes burned a little from screen time, but it wasn’t the worst kind of tired. Grabbing his phone and keys, he opened his door-

And stopped.

Satoru was draped dramatically across the couch like a cat that had been fed, watered, and now expected to be worshipped. A bag of chips balanced on his chest, the TV playing something loud and probably dumb. Suguru recognized the title screen. Not a documentary. Not even close. The ridiculous part was: it looked cozy.

The warm amber light from the floor lamp he’d brought, one of the only decent things he owned, cast the room in a soft glow. With the TV mounted and the LED overhead lights switched off, it almost didn’t look like a garbage fire of a college house. It looked… decent. Lived-in. Almost homey.

His gaze lingered on the lamp, then the TV. His TV. He hadn’t planned on letting Satoru have free rein over it, but somehow, he hadn’t said no. I mean he did set it up in the living room… Satoru glanced over and grinned, half-lazy. “Hey, stranger.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “Hey.”

“You heading out?”

“Yeah.”

“Where to?”

Suguru hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around his phone. He could deflect. Say he needed to pick something up. Leave it vague. But for some reason, tonight, he didn’t. “Meeting up with some friends,” he said simply. “Riko and Misato.”

Satoru sat up a little straighter at that. “Oh I think you mentioned those two you mentioned, right? Sisters or something?”

“Basically. Grew up with them.”

“Ah.” There was a pause. “So like... important people, huh?”

Suguru shrugged, but his voice was soft. “Yeah. They’re family.”

Satoru nodded, chewing his lip like he was trying not to ask something else. Eventually, he just said, “Cool. Hope it’s fun.”

Suguru nodded once, not offering much more. Satoru didn’t push it, for once, and Suguru was quietly grateful. He turned toward the door, but paused before walking out.

“The lamp’s from Riko,” he said over his shoulder. “She has good taste.”

Satoru looked at the lamp like it had never existed until now, then back at him. “She really does.”

Suguru left after that. Hoodie on, keys in his pocket, headphones tucked around his neck. But the image of Satoru sprawled on the couch, in the space they shared, under the glow of a lamp that meant something to Suguru, stayed with him longer than he liked. He wasn’t sure why. But he didn’t hate it.

— — — — — — — — — — —- 

It was warm inside, despite the steady drum of rain against the windows. The scent of egg drop soup still lingered in the air, a leftover from dinner, and Riko was curled up with a blanket on the loveseat. Misato sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with her ancient game controller, brow furrowed in concentration. Suguru sat beside her, posture relaxed but eyes distant. He wasn’t really watching the screen. The room was dim, just the glow of the game and the muted lamp behind them. Familiar. Safe. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

“You’ve been quiet,” Riko said after a while, sipping from a chipped mug. “Usually you’re the one trash-talking Misa’s terrible reaction times.”

“Hey,” Misato mumbled without looking up.

Suguru gave the ghost of a smile. “Just tired.”

Misato paused her game and turned to look at him. “No, you only say that when you’re thinking too hard. What’s going on?”

Suguru exhaled slowly. Silence stretched, like the beat before a confession. He picked at a loose thread on the blanket thrown over his knees. “…He’s not what I thought.”

Riko looked up from her phone. “Satoru?” He nodded. She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “What does that mean?”

Suguru leaned back into the couch, voice low and uncertain, as if saying it aloud gave it more power than he wanted to admit. “He’s not just a spoiled brat. I mean, he is that. But there’s more. He listens when he wants to. Picks up on things people don’t think he’s paying attention to. He noticed I was upset before I said anything.” He rubbed the heel of his palm against one eye. “And then he leaves his towel on the couch, like some kind of swamp gremlin who’s never seen a laundry basket.”

Misato snorted. “Ah. So you like him and want to kill him. Classic.”

“I don’t like him,” Suguru said quickly, too quickly.

Riko gave him a flat look. “Mmm-hmm.”

He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall behind the couch. “I hate that he makes me laugh. Like, I have to try and hide it from him sometimes.”

“I love that he makes you laugh,” Riko said, softer now. She leaned her head against the back of the seat, glancing over at him. “You don’t do that enough. Not really.”

Suguru didn’t reply. He just stared up at the ceiling. The hum of the apartment, the occasional flicker of thunder outside, Misato’s fingers drumming absently on the controller, it all wrapped around him like a weighted blanket.

Later that night, when they’d all gone quiet, and the game had ended, and the dishes had been cleaned and stacked by the sink, Suguru sat in his car, waiting for a moment before driving back “home”. The images in his head came uninvited, Satoru stretched across the couch under Suguru’s lamp, eyes bright with something ridiculous to say, asking where he was going with a mouth half full of chips and a grin like he hadn’t spent a second alone in his life. He was chaos. But there was something about the way he looked up at Suguru when he listened, really listened, that stuck in his head. Suguru shakes his head and starts his car up. This is stupid.

Satoru

April 9th, 2025

Satoru groaned into his pillow, slapped his phone off the nightstand trying to shut off the alarm, and rolled out of bed like his bones were made of jelly. His room looked like a war zone, his clothes from yesterday still on the floor, at least two empty water bottles crushed underfoot, and his tablet charger wrapped around a chair like it had been through a fight. Typical.

He stumbled out into the kitchen boxers and a hoodie he stole from Kento. He was halfway through pouring cereal when he noticed it, the kitchen was clean. Its not like the kitchen was a mess last night but this is like… uncomfortably clean. The dishes were done. The counters wiped. Even the succulent plant satoru will not give up on had been watered.

He blinked, slowly chewing. “What the-?” Then he saw him. Suguru. Sitting at the couch with a book and a cup of coffee, earbuds in. Same hoodie from last night, hair tied back, piercings catching the morning light. He looked up briefly when Satoru walked in, and for once, didn’t immediately look pissed about it.

“Huh,” Satoru muttered.

He grabbed his bowl and flopped into the seat next to him, studying him under messy hair and sleep-stung eyes. Satoru speaks up, “You’re, like... chill this morning.”

Suguru glanced at him. “Oh?” But his voice wasn’t sharp. Just tired. Muted. Like maybe the edge had dulled overnight.

Satoru narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Did you get laid or something?”

Suguru didn’t even flinch, just rolled his eyes, turning back to his book, taking a sip of his coffee. “If I had, you would be the last to know.”

“Rude,” Satoru grinned, stabbing at his cereal. “Just trying to understand why you’re not threatening to kill me with your mind.”

Suguru took a slow sip of coffee and shrugged one shoulder. Satoru watched him in silence for a beat. Something about him felt... steadier today. Less clenched. Like whatever weight he usually carried had been shifted slightly off his shoulders.

Satoru makes his way to the couch, sitting at the other end, keeping a distance from Suguru. He didn’t look at Satoru like he was a nuisance this time. Just... like he was. It threw him off more than he wanted to admit. The silence between them wasn’t tense, which, in and of itself, was weird. Satoru almost wanted to poke it. Break it. Say something outrageous just to watch Suguru scowl again. But he didn’t. He just kept eating his cereal and stealing glances over the rim of his bowl.

Satoru stirred the last soggy loop around in his bowl, chewing absently as his gaze drifted back to Suguru, still impossibly composed, even with dark circles under his eyes.It took him a second to realize what felt so weird. He swallowed and tilted his head. “Wait… aren’t you usually at work by now?”

Suguru didn’t look up from his book. “Yeah.”

“…So why are you here?”

There was a pause. A page flipped. “Took the morning off.”

Satoru blinked. “Seriously?” 

Suguru finally looked up, meeting his eyes. “I needed time to reset. Unpack. Breathe.”

Satoru squinted at him like he didn’t compute. “Didn’t know you were the ‘self-care’ type.”

“I’m not,” Suguru said dryly. “I hate doing it. It means less money.”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, tapping his spoon against the side of his bowl. “Right. The whole ‘two jobs, no sleep’ grindset thing.”

Suguru hummed noncommittally and turned his eyes back to his book. Something about that rubbed at Satoru in a way he couldn’t name. It made his cereal taste a little more cardboard than usual.

“So what, you just work every morning, and the weekend? I know i've said this before but genuinely how do you live like that? Sounds horrible…” he asked, trying to keep his tone in check not to accidently piss him off and ruin this decent mood he's in.

“Yeah, well it is what it is.” Suguru didn’t look up this time. “Tuition doesn’t pay itself.”

That landed with more weight than Satoru expected. He nodded slowly, more to himself than anything else. He knew Suguru worked a lot, he’d said as much. But hearing it this plainly, over cereal and coffee, made something shift. Satoru had never worked a day in his life, not really. The idea of getting up at 4 a.m. to serve coffee to people who didn’t tip felt like a punishment, not a schedule.

“You, uh… you like it?” he asked, then immediately winced. “Not like, like like it, but…”

Suguru finally cracked a small smile, just barely. “I don’t hate it. I like the routine. I like doing something that matters, even if it’s just making someone’s morning better. And I like earning my space.”

Satoru looked at him for a long beat. “…I should probably stop leaving towels on the couch, huh?”

“That would be a start.” Their eyes met again and for once, neither of them looked away first. Wasn't awkward or anything, just… looking. Satoru shakes his head and stands up, cleaning his bowl and going to brush his teeth before he leaves for his class.

He was halfway through brushing the cereal dust off his hoodie when he noticed Suguru moving to his room to grab something, then toward the door, gym bag slung over one shoulder. He ties his hair back in a low knot. Satoru blinked. “Wait,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “You’re going out? Now?”

Suguru paused at the threshold, lifting an eyebrow like the question offended him. “Yeah. The gym.”

Satoru stared at him for a second. “You work out?”

That earned him a flat look. “...Seriously?”

“I mean- yeah, no, I believe it,” Satoru said quickly, eyes darting over the obvious answer: the cut of Suguru’s shoulders under the hoodie, the way his sleeves stretched just slightly over the muscle in his arms. “I just didn’t peg you as the gym-at-seven-in-the-morning type.”

“Well I usually go at night since I work in the mornings.” Suguru said, opening the door.

Satoru blinked again, but more slowly. “You’re a demon.”

“No,” Suguru muttered, stepping out. “I’m broke and the university gym is free so im utilizing it.”

The door creaked shut behind him, and Satoru lingered there a second longer than he meant to, keys in hand, trying to reboot his brain. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Of course a guy who worked two jobs, cleaned the apartment with military precision, and stared at ethics textbooks like they owed him money also went to the gym religiously. Still, it threw him off balance in a weird way.

He shook his thoughts out of his head, slapped on his sunglasses even though it was cloudy as hell and went for a walk to clear his head.

Suguru

Suguru’s footsteps echoed on the cracked pavement as he made his way toward the gym, the early morning chill nipping at his skin through the thin fabric of his hoodie. The weight of last night’s conversation with Riko and Misato lingered in his mind, their teasing, their unexpected insight. It had stirred something inside him, something he wasn’t quite ready to name.

He pulled his phone out, fingers hovering over the screen before finally typing.

[Me]: Okay, you guys win. Took the morning off.

Almost immediately, the responses came in.

[Misato]: told you. you’re not a machine.

[Riko]: self care isn’t weakness sugie

Suguru paused, staring down at the screen, thinking about the last few days. The tension with Satoru, the small moments of unexpected connection, and that odd question Satoru had thrown at him this morning, Did you get laid last night? The question had hit harder than Suguru expected. Not because of the content, but because it made him realize he’d never mentioned that he wasn’t into women. Did he even need to say that? Was it important? He typed again.

[Me]: Oh also, Satoru said something this morning that made me realize… I’ve never actually told him I’m not into women.

[Me]: Do you think that’s something I should bring up? I don’t even know if it matters, but it kind of caught me off guard.

[Me]: Like… he doesn’t know anything about me. I’m not planning on dating or bringing anyone back to the house or whatever, but… I don’t know. Should I say something? Is that normal roommate talk?

A moment passed before the typing dots blinked into life.

[Riko]: i mean… it depends on if you want him to know. it’s your business.

[Riko]: but it might help avoid some weird misunderstandings later. and you know he’s the type to say dumb shit without thinking 

[Misato]: i agree. especially if you’re gonna be sharing a space, it might be easier just to be upfront. you don’t have to make it a whole thing. just… be clear.

[Misato]: it’s not like he’s gonna freak out over it. at least I hope not.

[Riko]: lmao if he does freak out we’ll jump him.

[Riko]: i’m kidding. kinda.

Suguru hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard again. The thought of opening that door, even just a crack, made his chest tighten. But maybe that was what he needed, a little less distance.

[Me]: Maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll figure out when the moment’s right.

He slipped the phone into his pocket, exhaling slowly. The gym was just ahead, the familiar clang of weights and low thumps of music welcoming him inside. Maybe today wasn’t just about lifting, maybe it was about carrying a little less weight he’d been hiding for too long. Suguru squared his shoulders and stepped through the door, ready to face the morning and whatever came next.

The blast of warm air and the sharp scent of rubber flooring and sweat hit him the second he stepped inside. It was early, which meant the gym was still half-asleep, a few regulars scattered around, headphones in, faces blank. No one to talk to. No one to ask questions. Perfect.

Suguru tucked his phone into the side pocket of his bag and made his way to the lockers. The routine was muscle memory now: bag down, hoodie off, stretch. He started with a mile walk then run, compound lifts, squats first, then deadlifts, movements that forced him to focus, grounded him in the moment. But his mind kept drifting.

Satoru’s voice echoed in his head again, annoyingly clear: “Did you get laid last night?”

The way he said it had been casual, careless, even. But it wasn’t the words that got to Suguru. It was the way he’d looked at him after. Curious. Like he was trying to put a puzzle together without the picture on the box. It made Suguru feel like he was being seen , and not entirely on his own terms. He didn’t like that. He wasn’t used to it.

The weights clanged as he racked the bar. He took a breath. Closed his eyes. Was it important to tell Satoru? Maybe not… They were just roommates. Just two people shoved into the same space. But something about Satoru’s presence, the way he wormed his way into conversations, into Suguru’s thoughts, made the silence around that part of him feel… loud.

He adjusted the bar for his next set, catching a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror. Hair tied back, shoulder muscles tense, jaw set. I don’t owe him anything, he told himself. But still. The idea of telling him didn’t feel entirely impossible either. That was the part that surprised him.

He finished his last set in silence, wiped down the equipment, and slipped his hoodie back on. The gym had helped, his mind felt clearer, his body looser, but the quiet hadn’t chased the questions away. If anything, it gave them room to breathe. By the time he stepped out into the cold again, his phone buzzed once in his pocket.

[Roommate?]: yo u want me to make some of those weird protein eggs or whatever before i leave for class lol?

Suguru stared at the message, lips twitching. Maybe he didn’t hate this arrangement as much as he thought. He started typing back.

By the time he got back to the house, the sun had fully pushed through the clouds, throwing strips of light across the cracked sidewalk and the uneven porch steps. His limbs felt warm and heavy in that post-workout way, but his mind was still sharp, focused. Alert. He opened the door and immediately heard the clatter of pans from the kitchen. He slipped his shoes off, dropped his bag quietly by the door, and padded toward the sound.

Satoru stood at the stove. His hair was damp from a shower, and there was a slight burn mark on his wrist like he’d already made one bad decision this morning.

Suguru leaned against the doorframe. “What exactly are ‘protein eggs’?”

Satoru turned, spatula in hand, grinning like he’d just gotten a gold star. “Oh good, you came back. It’s just eggs but, like, cooked aggressively with spinach and whatever sad vegetables are in the fridge.”

Suguru’s eyes flicked to the pan, where a vaguely greenish scramble sizzled. “So… prison food.”

Satoru shrugged. “Listen. I’m fueling my body and being a generous roommate. You’re welcome.”

“Mm. Looks like vomit.”

“You’re not wrong,” Satoru said cheerfully, scooping the mixture onto two mismatched plates. “But you’re eating it anyway.”

Suguru accepted the plate with a skeptical grunt and sat at the table. They ate in the kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, just the kind that existed between two people not quite ready to name the weird truce they were living inside of.

A few minutes in, Satoru looked over his shoulder and said, “So... what are you doing before class?”

Suguru didn’t look up. “Shower. Studying. Pretending to be emotionally balanced.”

Satoru laughed, then, genuinely. A short, bright sound that caught Suguru off guard. He looked up, just for a second. Their eyes met, lingered a beat too long. And then Satoru said, “Hey, by the way… you never answered me earlier.”

Suguru blinked, chewing slowly. “Answered what?”

“Did you get laid last night?”

Suguru paused, fork mid-air, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s… none of your business.”

“Okay, fair,” Satoru said with a shrug, raising his hands in lazy surrender. “Just curious. You had a whole mysterious-night-out vibe going on. Little shady… I was intrigued if some girl got lucky.”

Suguru debated saying nothing. The conversation could die right there if he let it. But something from last night, Riko’s voice, Misato’s knowing look, tugged at him. Well, now’s as good a time as any.

“I don’t sleep with women,” he said, stabbing absently at the overcooked eggs, eyes focused on his plate like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Also, I was just hanging out with my friends last night. So no, I did not get laid.”

Satoru blinked. Just once. Then sat up a little straighter, like something behind his usual careless energy had clicked into place.

Suguru added, tone deliberately flat, “Not that it matters. But if you’re going to keep asking stupid questions, you should at least ask the right stupid questions.” There was a pause. Just long enough for Suguru to feel it, the weight of what he’d said hanging in the kitchen air, fragile and sharp. A single thread pulled loose from something he didn’t realize he was holding together.

But Satoru didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. He just nodded, slow and quiet. The smile on his face hadn’t disappeared, it had just softened, like it finally had some weight behind it. “Still applies,” he said. “Even if it’s not women.”

That caught Suguru off guard more than anything else. Not the words, the ease of them. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it didn’t change anything. He looked up then, just briefly, and saw something strange in Satoru’s eyes. Not mockery. Not discomfort. Just… openness. Interest. Like a door that had been cracked, maybe even held open for him, if he wanted to walk through it.

Suguru scoffed, low under his breath, and stood, picking up his empty plate. “You talk too much.”

“Guilty,” Satoru said brightly, standing up beside him. “But hey. Thanks for trusting me with that.”

“I didn’t,” Suguru muttered.

“Liar,” Satoru replied, tossing him a grin and playfully shoving his shoulder with his.

Suguru finished his prison meal and stands up to clean, grabbign Satorus plate as well. And goddammit, Suguru realized as he rinsed his plate under cold water, he was smiling . He quickly shut the faucet off like it’d betrayed him.

Satoru

Satoru pulled the front door shut behind him, the soft click oddly final. The morning air hit him as he adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, footsteps falling into rhythm along the sidewalk. But his mind wasn’t on his walk, or the class he was headed to, it was still caught on the conversation from earlier.

More specifically, the part where Suguru, completely offhanded, mentioned he didn’t sleep with women. Like he was pointing out the weather. Like it was just… information. Satoru blinked against the sun, raking a hand through his hair. Did not see that coming. 

Not because it was weird. He wasn’t twelve. It didn’t change anything, not in any real way, except maybe in the way it caught him off guard, because Suguru wasn’t the type to just offer up personal details. Not unless it mattered.

And now Satoru couldn’t stop wondering why he chose to say it. Was it a test? A heads-up? A defense mechanism? He stuffed his free hand in his pocket and sighed. Why did it even matter this much to me?

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was just another layer of the human Rubik’s cube that was Suguru Geto. But the longer Satoru walked, the more he felt like something in their dynamic had quietly shifted, like a line had been crossed, or erased. And Satoru wasn’t sure yet if that made him uneasy... or curious.

He shakes his head, trying to get that thought out of his head and picked up his phone, opened his messages, and scrolled straight to Shoko.

[Me]: yo

[Me]: so geto just told me he doesn’t like women?? like not in a dramatic way

[Me]: just slipped it into convo like it was no big deal

He paused, then added:

[Me]: idk it felt kind of huge tho?? like personal.

[Me]: like he let me know that. on purpose.

[Me]: wtf does that mean

He didn’t get a reply right away, probably because Shoko was either passed out from an all-nighter or dissecting something horrifying in one of her advanced anatomy classes, but he didn’t need it right away. Just sending the text helped him process.

He crossed the street without really seeing it, the faded white lines blurring as his thoughts looped back on themselves. His bag bounced slightly against his back, forgotten. Satoru was still stuck on that moment, the way Suguru hadn’t looked at him when he said it.

Not in a shy way, just… deliberate. Controlled. Like he was putting a wall down gently, not slamming it, but still making sure it was there. His voice had gone sharp, too. Not angry, just... edged. A quiet signal: This matters. Don’t make it a joke.

And Satoru, for once, hadn’t. He’d felt something shift… subtle, but impossible to ignore. It wasn’t dramatic. No swelling orchestras or cinematic gut-punch. Just that low, grounding hum of Oh. You trusted me with that. And an unspoken answer rising in his chest: I see that. I won’t mess it up.

A buzz.

[Shoko]: that’s probably a good thing

[Shoko]: means hes more comfortable w u

[Shoko]: sometimes people test the waters before they let you in ykwim?

[Shoko]: u should take it as a compliment 

Satoru blinked down at Shoko’s text as he walked, nearly missing a crack in the pavement. He pocketed his phone, pulled it out again. Stared. Then looked up at the sky like it might give him a goddamn manual on how to feel. So he trusts me.

Cool. Okay. Totally fine. Not a big deal. Just two roommates sharing life updates. Normal.

Chapter Text

Satoru

April 10th, 2025

By the time Satoru got back from class yesterday afternoon, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Suguru was nowhere to be seen. He was probably at the gym, or maybe off with his friends again. Riko and Misato, Satoru remembered vaguely. He hadn’t seen much of Suguru since their class on Tuesday, aside from the occasional passing nod in the kitchen or hallway. Nothing tense, just… distant.

Not that Satoru could dwell on it for too long. His schedule yesterday, Composition III, Ethics and Moral Philosophy, then Business Ethics and Social Responsibility, had drained him more than he’d expected. The back-to-back fifty-minute lectures weren’t impossible, but something about the pacing felt off. Like he was being forced to start and stop too fast, never fully locking into any one subject before he had to shift mental gears again.

Composition wasn’t bad, just boring. Ethics made him feel like he was being gently but persistently accused of being a morally questionable person, which, fair. And Business Ethics? That class was basically a passive-aggressive TED Talk on capitalism, and the professor’s energy was the academic version of a sad coffee shop playlist. Satoru went to bed early that night, he was just mentally exhausted.

The next morning, Thursday, Satoru was already back at the house, fresh from his 8AM Modern Political Theory class and aggressively pretending it hadn’t left him with a headache and three pages of notes that looked like they were written by a sleep-deprived cryptid.

He dropped his bag at the end of the couch and collapsed face-down into the cushions. The house was still empty, Suguru’s shoes were gone, which meant he was probably still at the café. That gave Satoru about three hours before their shared class. He figured they'd walk over together. Or… he assumed they would. Maybe he was assuming too much.

He flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His tablet was sitting on the coffee table, screen dark. He knew he should probably review for the quiz in Intro to Japanese History. But it was just the syllabus quiz. Easy. Stupid. Basically a formality. Right?

He had skimmed the syllabus. Kind of… He remembered the bolded headers, some dates, a very confusing policy about late assignments, and something about participation. He’d been too distracted Tuesday to catch much else. Between the room being packed, the quizzes every class, and the fact Suguru sat next to him smelling like espresso and judgment... It was a lot. Okay, so they did technically start Module 1 that day. But like, just barely. It wont be on the quiz… probably.

He should’ve taken notes. Real ones. Instead, he had three bullet points that just said “Japanese feudalism - intro??” and “professor talks fast” and “Suguru wears rings.” Which… were not helpful.

Satoru sighed, reached for his tablet, and opened his notes anyway, pretending to study while glancing at the front door every few minutes. He wasn’t nervous. Not really. He was just… waiting.

Satoru really got no studying done at all. By 11:57, Satoru was standing in the kitchen eating dry cereal straight out of the box and pretending he hadn’t been glancing at the time every ten minutes like a golden retriever waiting for the door to open. He kept telling himself he wasn’t waiting . Just… casually aware of his surroundings. Especially the front door.

At exactly 12:03 PM, the lock clicked. Satoru didn’t move, but his entire body went on alert like a house cat hearing the treat bag rustle. A second later, the door swung open and in walked Suguru, hoodie slightly damp at the shoulders from misty weather, café apron balled up in one hand, and a cup of something dark and vaguely threatening in the other. He looked tired. Not exhausted, just… worn in that quiet, careful way Suguru always carried himself. Composed. Private. Unbothered.

Satoru waved the cereal box. “Welcome back. Your house missed you.” Suguru raised an eyebrow, shrugged off his hoodie, and kicked off his shoes without saying anything. He headed toward the kitchen, brushing past Satoru to drop his apron on the counter.

“You study?” he asked, already opening the fridge like he lived there (which he did, but still).

“Define ‘study,’” Satoru said, crunching a handful of cereal. Suguru gave him a look. That flat, unreadable one that made Satoru feel like his soul was being peer-reviewed. “I skimmed,” Satoru said, with a little more honesty. “I looked at the syllabus. Which is what the quiz is on. Probably.”

Suguru shut the fridge and turned toward him, arms crossed, expression unimpressed. “You know we started Module 1 on Tuesday, right?”

Satoru blinked. “Wait… what? We didn't even finish the module though?”

“Yeah,” Suguru said dryly, sipping his coffee. “Quiz is on the syllabus and part of the first module. Satoru, he even said it before the end of class…”

There was a full five seconds of silence before Satoru made a noise that could only be described as a dying whine. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I assumed you were paying attention.”

“Why would you assume that?” Satoru shot back, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “God. Okay. Okay. No big deal. It’s like twenty questions, right? Multiple choice? I’ll just absorb the entire module in the next twenty minutes.”

Suguru walked past him toward his room, calling back over his shoulder, “We leave in thirty. If you're not ready, I’m not waiting.”

Satoru huffed and trailed after him toward the hall and into his bedroom. “Yeah, yeah…” But he was smiling as he said it. And behind the sarcasm, behind the noise and performative distress, something about Suguru’s voice, calm and clipped and real, made it easier to take the whole thing seriously. Maybe he really was waiting after all.

By 12:29, Satoru had changed shirts twice, attempted to speed-run the first lecture slides on his tablet, and successfully retained maybe three facts total, two of which were the professor’s name and office hours. The third was something about the Meiji Restoration, but that was mostly because Suguru had said it under his breath in class on Tuesday and it had sounded weirdly hot. 

Anyways…  

He shoved his tablet into his bag, slipped his shoes on, and padded into the hallway where Suguru was already waiting, black backpack over one shoulder, keys in hand.

“You ready?” Suguru asked, gaze flicking to the clock on the microwave like he knew Satoru would be cutting it close.

“Mentally? No. Physically? Technically.”

Suguru didn’t laugh, but his mouth twitched like the idea almost got to him. They stepped outside into the still-damp afternoon, the sidewalks shining faintly under a high, cloud-cluttered sky. The walk to campus wasn’t long, a little over 5 minutes, and they fell into step without really needing to say much. It had already become a rhythm between them even though this is their second time going to this class. Suguru didn’t talk unless he had something to say. Satoru, on the other hand, always had something to say, and sometimes that meant staying quiet just to see if Suguru would fill the silence instead.

After a block or so, Satoru tilted his head. “So… you study during your shifts?”

Suguru shook his head. “Not allowed to. I usually review during my breaks. Depends on how dead it is.”

“Wild. I feel like I forget my name every time I step foot in a café. How do you even focus in that chaos?”

“Used to it.” Suguru said simply.

Satoru glanced at him, smirking. “That why you agreed to live with me?”

“No,” Suguru said dryly. “That was assigned chaos.”

“Ah, right. Fate.”

They passed the corner bakery, its windows fogged with the scent of warm bread and sugar. Satoru’s stomach growled, obnoxiously loud. Suguru raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Satoru considered asking him to stop for a pastry, but then remembered he hadn’t actually read the full module and maybe arriving on time was the one thing he could do right today.

As they reached campus, the crowd thickened, students weaving between buildings, bikes zipping past, someone sprinting with a coffee in hand like their GPA depended on it.

Suguru pointed with his chin. “Back row again?”

“Obviously,” Satoru said. “Gotta maintain my brand.”

“And what’s your brand? Public nuisance?”

“Charming academic liability,” Satoru corrected, pushing the door open for both of them.

They filed into the lecture hall, larger than the ones for Monday’s classes, rows of chairs sloping downward toward the stage-like front, and made their way to the top row. Suguru slid into a seat first, pulling out his tablet and book with military precision. Satoru followed, flopping down beside him and unlocking his tablet with one hand while the other stuffed a piece of gum into his mouth. As the professor entered and the pre-quiz chatter died down, Satoru glanced sideways.

“You’re way too calm about this,” he muttered.

Suguru didn’t look at him. “Maybe you’re just too anxious.”

“Okay, rude.”

They pull out their computers and the quiz hits their screens a moment later. Satoru’s shoulders slumped dramatically.

Ten written-response questions. Written . 

Not the throwaway warmup quiz he’d convinced himself it would be. Half of the questions referenced the syllabus, but the other half? Full-on questions from the first module. The module he didn’t pay attention to because he was too busy trying to act chill next to Suguru. He sat there for a second, blinking at the screen like it might change if he stared hard enough. It didn’t.

He glanced sideways.

Suguru was already typing out a response, jaw slightly tight, brow faintly furrowed in concentration, but calm. Controlled. Probably on question three by now. Satoru looked back at his screen. “ Charming academic liability, ” he whispered under his breath, like it was a title and not a diagnosis. “ You’ve trained your whole life for this. ” His fingers hovered over the keyboard. 

Bullshit, he reminded himself, was still technically an art form. And if there was one thing Satoru Gojo excelled at, besides ignoring responsibility, it was performing under pressure. 

He cracked his knuckles and started typing.

— — — — — — — — — — —

The lecture ended with the rustle of papers, chairs scraping the floor, and the collective exhale of over a hundred students freed from academic judgment, at least for now. Satoru shut his tablet with a sigh that bordered on theatrical, slinging his bag over one shoulder as they exited the hall into the humid afternoon.

“That quiz was criminal, ” he muttered, stepping into the sunlight beside Suguru. “Like, not even a fair warm-up. I think I blacked out on question seven and just started talking about bullshit out of sheer panic.”

Suguru didn’t look particularly sympathetic. “You should’ve read module one.”

“I skimmed it,” Satoru argued. “And I remembered some stuff. Like, the general vibe of what the professor said on day one-”

“Day one was twenty minutes of syllabus and a story about his cat.”

“…Right. But still. I think I salvaged like, a C-minus energy. Maybe a B if he’s generous and likes personality.”

Suguru gave him a flat look that said the professor probably didn’t. They walked side-by-side, their pace falling into sync without effort as they cut across the tree-lined quad, grass already spotted with other students lying in the sun or eating overpriced sandwiches. Satoru caught himself glancing at Suguru again, watching the way the breeze barely moved his dark hair, the way his eyes scanned the path ahead like he was already three thoughts deep into the rest of his day. They passed the fountain near the campus center before Satoru suddenly paused. “Wait, are we not going home?”

Suguru glanced over his shoulder. “I have a 3PM.”

“Oh. Right. History of philosophy or whatever,” Satoru said, trailing after him again. “So what do you do in-between? Just float around like a campus ghost?”

“I was planning on studying in the library.”

“Of course you did,” Satoru said with a half-smile, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “You going now?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I tag along?” he asked, trying to keep the question casual, like it didn’t actually matter, like he hadn’t already decided to follow him either way. “I’ve got some catching up to do, obviously. Apparently we’re flying through modules like it’s a race.” Suguru raised an eyebrow but didn’t say no. Just nodded toward the path ahead. Satoru grinned. “Great. Maybe your academic aura will rub off on me.”

“Doubtful.” But he didn’t sound annoyed. Not really. And that was enough to keep Satoru walking.

The walk to the library was quiet, the kind of quiet Satoru was starting to learn, meant Suguru was thinking. He didn't push it. Just walked beside him, arms occasionally brushing when the sidewalk narrowed, the sound of their shoes over pavement and faint birdsong filling the spaces where conversation might’ve gone.

Inside the library, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Suguru led the way without needing to ask, Satoru figured this wasn’t his first time making this pilgrimage. They descended a long flight of stairs, each step taking them deeper into the belly of the building, the air growing cooler, heavier. By the time they reached the lowest level, it felt like they’d entered a different world entirely.

The Japanese history section was tucked away in the far back corner, all worn shelves and laminated signs printed sometime in the ‘90s. Everything smelled faintly of dust and paper that hadn’t been touched in years. A lone ceiling light flickered overhead as Suguru slid into a small wooden table wedged between shelves. Satoru followed and dropped into the chair across from him, glancing around like he’d stepped into a forgotten crypt.

“No one studies down here,” Suguru said, pulling out his notebook and uncapping a pen. “Quiet. Smells like neglect. Perfect.”

“Charming,” Satoru muttered, dropping his tablet on the table. “Feels like we’re gonna get killed or haunted by an overworked grad student.” Suguru didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched, close enough.

They fell into a rhythm that felt suspiciously like a routine. Suguru worked with laser focus, flipping pages, jotting neat lines of notes on his tablet. Satoru, meanwhile, fumbled through his, pretending to review the lecture slides but really stealing glances every other minute. Suguru’s handwriting was obnoxiously perfect. His sleeves were pushed up to the elbows, forearms resting on the table as he leaned in to read, exposing his tattooed arm and the chain on his wrist catching the dim light. He looked calm. Effortless. Like he belonged in this scene, buried in books, unbothered by the silence or the stale air.

Satoru swallowed and forced his attention back to his quiz review. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. “You always study like this?” Satoru asked eventually, just to break the weird knot in his chest.

“Like what?”

“Like… you’re planning to solve the world’s problems.”

Suguru didn’t look up. “Better than pretending to study while watching my reflection on the tablet screen.”

“I wasn’t—” Satoru scoffed. “I was reading. ”

“Sure you were.”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the table so they bumped Suguru’s. Suguru didn’t move. Didn’t react. Satoru hated how much that bothered him. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, like the air between them was different now. Something about the quiet, the way they existed together in this dusty corner of the world, away from everything else, made Satoru feel like his skin was too tight.

He watched Suguru jot something in the margins of his notebook, wrist steady, expression unreadable. The pen moved like it had a mind of its own, confident, precise, like everything inside him was already sorted and just waiting to be translated to paper.

Satoru swallowed.

It wasn’t that he was impressed. Well, okay… maybe a little. But it was more than that. Something about the way Suguru worked, the way he existed so completely in the moment, so self-contained, had Satoru’s thoughts pulling in strange directions. Too focused. Too warm. He blinked, turned back to his tablet. Tried to remember what page he was even on. His heart beat a little faster than he liked to admit, and it wasn’t because of the quiz.

Focus, he told himself. And yet… his eyes drifted again, like gravity had shifted just slightly, not enough to notice, but enough to feel. Suguru hadn’t moved. Still calm. Still frustratingly composed. Still... himself.

And suddenly, Satoru wasn’t so sure what to do with the fact that something about being near him made everything else feel kind of muted by comparison. Just a thought. Just a moment. But it lodged itself somewhere deeper than he wanted to acknowledge.

He tapped his screen, pretending to scroll through his notes, but nothing was really sinking in. His mind was buzzing, not with facts about feudal Japan or quiz questions or anything remotely useful. Just static. Just… him.

Suguru shifted in his seat, head tilting slightly as he reread something in his notebook. A strand of black hair slipped forward over his shoulder, catching the light from the flickering overhead bulb. It was nothing. A totally normal thing. And yet, Satoru’s stomach flipped like he’d just been called on in class unprepared.

He inhaled slowly, dragging his eyes back to his screen. Get it together. 

“This module isn’t so bad,” Suguru said quietly, not looking up.

Satoru blinked. “Huh?”

“Module one. It’s more theory than names and dates. Makes it easier to hold onto.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I was just… thinking the same thing.” He wasn’t.

Suguru finally looked up at him, brows slightly raised in mild suspicion. “You weren’t even reading, were you?”

Satoru gave a lazy grin, the kind he always used to smooth over his short attention span. “Caught me. You’re just… distracting.”

There was a pause. Too long. Satoru felt it immediately. Suguru didn’t smile. But, he didn’t roll his eyes or call him ridiculous, the way he usually did. He just gave a small, quiet sound in his throat, unreadable, and looked back down at his notebook. Satoru didn’t know what he expected. Not a flirt back, not really. But that weird silence? That pause? It made his chest feel tight. He didn’t want to mess this up.

He cleared his throat and glanced away, pretending to suddenly be very interested in his tablet. “Anyway. I’ll, uh… read now. I swear.”

Suguru didn’t respond. And maybe that should’ve been the end of it, just a moment, nothing more, but it lingered. Like a weight in the quiet space between them, hanging there alongside the soft whir of the library’s ancient ventilation and the smell of dust and old paper.

Satoru tried to focus. Really, he did. But every now and then, his eyes wandered back again, just to make sure he was still there. Still quiet. Still real. And every time they did, something in him settled… and then immediately kicked back up in panic. He didn’t know what to do with this. But he was starting to think pretending he didn’t notice wasn’t going to work much longer.

What the fuck is happening to me?

After a while, Suguru slowly began to pack up his notebook and pens, the crisp sound of pages turning signaling the end of their study session. He glanced at the clock, already nearing 2:50 PM, and sighed softly. “I’ve got to head to my 3 PM class,” Suguru said, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “I’ll catch you later.”

Satoru nodded, standing up and stretching out the stiffness from sitting too long. “Yeah, I’m gonna head back too. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

Suguru gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Don’t mention it.”

Suguru was the first to leave the dusty lower level of the library and back into the hum of campus life. As Suguru headed toward his classroom building, Satoru took a different path, toward the dorms and the solitude of home, his thoughts still swirling around the subtle shift he’d felt during their study time. 

The afternoon sun warmed his face, but inside, Satoru couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had changed between them. Something unspoken, but undeniable.

Suguru

Suguru slung his backpack tighter over one shoulder as he stepped out of the library’s quiet, shadowed lower level. The afternoon light spilled across the campus paths, casting long golden streaks between the trees. He took a slow breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs as his mind drifted back to the last hour, to Satoru sitting in front of him. The way Satoru had looked at him just now, a glance that lingered a fraction longer than necessary. Was that flirting? Or just one of those careless smiles he gave to everyone?

He shook his head slightly, trying to shake off the unfamiliar flicker of something…annoyance? Curiosity? That tightened in his chest. Satoru was loud, theatrical, a walking contradiction: equal parts charm and mayhem. Suguru had picked up early on that flirting wasn’t just a tool for Satoru; it was a language, a way he connected, disarmed, and navigated the world. So maybe that look wasn’t meant just for him. Maybe it was just... Satoru being Satoru. 

That's probably the case.

That thought should have made it easier to brush off. But instead, it tangled with the way Suguru felt, the cautious part of him that usually kept others at arm’s length. He wasn’t used to this… the unexpected ease, the slight crack in his usual reserve. Usually, he’d be annoyed by someone like Satoru, but today had been different. Sitting in front of each other, buried in dusty books and worn pages, Suguru had seen a glimpse beyond the loud persona. A glimpse of someone who tried to care about this class, about learning. And maybe, just maybe, someone who tried to care about him.

He glanced up as the old clock tower chimed in the distance, its deep, sonorous toll reminding him he needed to move. His next class wasn’t far, but his thoughts lingered stubbornly, replaying that brief moment of quiet connection between two people who were still figuring out how to share space… and maybe more.

Suguru adjusted the strap on his bag and started walking, the campus unfolding before him like a map of unknown territory. He wasn’t sure where this road would lead. But for the first time in a while, he wasn’t in a rush to avoid it.

— — — — — — — —

Class had been tolerable.

Suguru didn’t exactly struggle to focus, he never did, but he found his attention drifting more than usual. His notes were less detailed, and he caught himself staring blankly at the projection screen once or twice, pen idle in his hand. Thoughts kept circling back to that moment in the library, to the way Satoru looked at him like he was trying to memorize something he didn’t understand. The stare hadn’t been bold or obnoxious. It had been… quiet. Focused. And for reasons Suguru couldn’t fully articulate, it stayed with him longer than any lecture point. He wasn’t used to that kind of attention. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. Or if he did, what that meant.

By the time class ended, he was ready to get out of there. 

The sky was overcast by the time he made the walk home, pale gray clouds stretching over the campus like someone had muted the whole world. It matched his mood just fine. He tugged his hood over his head halfway through the walk, not because it was raining, but because it gave him a reason to disappear a little.

His legs carried him on autopilot. Through the quad, past the gym, and finally toward the narrow side street their shared house sat on. The familiar creak of the front steps under his shoes greeted him before he even touched the door.

The door was unlocked. Suguru pushed it open and stepped inside and froze.

Voices. Laughter. Shoes scattered by the door that didn’t belong to either of them. In the living room, Satoru was slouched on the couch with three people he didn’t recognize, one of whom had her legs thrown casually across his lap, scrolling on her phone. Another guy was perched on the armrest next to him, drinking something out of a giant tumbler. The third sat cross-legged on the rug, flipping through a stack of what looked like tarot cards.

It was noisy, but not aggressive. The room smelled like popcorn and overpriced cologne. Satoru looked up mid-laugh, eyes lighting with delayed realization. “Shit,” he said, sitting up straighter and untangling himself from the girl’s legs. “Suguru, hey. I meant to text you. Totally spaced.”

Suguru blinked. “Text me about…?”

Satoru waved a hand around. “Them. My friends. I told you about them before, remember?”

Sort of. Suguru remembered vague mentions, half-names thrown in between jokes or over breakfast. He hadn’t realized those stories came with actual bodies attached.

“My bad,” Satoru said, brushing a hand through his hair. “I should’ve given you a heads-up. We were just hanging out, nothing major.”

There was a pause, just a beat too long, and then Satoru gestured between them all.

“Right, okay. Introductions.” He pointed to the girl, who looked up from her phone with a slight smirk. “That’s Shoko. Med student, mayhem incarnate, might be a genius.”

“Confirmed genius,” she said looking back at her phone.

Satoru rolled his eyes affectionately, then nodded to the guy on the floor. “That’s Yu. He’s an art major and allergic to silence.”

Yu gave a peace sign from the rug. “Hi. Love the piercings.”

“And this dude,” Satoru went on, patting the guy beside him on the shoulder, “is Kento. Business major. He’s the responsible one.”

Kento raised a brow and said nothing. Just gave Suguru a polite nod that Suguru returned automatically.

Suguru stood there for a second, bag still slung over his shoulder, hoodie damp from the walk. He wasn’t angry, he didn’t really do angry … but the surprise visit was jarring. It disrupted his rhythm, his privacy. He hated surprises. Still, they weren’t being rude. Just… loud.

Suguru gave a slow nod. “Noted.”

Satoru tilted his head. “You okay with them staying for a bit? We won’t be loud or anything.”

“You already are,” Suguru said flatly, but his tone lacked venom.

That made Shoko grin. Yu snorted. Satoru lifted his hands, exaggerated. “Guilty. We’ll keep it down now that you're here. Promise.”

Suguru exhaled through his nose, then turned toward his door. “I’m going to my room. Just… don’t trash the place.”

Satoru gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir. ” Suguru didn’t even look back. But he could feel the smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth as he disappeared into his room.

​​Suguru shut the door to his room with a quiet click and leaned back against it for a second, letting the dull thrum of conversation in the living room fade into the background. His room, cool, dim, and orderly, was a stark contrast to the warmth and noise just outside.

He dropped his backpack onto the floor beside his desk and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. The walk home hadn’t cleared his head as much as he’d hoped, and now, the unexpected gathering in the living room only added to the static in his chest.

Friends, he thought, sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed. Of course he has friends like that.

Shoko, with her dry wit and self-assurance. Yu, loud and expressive. Nanami, unreadable but clearly sharp. And Satoru… right at the center of them, as if the room was made to revolve around him. It made sense. Satoru felt like the kind of person people gravitated toward. Suguru just hadn’t seen it so plainly until now.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rested his head in his hands. Why did it bug him? Not the noise. Not the intrusion. Something else. The way Satoru looked at him when he walked in, eyes bright, casual apology in his voice. Like they were already familiar. Like Suguru wouldn’t mind.

And maybe that’s what bothered him the most. He didn’t mind.

He didn’t want to join them, didn’t feel the urge to sit cross-legged on the rug and share jokes with strangers. But a part of him, some quiet, uninvited part, liked the idea of being included. Not in the group, exactly. But in Satoru’s world. Which was stupid. Dangerous, even.

Suguru shook his head, standing up again. He crossed to his desk and opened his laptop, flipping to his philosophy notes, pretending that would help ground him. The familiar formatting, the clean lines, the clarity of theory, it always calmed him down.

And yet, as he scrolled through the notes, his mind drifted again. Back to the library. The quiet. The way Satoru had looked at him. The warmth in his voice when he said “you’re just… distracting” Suguru hadn’t replied. Not out loud. But he remembered the way something in his chest eased at the words.

He’s too much, Suguru told himself. Too loud. Too dramatic. Too easy to like. And yet…

He glanced toward the door as another round of laughter filtered through. Satoru’s voice stood out even through the muffled wall. Energetic. Effortless. Suguru swallowed the weight in his throat and turned back to his screen. It was going to be a long night.

Satoru

The moment Suguru’s door clicked shut behind him, Satoru turned back toward the living room, bracing for impact. His friends were already mid-reaction.

“Okay,” Shoko said flatly, setting her drink down with a soft clink. “You said he was hot, but- holy shit. ”

Yu’s eyes were wide, borderline manic. “No, because what the hell, Satoru?! That’s the roommate? That’s your roommate?”

Satoru rubbed a hand down his face. “I said he was hot once. One time! Let me live. And shut up, his door is literally right there.” he says in a hushed tone, pointing behind him.

“No, see, you didn’t say ‘hot,’” Yu corrected, pointing at him accusingly. “You said weirdly hot. As in, ‘my roommate’s weirdly hot for no reason.’ That’s not the same thing as walking heartthrob with cheekbones sharp enough to stab someone in an alley.”

Shoko, calm as ever, gave a nod. “Even I’m impressed. And I don’t like men.”

Kento, arms crossed in the corner of the room, offered a quiet, “He seemed… composed.”

Yu shot him a look. “Kento, he looked like he came out of a Calvin Klein campaign set in a haunted library. That is not just composed.”

Satoru flopped back onto the couch with a groan. “Why are we doing this? He literally just said hello.”

“Yeah, and somehow that hello had menace and mystery and probably a thesis behind it,” Yu said, pacing now like they needed to walk off the sheer hotness of Suguru Geto. “I am not okay.”

Shoko smirked. “You were nervous when you introduced him.”

“I was not nervous,” Satoru snapped, sitting upright again. “I was being polite! I forgot to tell him you guys were coming over!”

Kento raised an eyebrow. “You tripped over your words.”

Satoru narrowed his eyes. “Okay, betrayal from you too? In my house?”

Yu grinned. “Our judgment knows no walls.”

“You’re all insufferable,” Satoru muttered, grabbing his soda can from the table and taking a long, dramatic sip. “You see one mildly attractive guy and forget everything I’ve done for this friendship.”

“Mildly?” Shoko said. “Dude be serious.”

“Yeah,” Yu added. “You’re rooming with the visual representation of a morally gray fanfiction character, and we’re just supposed to be normal about it?”

“He’s just my roommate, ” Satoru insisted, waving his hand as if to physically shoo the conversation away. “We’re not- that’s not a thing. ”

Yu tilted their head, sly. “You wanna bet?”

Satoru groaned and put his hand over his forehead. “Oh my god.”

Kento, dry as ever: “It’s going to be a long semester.”

The conversation eventually shifted, Shoko put on music, Yu found a half-full bag of chips in the cabinet and declared it a miracle, but Satoru’s thoughts didn’t stay with the group for long.

They drifted.

Back to when he came into the house. To the sound of Suguru’s voice. The brief glance they’d shared before he’d retreated to his room.

Just his roommate, he told himself again. But the longer the night stretched, the harder that was to believe.

The evening rolled on like nothing had happened, like Suguru’s brief appearance hadn’t just knocked the wind out of every person in the room.

Music buzzed low from Shoko’s phone, Yu was half-draped across the arm of the couch showing Kento something ridiculous on Twitter, and Satoru was curled in the corner of the sectional, nursing a soda and staring into the middle distance like he was trying to do math with his thoughts.

They were laughing about something. Maybe Yu had pulled up another unhinged video. Maybe Kento said something accidentally hilarious again with that completely blank expression. But Satoru’s attention had drifted miles away.

Back to that three-second moment at the front door.
Back to the faint click of Suguru’s door closing.
Back to the way the air changed when he walked in.

Satoru felt… off balance. Like the floor had tilted slightly and no one else had noticed.

“Earth to Gojo,” Shoko said, tossing a pillow at him. It hit his shoulder and rolled off.

He blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at the same spot on the carpet for ten minutes. You okay?”

Yu looked over too, curious. “Yeah, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he said a little too quickly. “Just thinking about how I already know I bombed that quiz earlier.”

Kento, without missing a beat: “It was on the syllabus.” Kento had taken that class in his first year and even warned him about it. Clearly, he didn't listen.

Satoru pointed at him, annoyed. “Okay, that’s not helpful.”

Yu raised an eyebrow. “You sure that’s what you’re thinking about? Not, I don’t know, someone tall, dark, and full of academic superiority?”

Satoru groaned and let his head drop against the couch. “I hate all of you.”

Shoko smirked and took a sip of her drink. “Nah. You love us. But maybe not as much as you wanna love- ”

“ Do not finish that sentence, ” Satoru warned, pointing a very threatening pillow in her direction.

Yu laughed. “You’ve got it so bad already. You don’t even realize it.”

He shook his head. “I literally don’t like him like that.”

“Uh huh,” Shoko said. “Which is why your ears turned red when he walked in.”

“I didn’t even- what?! No they didn’t!”

“Deadass they did,” Yu confirmed with a grin.

Kento, solemn as always: “Visibly flustered.”

“I’m surrounded by traitors,” Satoru muttered, getting up to grab another soda from the fridge.

He leaned on the counter for a second after opening it, letting the cold air rush out and wash over him. He needed it, something grounding, something to cool down the quiet heat that had been crawling under his skin since Suguru walked through that door.

Because the truth was… maybe they weren’t totally wrong.

He was flustered.
He was thrown.

And the worst part? Suguru hadn’t done anything except exist. He hadn’t even looked at Satoru for more than a second. Just a polite nod and a small hello, and suddenly Satoru’s brain short-circuited like he was back in high school. It wasn’t just his looks. Yeah, Suguru was beautiful, infuriatingly so, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence, the sharpness, the moments in the library earlier, where Suguru would answer a question and Satoru found himself forgetting how to breathe for a second. God, he thought. This is going to be a problem.

He shut the fridge and wandered back to the living room, drink in hand, and flopped back onto the couch.

“You good?” Yu asked, still watching him closely.

Satoru threw one arm over his eyes. “Yeah. Totally fine. Just… processing.”

Shoko, voice light, teased, “You’ll have to let us know how long that takes. So we can plan the wedding.”

“Shoko, jesus christ. ” he groaned.

But under the arm covering his face, a tiny smile tugged at his lips. Just for a second. Before he forced it back down. Because this wasn’t anything. He was not catching feelings for his roommate.

Satoru was still sprawled on the couch, nursing his soda, when Shoko nudged him with an elbow. “Hey, so… what about this weekend? Are we still on for bar hopping? You think Suguru would wanna come?”

Satoru blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe? I'll have to ask him.”

Yu chimed in from her spot on the floor. “It’d be good to get to know him better, right? He seems like a mystery wrapped in black.”

Kento gave a rare smirk. “Plus, more people, more fun.”

Satoru shrugged, trying to play it cool but feeling a little off-center. “Well, Suguru works mornings Monday through Thursday at that café, and then at the bar on weekends. Friday’s his only day off, so I don’t think he’ll make it this weekend.”

Shoko perked up, eyes gleaming with a plan. “We can always switch it to Friday then! That way, he doesn’t have to skip work, and we all get a night out.”

“Yeah, but he did say something about not drinking with ‘lightweights,’” Satoru added, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kinda a jab at me.”

At that, the room erupted with laughter.

Yu, grinning wide, leaned forward and teased, “Well, looks like you better step it up then.” He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief as the others joined in, poking fun at Satoru’s supposed inability to hold his liquor.

Satoru rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m the lightweight.”

The laughter died down and they realized it was getting late. As everyone started gathering their things, the room settled into a quieter buzz of goodbyes and last-minute jokes. Shoko lingered by the door, turning back with a pointed look at Satoru.

“Hey, don’t forget to ask Suguru if he’s coming, alright? And let me know. I want to make sure we get this night planned right.”

Satoru nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “Yeah, I will. Promise.”

With that, the group shuffled out, leaving the apartment noticeably messier than before. Satoru glanced around… empty cups scattered on the coffee table, stray wrappers on the floor, cushions out of place. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Great.

He grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen and set to work, tidying up the mess bit by bit. As he worked, his thoughts kept drifting to Suguru, what he’d say, if he’d actually come, what that would even mean. After a while, once the last of the clutter was cleared, Satoru stood up and stretched. He walked over to Suguru’s door and hesitated for a moment before knocking softly.

Suguru opened the door slowly, blinking like he hadn’t expected anyone to be standing there. His hair was down and slightly messy, like he’d just woken up or stepped out of the shower, and he looked softer in the dim hallway light, draped in an oversized white T-shirt and loose gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He rubbed his face with one hand, looking half-asleep.

Satoru cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Suguru leaned against the doorframe, brushing some hair out of his eyes. “Hey.”

There was a pause. Satoru’s usual smooth confidence didn’t follow him tonight. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the floor, then back up. 

Was this because of everything they said tonight?

“Uh… they just left. Sorry if we were loud or anything. I tried to keep them from getting too chaotic.”

Suguru shook his head, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “You were fine. Honestly, I was expecting a lot worse.”

Satoru cleared his throat again. Why does this feel so awkward?

“So, um… Shoko and the others were talking about going out. Bar hopping, Friday night.” He shifted his weight, tone hesitant. “Since it’s your day off, I thought… maybe you’d wanna come?”

Suguru tilted his head slightly, studying him. Quiet. Not cold, just... paying attention. Like he noticed that Satoru wasn’t joking this time. He glanced down the hallway, then back at him.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, voice low and even. “Depends how fried I am by the end of the day.”

Satoru let out a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Totally fair. They just said they wanted to meet you. You’ve apparently made a strong impression.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “You tell them I don’t drink with lightweights?”

Satoru groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I mentioned it once.” Satoru scoffs “I'm not a major lightweight and now if you don’t go, they’ll blame me and say I scared you off. So, you know… no pressure.”

“One of my first impressions of you was you getting shitfaced off like 1/6th of a bottle of champagne” Suguru says with a slight laugh.

“ OKAY … that does not count. If you go I'll be sure to cool it while drinking.” Satoru says, sighing.

A small smirk ghosted across Suguru’s lips as he crossed his arms. “So, are you asking because they want me to come… or because you do?”

What???

Caught off guard, Satoru blinked before stammering out, “I-”

“I’m messing with you,” Suguru said, shaking his head, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll think about it.”

Satoru laughed, like he was relieved not to answer. “Cool, yeah. Like I said, no pressure. Just let me know.”

Suguru gave a slow nod, still leaning there, tired but vaguely entertained. “Night, Satoru.”

“Night.”

As soon as Suguru’s door clicked shut behind him, Satoru stood frozen in place for a second, staring at the blank stretch of wood like it might still open again.

He exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” he muttered under his breath. “That wasn’t weird at all…” Almost like he was trying to convince himself he wasn't acting weird.

He turned on his heel and walked back into the living room, but it was empty now, just the low hum of the fridge and the faint vibration of his phone charging on the side table. He flopped down onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

Suguru’s voice still echoed faintly in his head. “So are you inviting me because they want me to come… or because you do?” He hadn’t even meant to sound flustered. But of course he did. And of course Suguru noticed. That guy didn’t miss anything.

Satoru let out a long, muffled groan and pulled a throw pillow over his face. What are you doing? He’d flirted with people before. He flirted with everyone, really… friends, strangers, baristas, TAs, even that one old man at the post office who gave him free stamps. It was a reflex, something he did without thinking. A way to keep things light, to keep people at a distance under the illusion of charm.

But this didn’t feel like that. Not tonight. Not when Suguru was standing there, tired and soft around the edges, and Satoru had felt something in his chest move , just a little.

That quiet “I’ll think about it” shouldn’t have hit him like a win. And yet. He sighed again, dragging his hands down his face before glancing at his phone. No new messages. The group chat had gone quiet. Probably waiting for his update, probably assuming he’d chicken out. He didn’t blame them.

He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked Suguru like that, like it mattered . And maybe that was the problem. Because he was starting to realize it did.

Suguru

Suguru clicked the door shut with a soft thud and leaned against it for a second, the echo of Satoru’s voice still hanging faintly in the air. So are you inviting me because they want me to come… or because you do? He hadn’t planned to say it. It just… came out. Half-tease, half-test. But the way Satoru stammered, just a little, but enough for him to notice…

Suguru pushed off the door, rubbing his temple as he made his way back toward the bed. His laptop sat closed on the comforter, forgotten. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and dropped onto the mattress with a sigh, letting his back hit the pillow. It was quiet. The hallway light crept under his door, but the house had gone still again. He opened the group chat. Riko had texted something dumb about a customer at her job earlier.

Suguru stared at the blinking cursor in the message bar for a long moment before typing:

[Me]: Just had a weird convo with my roommate.

Riko responded immediately:

[Riko]: go on…

[Misato]: define weird

He let the silence stretch for a moment, then thumbed out the next few messages, slower than usual.

[Me]: He invited me out with his friends. Tomorrow night.

[Me]: Satoru had them over tonight and I was introduced to them but I didn't stick around because I needed to study but Satoru said they wanna get to know me. Apparently I made an “impression”?

[Me]: I said I’d think about it…

A pause.

[Riko]: omg u HAVE to go

[Misato]: calling it now: he likes you

Suguru rolled his eyes. Called it. He should’ve known this would be the reaction.

[Me]: Not asking if I should. I know what you’re gonna say.

[Me]: Just didn’t expect him to ask. Or to look so… nervous about it?

[Me]: I made a joke and he just. Froze. In a good way I think??

He shakes his head and deletes that last part before sending it.

[Riko]: what was the joke LMAO

[Me]: “Are you inviting me because they want me to come… or because you do?”

[Me]: Didn’t think it would land like it did…

[Misato]: SUGURU GETO.

[Riko]: U DIDNT…

[Misato]: you flirted?? on purpose?? WHAT??

[Riko]: holy shit is this growth???

[Me]: It was not flirting. It was data collection. He's been acting kinda weird and I wanted to know if it was his idea or his friends.

[Me]: Like, if he doesn’t want me to go, I won't.

[Me]: His reaction was odd though so I tried to play it off as a joke and I think that's what made it seem like flirting…

[Misato]: no. it was def flirting.

[Riko]: and he sounded into it…

Suguru didn’t respond to that. Just locked his phone, screen going black as he stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t like that. Probably. Satoru was just… expressive. Flirted with everyone. Suguru had seen enough people like that… playful, magnetic, and slippery as hell when it came to meaning what they said.

But something about tonight felt… different. And the way Satoru looked when he asked, like he wanted Suguru to say yes, that was different too. Suguru sighed and dropped the phone on his chest. He’d think about it. Like he said. But he already knew what he was leaning toward.

Suguru sat in the low, quiet hum of his room, phone balanced on his chest, thumb idly grazing the edge of the screen. The ceiling offered no answers, and neither did the slow rise and fall of his breath. The exchange with Satoru kept looping in his mind, not just the question, not just the smirk, but the flicker of something in Satoru’s face. Like he'd gotten caught off guard. Like Suguru had peeled back something neither of them had named yet.

He sighed through his nose, unlocked his phone again, and reopened the group chat.

[Me]: Also. This is the first time I’ve told you guys this but… I kind of came out to him.

[Me]: It was actually yesterday, like a few hours after I texted you guys. It wasn’t planned. He asked a dumb question and I thought it was a good time to tell him. So I did.

[Me]: Just said I don’t sleep with women. Left it at that.

The typing bubbles popped up right away.

[Riko]: suguruuuu!!!!!!!

[Misato]: wait WHAT

[Riko]: that’s HUGE omg

[Misato]: how’d he take it? was he weird? was he cool? do i have to fight him??

Suguru rubbed at his eyebrow, thumb hovering over the reply field for a few seconds. Then he typed:

[Me]: He didn’t say anything bad. Just nodded. Kept it casual.

[Me]: But he’s been acting a little… weird since.

[Me]: Like, not in a bad way. Just… off. Like he’s trying to figure something out but won’t say what.

[Me]: I don’t know. Maybe I made him uncomfortable.

There was a pause before Riko answered.

[Riko]: or maybe you didn’t

[Riko]: maybe you made him think

[Misato]: agreed. people get weird when they have to confront stuff they didn’t see coming

[Misato]: but that doesn’t mean he’s judging you. just… adjusting, maybe

He thought about the way Satoru’s voice had dipped when he asked him to come out on Friday. The way he’d leaned in like he wasn’t sure how the words would land. That weird flicker of something behind the blue-tinted glasses he always wore.

Suguru shook his head, setting the phone down beside him on the bed. The room was quiet again, the house quiet. He let himself sink into the stillness, just for a second, his thoughts swimming with half-formed feelings and glances that lingered too long. He didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. Didn’t know what Satoru’s friends were like.
But for the first time since moving in, the idea of being seen, really seen, didn’t make his skin crawl. It just made his heart beat a little faster.

Suguru laid back against the pillows, one arm folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. The dim light from the phone screen flickered faintly across his face as another message buzzed through.

[Riko]: so r u gonna go??? I rlly think u should sugie

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat in the stillness, phone resting on his chest, the low hum of the ceiling fan above filling the silence. The question lingered, not just in the chat, but in his gut.

Was he going?

He’d been out before. Bar crawls, parties, loud rooms full of bad music and worse decisions. But this felt different. Not because of the bars. Not even because of Satoru’s friends. Because of Satoru .

Suguru still wasn’t sure what to make of him. He was loud, flashy, a little too quick with a joke and too slow with anything real, but something about him was honest. He didn’t hide the chaos. Didn’t pretend to be anything other than exactly who he was. That kind of openness was rare. And… disarming.

Suguru had spent most of his life playing it safe. Staying quiet. Surviving.
But Satoru Gojo didn’t survive rooms… he took them over . And for reasons he couldn’t name, that had started to… matter . He picked his phone back up and typed slowly.

[Me]: Haven’t decided yet.

[Me]: I think I want to.

[Me]: Which is probably why I shouldn’t.

The girls didn’t answer right away, rare for them, and he figured that meant they were conferring in their shared bedroom, probably plotting something he didn’t want to know about. He dropped the phone to the mattress beside him and ran a hand over his face.

He didn’t know what tomorrow night would mean. Maybe nothing. Maybe just a few drinks with people he barely knew, maybe a chance to blow off steam. But then again… maybe not. Maybe tomorrow will be a shift. Something small. Something new. And maybe, just maybe, that scared him a little less than it used to.

His phone buzzed again.

[Misato]: if ur thinking about it this hard…

[Riko]: you already know your answer

[Misato]: just go!!!

[Riko]: you never let yourself want things. maybe it’s time to try

Suguru read the message twice. Then once more. He didn’t respond. Not yet. But he didn’t delete it either. Instead, he rolled over, tucked the phone under his pillow, and let himself close his eyes, not to sleep, but to consider the possibility. Just for a little while.

Chapter Text

Suguru 

April 11th, 2025

The light coming through the half-drawn curtains was soft and gray, filtering in just enough to let Suguru know it was late morning. He blinked at the ceiling, the quiet stillness of the house pressing pleasantly around him. No clinking of mugs, no hiss of the coffee machine, no hurried footsteps down the hall. Just silence. His first thought: Thank God it’s Friday. No café shift. No bar. No work shirt sticking to his back before noon. Just a morning, a full morning, that belonged to him.

He stretched under the covers, muscles sore from the week but in a good way, the kind of ache that came from routine and effort. He buried his face into the pillow for a moment longer, soaking it in. Eventually, he peeled himself out of bed, padding barefoot across the floor. He cracked his door open to check the house, quiet, still. Satoru was already gone, probably at that 9AM class he’d been dreading since the syllabus dropped. Suguru lingered for a second, then shut the door again and rubbed his eyes.

Once he was dressed, black athletic shorts, a faded gym shirt that clung to him in the right places, he filled his water bottle and tugged his hair into a loose bun. He threw on an old crewneck, phone and keys in hand, earbuds already in. The gym wasn’t far, just a ten-minute walk, and the crisp morning air might actually wake him up properly.

He glanced at the mirror by the door, gave himself a once-over, and rolled his eyes. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t nearly as bad as he expected, considering how little sleep he got during the week. Still… maybe he’d treat himself to a coffee on the way back.

Just not from the café. He loved his coworkers, but a full day without hearing that cursed milk steamer? Bliss. As he stepped outside Suguru let out a breath and let his body settle into the familiar rhythm of a morning walk. No rush, no noise, no one to answer to. Just Friday. Finally.

The gym was quiet. Just the steady clank of weights and the low thrum of a playlist someone had half-heartedly put on over the speakers. Suguru liked it like this. Mid-morning, mostly regulars, no frat boys screaming at their own reflection in the mirror. He tucked his water bottle into the slot on the cable machine and started warming up, rotating his shoulders, cracking his neck. And of course, his brain wouldn’t shut up.

He’d been trying not to think about it… tonight. Bar hopping. Satoru’s friends. Socializing. All things he had mentally blacklisted unless required for survival or professional obligations. But here he was, pushing through his second set of shoulder presses while his mind ran laps around the idea like it was a debate topic. Would he go?

Maybe. Probably?

He exhaled through his nose, setting the weights down more gently than necessary. He didn’t hate the idea of seeing Satoru in a social setting. It wasn’t that. He was just… tired. Suguru’s social battery wasn’t something he had in surplus on a good day, and after a week of waking up at 4 a.m., smiling through customer service shifts, pretending to be a functioning academic, and tiptoeing around the weird vibe that had settled between him and his roommate… he wasn’t exactly at 100%.

He moved to the bench press, laying flat, positioning his hands on the bar, and letting himself stare at the ceiling for a moment. What would tonight even look like? A packed bar, sticky floors, strangers yelling over music. Probably a handful of Satoru’s friends he didn’t know how to talk to, even if they were nice. Even if they were fine.

And yet… he hadn’t said no.

He pushed the bar up, the weights straining just enough to make his arms shake by the third rep. He wasn’t opposed to a few drinks. Let himself be a little soft around the edges. Maybe find a quiet corner, nurse a whiskey, tolerate conversation for an hour or two. Then come up with some excuse — I’ve got some homework due, or I need to catch up on reading, or the easy fallback: Sorry, I’ve got work tomorrow. Which wasn’t even a lie. He always had work.

He finished his set, sat up, and wiped sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. His phone buzzed somewhere in the pocket of his gym bag. For a second, he didn’t check it. Just sat there on the bench, breathing slowly, staring past the mirror like it might offer him an answer. He didn’t know why he was making it such a big deal. It was just one night. A couple drinks. Maybe a laugh or two.

And Satoru.

That was probably the real reason his brain wouldn’t shut up. Suguru sighed and stood up, rolling out his shoulders and heading for the rowing machine. Just a few drinks, he repeated to himself. Then a quiet exit. No big deal.

He reached into the side pocket of his gym bag and pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up with the familiar preview of a text. It wasn’t from Riko or Misato, their names would’ve been followed chaotic group chat notifications. No, this was just one name.

[Roommate?] sooo hypothetically if i told them u might come tonight does that make me a liar if u don’t

[Roommate?] or just like… an optimist? („• ᴗ •„)

Suguru stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen. Typical. Somehow managing to make the most indirect pressure feel playful. He could practically hear the tone of it, teasing, but light. Like Satoru was holding the door open without forcing him through it. He snorted, shaking his head once and setting the phone down beside him on the bench.

 He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he adjusted the resistance on the rowing machine, sat down, and started moving, arms pulling, legs engaging, breath steady. Repetitive, grounding.

Still, the text stayed on his mind. It wasn’t that Suguru didn’t appreciate the invite. Honestly, he didn’t get them all that often. And even less from people who seemed to genuinely care whether or not he showed up.

He wasn’t used to that part… someone wanting him there.

After another few minutes, he finally paused, swiped up to unlock his phone, and started typing.

[Me]: You’re not a liar.

[Me]: Just annoyingly hopeful.

Then after a second…

[Me]: I’ll let you know for sure later.

[Me]: Don’t plan your entire night around me.

He hit send before he could overthink it, locked his phone, and tossed it back into the bag. Then he reached for his water, took a long drink, and settled in for one more set. The decision could wait a little longer. Especially after his classes.

As Suguru walked out of the gym, sweat cooling on his skin beneath his hoodie, he tugged his hair back into a loose tie at the base of his neck. His limbs ached with a kind of satisfaction he only ever got from working out, something about the rhythm, the repetition, helped him think. Or stop thinking.

The sun was already high overhead, the mid-morning heat creeping in around the edges of his collar as he adjusted his gym bag and turned down the path that led toward campus housing. He was almost at the crosswalk near the central quad when he heard it:

“Wait- Suguru?”

He paused, turning instinctively toward the voice. A girl was waving at him from just off the path, standing beneath the shade of a tree. Long, cotton-candy pink hair swayed over her shoulders, the sunlight catching on the glint of a silver hair clip holding back her bangs. Her voice had that unmistakable lilt — familiar in a way that tugged memories from the back of his brain.

He squinted. Then his eyebrows lifted, just slightly.

“...Manami?”

She smiled, jogging the short distance toward him, skirt fluttering lightly in the breeze and messenger bag bouncing against her hip. “I knew that was you. You look exactly the same.”

Suguru offered a soft exhale of something like a laugh. “That’s not true,” he said, brushing his hair off his forehead. “I was a mess in high school.”

She grinned. “Yeah, but like… a cool mess. Still are, apparently.” She says eyeing him up and down.

He gave a small smile, shifting his weight. “I thought you were going to that women's only university?”

“I just started this semester,” she said, standing with one hand on her hip, the other brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Switched out of my old school, long story, but Tenzen has a better program for my major. Ran into a couple people I knew from our year already, but honestly, I was hoping I’d run into you.”

Suguru blinked. “You were?”

“Yeah. I mean…” she shrugged, looking up at him, her tone casual but edged with something a little more pointed. “We were close. I figured you might still be around.”

Close . That was one way to put it.

They’d been friends first… partners in class projects, library study sessions that turned into long conversations about everything from music to metaphysics. Manami had always been easy to talk to, and in that way high school convinces you to try something , they’d agreed to date for a while. Suguru remembered it being… fine . She was kind, funny, and genuinely liked him. But it never felt like more than a comfortable arrangement. There was no spark, not for him. It hadn’t taken long to realize why.

They’d broken up quietly, no drama. She’d cried a little, but he hadn’t said why it didn’t work. He didn’t know how to at the time. He barely had the language for it himself. And now here she was, smiling like no time had passed, like they weren’t two very different people from two very different lives.

“You still studying philosophy?” she asked, nudging his arm lightly with her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

“Classic,” she laughed. “You always had your head full of bigger questions. I remember that.”

Suguru hummed. He glanced at the path, then back at her. “Well, I’ve got a quiz to study for. But it was good seeing you.”

“Oh- yeah, of course,” she said quickly, stepping aside but still watching him, her voice a touch more hopeful. “Maybe we can grab coffee sometime. Catch up for real?”

He hesitated for half a beat, then nodded politely. “Sure. Maybe.” That seemed to be enough for her, because she gave him one last smile and stepped back toward the sidewalk, her hair catching the light as she turned.

“Okay, see you around!” she flashes a smile at him.

“Sure, see ya.” As he walked away, the air felt heavier somehow. Coffee, maybe. But he wasn’t the same kid from high school anymore. And whatever he was now… he wasn’t someone Manami was going to get answers from.

Suguru walked in silence, the sounds of campus muffled under the steady hum in his ears, the kind of quiet that settled in when his thoughts started pulling in too many directions at once. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about running into Manami.

The encounter itself hadn’t been unpleasant. It was… familiar. Surreal, maybe. Like walking into a scene from a life he’d already filed away and closed the drawer on. She looked the same, sounded the same… still sweet, still a little flirtatious in that gentle, unassuming way that had once made things feel easy between them. But that was the thing. It was too easy. Too safe. It reminded him of what it was like to go along with something because it was comfortable, not because it was right .

He hadn’t thought about her in a long time. Not because he’d been avoiding it, but because she just didn’t occupy space in his head anymore. She’d been a small chapter. A soft edit in the margins of his past. They dated for what? Three, maybe four months? Most of it a blur of movie nights, shared notes, a few awkward kisses that probably went further than they should’ve. And even back then, when he couldn’t put a name to it, he knew something wasn’t aligning.

He’d said yes to dating her because it made sense. Because she liked him, and he wanted to like her back. But trying to force it had only made him feel lonelier in the end. As he turned down the block toward the house, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his hoodie sticking slightly to the back of his neck, he rubbed at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Manami’s voice echoed faintly in his head.

“Maybe we can grab coffee sometime. Catch up for real?”

Was he really going to do that? Probably not.

Not because he hated her or anything, she’d been nothing but kind. But he wasn’t sure what she expected to “catch up” on. He didn’t owe her a tour through his current life, and the truth was, he didn’t think she’d really want to hear it. About work, or his classes, or his boring day-to-day. About Satoru .

...Especially not about Satoru.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. Things might be awkward now. Not intentionally, Manami wasn’t the type to force anything, but still. She’d asked with a little too much hope in her voice, and he hadn’t exactly shot her down. He hadn’t led her on either, but… maybe the old him would’ve followed through anyway, tried to keep the peace, tried to be agreeable. He wasn’t that version of himself anymore.

By the time he stepped up to the house and dug his key from his bag, he’d already made his mind up. No coffee. No looking back. High school was over. He had enough going on in the present. The front door clicked shut behind Suguru as he stepped inside, unzipping his hoodie halfway and kicking his sneakers off with a soft thud against the wall. He paused mid-step when he spotted a familiar mop of white hair on the couch.

Satoru.

But what really caught his attention was what he was doing. Books spread out in front of him. Tablet open. Pen in hand. Studying? Suguru blinked. He glanced at the time on the microwave clock across the kitchen.

10:27 AM. Wait a minute.

“You’re supposed to be in class,” Suguru said, narrowing his eyes slightly as he slung his gym bag off his shoulder and dropped it by the wall.

Satoru looked up over the edge of his textbook, grin creeping onto his face. “Class got skipped, actually.”

Suguru frowned. “Seriously?”

“Yup,” Satoru said, popping the “p” and flipping a page with a flourish. “Took one look at my attendance grade and thought… 'I’m doing too well. Better even it out.’”

Suguru rolled his eyes but walked further into the room, dropping onto the couch with a faint grunt and stretching out his sore legs. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I like to think I’m a man of mystery.”

It was then that Suguru caught another odd detail. Satoru was wearing glasses. Not the usual oversized sunglasses he sometimes dramatically posed with, but real ones. Thin wire frames, subtle and oddly professional. They perched delicately on the bridge of his nose as he peered at his notes like he wasn’t the kind of guy who routinely claimed he didn’t need to study to ace anything.

Suguru tilted his head. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

Satoru looked up at him and smirked. “I don’t. I adorn them.”

Suguru snorted, quietly, but it happened. The joke shouldn’t have worked. But something about the dumb delivery, the smug little grin, the stupid glint in Satoru’s eyes behind those frames, it landed. More than that, it relieved him.

It was the first time since their awkward, stilted hallway conversation the night before that Satoru felt like himself again. No weird pauses, no forced small talk. Just him being... flippant, mildly annoying, borderline charming. 

Suguru let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Something in his shoulders unknotted. “I take it back,” he said dryly, leaning his head back against the cushion. “You’re completely believable.”

Satoru grinned and stretched out on the couch, arms over his head like he had all the time in the world. “Flattery won’t get you out of bar-hopping, you know.”

“Didn’t think it would,” Suguru murmured, but he didn’t say no either.

Satoru glanced up from his notes again, still lounging like a cat in a sunbeam. “So… does that mean you’re actually going tonight?” he asked, voice casual, but there was a flicker of something else underneath, curiosity maybe. Hope.

Suguru shrugged, eyes drifting to the ceiling as he folded his arms across his chest. “Still deciding.”

“You’ve been ‘still deciding’ for a hot minute now.,” Satoru pointed out, stretching one leg off the couch dramatically. “You realize that’s not a decision, right? That’s just stalling. ”

Suguru turned his head, arching a brow. “I thought you were trying not to pressure me.”

“I’m not pressuring,” Satoru said with a grin, lifting his hands like he was surrendering. “I’m gently influencing.”

“Same thing.”

“Not when I do it with charm.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”

“I don’t need to be,” Satoru said, sitting up a bit straighter now. “I’ve got a whole support squad hyping me up. Shoko even said she’d buy your first drink. That’s how bad they want to meet you.”

“Oh, so now there are bribes involved?”

“Yeah, is it working?”

Suguru stared at him for a long moment, thoughtful. “What if I go and leave after an hour?”

Satoru blinked. “You want to leave after an hour?”

“Not want. Just… probable.”

“Social battery already in the red? Its not even noon yet.”

Suguru gave a short nod. “Running on fumes already.”

Satoru tilted his head. “Okay, but what if I promise not to let anyone cling to you or ask you weird questions or like… force you to karaoke?”

“Why would anyone force me to karaoke?”

“You’ve clearly never been drunk with Yu before.”

Suguru hummed, debating. “I’m still thinking about it.”

Satoru nudged his foot lightly under the coffee table. “Think faster. It’s almost noon. That’s when people start mentally committing to plans.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now. ” Satoru leaned back, grinning at him through his glasses. “C’mon, it’ll be good. Little Friday night fun. You need some in your life.”

Suguru exhaled slowly. The idea of a crowded bar with loud strangers still wasn’t exactly appealing… but Satoru’s face… hopeful, earnest in his own teasing way, made it a little harder to say no outright.

“We’ll see,” Suguru said finally, voice low.

Satoru lit up like he’d won something. “That’s practically a yes.”

“It’s not.”

“Yet.”

Suguru sighed quietly and pushed himself off the couch. His eyes flicked toward Satoru for a moment, still lounged in his seat, glasses low on his nose, tablet glowing in his lap. There was something easy about him today, like the awkwardness from last night had been scrubbed off along with whatever weird tension he’d been carrying around. Suguru didn’t know if that made things easier or harder.

He reached for the doorknob to his room. “I’ll let you know after I finish my classes,” he said flatly.

Satoru glanced up and gave a thumbs up. “Cool. I’ll be here. Studying hard, obviously.”

Suguru didn’t answer, just stepped into his room and shut the door with a quiet click. He stood there for a second, exhaling through his nose before heading to the bathroom and stripping down for a shower. The water was warm, almost too warm, but he didn’t turn the temperature down. Instead, he tilted his head back and let the stream hit the back of his neck as if it could rinse away all the static in his head.

Manami.

That had been… unexpected. He hadn’t thought about her in a long time, not really. It really caught him off guard. Their high school “relationship” had been more of a curiosity than anything else, two people who got along decently enough and figured, why not try? She was kind. Easy to talk to. He remembered liking her company, even if the romance part had always felt a little… off. And now here she was again, long pink hair tied back in that same careless way she always wore it, smile warm, voice just familiar enough to knock something loose in his chest. What was she even doing at Tenzen?

Transferring here, she’d said. Something about a better program, better professors. A clean slate, maybe. She’d asked him to get coffee. To catch up. And he’d said yes. Well kind of…

Suguru rubbed a hand down his face, dragging water with it. Was he actually going to do that? Would it be weird? Would she expect something from him he couldn’t give? Or worse… would it not be weird at all? He didn’t know. He honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

After drying off, he threw on a tshirt and some loose pants, then sat at his desk with his reading. He tried to focus, he really did, but his brain kept skipping like a scratched record. Manami to Satoru to tonight.

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. His phone buzzed once against the wood. Then again. And again. It was only noon, but apparently, the universe had decided this day was far from done with him.

Suguru’s phone buzzed once more. Then again. Then about ten more times in rapid succession. He blinked at the sudden flurry of notifications and picked it up off the desk, screen lit up like it was panicking.

He comes to find out hes been added to a groupchat.

[Unkown number]: “OKAYYYY I’m picking the bar this time no objections”

[Unkown number]: “No. Your taste in bars is abysmal.”

[Unkown number]: “omg is this the roommate?? HI ROOMMATE”

[Unkown number]: “Suguruuuuuu!!! prepare yourself”

[Unkown number]: “do u have any allergies or food restrictions this is a safe space”

[Unkown number]: “You’re brave for agreeing to this. If you agreed. Wait, did you agree??”

[Unkown number]: “i am also sorry in advance”

Suguru just… stared at the screen.

He sighed, long and deep, and shoved the phone in the pocket of his hoodie before opening his bedroom door. Satoru was at the kitchen island, halfway through a rice ball, glasses still on, feet up on the stool like this was his personal kingdom.

Suguru crossed his arms. “Skipping your noon class too?”

Satoru didn’t even flinch. “Duh. We’ve got plans to make.” He grinned, holding up his phone with a flourish. “Welcome to the group chat.”

Suguru scowled faintly. “I didn’t even say if I was going yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Satoru said cheerfully, scooting a stool out with his foot. “C’mere. I’ll tell you who’s who so you can label the mess properly.”

Suguru moved reluctantly toward the island and sat down, pulling out his phone with a sigh. As the two leaned in over the screen, Satoru caught sight of the contact name he had saved for him.

“Wait- hold on.” He pointed, eyebrows raised. “‘Roommate?’ Seriously?”

“It’s factual,” Suguru replied dryly. “You are my roommate.”

“With a question mark? Really?”

“I wasn’t sure you were staying.”

Satoru squinted at him in mock betrayal. “Wow. Cold. I give you laughs, charm, group chats, and this is what I get?”

Suguru didn’t even blink. “You gave me a dirty house and six missed messages from strangers.”

Satoru laughed, elbow lightly bumping his. “You’ll survive.”

Suguru muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “Doubt it.”

Still, he didn’t move away. Just opened the chat, eyes scanning for the next wave of nonsense Satoru was about to assign identities to. Satoru leaned in closer, shoulder brushing Suguru’s, as he pointed at the screen like he was giving a guided tour through a museum of chaos.

“Okay,” he said, tapping on one of the numbers. “This one, the one spamming about bar choices? That’s Shoko, you met her yesterday. She’s the one with the sharp sarcasm and deadpan delivery.”

“She seemed… dry,” Suguru said carefully.

Satoru huffed. “That’s generous. She’s also in med school, somehow. Don’t ask how she’s still alive or functional. Im also 100% positive she can out drink all of us.”

He tapped another name. “This one? ‘Hi roomate’? That’s Yu, he was the one that complimented your piercings yesterday. He’s a disaster. He has no filter and is super friendly. He’ll fight someone for you without hesitation.”

Suguru arched a brow. “Lovely.”

“Oh, and this one- ‘Your taste in bars is abysmal’? That’s Kento. You also met him yesterday, the blond, stoic, smart one that is probably judging us as we speak.”

Suguru made a noncommittal sound. “Right.”

“Okay and this-” he tapped on the only name Suguru hadn’t seen before “-is Utahime. You haven’t met her yet. She’s great. Bit high-strung, kind of a mom friend, but sharp. She and Shoko are dating.”

Suguru looked at him. “Got it.”

Satoru nodded. “They’re gross but also cute about it. You'll see.”

Another round of messages lit up on the screen.

[Yu]: also suguru if you hate crowded bars say so now and we’ll riot with you

[Utahime]: I won’t. I picked the bar. It’s chill. Not loud. Good lighting. Reasonably clean bathrooms. You’re welcome.

[Shoko]: she chose it based on the bathroom vibes. that’s how you know it’s real.

[Yu]: we’re getting sentimental already huh

[Kento]: I expect none of you to be sentimental by drink three

[Utahime]: I will cry and take selfies with the girls i meet in the bathroom if I want.

[Shoko]: you always do

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “They’re… persistent.”

“Relentless,” Satoru corrected with a grin. “But harmless.”

Another ping.

[Shoko]: also tell him he has to sit between me and toru. group consensus. non-negotiable.

[Utahime]: Agreed. It’s for seating symmetry.

[Yu]: and protection. from me. i have no self-control.

[Kento]: We know. Satoru, hopefully you warned Suguru about Yu?

[Roommate?]: yes yes we are distancing them

Suguru sighed, setting his phone screen-down on the counter. “They’re really not going to let this go, are they?”

Satoru leaned his elbow on the counter, cheek in his palm. “Nope. You’ve been claimed.”

“I haven’t even said I’m going yet.”

Satoru gave a half-shrug, a little smug but mostly hopeful. “Yeah, but you haven’t said no either.”

The air hung quietly between them for a second, comfortable, curious. Suguru looked down at his water bottle, twisting the cap slowly. He sighs, “What time are we meeting?” he says, sounding defeated.

Satoru blinked, then grinned like he just hit a game-winning shot. “Nine. Shoko’s pre-gaming with Utahime at their place, but we’ll meet them there.”

Suguru shook his head. “This better not turn into some kind of group interrogation.”

“It won’t,” Satoru promised, sliding his phone back in his pocket. “Worst case, you’ll get stuck with me all night.”

“…That’s not the worst case,” Suguru muttered under his breath, maybe too quietly for Satoru to hear. But judging by the grin that bloomed across Satoru’s face… he heard it.

Satoru’s grin twisted into something mischievous as he swiftly snatched Suguru’s phone right out of his hand.

“What are you-” Suguru started, but Satoru cut him off before he could finish.

“I’m fixing this,” Satoru declared, his fingers already flying over the screen. “’Roommate?’ is way too lame for me.”

Suguru rolled his eyes but didn’t try to snatch the phone back, curious despite himself. A few seconds later, Satoru handed the phone back with a satisfied smirk. Suguru glanced down at the screen and saw his new contact name: “ Sagittarius”

He blinked. “Really? That’s what you went with?”

Satoru shrugged, looking pleased. “Yeah, it fits. Mysterious, a little stubborn, kind of intense. Plus, your name in my phone is ‘Aquarius’ so we're like, matching now.”

Suguru shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. Maybe this was going to be more interesting than he thought.

Suguru stepped away from the island with a quiet exhale and stretched slightly as he stood. “I’ve gotta get ready for class,” he muttered, mostly to himself but loud enough for Satoru to hear.

Satoru gave a lazy wave. “Don’t work too hard, we don't want your social battery fully depleted before tonight.”

Suguru didn’t respond, just shook his head with a small, amused scoff as he walked down the hall and slipped into his room.

Once inside, he shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment. His space was dim, quiet, the late morning light slanting across his desk through the partially closed blinds. It felt like a buffer from the energy outside, Satoru’s energy, specifically.

He rubbed the back of his neck and crossed the room to his bed, grabbing his phone again and tossing it onto the duvet. That group chat was already buzzing again, but he’d deal with that later.

Suguru sat at the edge of his bed and exhaled slowly, letting himself settle. The morning had been weirdly… domestic. Calm. Satoru being there, acting almost like they’d done this before. Eating breakfast while texting their friends. Changing his contact name.

Sagittarius, Suguru thought, glancing toward his phone. He huffed out a quiet laugh. He hadn’t expected to feel this… okay around him. Not just tolerating his presence, but maybe, if he didn’t overthink it, actually enjoying it.

He stood again, stretching his arms overhead, then went about getting ready. Swapped out his sweatpants for black slacks, pulled on a fitted long sleeve shirt, and tied his hair up in a quick, low bun. A few loose strands still framed his face, but he didn’t bother fixing them.

At his desk, he grabbed his notebook and checked his schedule, making sure he had what he needed for class. He slid a pen behind his ear, slung his bag over one shoulder, and gave the room a quick once-over.

Just before stepping out, his eyes flicked back to his phone. Still buzzing. Still lit up with notifications from a group of strangers who apparently wanted to drink with him tonight. He rolled his eyes. And yet… he didn’t mute it. He said his goodbyes to Satoru, who was still sitting at the island with his glasses on, then he opened the door and headed back out.

Satoru

Satoru barely waited for the front door to click shut behind Suguru before grabbing his phone. He almost fell out of his seat, screen lighting up as he opened the group chat.

[Me]: guys

[Me]: GUYS

[Me]: you need to play it cool tonight

[Me]: like actually cool

[Me]: none of u can be weird i’m serious

[Yu]: uh oh

[Yu]: what happened what did i miss

[Shoko]: define “cool” because that’s not really our thing

[Kento]: I’m not changing anything. I’m always cool.

[Utahime]: you are the least cool person in this group chat

[Shoko]: lmao

[Me]:  ok look he hasn’t said if he’s coming yet

[Me]: but he might?? maybe

[Me]: and he’s already weird about the flirting thing, i can take it bc ik u guys and ik it's all fun and jokes but

[Me]: don’t scare him off with “roommate” jokes

[Me]: let him breathe

[Me]: he’s skittish LOL

[Yu]: so like… no ship names tonight?

[Shoko]: what if it’s just a little teasing?

[Me]: shoko PLZ

[Me]: he literally labeled me “roommate?” in his phone

[Me]: like w the question mark and all

[Me]: i’m fighting for my life out here like i thought we were friends ╥﹏╥

[Utahime]: Wait fr?

[Kento]: That’s rough.

[Yu]: congrats ur halfway to “guy from class”

[Me]: ok ENOUGH

[Me]: point is

[Me]: be normal. act casual. don’t make it weird.

[Me]: i can handle ur guys sick and twisted idea of a joke but idk if he can

[Shoko]: ur the weird one though

[Me]: im so normal rn

[Yu]: debatable

[Me]: oh u guys are about to piss me off

He tossed his phone onto the cushion and groaned dramatically into the throw pillow. God. Now he's gotta really think about what he's wearing tonight.

Wait, who cares? Suguru is coming, that's the only thing that changed.

Satoru groaned again, louder this time, like the dramatic exhale might help clear his brain. It didn’t. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, one arm flung over his eyes. He’d really gone and made it everyone’s problem, huh?

Not that he regretted it. His friends were... chaotic, sure, but they meant well. And maybe if he made Suguru feel welcome, kept things light, kept it fun , he’d stick around. He’d want to. That was the whole point.

But then he remembered how Suguru looked this morning, barely awake, hair down and soft around his face. And how even when Satoru was at his weirdest, Suguru didn’t exactly push him away. He just tolerated it in that flat, unreadable way that Satoru wasn’t sure was approval or secret plotting.

He sat up with a groan. He padded over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, stared into it without really seeing anything. He grabbed a bottle of tea and flopped back onto the couch, checking the time. 1:11 PM. Suguru would just be settling into his Ethics class. Probably already taking notes like some kind of academic assassin.

Satoru wondered if he’d said yes to going out tonight in his head yet and just hadn’t told him. Or if he was still thinking about it. Or if he wasn’t planning on going at all and was just trying to avoid hurting his feelings. The thought made something twist behind his ribs.

With a huff, he pulled his phone back toward him and opened his gallery. He had a few pics of the bar they were planning to hit tonight, last time’s mess, dim lighting, weird LED art in the bathroom. He picked one with Shoko and Utahime posing like gremlins under a neon “Take a Shot, You Coward” sign, and sent it into the main group chat with Suguru included this time.

[Me]: ok but real question

[Me]: if THIS place doesn’t convince you to go out tonight

[Me]: what will

[Shoko]: god i forgot about this place

[Shoko]: lol utahime u look so cute

[Yu]: i blacked out and woke up with a cone hat on

[Utahime]: Ugh I remember that outfit… I had glitter in my hair for like a week

Satoru waited. Watched the typing bubble flicker on and off once. Then nothing. He set his phone down and smiled to himself, something soft and a little nervous. No answer yet. He's probably busy with his class…

Satoru stretched out on the couch, one leg hanging dramatically off the side like he’d just fainted from boredom. It was only 1:32 PM. Suguru’s first class had barely started and he already felt like he’d lived through a century.

He’d read the same paragraph on his tablet three times without processing a single word. Something about early market theory and economic individualism. Whatever. He flung it face-down on the coffee table with a groan and rolled onto his stomach, cheek pressed into the cushion. “Maybe I’ll nap,” he muttered. He did not nap.

Instead, he flopped over to the other side, then ended up back on his phone. He scrolled mindlessly through TikTok. Sent stupid videos to Yu and debated texting Suguru something completely ridiculous just to see if he’d look at it in class and suffer. His thumb hovered over the chat. He didn’t send anything.

Just as he started actually studying, his phone buzzed.

[Aquarius]: fine. I’ll go.

[Aquarius]: Don’t make me regret it.

Satoru sat bolt upright so fast he nearly knocked over his tea.

[Me]: WAIT REALLY

[Me]: ARE U BEING SERIOUS

[Me]: LIKE FOR REAL FOR REAL

The group chat exploded .

[Yu]: HOLY SHIT WE GOT HIM LET’S GOOOOO

[Shoko]: lol i knew you’d cave

[Utahime]: Welcome to hell Suguru!1!!1!!

[Kento]: You’ll regret it.

[Yu]: HEY don’t listen to kento

[Shoko]: yeah he says that about everything

[Me]: THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN

[Me]: i’m already planning the playlist ┗(＾0＾)┓

[Aquarius]: Is it too late to back out?

[Yu]: YUP

[Shoko]: locked in. no refunds.

Satoru grinned like he’d just won something. Maybe he had. Not in any obvious, big-splash kind of way. Just something small and quiet, like Suguru choosing to be part of his world for a night. 

Willingly.

He flopped back down and hugged a pillow to his chest, staring at the glowing chat screen. Tonight was going to be interesting. He could already feel it.

Suguru

Suguru slipped his phone back into the pocket of his coat, the fading buzz of the group chat still lingering in his palm as he walked toward his 2PM class. The air had shifted, figuratively and literally. The wind had picked up a bit, fluttering at the hem shirt, cooling the back of his neck as he cut across the quad.

He still wasn’t entirely sure why he said yes.

Maybe it was the way Satoru looked when he asked, too casual, but just nervous enough around the edges that Suguru couldn’t write it off as one of his usual tricks. Maybe it was because he had no real excuse. Or maybe… he just wanted to see what it’d be like. To try it. To be part of something.

He slid into a mostly empty bench outside the lecture hall, flipping open his phone and scrolling past the firestorm that was Satoru’s group chat. Idiots. All of them. Endearing, obnoxious idiots.

He opened the other chat, the one with Riko and Misato, and typed:

[Me]: Okay, so…

[Me]: I agreed to go out tonight. With Satoru. And his friends.

Three dots appeared immediately, followed by an explosion of typing.

[Riko]: SHUT UP YOU DID NOT

[Riko]: I TOTALLY THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA DODGE???

[Misato]: waittttt is this growth i’m seeing…

[Misato]: character development??

[Me]: Don’t start. I didn’t say I was excited.

[Me]: I’m just… going. Briefly. To be polite.

[Riko]: polite LMFAO ur impossible

[Riko]: just admit you kinda want to go. a little.

[Misato]: what’s the real reason though?

[Misato]: satoru?

Suguru stared at the blinking cursor, thumb hovering over the keyboard for a few seconds too long. Then, finally:

[Me]: I don’t know.

[Me]: He asked… nicely.

[Me]: And he looked… like he’d actually be disappointed if I didn’t.

[Me]: His friends really want to get to know me for some reason, they said they'd buy drinks so…

There was silence for a moment. Then:

[Riko]: so bribery

[Riko]: lmao ur so easy

[Misato]: this is gonna be fun!!!

[Misato]: pls text us updates in real time

Suguru sighed and slid his phone back into his pocket just as the lecture hall doors opened. Philosophy of Mind. Perfect. Maybe if he was lucky, they’d spend the hour discussing emotional repression or the illusion of free will. He had a lot to reflect on.

Suguru’s 2PM class, Philosophy of Mind , was exactly what he needed and also the last thing he wanted. Dense, quiet, and filled with enough abstract theory to crack his skull open. He sat through it with his usual focus, jotting notes, nodding along when the professor asked rhetorical questions, but his brain wouldn’t stop wandering. His phone vibrated at least five times in his jacket pocket, the subtle rhythm of group chat chaos. He didn’t even have to look to know.

The same thing happened in his 3PM lecture, Business Ethics and Social Responsibility . By then, the text frequency had slowed, but not stopped. He kept his eyes on the slides, but his mind drifted to the night ahead. What was he doing? He didn’t even like bars. And he definitely didn’t like groups of loud, half-drunk strangers. But… it wasn’t just any group. It was Satoru’s. And he could admit, if only to himself, that there was some small part of him, some annoyingly curious part, that wanted to see how Satoru was when he wasn't trying so hard to be charming. When he was surrounded by people who knew him, really knew him.

By the time class ended, his head was buzzing and his social battery already felt low, and he hadn’t even left the house yet. The walk home helped. A little. The sun had started its slow descent, casting long shadows over the sidewalk and giving everything that warm, orange glow that always made the world feel quieter. More bearable.

He reached the front steps, turned the key, and stepped inside. And of course— of course —Satoru was on the couch. Again. Its like he never leaves that spot.

This time, though, he wasn’t scrolling TikTok or watching some dumb video with the volume too loud. He had his legs pulled up underneath him, a laptop on his thighs, notebook open beside him, glasses sliding down his nose like he’d been focused for once in his life.

Suguru blinked, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. Satoru jolted upright like he’d been caught stealing something. His glasses nearly fell off his face. “Oh- hey! You’re back.”

“Yeah,” Suguru said, deadpan. He slipped off his shoes and set his bag down by the wall. “Didn’t expect to catch you actually… studying.”

“Doing homework,” Satoru said, eyes wide with mock offense. “It's the same thing essentially.”

“Mm. Sure.”

Satoru set his things aside and turned more fully on the couch to face him. “How were your classes?”

Suguru gave a noncommittal shrug as he walked towards his room. “Fine. Long.”

“You… still planning to go out?” Satoru asked, voice lighter now, cautious in a way that made Suguru pause mid-step.

He glanced over his shoulder. Satoru was looking at him, really looking, like his answer mattered. Like it would change something.

Suguru didn’t respond right away. Instead, he turned back around, continuing toward his room. “I said I would.”

He closed the door behind him before Satoru could say anything else. And then, leaning back against the wood, he exhaled slow and deep. He wasn’t sure what the hell tonight was going to be. But it was already starting to feel like more than just drinks.

Suguru settled into his desk chair, the door shut, the soft hum of his desk fan brushing cool air against his cheek as he pulled out his notebook and laptop. The next hour passed quietly, just him, the sound of keys tapping, and the faint buzz of Satoru doing whatever the hell he did on the other side of the wall. It was the first real silence Suguru had all day, and it helped him recenter. He worked through his ethics reading, jotted down notes for a short response due next week, and checked off a few discussion posts that didn’t take more than a couple of sentences.

By the time he was done with his Philosophy of Mind worksheet, it was past 5:30, and the light outside had shifted into that deep amber that made everything look a little softer. He leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms over his head, and let out a long breath. Homework? Done. Energy level? Questionable.

He stood up, shook off the stiffness in his legs, and headed to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He brushed through his hair and debated tying it up but ultimately left it down. Looser. A little softer.

Back in his room, he opened his closet and stared at it like it might magically tell him the answer. After a few minutes of deliberation, he pulled out two options and laid them on the bed.

Option one: baggy beige pants, a crisp white t-shirt, and a blue short sleve button-up, lightweight, loose, left unbuttoned for a relaxed look.

Option two: brown cargo pants and a slouchy blue t-shirt that hit just right on his shoulders, sleeves cuffed a little. Clean, casual, effortless.

He got dressed in both, one after the other, checking himself in the mirror each time. He added his usual rings, silver, a mix of simple and bold, and a few black and beaded bracelets on his left wrist.

Then he did something he rarely did. He grabbed his phone, took a mirror pic in both outfits, stoic face, half-posed, hair framing his face just slightly, and sent them off to the one group chat guaranteed to give brutally honest fashion opinions.

[Me]: Ok. Quick. Which one?

[Me]: Beige pants + white tee + blue shirt?

[Me]: Or cargos + blue tee?

[Me]: I’m not playing around I need judgment

The photos went through. He didn’t even have time to drop his phone before the typing bubbles appeared. The typing bubbles blinked for barely two seconds before Riko's name lit up the screen.

[Riko]: omg who is he dressing up forrr

[Misato]: wait wait WAIT. are you getting ready to hang out with friends or are you going on a date, Suguru??

[Riko]: LMAO be serious rn

Suguru rolled his eyes, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He flopped back onto his bed, phone resting against his chest as he stared up at the ceiling.

[Me]: You know damn well what it is.

[Me]: Just going out… nothing dramatic. Just people.

[Riko]: mhmm. and does one of those people maybe have white hair and eyes that follow u around like a puppy??

[Misato]: please… we’ve seen ur “just people” wardrobe. this is calculated lmao

[Riko]: right?? the rings? the bracelets?? both outfits are suspiciously hot.

Suguru groaned into his pillow.

[Me]: Can y’all just vote? Please, I literally don’t have time for this.

[Misato]: okay okay okay

[Misato]: blue button-up. 100%. clean, chill, a little mysterious. very "i didn't try but i look good anyway."

[Riko]: agreed. white tee and beige pants. makes your hair pop too. gives “i don’t care” but also “i know you’re looking.”

[Riko]: go with that one. he’ll be feral.

[Me]: Okay that is not the goal.

[Misato]: sure it’s not lol

[Riko]: pics. later. of him

[Riko]: for scientific reasons obviously

Suguru locked his phone and let out a quiet laugh through his nose. He stood up, changed back into the beige and white outfit, button-up left open just like they said, and gave himself a last look in the mirror. Okay. This was fine. Nothing dramatic. Just a casual night with people.

People, and one roommate who had no idea how confusing he’d made things lately. Suguru grabbed his phone, shoved it in his pocket, and turned toward the door.

Suguru stepped out of his room around 8:15, fingers adjusting the collar of his shirt absently as he glanced down the hallway. Empty.

The lights were on, but Satoru wasn’t in sight. Probably still getting ready, Suguru guessed. For someone who lived in hoodies and sunglasses, the guy sure took his time getting dressed when it came to going out. 

Suguru smirked faintly to himself and made his way to the couch. He dropped into it with a quiet sigh, resting one ankle over the opposite knee, and pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up with an avalanche of notifications, two group chats, texts from Misato and Riko, and a few random alerts he ignored. He opened the chat with the girls first.

[Misato]: ETA? We need pre-game selfies

[Riko]: you better be looking HOT rn

[Misato]: I demand photographic proof

[Riko]: not optional

[Me]: I'm on the couch waiting for Satoru.

[Me]: Apparently he takes longer than I do to get ready.

[Me]: Also you guys already saw both fits, what more do you want??

[Misato]: validation. admiration. Vibes.

[Riko]: we’re emotionally invested in your evening and need live updates.

Suguru shook his head, but the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Then, reluctantly, he flicked over to the other group chat, the one Satoru had added him to.

The screen was flooded.

[Yu]: ok but is he actually coming tho

[Utahime]: he said yes like three times

[Kento]: Until he arrives, it is not confirmed.

[Shoko]: facts

[Sagittarius]: he’s COMING calm down

[Sagittarius]: just trust meee

[Yu]: that’s the problem

[Shoko]: trusting you is literally the last thing we should be doing rn

[Utahime]: agreed

[Sagittarius]: ok rude

[Sagittarius]: he’s prob putting on bracelets and everything ok

[Yu]: omg he’s accessorizing???

[Shoko]: oh it’s OVER

[Utahime]: LMAOOO

Suguru raised a brow, mildly stunned they were talking like he wasn’t going to read any of this. He exhaled through his nose, then started typing.

[Me]: You guys are aware I can see all of this, right?

Immediately:

[Shoko]: we counted on it

[Yu]: LOLLL

[Utahime]: it’s called transparency

[Sagittarius]: wow look who finally joined the party

[Kento]: Welcome

[Yu]: hi bestie

[Sagittarius]: ok but more importantly: are you ready to have a mildly unhinged but stylish night out with the hottest people on campus

Suguru stared at that last message for a second longer than he meant to, then slowly typed back:

[Me]: Depends. Are they as dramatic in person as they are in this group chat?

[Shoko]: oh he’s funny

[Yu]: confirmed

[Utahime]: dangerously funny. i like him.

[Sagittarius]: okay everyone relax before you scare him off

[Sagittarius]: he’s MY roommate

[Utahime]: oh???

[Shoko]: fascinating

[Yu]:  intriguing

[Sagittarius]: NO like?? literally my roommate??? pls

Suguru shook his head, lips twitching. It was chaos, but... not the kind he hated. The kind that felt warm in a weird, unexpected way. He looked toward the hall again, listening for any sign of Satoru. Still not here. He leaned back into the couch, letting himself sink into it a little, phone balanced in his hand, and waited.

[Me]: Satoru are you almost done?

[Me]: I’ve been ready. Sitting here. Waiting.

[Sagittarius]: OMG sorry your highness

[Sagittarius]: just trying to figure out which outfit i wanna wear 

[Sagittarius]: CHILL

[Yu]: not the royal treatment LMAOOO

[Shoko]: lmaooo “your highness” is crazy

[Utahime]: Bold of you to assume hes not already making Suguru wait out of spite

[Kento]: You’re late, again? Everyones already at Shoko’s place.

[Sagittarius]: im fashionably late actually… there’s a difference

[Sagittarius]: also I’m literally putting on cologne give me TWO MINUTES

[Me]: You’ve had like twenty since I've been out here.

[Sagittarius]: ok but i’m gonna smell amazing so now what

[Yu]: we love a man who’s committed to the aesthetic

[Shoko]: Suguru, blink twice if you’re rethinking this whole night

[Me]: Still deciding.

[Sagittarius]: RUDE!!!

[Me]: Don’t make me leave without you.

[Sagittarius]: NO WAIT I’M COMING

[Sagittarius]: DO NOT ABANDON ME

[Sagittarius]: I LOOK REALLY GOOD

Satoru’s bedroom door finally creaked open.

Suguru looked up from his phone as Satoru stepped out, dressed in slim black jeans and a dark blue button-down, sleeves pushed to his elbows, the top few buttons undone just enough to look like he didn’t try too hard. His hair was a little tousled, like he’d spent too long making it look effortless, and there was a faint, clean scent in the air, fresh expensive cologne, probably the reason for the delay.

Satoru didn’t say anything at first. He just… looked at Suguru. His gaze dragged down slowly, taking in the open blue shirt over white, the casual hang of his beige pants, the subtle jewelry on his hands and wrists. There was something almost unreadable in his expression for a moment before he blinked, masking it with a lopsided smile.

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “About time.”

Satoru snorted and crossed his arms. “Wow. That’s it? Not even gonna compliment me? After I stressed over what shirt made my eyes look more devastating?”

Suguru’s lips twitched. “Wouldn’t want it going to your head.”

“Unreal,” Satoru muttered, shaking his head dramatically. “Here I am, dressed like a gift to humanity-”

“To humanity?” Suguru interrupted flatly, standing up and brushing off his pants. “How far is Shoko’s place? We walking or what?”

Satoru gave him a look, hand over his heart like he’d been wounded. “Yes, we’re walking. And it’s, like… seven minutes. Maybe five if we walk with a sense of purpose.”

Suguru rolled his eyes and walked toward the door, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You’re doing a lot of talking for someone who was late.”

“And you’re doing a lot of ignoring how good I look,” Satoru called after him as he grabbed his keys and jogged to catch up. “Tragic, honestly.”

“Let’s go, Sagittarius,” Suguru said, not looking back but the edge of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Before I change my mind.”

Satoru caught the smile, even if Suguru tried to hide it. And that was enough to keep him grinning all the way down the block. The air was warm for a Friday night, cicadas buzzing somewhere in the distance as the two of them stepped out into the neighborhood, sneakers crunching faintly against the sidewalk. The sun had already dipped below the skyline, leaving a hazy blue-violet glow behind, and the streetlights were just beginning to flicker on, one by one, casting long shadows behind them as they walked. For the first minute or two, neither of them said much. The silence wasn’t tense, though. It was the kind that felt… settled. Easy.

Satoru kicked a loose pebble down the sidewalk and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, you nervous?”

Suguru gave him a sidelong glance. “About what?”

“Meeting everyone. Going out. Existing in public with me.”

Suguru gave a slow shrug. “Not necessarily nervous, just a bit drained.”

Satoru grinned. “That’s fair. But you should know, you’ve already got Shoko’s seal of approval, and that’s not easy to get.”

“She hasn’t said more than two words to me.”

“Yeah, and she liked you anyway. Scary, right?”

Suguru shook his head, amused. “What about the rest of them?”

“Well,” Satoru said, stretching the word out dramatically, “Yu thinks you're mysterious and cool. Utahime is suspicious but trying not to be obvious about it. Kento hasn’t said anything out loud but I know he respects the fact that you’re not me. So basically? You’re doing great.”

“That’s a low bar,” Suguru muttered, but there was a tiny upward tug at the corner of his mouth.

They turned onto a quieter street, the pavement slightly cracked and lined with uneven trees. Satoru reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, opening the group chat.

[Sagittarius]: otwww

[Utahime]: Tell Suguru its not too late to turn around

[Yu]: should we start placing bets on how long he lasts

[Shoko]: 40 minutes tops

[Kento]: 23

[Satoru]: RUDE

Suguru peeked at the screen from over Satoru’s shoulder. “They know I’m right here, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Satoru said. “They’re just trying to keep the chaos dialed down for your sake.”

“Touching.”

They crossed the street as Satoru shoved his phone back into his pocket. “You can dip early if it gets overwhelming,” he added, voice a little softer now. “Seriously. You don’t owe anyone your whole Friday night.”

“I know,” Suguru said, then after a pause, “But I’m here. I said yes. I’ll try.”

That made Satoru look at him again, like really look, and smile, slower this time, a bit more real. “Good. You’ll be fine.”

Suguru rolled his eyes. “You just want someone to out-drink you.”

Satoru gasped. “Excuse me. I am a delicate drinker.”

“You’re a lightweight.”

“And you’re on thin ice,” Satoru warned with a grin, nudging him gently with his shoulder. Suguru didn’t push back. But he didn’t move away either. A few houses later, Satoru pointed to a small, two-story building with vines crawling up one side and a flickering porch light.

“Shoko’s,” he said simply.

Suguru exhaled as they walked up the short path to the front door. “Okay.”

Satoru glanced at him sideways. “Still good?”

Suguru gave a slow nod. “Still good.”

Satoru knocked. The muffled sounds of music and laughter leaked from inside. Then the door opened, and the night truly began. Suguru followed Satoru into the house, the low hum of conversation and music washing over him like a tide. The place was warm and lived-in, soft lights strung across the ceiling, the faint smell of something floral in the air. Shoko’s taste, probably.

“Hey,” Shoko called from the kitchen, holding up a half-empty wine glass in greeting.

Yu waved dramatically from the couch. “Ayyy, it’s the mysterious roommate!”

Kento nodded politely from where he sat by the window, sipping something dark from a short glass.

Suguru gave a general nod, offering a small, polite smile as Satoru stepped in beside him, hand briefly brushing his lower back as if to steer him forward. “Alright,” Satoru said, gesturing broadly, “you’ve met these morons, sort of, but this,” he said, turning toward a woman standing by the hallway, “this is Utahime.”

She was dressed simply, jeans and a loose button-down, but there was something about her posture that gave her away immediately: sharp, observant, a little reserved. She stepped forward and offered a firm handshake. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“You too,” Suguru said, nodding once.

“She’s the scary one,” Satoru stage-whispered. Utahime elbowed him in the ribs without looking.

After a few more pleasantries and light teasing exchanged between them all, the talk shifted naturally to heading out.

“Bar’s only like a ten-minute walk,” Utahime said, grabbing her purse and slipping on her shoes. “Better than finding a ride home later.”

“Less time for Satoru to embarrass himself on the sidewalk,” Shoko added, already pulling on her jacket.

“Okay rude,” Satoru said, but he was grinning.

They gathered near the door, voices overlapping, jackets pulled from hooks, the occasional clink of a bottle or the rustle of keys. Suguru lingered by the entrance, watching the group’s natural rhythm. They were loud, but not in an overwhelming way. It was the kind of loud that came with comfort. Familiarity. It had a shape to it. He hadn’t realized until now how much he missed that, being part of a group, even temporarily.

“Ready?” Satoru said quietly, suddenly at his side again.

Suguru glanced at him, then at the door swinging open. Cool night air drifted in. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They stepped outside together, the group spilling out onto the sidewalk ahead of them. The street was lit by scattered lamps, their footsteps echoing on the pavement as they fell into step. Someone made a joke about pre-gaming with wine being a tactical error, and laughter bubbled up again.

Suguru shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the deep navy sky. He still wasn’t sure how long he’d last tonight, maybe an hour, maybe two, but right now, the air felt good, the walk wasn’t too fast, and for once, the noise didn’t grate. And maybe, just maybe, he was glad he came.

The bar Utahime had picked was tucked between two closed cafés, its sign barely lit and windows darkened from the outside. But when they stepped in, it was a completely different world, dim lighting, warm golden bulbs over the bar, red leather booths lining the walls, and the faint thump of old jazz beats playing through ceiling speakers. It was cozy, not too crowded, and had the lived-in, local feel of a place that didn’t care about being trendy.

The bar was comfortably packed, the kind of crowded that buzzed with life but hadn’t tipped into chaos yet. Every table was full, groups tucked into booths, friends standing in loose circles near the walls, a few solo patrons hunched over their drinks at the far end of the bar. Laughter and overlapping conversations layered over the slow pulse of jazz and the occasional clack of pool balls from the back corner.

The air was warm, tinged with the scent of citrus peels, whiskey, and cheap cologne. Bartenders moved quickly behind the counter, sleeves rolled up and focused, juggling orders with practiced ease. A couple of people were lingering by the bathrooms, and the entrance saw a steady trickle of new patrons slipping in through the narrow door, brushing rain off jackets or shaking the chill from their hair.

There wasn’t much personal space, especially at the bar itself. Elbows bumped now and then, drinks were passed hand to hand down the line, and someone behind them kept brushing against Suguru’s back every time they turned to laugh too hard. But the energy was electric, Friday night in full swing, everyone trying to forget the week and lean into something easier. Something reckless, maybe. Temporary. It was loud enough to lean in closer to hear each other talk, but not so loud that you had to shout. The kind of crowded that made everything feel just a little more alive.

The group made their way to the long bar that stretched across the left side of the room. Shoko immediately nudged Utahime toward the pool tables in the back, muttering something about unfinished business. Utahime raised an eyebrow but followed her, already slipping a token into one of the battered tables.

That left Kento, Yu, Satoru, and Suguru at the bar, where they claimed a small corner with a bit of space between them and the nearest couple. Drinks were ordered, Kento a whiskey, Yu something fruity with way too much sugar, Suguru his usual highball, and Satoru… well, he went straight for a Negroni with a double shot of gin.

Suguru glanced at the glass when it arrived, then raised an eyebrow at Satoru. “That’s what you’re starting with?”

Satoru took a dramatic sip, eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring it. “Go big or go home,” he said.

“Bold of you to assume you won’t be crawling home after that,” Suguru replied, lifting his own drink to his lips. It was his first of the night, and already he could feel the week starting to slip off his shoulders.

Yu leaned his chin into his palm, squinting at Suguru. “You really work every day but Friday?”

“Pretty much,” Suguru said. “Café during the week, bar shifts on weekends.”

Kento frowned slightly. “That sounds unsustainable.”

“Welcome to being broke in college,” Suguru muttered, glancing at his glass.

Yu winced in sympathy. “Damn. I complain about my lab hours, but at least I get to sleep in.”

“What bar do you work at?” Satoru asked, tipping his glass toward Suguru in a way that almost looked like a toast.

“Yagi’s. You wouldn’t like it,” Suguru replied, catching the movement and mimicking it with a dry smirk.

Satoru gave him a fake-offended look. “You don’t know that.”

“It’s quiet. No live music. No neon signs. No photo ops. You’d be bored in ten minutes.”

Kento chuckled. “He’s right. Been there before with Yu, odd atmosphere.”

Satoru rolled his eyes and tossed back the rest of his drink like he was trying to prove a point. Suguru blinked at the empty glass, then looked at him sideways.

“How long do you think he’s gonna last?” he muttered to Kento and Yu.

Yu laughed behind his glass. “I give him an hour before he starts dancing.”

“Thirty minutes.” Kento added.

Satoru, clearly pretending not to hear any of this, flagged the bartender down for another. “For the record,” he said, grinning over his shoulder, “I’m a fantastic dancer.”

“Sure you are,” Suguru said, but there was an edge of amusement in his voice that hadn’t been there earlier. He took another slow sip of his drink, casting a glance toward the pool tables, where Shoko was already pretending to lose just to mess with Utahime. This wasn’t half bad.

Suguru wasn’t sure what he expected when he agreed to come out tonight. Maybe that he’d sit stiffly at the bar nursing a single drink, tolerating the social energy until he could come up with a believable excuse to dip out early. That wouldn’t have been unusual. It wouldn’t have even surprised anyone who knew him.

But here he was, nearly an hour in, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Satoru and his friends, and… he wasn’t miserable.

He leaned back slightly on the barstool, letting the warmth of his second drink settle low in his chest. The air buzzed around him, full of overlapping voices and muffled music. The lighting was low and gold-toned, casting everyone in a kind of soft blur. Kento was talking about how his internship had him writing performance evaluations for people twice his age, and Yu was chiming in with exaggerated shock and jokes that barely skirted inappropriate. Satoru laughed beside him, sharp and unfiltered, bright even in a room like this. 

Suguru let himself laugh too. Just a little. It was easier than he thought it’d be. He wasn’t tense. Not really. Not like he sometimes got in new places with new people, shoulders tight, eyes scanning exits. Something about the way this group carried themselves made it easier to exist. He wasn’t expected to perform. They weren’t dragging things out of him or trying too hard. They let him sit and sip and observe until he was ready to say something, and when he did, they actually listened. It felt… okay.

More than okay, maybe. 

He caught himself looking at Satoru mid-laugh, his head tipped back. That stupid drink, way too strong for a guy who Suguru suspected had the tolerance of a kitten, was already gone. Suguru smirked to himself and glanced down at his own glass, ice melting slowly in the low light. 

The crowd didn’t bother him as much as he expected. The closeness, the warmth of the bar, the occasional elbow nudge or brush of someone walking past, it was all manageable. And strangely, the idea of going home early hadn’t crossed his mind once. He wasn’t counting the minutes until he could leave. He wasn’t calculating an exit plan.
He was here. And he was… kind of okay with that.

— — — — — — — — — 

It was edging toward midnight, and the bar’s noise had climbed from a steady hum to full-on chaos. The crowd had thickened, people weaving between pool tables and swaying to music that was barely audible over the chatter. Drinks kept coming, but Satoru, unsurprisingly, wasn’t pacing himself.

He was leaning half over the bar now, elbows propped up dramatically, chin in his hand, eyes glassy and unfocused as he muttered something to Yu about how the universe was “like, rude sometimes.”

“Satoru,” Shoko said dryly, reaching over to steady him when he swayed a little too far to the side. “You’re drunk.”

“m' fine ,” he slurred, making an exaggerated gesture that nearly took out someone’s drink.

Kento sighed. “He’s not making it through the rest of the night.”

“Nope,” Utahime agreed, arms crossed as she surveyed the situation. “We should figure out who’s taking him home before he starts getting to the point where he's crying.”

“I can do it,” Shoko offered, already reaching for her coat. “He’s stayed at mine before. I don’t mind.”

But before she could move, Suguru set down his nearly empty glass and spoke up, calm and low, “I’ll take him.” The group turned to look at him.

“I’ve got work tomorrow anyway,” he added with a small shrug. “And we live together. It just makes more sense.”

Yu pouted. “Damn, I wanted to talk to you more though. You’re like… surprisingly cool.”

Suguru arched a brow. “ Surprisingly ?”

“That’s not what I- never mind.”

“I second that,” Kento said, finishing off his drink. “It was refreshing to talk to someone with functioning neurons.”

Shoko smirked. “I guess that makes sense. You’re already used to babysitting him.”

Satoru groaned into the crook of his elbow. “m' right here .”

“Which is exactly the problem,” Utahime muttered.

“Alright,” Shoko said with a small, amused sigh. “He’s all yours, Suguru. Godspeed.”

Suguru nodded, sliding off the barstool and giving Satoru a soft tap on the shoulder. “Come on, lightweight. Let’s get you home.”

Satoru blinked up at him, eyes bleary but smiling, like he’d just remembered who Suguru was. “You came to save me,” he mumbled, trying and failing to stand up gracefully. “m'hero.”

“Ooookay,” Suguru muttered under his breath, steadying him with a hand on his arm. “Let’s go before you say anything worse.”

Their friends chuckled and waved them off, offering half-drunken goodbyes and promises to hang out again soon. And just like that, Suguru guided Satoru out of the crowded bar and into the night.

The night air hit them like a quiet relief, cool and crisp, a soft contrast to the heat and chaos of the bar. The streets still pulsed with Friday night energy, laughter echoing from distant corners, headlights passing by like slow-moving fireflies. But here, on this quieter stretch of sidewalk, it was just the two of them. Suguru had one arm wrapped firmly around Satoru’s waist, holding him upright with practiced ease. Satoru’s arm was slung across Suguru’s shoulders, fingers curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt. He was heavy and uncoordinated, but not impossible. Just… floppy.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Suguru muttered under his breath, adjusting his grip as Satoru stumbled slightly over a crack in the pavement.

Satoru’s head lolled toward him. “You liiike me?” he repeated in a sing-song voice, the words slurring together like syrup. “I thought you hated me.”

“I said ‘lucky’.” Suguru corrected dryly, but there was no bite to it. The corner of his mouth even twitched upward.

“Mm, nooope. You like me,” Satoru murmured, eyes barely open. “You respect me.”

Suguru huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t push it.”

Satoru didn’t seem to hear. His head dipped forward slightly, forehead brushing Suguru’s temple as he mumbled, “Your hair’s soft.”

Suguru’s steps faltered for just a second.

“…You’re gonna be so embarrassed tomorrow,” he said finally, eyes forward, tone casual despite the sudden thrum in his chest. “I hope you know that.”

“M’not embarrassed,” Satoru replied, letting out a half-hearted sigh. “You’re nice. And warm. ‘S nice.”

He leaned a little harder into Suguru with that, and Suguru tightened his arm around him instinctively to keep him steady. They walked in silence for a minute, the rhythm of their footsteps echoing against the empty sidewalk. Suguru could feel the heat radiating off Satoru’s body, the way his breath puffed softly against his cheek every few seconds. He wasn’t sure if Satoru even knew where they were anymore.

Still… the weight of him wasn’t unwelcome.

The streetlamps glowed gold above them as they turned down a familiar road. Suguru glanced sideways at Satoru’s slack expression, his flushed cheeks and faint grin like he was dreaming with his eyes half open.

“This is why I said don’t drink with lightweights,” Suguru murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

“Yeah, yeah…” Satoru slurred. “But I’m pretty.”

Suguru laughed, quiet, reluctant, but real. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, adjusting his grip one last time as the house finally came into view.

They reached the gate and Suguru shifted his stance to open it one-handed, dragging Satoru along gently. Satoru muttered something unintelligible under his breath, his forehead now resting against Suguru’s temple like it had given up trying to hold itself up. The door creaked as Suguru pushed it open with his foot. The house was dark, quiet. Suguru exhaled slowly, guiding Satoru inside and kicking the door shut behind them. His arm around Satoru’s waist tightened as they maneuvered toward the hallway.

“Okay, come on,” he said softly. “We’re almost there.”

Satoru let out a dramatic groan. “I live here,” he protested weakly, like the house should’ve rolled out a red carpet and carried him to bed. “Shouldn’t have to walk…”

Suguru huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well, you forfeited your right to dignity the second you ordered that third drink.”

“Was fourth, actually,” Satoru mumbled, head still tilted dangerously close to Suguru’s neck. “Maybe fifth. Who’s counting…”

“I was,” Suguru said, nudging open the bedroom door with his foot. “Because I knew I’d be the one carrying your ass home.”

He half-guided, half-dropped Satoru onto his bed. The idiot flopped face-first into the pillows with a groan, one leg still hanging off the side like a discarded puppet. Suguru turned on the small bedside lamp and pulled off Satoru’s shoes, tossing them to the corner of the room. Then he grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed and tugged it up over him.

Satoru rolled onto his back, blinking at the ceiling. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re nice to me,” he murmured. “Even when I’m stupid.”

“You’re always stupid,” Suguru said, tugging the blanket more firmly into place. “I just have a high tolerance.”

Satoru’s lips quirked upward. “You do like me.”

“Go to sleep, Satoru,” Suguru muttered.

He turned to leave, but before he could make it to the door, Satoru’s voice floated up behind him, quiet, slurred, but unmistakably sincere:

“Thanks, Suguru.”

Suguru paused, hand on the doorknob. He looked back once, just for a moment. Satoru was already half-asleep, curled under the blanket like a ridiculous, lanky cat, one hand splayed across his chest.

“…You’re welcome,” Suguru said quietly, then stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

He stood there for a second in the quiet, pressing his fingers into his temple. He wasn’t sure what tonight was. But it left something buzzing under his skin, something warm and restless. And he had a feeling this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Satoru

April 11, 2025

Satoru woke up with the kind of hangover that felt personal. Like it had crawled inside his skull with steel-toed boots and a grudge. His mouth was dry, his brain was cotton, and his stomach… well, it was still deciding what kind of day it was going to have. He groaned into his pillow and rolled onto his back, blinking blearily at the ceiling. The sun was aggressive through the window, the light too sharp, too smug. He squinted at it like it had insulted him.

The second thing he noticed, after the pain, was the smell. Something… good. Something warm. Like butter and sugar and a little bit of heaven. He sniffed again, slowly, cautiously, and groaned louder when it hit him square in the soul: pancakes. Or maybe French toast? He couldn’t tell. Didn’t matter. It was food, and it smelled like safety. Dragging himself out of bed with the grace of a dying animal, he shuffled into the hallway. His head throbbed in protest, and he considered turning around, but then he saw the kitchen. More specifically, he saw Suguru in the kitchen. 

He stood at the stove with his back mostly turned, flipping something golden-brown in a skillet. His hair was still damp, strands sticking lazily to his neck, and he wore a faded band T-shirt with the collar stretched a little too wide. Plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips, cinched lazily at the waist, and he moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had already been awake and productive for an hour. Satoru blinked slowly, taking in the domestic image before him.

Suguru glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “You look like death.”

Satoru squinted at him. “So sweet.”

Suguru snorted and turned back to the pan. “Go sit down before you fall over.”

“I’m fine,” Satoru muttered, slumping dramatically into one of the kitchen chairs. “Just dying. A little. Inside.”

“That’s what four cocktails and two shots will do to you,” Suguru replied, sliding a stack of pancakes onto a plate like a seasoned diner cook. “I told you not to keep up with Yu.”

“He peer-pressured me,” Satoru groaned, rubbing at his face. “And you abandoned me.”

“I walked you home,” Suguru said flatly, placing the plate in front of him. “You don’t remember that?”

Satoru blinked. “…No?”

Suguru just shook his head, turning back to the stove for the next batch. “Figures.”

Satoru stared at the pancakes. They looked fluffy. Perfect. Warm enough to steam in the morning light. “Are these… for me?”

“Unfortunately.”

Satoru grinned and picked up his fork. “You’re, like, the best wife ever.”

“Roommate,” Suguru said immediately.

“Roommate,” Satoru echoed, mouth full of pancake. “Right. Right.”

He chewed in silence for a few seconds, then glanced up again. “You look kinda domestic like that, by the way. Wet hair. Band shirt. Very ‘dad making breakfast for his kids.’”

“Eat your damn food.”

Satoru laughed softly, still grinning through the pain. And for the first time that morning, the hangover didn’t seem quite as bad. Satoru rested his chin in his palm, elbow on the table. “Okay, be real with me. What actually happened last night? Like after… I don’t know. Drink number five? It’s all just a blur. A lot of noise. Maybe Yu trying to arm wrestle someone? Did I start crying? Oh god, please tell me I didn’t cry.”

Suguru plated the last pancake and finally turned around, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “You didn’t cry,” he said. “But you did try to steal someone’s fries and then nearly knocked over a barstool trying to bow and apologize.”

Satoru grimaced. “Oh no.”

“And on the way home, you literally couldn't walk straight. Like at all.”

Satoru buried his face in his hands. “Kill me.”

“You made it home in one piece,” Suguru said, a little too smugly. “I had to keep your arm around my neck the entire way. You nearly took us both down twice.”

Satoru peeked through his fingers. “God… I owe you my life.”

“Yeah, you do,” Suguru said, sipping from his coffee cup. “I carried your dignity on my back last night.”

“Well, it’s definitely not here now, so you must’ve dropped it somewhere along the way.”

Suguru snorted. “Maybe it’ll show up on the lost and found board.”

Satoru groaned again and flopped forward over the table, cheek smushed dramatically against the island. “Ughhh. I’m never drinking again. Ever.”

“You're full of shit.”

“Okay but I’m not drinking like that again. With those people.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “With your friends?”

“They’re too much. I fear them.”

Suguru shook his head, walking past Satoru to grab his coffee and open the fridge. “They like you, you know.”

Satoru looked up. “Who?”

“Everyone. You talk a lot of shit, but they care about you. And they were actually really easy to be around.”

“Yeah?” Satoru smiled a little, softer now. “You seemed like you were having fun.”

Suguru shrugs, “I didn’t hate it.”

“Incredible. High praise.”

Suguru just hummed, grabbed the green tea he ordered this morning for Satoru out of the fridge, sliding it across the table toward Satoru. “Hydrate, idiot.”

Satoru picked it up with a dramatic flourish. “To my heroic savior. May you never have to haul my drunk ass home again.”

Suguru raised his own cup. “One can only hope.”

Satoru took a sip of the tea, humming his approval. “Okay, this actually might bring me back to life. Did you lace it with something?”

“Caffeine and goodwill,” Suguru replied, setting his own mug down before sliding into the seat across from him. “You’re not getting a serum. Just pancakes.”

“Pancakes and tea after a blackout? You’re dangerously close to perfect roommate status.”

Suguru gave him a flat look. “Don’t get used to it. I only did it because you looked like you were going to die last night.”

Satoru grinned. “A mercy meal. I’ll take it.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, just the sound of the stovetop cooling and the occasional creak from the old floorboards. Satoru broke the quiet again, voice slightly hoarse.

“So, I didn’t say anything too embarrassing, right?”

Suguru raised an eyebrow and cut into his pancake. “Define embarrassing.”

“Did I hit on anyone inappropriate? Like, someone’s mom? A bouncer? You?”

That got a reaction. Suguru paused just for a second before answering. “You flirted with a streetlamp on the way home.”

Satoru blinked. “Okay, that’s… honestly on-brand.”

“You also tried to guess everyone’s star signs at the bar and were very upset that no one was an Aries.”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, mouth full of pancake. “Ugh. That sounds like me.”

“It was loud and mostly wrong. You said Yu is a Scorpio and got mad that you forgot when his birthday was. He almost left.”

“He acts like one though, ugh, I know when his birthday is…” Satoru swirls his tea.

Suguru just shook his head, sipping his coffee again. “You were fine. Just loud. Sloppy. Not tragic.”

Satoru took that in, nodded slowly, then muttered, “Cool. Cool. Good. Still have a reputation to maintain.”

“Not a good one.”

He pointed a lazy finger at Suguru. “That’s slander.”

“Not if it's true.”

They both smiled a little at that, quiet again. It was still early, and the light coming in through the window gave the kitchen a soft, muted warmth. Despite the pounding headache and the regret swimming just beneath his skin, Satoru didn’t really mind being awake now.

Suguru glanced at the clock. “I have to head out for work around noon. You gonna sleep this off?” 

Satoru considered. “I’ll crash again later. Maybe watch something dumb until then.”

Suguru stood, collecting their plates. “Okay just make sure you're staying hydrated.”

“No promises.”

He was already halfway to his room when Satoru called out, “Hey, Suguru.” 

He paused, turning slightly.

“…Thanks for getting me home.”

Suguru gave a small nod. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

“I won’t. Probably.”

And then he disappeared into his room, and Satoru, still fighting the throbbing in his head, let himself smile into his cup. Satoru sat for a little while longer. The house was quiet in that particular Saturday morning kind of way, peaceful, slow, like the world was still waking up. He let himself lean back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes half-lidded.

The hazy edges of his hangover were still clinging to him, but now that the caffeine and carbs had started to settle in, he could at least think straight. Well, mostly. He rubbed his temples gently. 

God, I was a mess last night.

Bits of the evening were still foggy, but Suguru’s voice, low and dry, kept resurfacing. Teasing him. Helping him walk. Laughing a little at his bad guesses and worse jokes. Even now, it was weirdly comforting to think about. Suguru had this way of being steady even when everything around him was falling over. Like Satoru could’ve keeled over in the street and Suguru still would’ve made sure he didn’t miss a step. He hadn’t expected him to volunteer to take him home. Honestly, he’d expected Shoko or Utahime to draw the short straw, not… Suguru. The guy who worked weekends and didn’t even want to go out in the first place.

He could’ve just let someone else do it. So why didn’t he?

Satoru shakes his head, of course he did, we literally live together. His social battery was probably dead anyways.

Satoru blinked slowly, then pushed himself to stand and shuffled over to the living room. He collapsed dramatically onto the couch with a groan, one arm flung over his eyes like he was dying in a soap opera.

“You’re so dramatic,” he muttered to himself, then grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, scrolling through options until he found something dumb enough to match his brain state, some over-the-top cooking competition with far too much yelling. He let it play as background noise while he grabbed his phone off the coffee table. A couple of unread messages from the group chat with Shoko and the others.

[Yu]: y’all awake yet

[Yu]: i feel like i was hit by a bus

[Utahime]: That’s what you get for drinking with not a single drop of water OR FOOD in your system 

[Shoko]: i’m fine lol

[Shoko]: utahime made me tea and now we’re watching planet earth like 90yo lesbians

Satoru snorted. He thumbed over to the chat with Suguru and hovered for a second, debating whether or not to text him again. But what would he even say? Thanks again for being the world’s most responsible man while I turned into a complete disaster? He’d already said that in person. Still, something in him itched to keep the conversation going. Not even in a flirty way this time, just… a way.

Instead, he tossed the phone back down and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, dragging it over himself. His eyelids were already getting heavy again. He’d pretend he was just resting his eyes for a bit, that was all. Just resting. Not thinking too much.

Definitely not replaying the way Suguru looked that morning… tousled, sleepy, wearing that old band shirt with damp hair and quiet eyes. Nope. Not thinking about that at all.

Suguru

Suguru closed his laptop with a quiet sigh and rolled his neck, muscles slightly stiff from being hunched over for the past two hours. The soft whir of the fan was the only noise in his room, filtering the sunlight that cut across his desk through half-drawn curtains. His textbook lay open beside a half-finished cup of coffee, his notes organized into neat, color-coded blocks. It’d been a productive morning, an essay edited, two discussion posts drafted, and most of next week’s readings knocked out, but his mind kept drifting back to last night. More specifically: to Satoru.

The version of him that had been half-slumped against Suguru’s side, babbling nonsense with a slurred smile. His hand had been warm where it curled lazily around Suguru’s shoulder, and he’d leaned into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then there was the moment, the one Suguru kept circling back to, no matter how much he tried to brush past it, when Satoru had called himself pretty. Some offhanded joke, probably. Laughing, careless. And Suguru had agreed.

Quietly. Just under his breath. Not even meaning to say it out loud. “Yeah” He hadn’t dared to look at him after.

Satoru probably didn’t remember. Hopefully . He’d been drunk enough that most of the night would blur together into noise and color. It didn’t need to become “A Thing”. Not when they’d only just gotten comfortable around each other again. Not when everything still felt like it was shifting underfoot. Suguru stood up and stretched, pulling open his closet to grab clothes for work. Black button-up, black jeans, simple silver jewelry. He tugged his hair back into a bun and headed into the bathroom to wash his face, letting the cold water ground him. His phone buzzed from where it sat on the edge of the sink.

[Notification]: Your quiz for Intro to Japanese History has been graded.

Suguru unlocked his phone, thumb moving through the app with practiced ease. He clicked into the gradebook: 10/10. Not surprising.

He’d never really had trouble with academics. Retaining information came naturally, and focus had been a survival skill back when his world was a balancing act of part-time jobs and long commutes. Getting high grades wasn’t a flex, it was a baseline. A necessity. Still, he allowed himself a brief nod of satisfaction as he shut the app and slipped his phone into his back pocket.

Another buzz. This time from a message. Not the group chats. Just Riko.

[Riko]: you alive?? ur shift’s gonna be hell today lol

Suguru smirked faintly to himself and typed back:

[Me]: Yeah. Finishing up now. Heading out soon. Not terribly hungover, Satoru got it the worst.

He gave himself one last glance in the mirror, expression settling into its usual unreadable calm. The one that worked in any setting, lectures, work, or walking an almost-blackout drunk Satoru home in the middle of the night. Suguru stepped out of his room and grabbed his keys from the hook by the door and slipped on his jacket. Suguru was halfway out the door, bag slung over his shoulder and keys in hand, when Satoru glanced up from the couch and did a visible double take.

“Jesus,” Satoru said, blinking. “You’re gonna make every customer fall in love with you if you keep dressing like that.”

Suguru paused, hand on the doorknob, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “It’s a uniform.”

“Yeah, well, your uniform is doing a lot of heavy lifting,” Satoru muttered, tossing an arm over the back of the couch. “Black really is your color.”

Suguru huffed a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. He lets out a long and exaggerated “Oooookay” then says “Have fun doing nothing.”

Satoru grinned. “You too, bartender.”

Just as Suguru turned the handle, he stopped. “Oh,” he said, glancing back. “Did you get your quiz back yet?”

Satoru groaned audibly, flopping fully backward on the couch like the very idea had physically wounded him. “I forgot,” he said, pulling his phone from his chest pocket and unlocking it. A second later, his entire face twisted.

“Oh, come on, ” he groaned. “A 5.9? Out of 10?? That’s not even a whole number! They couldn’t just round it up?”

“You got a 59%,” Suguru said, deadpan.

“They could’ve given me a 60,” Satoru snapped, still staring at the screen like it had betrayed him.

“That’s not how grading works.”

Satoru sat back up, rubbing his eyes with both hands, muttering something about injustice and how no one warned him the quiz would include actual questions.

“You should’ve studied,” Suguru offered, tone dry as sand.

Satoru shot him a look through his fingers, face still buried in his hands. “Not now. I’m grieving.”

Suguru let the corner of his mouth twitch, just barely, before pulling the door open. “Okay well. I'm off.”

“Bring me something fried.”

“Not a chance.” And then he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Suguru adjusted the strap of his bag across his shoulder as he walked, hands in his jacket pockets, the early afternoon sun already climbing a little too high for comfort. It was a short walk to the bar, ten minutes, give or take, but it still gave him time to clear his head. Walking saved gas, and considering he barely made enough at the café and the bar to keep his checking account in the black, saving gas was non-negotiable. His phone buzzed faintly in his pocket. When he pulled it out at a red light, he saw a few missed messages from earlier in the group chat with Misato and Riko, plus a new one from Shoko. He hesitated, then tapped hers open first.

[Shoko]: hey just wanted to say it was cool having u out with us last night. we’re all glad u came. also i am impressed u actually came lol. that shit isn’t always easy when u already have a lot on ur plate.

[Shoko]: and hopefully satoru wasn’t too much trouble? He gets… kinda emotional when he’s drunk. you probably handled it well tho.

Suguru blinked at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. It wasn’t like him to feel uncertain about responding to a text, but something about the softness of it, the lack of sarcasm, the directness, made it hard to brush off.

He finally typed back:

[Me]: Thanks. And thanks for the invite, it was… a better night than I expected.

[Me]: And yeah, Satoru was fine. A little dramatic, but manageable.

[Me]: You weren’t kidding about the emotional thing though.

He smirked faintly to himself, then opened the group chat with Riko and Misato. He hadn’t checked it since that morning, too wrapped up in homework, Satoru’s quiz meltdown, and mentally prepping for his twelve-hour shift. Unsurprisingly, the chat had blown up.

[Riko]: HELLOOOOO? y r u ignoring us…

[Misato]: i know your phone’s glued to your hip!! don’t even try it

[Riko]: u went OUT. with FRIENDS. we deserve details. WHERE  R THE PICS WE ASKED FOR???

[Misato]: did you wear the blue shirt?? did anyone say anything??

[Riko]: was it fun? were they nice? did satoru embarrass himself?? did YOU???

Suguru sighed, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He typed with one hand as he walked.

[Me]: Yes, I wore the blue shirt. Yes, Satoru embarrassed himself. No, I did not.

[Me]: Bar was decent. Loud. Crowded. Not as bad as I thought it would be though. No pics.

[Me]: His friends are… fine. Pretty normal, all things considered.

[Me]: Shoko texted me too. Said she was glad I came out.

The bubbles popped up almost instantly.

[Riko]: OMG SEE!!! theyre already adopting you.

[Misato]: wait… does that mean ur gonna hang out with them again?? 

[Riko]: better question! are you gonna hang out with satoru again. alone. like a not-date date?

[Misato]: LMAO ur blushing right now aren’t you. I KNOW U ARE.

Suguru huffed a quiet laugh and typed back:

[Me]: I’m literally on my way to work. Please calm down.

[Me]: And no, not blushing.

[Me]: But… it wasn’t bad. That’s all you’re getting for now.

He put his phone away before they could keep going. He knew the next few messages would just be Riko and Misato losing their minds over that vague answer, but he’d deal with them later. Right now, he had a shift to survive.

The familiar clink of glass and low hum of midday prep greeted Suguru as he pushed open the side entrance to the bar, stepping into the cool interior. It was just before noon, sunlight still streaking in through the front windows but already losing its warmth. The place smelled like limes, industrial cleaner, and cheap beer, nothing glamorous, but comfortingly routine. He clocked in with a quiet nod to the manager behind the counter, then slipped past a couple of coworkers restocking mixers and headed into the back to grab his apron.

12pm to 12am. He’d done it before. He’d do it again. Just another long shift.

As he tied the apron around his waist, he tried to shove everything from earlier, Satoru’s ridiculous double take, the way he’d mumbled something about black being Suguru’s color, and the quiz meltdown, out of his head. It was already shaping up to be a busy Saturday night, and distractions behind the bar could be dangerous. Still, the memory hovered stubbornly in the background, like a song he couldn’t stop humming. He grabbed a clean rag, polished down his section of the counter, and double-checked the garnishes. Lemons sliced. Limes cut. Mint wilted, as usual.

By twelve-thirty, the first wave of customers had trickled in. It wouldn’t really get bad until after eight, but already a few regulars were nursing afternoon beers at the bar, and a table of loud undergrads were setting up shop in the corner, already trying to sweet-talk their way into happy hour prices.

The rhythm of it helped. Familiar, mindless muscle memory: pour, mix, wipe, repeat. But even as his hands moved, part of him drifted back to Satoru. Not just the way he looked at him before Suguru left, though that part was annoyingly hard to forget, but the fact that he didn’t press the joke. Didn’t tease or flirt too hard like he usually did. It felt... grounded. Like they’d stepped into some weird new version of their dynamic and neither of them had words for it yet.

Or maybe he was just overthinking it. He did that. Suguru sighed and reached for a glass, flipping it in his hand before filling it with soda water and lime for one of the regulars. He had eleven hours left to go, and he was already tired.

Satoru

Satoru flopped back onto the couch with a loud groan, the kind only someone in the depths of academic despair could muster. His hair was still mussed from his two-hour nap, his hoodie halfway unzipped, and the TV was playing some muted cooking show he’d been too lazy to turn off.

Fifty-nine percent.

He’d checked the grade three times, hoping the numbers would somehow rearrange themselves into something salvageable. They didn’t. The glowing red “5.9/10” sat there like a personal attack. A 59. Not even the mercy of a round-up to a 60. Cold-blooded. His parents were going to lose it. Or worse, disown him in that weird, passive-aggressive way rich families do. Probably cut off his allowance for a month. No more monthly sneaker drops. No more snacks delivered straight to the house.

“This is so tragic,” he muttered, unlocking his phone and opening the group chat. Not the one with Suguru. No, this was the safe space. His usual suspects.

[Me]: yall

[Me]: i got a 59 on my quiz

[Me]: a literal 5.9/10

[Me]: this is how it ends for me. tell my future kids i tried

[Kento]: I told you.

[Kento]: I literally said that class was harder than it looks. I took it freshman year.

[Yu]: lololol ripppp

[Yu]: wait that was the syllabus quiz right??

[Shoko]: omg wait. isn’t that the class u and suguru have together?

[Shoko]: what’d he get?

Satoru groaned out loud, already knowing the answer but still scrolling back through their messages just to confirm.

[Me]: 100%

[Me]: he got a whole perfect score

[Me]: i’m literally living with a philosopher king

[Utahime]: lmao

[Shoko]: why don’t you pay him to tutor you or something??

[Shoko]: pretty privilege only gets u so far dude

[Yu]: yeah you’re like 2.5 bad decisions away from academic probation 

Satoru tossed his phone onto the couch and covered his face with both hands, muttering into his palms. “God this is so embarrassing.” But the thing was… Shoko kind of had a point. He did live with someone who clearly had his shit together. Someone who could write ten-paragraph essays in one sitting and still get to work on time. Someone who, despite everything, still made black sweatpants and a tired scowl look like a fashion statement.

The guy was already carrying the weight of being devastatingly competent, would asking for tutoring make things weird? He peeked over at his phone again. Another message was lighting up the screen, probably more roasting from Yu or a snarky voice note from Shoko. He ignored it for now, eyes drifting up to the ceiling as he let the idea swirl.

Would Suguru even say yes? Probably. He was nice enough. Or maybe just too polite to say no. Still. Asking him for help felt… like something else. But then again, so did everything lately. 

Satoru lay there with one arm flung over his face, staring into the darkness behind his eyelids like it might offer him answers. His phone buzzed again next to him, but he ignored it. Probably just another meme from Yu or a 3-minute-long voice message from Shoko filled with sarcasm and bad advice. Not what he needed right now. He needed a plan.

Because he couldn’t bomb the rest of this class, not unless he wanted his parents to personally escort him out of Tenzen in shame. His mom would give him that look, the one that said you’re not living up to your potential, sweetheart , and his dad wouldn’t even look at him. He’d just cut the credit card off and let the silence speak for itself. Satoru dragged a hand down his face.

Suguru got a perfect score. Perfect. The quiz hadn’t been hard-hitting or anything, but the guy hadn’t even blinked. Just tapped away on his tablet like it was nothing and turned it in with time to spare. Of course he did. Suguru always looked like he had somewhere more important to be. Satoru exhaled slowly. His roommate wasn’t just smart. He was focused. Sharp. Unflinching in that really frustrating, impressive way. And yeah, he was clearly running himself into the ground with two jobs and a full course load, but still. He made it look easy.

Would he tutor me if I paid him?

The thought came uninvited, but once it was there, it didn’t leave. It made sense, didn’t it? Suguru already had teaching vibes. He was patient in a quiet, slightly annoyed kind of way. He always seemed to know what he was talking about, even when it sounded like philosophy jargon Satoru had no business understanding.

And yeah, his schedule was packed, between the café shifts and the bar on weekends, he barely had a day to himself. But if Satoru paid him enough, like really paid him, maybe he could quit one of those jobs. Free up a little time. Still make the same money. It wouldn’t be weird… right?

Satoru winced. Okay, maybe it would be a little weird. Not because of the money part, he could swing that. His mom wouldn’t even blink if he asked her to send funds for a private tutor, not if he framed it right. I’m just trying to be proactive this semester, he could say. Really committing to keeping my grades up. They’d eat that up.

But he couldn’t tell them it was Suguru. His mom might be chill, but his dad? He’d flip. First over the fact that Satoru was getting tutoring at all, and then again over who it was from. His dad had Opinions about people who worked service jobs while in school, and none of them were good.

Besides, the idea of explaining to his dad that the "troubled, cigarette-smoking, philosophy major roommate" he’d offhandedly mentioned last week was now his academic lifeline? Yeah. No. Absolutely not.

But is this selfish?

Suguru didn’t owe him help just because they lived together. He was busy, overworked, and probably already tired of Satoru’s antics. Pushing him into something, even with money, felt a little… manipulative. And yet, it also felt practical. Mutually beneficial. Satoru gets to pass, Suguru gets to quit a job and have time to breathe. Win-win.

Assuming he says yes.

And assuming Satoru can find a way to ask that doesn’t sound like: Hey, I’m failing and desperate and kind of intimidated by how good you are at this, wanna rescue me? He sighed again, deeper this time, letting his hand fall across his stomach. He’d ask. Eventually. After the hangover faded. After he could say it without sounding pathetic. Probably.

Satoru unlocked his phone, squinting through the dim light of his bedroom, and pulled up Shoko’s contact. If there was anyone who could help him spin this the right way without making it sound like a cry for help, it was her.

[Me]: ok be honest

[Me]: if i asked my mom to send money so i could pay a private tutor

[Me]: like enough to make it worth their time

[Me]: how bad does that sound

It didn’t take long.

[Shoko]: depends

[Shoko]: are you actually gonna use the money for a tutor

[Shoko]: or are you gonna blow it all on clothes

[Me]: ok 1) rude

[Me]: 2) no i’m serious

[Me]: i bombed that history quiz

[Me]: and suguru aced it

[Me]: like completely

[Me]: and i thought maybe if i paid him enough to quit one of his jobs

[Me]: he could help me

[Me]: tutor me or something

There was a beat of silence. Then:

[Shoko]:   ...u want your parents to pay ur roommate

[Shoko]: to save your grades

[Me]: YES but like

[Me]: don’t say it like that

[Me]: i mean

[Me]: i could just say i found someone who gets the material and it’d help to have consistent support

[Me]: and tutoring’s cheaper than failing and retaking the class right

[Me]: and like

[Me]: this could give him time back too

[Me]: if i pay him well

[Shoko]: wow

[Shoko]: look at you

[Shoko]: being generous

[Shoko]: and responsible

[Me]: ok now ur bullying me

[Shoko]: no, i’m impressed

[Shoko]: this might actually be smart

[Shoko]: and if you play it right

[Shoko]: your mom won’t even question it

[Shoko]: here hold on

[Me]: dude this is ur fault for putting it in my head in the first place

[Shoko]: yeah well i was half joking tbh

The typing stays present for a solid few minutes bubble.

[Shoko]: say something like:

[Shoko]: “Hey Mom, I’ve been struggling with one of my classes, and I really don’t want to fall behind this early in the semester. I found someone who gets the material and has time to help if I can pay them. It’d be like hiring a private tutor, but more consistent since we can meet regularly. Would you be open to helping with that?”

[Shoko]: Then send a separate follow-up if she needs more convincing

[Shoko]: talk about commitment

[Shoko]: proactive learning

[Shoko]: blah blah

Satoru blinked, rereading it.

[Me]: that’s… really good

[Me]: who knew u were capable of professionalism

[Shoko]: i contain multitudes

[Shoko]: now go text your mom before you talk yourself out of it

Satoru exhaled and opened up a fresh message thread with his mother. Time to start begging. Politely.

Satoru opened the message thread with his mom, heart pounding a little despite himself. He copied what Shoko had written, with only the tiniest edits to make it sound more like him:

[Me]: Hey Mom, I’ve been struggling with one of my classes, and I really don’t want to fall behind  this early in the semester. I found someone who really gets the material and could help if I pay them, kind of like a private tutor, but someone I can meet with consistently. Would you be open to helping with that?

It didn’t take long before the typing bubble appeared.

[Mom]: Of course, sweetheart. That’s very mature of you to ask. How much are we talking?

Satoru stared at the message field, fingers still, brain whirring. Right. Numbers. If he was going to make this pitch work, he had to be smart about it.

Suguru worked mornings Monday through Thursday at that café and covered bar shifts on weekends. From what Satoru could guess, the café job probably ate up around 32 hours a week. Tokyo’s minimum wage hovered somewhere near ¥1,100–¥1,200/hour, give or take. Multiply that by 32 hours and Suguru was probably making about ¥38,500/week, just from the café job.

If Satoru really wanted to give him enough breathing room to quit that job, he’d need to replace that entire income. Not just a casual tutoring fee, an actual substitute for his paycheck. Bare minimum. Multiplied over a month, that came out to just over ¥150,000. He rounded it to be safe. He tapped out the message quickly:

[Me]: Maybe around ¥155,000/month?

[Me]: That would cover consistent sessions and make sure they can keep their schedule open for me.

[Me]: If that’s too much, I can figure something else out!

The typing bubble popped up almost immediately.

[Mom]: Honey, that’s a bit steep for tutoring... What class is this for?

Satoru hesitated, then started typing again.

[Me]: It’s actually for a few of my classes. But mainly Intro to Japanese History, it’s required for my degree, and if I don’t pass it, it could delay graduation.

[Me]: I know from the title it sounds easy, but even Kento said he struggled, and you know how smart he is.

[Me]: I’m just trying to get ahead of the problem now so I don’t fall further behind.

That was mostly true. It was a required course. And this whole mess with the 59% quiz proved he couldn’t cruise through it with charm alone. His mom was quiet for a moment, then replied:

[Mom]: Alright, well if it's for multiple classes it makes it a little better. I’ll wire the money tonight. But I do want to see improvement, Satoru. If your grades don’t go up, we’ll need to reevaluate this plan. I’ll keep this from your father, you know how he gets with things like this.

[Me]: Totally fair. Thanks, Mom. Seriously.

He let the phone fall to his chest and exhaled. Okay. Step one: funded. Now he just had to figure out how to ask Suguru without sounding completely insane. He lets out a sigh of relief and messages Shoko:

[Me]: HOLY SHIT IT WORKED

[Me]: ur literally the best ily

[Me]: i owe you one fr

[Shoko]: obviously

[Me]: now i just gotta ask him

[Me]: …which is terrifying

[Shoko]: wtf why are u terrified

[Shoko]: he’s literally so nice

[Shoko]: he’s not gonna bite

[Me]: YEAH but like what am I even supposed to say??

[Me]: “hey I suck at history can I give you enough money for you to quit your day job to save my academic life” ???

[Me]: do i wait till he gets home??

[Me]: or text now??

[Me]: or wait till tomorrow??

[Me]: be honest

[Shoko]: text him now if u want him to have time to think about it

[Shoko]: but if ur gonna make it weird and fumble the bag maybe wait till tomorrow he might be a bit annoyed after a 12hr shift with drunk assholes

[Shoko]: idk depends how normal u feel like being tbh

[Me]: damn

[Me]: okay valid

[Me]: yeah i might fuck it up ill just wait for tmr

[Shoko]: prob the best choice

[Me]: i appreciate u deeply

Satoru set his phone down and took a deep breath.

“Tomorrow,” he muttered to himself. Or maybe later tonight, if Suguru wasn’t in a bad mood after his twelve-hour shift. The last thing he wanted to do was pitch the tutoring idea to a sleep-deprived, overworked philosophy major and get shut down before the conversation even started. Besides, he had homework to finish.

He finally peeled himself off the couch, stretched with a groan, and dragged his tablet and notes over to the kitchen island. Philosophy reading, a short reflection for one of his elective classes, and some quiz corrections his professor allowed for partial points. He knocked them out with surprising efficiency, probably out of guilt from that 59%. Every few minutes his brain wandered back to how exactly he was going to ask Suguru, but he forced himself to focus. There’d be time to panic later. By the time he submitted his final assignment, it was 4:03 PM.

Done. Nothing else due tonight. No parties planned. No texts from the group chat lighting up with chaos. Just… free time. He stared at his screen a minute longer before pushing it away. He clocked his attention back to the tv for the next hour or so. Satoru sat up and was just about to figure out what kind of snacks were left in the pantry when his phone buzzed. He glanced down.

Incoming call: Mom

He winced, debated letting it ring, then answered.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Sweetheart,” her voice was warm, clipped with just enough formality to remind him she was probably already dressed for the night. “Mei Mei and her mother are coming for dinner. I’d like you to join us.”

Satoru blinked. “Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight,” she said, as though he were dense for asking. “We’ll be eating at seven. Your father will be home. I’m sure you could use a good meal, and it would be polite to show your face.”

There was no point arguing. There never was. “Alright, I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll have the driver pick you up. Love you” She hung up without another word.

Satoru sighed and tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside him. His poor mother sounded stressed. It figured. Mei Mei always seemed to show up around the time his parents were planning something. Probably a networking dinner, or worse, one of those subtle matchmaking things his mother swore she wouldn’t do but absolutely did .

He changed quickly, swapping his hoodie and sweats for something more polished, charcoal slacks, black button-up, silver chain. Subtle, but rich-boy presentable.

A few minutes later, he heard the low rumble of the black car pulling into the lot outside. Satoru locked the door behind him and slid into the backseat, giving the chauffeur a nod. As they pulled away, he leaned against the window, watching the familiar blur of the city pass by. He probably wouldn’t be back until late. Hopefully Suguru wouldn’t crash the second he got home, he still had that tutoring pitch to make. Eventually. Maybe. If he didn’t chicken out.

By the time the car rolled up to the tall, glimmering condo building his parents called home, the sun was already low in the sky, casting gold through the high-rise windows. Satoru stepped out of the car and smoothed his sweater down, already bracing himself for whatever perfectly curated version of “family dinner” he was about to walk into. He took the elevator up to the penthouse and was greeted almost immediately as the door opened, his mother, elegant as ever in a dark silk blouse and tailored slacks, and his father, standing just behind her in a fitted suit like he hadn’t changed out of his work attire.

“Satoru,” his mother said, a small smile tugging at her lips as she stepped aside.

His father, typically distant when they were alone, reached out to clasp his shoulder with something that looked suspiciously like affection. “Good to see you, son,” he said, tone warm in that smooth, performative way Satoru recognized all too well. Right. Audience present. That explained it.

“Good to see you too,” Satoru replied easily, flashing his signature grin like he hadn’t noticed the act. As he stepped inside, a soft voice chimed from across the living room.

“Satoru, darling!”

He turned just in time to be enveloped in a floral perfume cloud as Mei Mei’s mother swept him into a hug. She had always been gracious and elegant in a vaguely intimidating way. “Look at you,” she said, stepping back and taking him in with a dramatic flourish of her hand. “You’ve gotten so tall. So mature.”

Satoru gave a light chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that every year.”

“And I mean it every year,” she teased, winking.

Then came Mei Mei herself, standing up from one of the long dining chairs, arms crossed, face unreadable. “Satoru,” she greeted.

“Mei,” he returned, mirroring her exact tone. They stared at each other for a beat too long, both perfectly straight-faced.

His mother sighed lightly. “Please don’t start.”

“We haven’t even said anything,” Satoru and Mei Mei said in unison, and then immediately scowled at each other.

Their relationship had always been… complicated. They’d grown up together, same circles, same family dinners, same events where the adults drank and the kids were left to loiter around expensive furniture unsupervised. They fought like siblings, respected each other like grudging colleagues, and could make each other laugh or furious within five minutes. It depended entirely on mood and caffeine levels.

“Come,” Mei Mei’s mother beckoned toward the dining room. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

Satoru followed them in, sparing one last glance at his dad, who was still smiling that practiced, diplomatic, smile like this was all just one big photo op. He sighed inwardly and sat down at the table across from Mei Mei, already bracing himself. Hopefully, dinner would go quickly and hopefully, Mei Mei wouldn’t start something first. Because he absolutely would finish it.

The table was set impeccably, as always, crystal glasses, ivory plates rimmed in gold, candlelight flickering in the center. The clink of silverware filled the room for a moment as everyone settled in. It was Satoru’s mother who broke the silence, sipping her wine delicately before tilting her head toward him.

“So,” she said, tone light but unmistakably pointed, “how’s living on your own been so far? We haven’t heard much from you since the move.”

Satoru looked up from his plate, blinking. “It’s good. Chill. Quiet. Well, most of the time.”

“You're cooking for yourself?” Mei Mei asked flatly, cutting into her salmon.

Satoru snorted. “I cook enough to survive. Mostly I just try not to set anything on fire.”

His father offered a dry smile. “Still exceeding expectations, I see.”

Satoru grinned and raised his glass in mock salute. His mother gave him a look, one that wasn’t quite amused, but not disapproving either. “And your roommate? What was his name again?”

“Suguru Geto,” Satoru said before he could stop himself, a little too quickly. Mei Mei glanced at him over the rim of her glass.

His mother arched a delicate brow. “Ah yes, Geto. Is he giving you any trouble?”

“Nope,” Satoru said, leaning back in his chair. “He’s… quiet. Clean. Keeps to himself. Super serious about school.”

“So not like you at all,” Mei Mei muttered, just loud enough.

Satoru shot her a look. “No, actually, we get along pretty well. He keeps me in check.”

His mother’s expression softened a fraction. “That’s good to hear. I was worried about how you’d adjust, with this being your first time away from home. Living with someone can be… complicated.”

Satoru poked at his rice. “Yeah, well. It’s working out. He’s cool.”

His father set his wine glass down. “Cool, or competent?”

Satoru hesitated for a second longer than he meant to. “Both.”

There was a short silence. Satoru felt Mei Mei’s eyes on him again but refused to meet them.

“And is he-?” his mother began, then stopped, waving a hand. “Never mind. If he’s helping keep you focused, then I approve.”

Satoru gave a tight-lipped smile and shoved a piece of salmon into his mouth. He didn’t want to dig too deep into what kind of focused he’d been lately, because that was still a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out.

Across the table, Mei Mei tilted her head slightly. “You sound like you actually like him.”

Satoru chewed. Swallowed. Smiled with too much teeth. “What, jealous?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of your taste in people? Please.”

He kicked her lightly under the table. She kicked him harder. The parents didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.

Mei Mei’s mother set down her fork with a soft clink and looked over at Satoru with the kind of fondness she reserved only for the rare moments he wasn’t actively irritating her daughter. “You know,” she said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “that’s how your mother and I met. College roommates.”

Satoru nodded. “Yeah she's mentioned it before.”

His mom nodded, lips curving into a faint smile. “We were assigned to the same dorm room freshman year. Completely different majors. Total opposites.”

Mei Mei’s mother chuckled. “I thought she was uptight. She thought I was irresponsible. But we made it work.”

“I still think you're irresponsible,” Satoru’s mom added with a wink.

“Right back at you,” she replied, raising her wine glass.

The table relaxed into soft laughter. Satoru glanced between them, his brow furrowed in something thoughtful. 

Mei Mei’s mother tilted her head, returning to her earlier point. “But really. Having someone like that in your life, someone who keeps you balanced, holds you accountable… It's a gift. Even if you don’t realize it until later.” She met Satoru’s eyes meaningfully. “He could end up being one of those people. The kind you still text when you’re forty, even if they move across the world. A best friend, if you let it happen.”

Satoru felt something twist in his chest. He didn’t respond right away, letting the idea sit. Suguru, as a long-term person. A constant. A best friend. He could almost see it. Or maybe he already did and just didn’t want to admit it.

“I've only known him for a week so I guess we’ll see,” he said after a pause, trying to sound casual.

But Mei Mei raised a suspicious brow across the table, catching the shift in his voice instantly. Her mouth twitched like she wanted to say something, but, for once, she let it go. The parents resumed chatting about something else, leaving the cousins to stew in their own tension.

Mei Mei leaned toward him with her wine glass and whispered, “I’ll give it three months before you’re telling me he’s your best friend. I know how attached you get to people.”

Satoru rolled his eyes. “Please. I barely like him now .”

She smirked. “Sure.”

He took a sip of water and looked down at his plate, the soft hum of conversation carrying on around him. The clink of cutlery. The glow of the chandelier above. And somewhere in the back of his mind, the idea lingered. Best friend. Right.

After dinner, Satoru found himself stacking plates without being asked, sleeves rolled up as he rinsed and passed them off to Mei Mei’s mother, who dried them with casual efficiency. His own mother was wiping down the counters and humming something soft under her breath. The three of them worked in quiet rhythm, their conversation drifting between recipes, school updates, and polite gossip.

It was strange, domestic, even. Familiar in a way that made Satoru’s chest ache a little. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this kind of energy. Quietly being part of something, instead of having to perform for it.

Once everything was cleaned, the adults gravitated to the living room where his father, now surprisingly relaxed with a second glass of wine in hand, was laughing about some memory from their university days. Satoru’s mother leaned comfortably into the couch beside him, wineglass twirling in her fingers, while Mei Mei’s mother chimed in with dry commentary and unimpressed side-eyes. Satoru stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, watching the scene. It was warm. Almost cozy. Then he felt eyes on him.

He looked over, and sure enough, Mei Mei was staring. Her expression was unreadable, but after a second, she gave a slow, deliberate tilt of her head toward the balcony. He sighed. Of course. Without a word, he followed.

Outside, the city stretched in every direction, glittering and alive. Cars below moved like ants under streetlights. The breeze picked up, tousling Mei Mei’s hair as she leaned over the railing, one hand resting lightly against the metal. Her dress fluttered in the wind, silk catching the glow of the high-rise lights.

“You think they’ll ever give up trying to get us together?” she asked, eyes on the skyline.

Satoru gave a dry laugh. “Not in this lifetime.”

She hummed. “They act like they’re being subtle, too.”

“Right? Like we haven’t been dodging this since we were what, thirteen?”

“Twelve,” she corrected. “My mom started dropping hints the day I hit puberty.”

Satoru groaned. “God.”

A beat passed.

“They mean well,” Mei Mei said, quieter now. “They just… don’t get it.”

“No,” Satoru agreed, leaning beside her. “They never really tried to.”

She glanced at him. “Is there someone?”

He hesitated. Then shrugged, not looking at her. “No. Not really.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not really?”

He didn’t elaborate. Neither did she. The wind picked up again, cool and crisp. Mei Mei straightened and dusted off her hands, as if brushing away the weight of the conversation.

“Well,” she said, with a faint smile. “At least we’re in agreement.”

“About what?”

“That we’d make a terrible couple.”

Satoru smirked. “Disaster.”

She snorted, flicked him on the forehead, and turned back toward the door. “Come on, golden boy. I think they’re about to start another wine-fueled trip down memory lane. We should at least pretend to be interested.” Satoru followed her inside, the warmth of the apartment hitting him again like a soft reminder.

But his thoughts drifted, not to Mei Mei, not to the wine, not to the past. They drifted back to a pair of dark eyes and black shirts. Back to someone he’d left alone at home after a twelve-hour shift. Someone who didn’t even know yet that their life was about to get a little more complicated.

The night dragged on.

Two glasses of wine in and Satoru was feeling it, not in the loud, giggly way Shoko always did or the crazy, slurred-rant way Yu preferred, but in the warm, slow, weighted way that made everything feel softer around the edges. He was still upright, still smiling, still laughing when appropriate, but it was taking real effort not to let his words slur or his eyes go glassy. The wine had settled into his limbs like static, thick and cozy, but dangerous if he let his guard down.

Across the room, his father was deep in conversation with Mei Mei’s mother, voice smooth and just slightly louder than necessary. His mother sat beside him, wine glass perched delicately in her hand, watching the exchange with that carefully neutral expression she used when she was choosing not to say something.

Mei Mei caught his eye from across the room.

“Leaving now,” she mouthed, eyes sharp despite her own glass of wine. Her mother was already reaching for her purse. He followed suit almost instantly.

Satoru stood, careful with his balance, and offered polite goodbyes. He hugged his mother, gave a respectful nod to his father, and did his best to avoid catching either of their eyes for too long. If he stayed even a minute longer, he was worried something would slip. A comment about his classes. A joke about his “tutor.” A passing reference to his roommate . The last thing he needed was to tip off his father to anything that would inspire a lecture, or worse, scrutiny.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said quickly, bowing just enough. “I’ll head out too. I have plans with my friends tomorrow morning.” It was a lie. He didn’t have any plans, but no one questioned it.

The chauffeur was already waiting when he got downstairs. Satoru slid into the backseat, tugging his jacket tighter around him as the city lights blurred past the windows. The wine was hitting harder now, settling into his spine. Drowsy. Cozy. The kind of buzz that made him forget about everything but how good his shoes felt off and how soft his sheets would be. 

He made it back to the house a little past 10:45. It was quiet when he stepped inside, the door clicking softly behind him. All the lights were dimmed except for the one above the stove, casting a warm golden pool across the kitchen. Suguru was probably still at work. Satoru frowned, a vague sense of guilt rolling in. Twelve hours on your feet sounded miserable. But Suguru never complained.

He made his way to the couch and collapsed with a low, satisfied groan, the kind he only let out when he was alone. Just for a minute , he told himself. Just gonna rest my eyes . He sprawled across the cushions, letting one arm drape off the side, wine buzzing behind his eyes. His breath slowed. His lashes fluttered. Wine always made him sleepy. Not sloppy, not chaotic. Just heavy. Like a blanket he couldn’t shrug off. A very different kind of drunk than vodka.

Suguru

The shift dragged. By the time the clock hit midnight, Suguru’s feet were aching and his head felt heavy from the dull throb of exhaustion. Twelve straight hours of customers, drink orders, dish bins, clinking glassware, and cheap cologne. He didn’t even bother changing out of his black button-down and slacks. The walk home was quiet, mercifully so, and all he could think about was his bed. His pillow. The way his mattress dipped in that familiar shape beneath him.

Sleep. That was the goal.

When he finally stepped into the house, locking the door behind him, he didn’t expect the living room light to still be on. Or for Satoru to be there, passed out on the couch, one arm hanging off the cushions, head tilted back just slightly like he’d fallen asleep mid-thought. Suguru exhaled, a slow, tired sigh.

He dropped his bag by his door, tugged off his shoes, and padded softly back into the living room. Satoru hadn’t moved. His chest rose and fell slowly, wine-softened lips slightly parted, his glasses folded neatly on the coffee table. The faint scent of that expensive cologne still lingered on him, clean, citrusy, warm.

Suguru crouched beside the couch and brushed a bit of hair from his face, fingers ghosting across his forehead. He paused. 

White lashes. Long and pale like silk thread, casting faint shadows across porcelain skin. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair was still a little tousled from wherever he’d been earlier. Suguru watched him for a moment too long, trying to convince himself he was just checking to make sure he was okay. That the quiet twisting in his chest was just worry. Not… whatever this was trying to be. He blinked hard. Shook his head.

Right. No .

“Hey,” he said quietly, voice low and even. “Satoru.”

No response.

He reached out and gently nudged his shoulder. “C’mon. Don’t sleep on the couch. You’ll wake up with a sore neck.”

Still groggy silence. Satoru made a soft noise, like a hum, but didn’t move much. Suguru sighed again. A little more gently this time.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

Suguru stood over him, ready to try again, when Satoru stirred with a quiet groan. His eyes cracked open, unfocused and heavy-lidded, and blinked a few times before landing on Suguru’s face, still crouched beside the couch.

“What’re you doing home?” he mumbled, voice low and thick with sleep, the syllables barely holding together.

Suguru huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “I live here.”

Satoru blinked again, slower this time. “No, I mean… you’re home already?”

“It’s past midnight,” Suguru said. “Shift ended a while ago.”

Satoru frowned, squinting like that didn’t sound right. He sat back on his heels, watching as Satoru slowly brought a hand up to rub his eyes, careful not to mess up his hair too much, pure instinct, even in sleep. Suguru could still smell the wine on him, subtle but sweet. He didn’t seem drunk anymore, just soft around the edges, like his thoughts hadn’t fully caught up to the present.

Satoru yawned, dragging a hand down his face. “What time is it?”

“Almost one.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “Felt like I just blinked.”

“You looked dead to the world when I walked in,” Suguru said. “Didn’t even twitch.”

“Wine,” Satoru mumbled, shifting and stretching, limbs moving sluggishly. “Makes me sleepy. So sue me.”

Suguru let out a quiet laugh. “When did you have wine?”

Still half-asleep and rubbing his eyes, Satoru mumbled, “Had dinner with my parents and some family friends. They wouldn’t stop refilling my glass.”

Suguru stood and offered a hand. “Come on, go sleep in an actual bed. I’m not carrying you.”

Satoru glanced at the outstretched hand, then up at him, one brow barely raised. “You’d carry me?”

“I’d drag you. Big difference.”

That earned a lazy grin. “You like me too much to drag me.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but didn’t take the hand back. “Keep talking and I’ll change my mind.”

Satoru laughed under his breath and finally took the offer, letting Suguru pull him up with minimal resistance. He wobbled slightly but found his balance, still blinking sleepily as they stood there in the soft living room light.

For a second, neither of them moved. Suguru’s hand was still around Satoru’s wrist. Satoru was looking at him with that same unreadable expression he wore when he was tipsy but holding something back. Suguru didn’t ask what. He didn’t want to know. Not right now.

“You good?” Suguru asked.

Satoru nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Go to bed, then.”

“You too.”

Suguru smirked faintly. “I was planning on it until I saw you passed out on the couch, couldn't even make it to the bed?.” But the edge of his voice was light. Almost fond.

Satoru wobbles down the hall, led by Suguru. “I was just resting my eyes.”

Suguru scoffs at him. Satoru bumped his shoulder against Suguru’s as he shuffled toward his bedroom. “Night, Aquarius.”

Suguru paused, then called after him, “It’s still weird hearing you say that.”

“Get used to it,” Satoru called back, disappearing into his room.

Suguru stood there for a moment longer, in the quiet. Then turned out the light and made his way to his own room.

Chapter Text

Suguru

April 12th, 2025

Suguru woke to the dull gray light filtering through his window, the kind that made it feel like the day hadn’t quite started yet. His phone read 8:32 AM. His whole body felt like it had been rung out and hung up to dry. Every part of him was sore, from the constant movement behind the bar to the mental toll of dealing with one too many drunk, overly affectionate strangers. Then, of course, there was the one waiting for him at home, passed out on the couch like a cherry on top of an exhausting night.

Suguru sighed through his nose, rubbing the sleep from his face before rolling out of bed. His muscles protested the movement, tight and slow, but he stretched anyway, arms overhead until his back cracked in three different places. He didn’t bother doing much. Just sweatpants, an old t-shirt, and his gym bag slung over one shoulder. He stepped into the hallway, quiet except for the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Satoru’s door was shut, unsurprisingly. The guy had downed multiple glasses of wine and passed out in the middle of the living room.

He crossed the kitchen on autopilot, grabbing a protein bar from the drawer and unwrapping it with one hand while pushing the door open with the other. The morning air hit him like a soft slap. Cool. Damp. He took a bite as he started the walk to the gym, crunching quietly. The street was quiet at this hour, which was how he liked it. No blaring music, no crowds, no pressure to talk. Just the rhythmic sound of his sneakers hitting the pavement and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

The gym wasn’t busy yet, which was exactly how Suguru liked it. He scanned in, gave the front desk attendant a polite nod, and headed straight for the free weights. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and the familiar scent of metal, rubber, and faintly lingering sweat grounded him immediately. No noise. No distractions. Just movement and focus. He tucked his bag into a locker in the corner, slid his hoodie off, and got to work.

Warm-up first. Shoulder rolls, stretches, some light cardio to loosen up the knots still clinging to his back from yesterday’s shift. Then it was pull day, deadlifts, rows, bicep curls, lat pull-downs. The rhythm of it all was almost meditative. Push, pull, reset. Control the breathing. Focus on form. Every rep helped him sort through the mental static. He wasn’t someone who talked about his feelings. He didn’t vent in voice notes or drown in playlists. He lifted. That was enough.

But as his muscles burned and sweat rolled down his back, Suguru found his thoughts straying, again, to last night. Not the bar. Not the drunk strangers. Just the quiet moment at home. Satoru, half-asleep, mumbling through wine-hazed thoughts, soft white lashes brushing his cheekbones, that ridiculous mop of hair flopped against the couch cushion. And the way Suguru had brushed it out of his face before waking him up.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose and adjusted his grip on the barbell, forcing his attention back into the present. It was nothing. A tired moment after a long shift. He was allowed to be tired. He was allowed to care.

He added weight, then went in for another set. Muscles screaming, legs grounded, breath steady. He wasn’t here to think. He was here to lift. To get it out. To keep moving forward. By the time the workout was done, an hour and a half had passed, and Suguru felt steady again, body aching in a good way, mind clearer, sweat cooling on his skin. He grabbed a towel from the rack and wiped down his arms, breathing evenly as he made his way toward the exit.

His phone buzzed in the locker room. A couple of messages. Group chats, probably. He ignored them for now. He’d deal with people later. Right now, he needed water, a shower, and caffeine.

The walk from the gym to the cafe was short, ten minutes give or take, but Suguru took his time. The morning air was warming up, not unpleasant yet, and his post-workout haze left him feeling calm, loose. Muscles sore, body tired in the way that made him feel like he’d actually done something. The cafe came into view, tucked between a laundromat and a flower shop that always smelled a little too strong in the summer heat. He stepped inside and gave a small nod to one of his coworkers behind the counter. It was quiet, not quite the late-morning rush yet, just a few students hunched over laptops or sipping their drinks by the window.

“Break or off?” his coworker asked, already halfway through punching in an order.

“Day off,” Suguru said, brushing a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from his workout at the gym. “Just wanted coffee.”

He stepped aside and glanced up at the menu, not because he needed to, his order hadn’t changed in years, but just out of habit. Still black, still simple. Something dark and smooth. No sugar. No fuss. But before he could finish the words, he hesitated. Thought of the house. The couch. Satoru’s ridiculous mop of hair and the ghost of wine still in his cheeks from last night. The way he looked when he was laughing. Or sleeping. Or half-awake and dazed and letting Suguru walk him to bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

With a quiet sigh, Suguru pulled out his phone, scrolling back through old messages until he found it, the last time he’d picked up coffee for Satoru. He stopped at the line:

Caramel iced latte, extra shot, whole milk.

Suguru blinked, then looked up at the cashier. “Make it two drinks.” The barista raised a brow.

“One black, no sugar. And…” He glanced down again. “One caramel iced latte. Extra shot, whole milk.”

“Fancy,” she said, punching it in.

“It’s not mine,” Suguru muttered, sliding his card across the counter.

She smirked. “Of course.”

He waited near the end of the bar, the sound of machines humming and milk steaming filling the background. The coffee shop always smelled like vanilla syrup and roasted beans, and despite how often he worked here, it was a smell he never really got tired of. 

He picked up both drinks once they were ready, thanked the barista, and stepped back outside, drinks in hand. He looked down at the cup on his left, the sugary mess of caramel and caffeine, and shook his head with the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

He’s probably still asleep, Suguru thought. Or maybe curled up on the couch, pretending not to be hungover. Either way, he was bringing him coffee. Again. Because apparently, that’s just who he was now.

Satoru’s drink in his hand was cold against his fingers, the condensation already collecting on the outside of Satoru’s cup as Suguru stepped back onto the sidewalk. The walk back wasn’t long, but the sun had crept higher in the sky since he’d left the gym. The heat pressed down a little heavier now, clinging to his skin in a way that made the iced drink feel like a small mercy.

His own coffee was bitter and grounding, exactly what he needed to keep from falling into the sleepy post-gym haze that always tried to drag him down. He took slow sips as he walked, eyes half-lidded, body still humming from the weight of his workout. The caramel latte in his other hand? Still ridiculous. Still sugar with a splash of coffee. But he held onto it like it mattered. Because it did, apparently. 

He didn’t really know what made that shift happen, when Satoru’s usual became a part of his routine too. When he started remembering things like how he liked his milk, or the extra shot he asked for. When buying a second drink felt less like a gesture and more like a quiet responsibility. It wasn’t much. Just a coffee. But Suguru didn’t do things for people he didn’t care about. Not like this. Not without a reason.

He adjusted the drinks in his hands, eyes on the sidewalk ahead, and tried not to read into it too much. Even if part of him already was.

When Suguru finally rounded the corner onto their street, the sun had fully claimed the sky, brighter and warmer than he wanted it to be. He blinked through it, adjusting the strap of his gym bag and quickening his pace. Their front door creaked faintly when he opened it, the comforting quiet of home greeting him, along with the faint smell of eggs, salsa, and toasted tortillas.

Suguru stepped inside and kicked off his shoes, squinting slightly as he glanced toward the kitchen. Satoru was already there, leaning over the island in a hoodie and loose pajama shorts, chewing on the end of a breakfast burrito with all the grace of a raccoon. His hair was pushed back with a headband, and he hadn’t noticed Suguru yet, too focused on not dripping hot sauce onto the counter. Suguru stepped forward and set both coffees down with a quiet thud. That made Satoru look up.

“Oh- hey,” he said, mouth half-full. He gestured vaguely to the counter behind him. “Made you one too. It's probably still warm.” Suguru’s eyes flicked to the second plate, neatly waiting beside the stove. Another burrito, carefully wrapped, just sitting there like it belonged.

“I see that,” he said quietly. “Thanks.”

Satoru took another bite, trying to act casual but clearly watching Suguru from the corner of his eye. “I figured you’d be hungry after the gym. You always come back looking starved.”

Suguru, shaking his head, sat his bag down by the door and went to wash his hands. The caramel latte sat on the counter beside Satoru’s plate. “Your coffee’s on the left,” Suguru said, drying his hands on a kitchen towel as he glanced back at Satoru, who had already scooted the cup toward himself like it was a prize.

“Ah, my hero,” Satoru grinned, popping the straw in dramatically. He took a loud sip and groaned like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. “God, you really do love me.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow as he moved to grab his burrito. “Sure. That’s exactly what this means.”

Satoru pointed his straw at him. “Hey, I don’t just accept drinks from anyone, you know.”

“I literally watched you drink out of a stranger’s cocktail Friday because it ‘looked interesting.’”

“Okay,” Satoru held up a finger, “that was one time and also, it was interesting.”

Suguru laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head as he took a bite of his breakfast. Satoru was impossible this early in the day, and yet… tolerable. A brief, easy silence passed between them. Just the sound of quiet chewing, the occasional clink of glass, and the hum of sunlight spilling into their shared kitchen. Then, Satoru broke it.

“Well, uh,” he started, a little less smug this time, “actually, I meant to ask you something.”

Suguru glanced up at him mid-bite, eyes flicking with vague curiosity.

Satoru scratched at the back of his neck, looking not quite nervous but definitely not his usual breezy self. “So, remember that quiz from the other day?”

“Which one?”

“The one I failed spectacularly. Japanese History.”

“Ah.” Suguru nodded, wiping his hands with a napkin. “The one where you got a fifty-nine.”

“You remembered the exact number?”

“It’s hard to forget a grade that horrid.”

Satoru groaned, dramatically laying his head on the counter. “Okay, harsh.”

“Just honest.”

Another pause.

“I was wondering,” Satoru muttered, forehead still pressed against the cold counter, “if maybe… you’d help me study?” He turned to look at Suguru. Suguru blinked. “For real this time,” Satoru added, lifting his head slightly. “Like, actually tutor me. I asked Shoko for help coming up with a message to send my mom so she’d agree to cover the cost, like real tutoring, paid tutoring. Like, enough that you could drop a job or something if you needed to.”

Suguru stared at him, burrito halfway to his mouth. “…What-”

“I know your schedule is packed. I just thought, if the money’s decent and it frees up your time, maybe it’d be worth it. For both of us.”

Suguru set the burrito down. He wasn’t expecting that. Of all the directions Satoru’s scattered brain could’ve gotten him into this morning, this wasn’t on the list. “You… want to hire me,” he said slowly, “as your personal tutor.”

Satoru nodded. “Pretty much. We can work out times, make it flexible. I know you’ve got a million things going on. I'm under the impression you pick up things fast… im kinda the opposite… if you… couldn't tell.” He says trailing off.

Suguru looked down at his coffee, processing. 

It wasn’t the worst idea. It would free up his mornings if he dropped the café job. 

It wasn’t like he was passionate about making lattes. But still. There was something vulnerable about the offer. Something earnest. Satoru, who could’ve hired anyone, wanted his help. Suguru lifted his gaze again, brow furrowing.

“I’ll… think about it,” he said finally, voice quieter than before. Suguru leaned his hip against the counter, fingers loosely wrapped around his coffee cup as he looked over at Satoru. “I mean it… I’ll think about it,” he said again. “But I just… I don’t know. That’s a lot of money. For tutoring.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I'll make sure you work for it.”

“Yeah I'm sure you will. But still.” Suguru gestured vaguely, burrito abandoned for the moment. “It’s not like I’d be doing something vital. It’s just you and me sitting down a few times a week while I walk you through modules. And I’d be quitting a job because of it? It feels… excessive.”

Satoru let out a soft laugh. “You’re saying it like tutoring me isn’t a full-time emotional labor job.” Suguru didn’t smile. Not really. But his mouth twitched.

Satoru leaned back in his chair, spinning the straw in his cup lazily. “Look. I get it. I do. But it’s not your money, right? And my parents… they throw cash at problems. Always have. You don’t even want to know what my school tuition is. My mom said yes like it was pocket change.”

Suguru looked at him, head tilted just slightly. “So they won’t care that their precious heir is flunking?”

“They’ll care if I fail a required course and have to stay an extra semester. But if I pass, and I keep things quiet, it’s a win-win. My mom’s cool as long as I frame it like an investment. And my dad-” he trailed off with a shrug. “He doesn’t need to know.”

Suguru sighs and puts his face in his hands, “That part doesn’t sound as great.”

“Yeah, well,” Satoru said, voice breezier than his expression, “he and I don’t really do the academic failure conversations. So let’s just avoid them.”

Suguru folded his arms loosely. He looked like he was still thinking about it. Mulling it over in that deliberate, quiet way he always did when something mattered more than he let on. “It just feels weird,” he said. “Taking that kind of money. From you. For something I’d probably end up helping you with anyway.”

Satoru sat forward, resting his elbows on the counter, eyes meeting Suguru’s. “That’s exactly why I want it to be formal. Paid. You already do too much, and I don’t want to owe you in some vague way where it builds up. This makes it clean. Practical. Mutually beneficial.” Suguru stared at him. For once, he didn’t argue. Satoru hesitated. Then added, softer, “And if it makes your life a little easier? That’s a good thing. You’d deserve that even if you weren’t my tutor.” Suguru blinked at him slowly, like he didn’t know what to say to that. Satoru cleared his throat. “Anyway. Just think about it.”

“I will,” Suguru said. They went quiet again. Just for a moment. Then Suguru nudged the second burrito toward himself again and mumbled, “I better be allowed to insult your handwriting.”

Satoru grinned. “Only if I’m allowed to call your notebook margins neurotic.”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Then we’re off to a great start.”

Suguru snorted under his breath and took a bite of his burrito. It was still warm, barely, and honestly better than anything he would’ve made for himself after the gym. He chewed thoughtfully, eyes flicking over to Satoru, who was sipping from his iced latte like he hadn’t just asked Suguru to rearrange his entire schedule and financial structure. “I’ll sleep on it,” Suguru said finally, mouth still half full.

“Mm.” Satoru leaned over the counter a little. “And if you wake up and your answer’s yes?”

Suguru lifted an eyebrow. “Then we can figure out when to begin,” he said, pausing briefly. “I’d still need to give my two weeks’ notice.” He rested his forehead on his clasped hands, elbows leaning on the counter. “I could probably manage tutoring you alongside work during those two weeks,” he muttered quietly to himself.

Satoru grinned. “Deal.”

They ate in companionable silence for a few moments. Suguru still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about this, how easy it was for Satoru to offer money like it didn’t matter, how easily it could shift their dynamic if he accepted. But he couldn’t deny… the thought of quitting the café made his chest loosen a little. More sleep. More time. Fewer bruised knuckles from closing bakery freezers at 5am. And it’s not like he was doing it for free. He’d earn it. He always did. “Do I at least get to pick where we meet?” Suguru asked.

Satoru looked at him like he’d just handed him the moon. “Anywhere. Coffee shop. Library. My bed?” 

Suguru shot him a flat look. 

Satoru laughs, “I’m kidding , god.”

Suguru stood up with his coffee in hand. “Library.”

“Boring.”

“Less distractions, something you need.” He turned to head back to his room, already thinking about the philosophy reading he still had to finish. But just before he slipped through the doorway, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll let you know by the end of the week.”

Satoru gave him a thumbs-up without even looking up. “You better. I’m already drafting the schedule.” Suguru shook his head, but his lips tugged into something halfway between amusement and acceptance.

Satoru

The door clicked shut behind Suguru, who was leaving for his 12hr bar shift, and Satoru was already unlocking his phone. He flopped back on the couch, thumbs flying as he opened the group chat and started typing.

[Me]: okay guys update. i did it. i asked.

[Shoko]: oh shit?

[Yu]: oh no. what did u ask?

[Me]: THE tutoring thing. you know. what shoko talked about??

[Kento]: you actually took Shoko seriously?

[Shoko]: wow. so rude. i give incredible advice. 

[Shoko]: i even helped him draft a text to his mom about it.

[Kento]: Wtf?

[Me]: ok but like. i asked him right after breakfast. when he was in a good mood. he looked kind of suspicious at first, but he heard me out.

[Yu]: and?? what did he say??

[Me]: he said he’d think about it.

[Me]: he was all “it’s a big change” and “id feel weird quitting my job for just tutoring one guy” blah blah humble bs

[Shoko]: he’s so responsible it hurts my soul

[Me]: FR

[Kento]: I’m not gonna lie, that’s pretty reasonable. And very nice of you, Satoru. I'm shocked.

[Yu]: yea better than him just quitting his job on a whim

[Me]: yeah but i was like. trying to give him an out. he looked so tired.

[Shoko]: bc he works damn near 7 days a week satoru lmao

[Me]: i KNOW. that’s why i thought the tutoring would help both of us??

[Yu]: it’s kinda sweet that you’re thinking about that.

[Shoko]: wait. are you actually gonna follow through and study now or are you just gonna vibe in the library and flirt like last time

[Me]: i’m going to study!!! probably.

[Kento]: He’s doomed.

[Yu]: thoughts and prayers.

[Shoko]: update us when he says yes. and also if you fall in love with him during a study session i want that in writing.

[Me]: i’m ignoring that.

He set his phone down on his chest, staring up at the ceiling, lips tugging into a faint, thoughtful smile. If Suguru did say yes… things might actually start looking up. For both of them. But for now, all he could do was wait.

He closed the group chat, tossing his phone beside him on the couch. For a minute, he just lay there, staring up at the ceiling like it held answers. A little tutoring. That’s all it was. Right?

It wasn’t like he was trying to buy Suguru’s time. Or, okay, maybe he was , but it wasn’t weird. It wasn’t some master plan to hang out more or see him without it seeming like he was asking. This wasn’t middle school. He wasn’t crushing on his tutor. He just… liked the way Suguru explained things. And how patient he was. And how when he was focused, like really focused, he’d get this little furrow in his brow and-

“God,” Satoru groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Shoko’s getting in my head.”

He flung himself off the couch and wandered to the kitchen, aimlessly opening the fridge. Empty. Shocking. He’d order something later. Right now, all he could think about was that conversation over breakfast. Suguru looked… unsure. Like Satoru had just offered him a loaded gun. 

And sure, Satoru understood. Giving up a job, even one that obviously drained him, wasn’t an easy call. But still, Satoru couldn’t stop thinking about how tired he’d looked. Still damp from the shower, black shirt clinging to him, eyes already half-closed like he was counting down the hours to midnight before he even left the house.

He hated how easy it was to remember all that.

Satoru flopped back on the couch with a loud, dramatic sigh. His phone buzzed. A new message in the group chat:

[Shoko]: hey. real talk.

[Shoko]: you did good. letting him think it over and giving him time to think? that’s huge

[Shoko]: especially to someone like suguru

[Shoko]: he’s independent and i can tell he’s stubborn as hell. if he says yes, it’s gonna mean something.

Satoru read the messages twice. Then a third time. He didn’t reply, but he stared at the screen until it dimmed and went dark.

The screen glowed softly in the low light of the house, Shoko’s words stacked neatly in the chat like quiet affirmations. A part of him wanted to deflect, send back some dumb joke or brush it off with a “yeah, yeah I know I’m amazing” , but he didn’t. He just sat there, thumb hovering over the screen, reading those words again..

It hadn’t felt huge when he first offered. It had felt like a fix. A solution. Throw money at the problem and get the result. That’s what his parents always did. What he was taught to do. But Suguru wasn’t a problem, and this wasn’t some equation to solve.

If Suguru said yes, it wouldn’t be for the money. It wouldn’t be because Satoru had made it easier for him or worn him down. It’d be because he decided it. On his own. And if that happened, if he let Satoru in like that, it would mean something. Something real.

Satoru let his phone fall into his lap and leaned back on the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling. He hadn’t replied to Shoko, but he knew she didn’t need him to. She always had a way of saying exactly what he didn’t know he needed to hear. 

The screen finally went black in his lap, and Satoru didn’t wake it. He sat there in the silence of the living room, still half-slouched on the couch, legs stretched out over the coffee table. The late afternoon light filtered in through the windows, painting warm gold streaks across the hardwood floor. Outside, someone was mowing a lawn a few houses down. Inside, it was quiet. Still. Almost too still.

He shifted slightly, tossing his phone beside him with a quiet thud against the cushion. The house always felt different when Suguru wasn’t in it, emptier, like the air didn’t know how to move right without him there to breathe it. Satoru sighed and rested his head against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

Shoko’s texts kept replaying in his head. 

If he says yes, it’s gonna mean something.

He knew she was right. That’s what made this feel so strange, so big. For once, he didn’t want to push or prod or force anything. He just wanted… Suguru to want to do this. To say yes because he wanted to. Not because of the money, or guilt, or pressure. Just because he wanted to spend time with Satoru. Because he wanted to help.

God, when was the last time he cared about someone wanting to help him? 

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the quiet wrap around him. The dull ache of last night’s wine still lingered in the back of his head, like a half-forgotten conversation.

He wasn’t sure what this was becoming. He didn’t have the language for it. Not yet. It wasn’t like his usual flings, those reckless bursts of charm and impulse. It wasn’t even like friendship, at least not the kind he’d known before. This was slower. Quieter. It settled into his chest and stayed there. He’d have to wait a few more days. He’d wait for Suguru’s answer.

In the meantime, he’d try not to hope too hard. He got up, stretched, and padded toward the kitchen. The silence followed him, soft as a held breath.

Suguru

It was nearing midnight at the bar, and Suguru wiped down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time that night, the damp rag dragging along the polished wood in slow, absent circles. The rain was steadily pouring out and the place was still buzzing, the low thrum of bass-heavy music pulsing faintly beneath the laughter and clatter of glasses. Sunday nights never really slowed like people expected them to. The energy just shifted, rowdier groups gave way to mellow regulars, tired college students on their last drink before the Monday drag, couples speaking in hushed tones in corner booths. But his mind wasn’t in it. Not fully. 

He kept circling back to Satoru’s offer. The entire shift, it lingered at the edges of his focus like a melody he couldn’t place. It wasn’t even a bad offer. Objectively, it was kind of a great one. Generous, absurdly so. Enough money to comfortably quit the café job. More than enough, if he was being honest. And between tutoring hours and his weekend shifts at the bar, where the tips flowed like water and the regulars always seemed to shell out a little extra for his deadpan charm and the quiet way he remembered their orders, he’d be fine. Probably better than fine. Maybe even have time to breathe, study, not be a walking corpse every morning.

He stacked a few empty glasses and slid them into the plastic bin under the bar, jaw working slightly as his thoughts turned over. The café was fine. Reliable. Easy, in that muscle-memory way. But the pay was average, the mornings were early, and the back-to-back shifts left him dragging by the end of the week. Quitting made sense. The math made sense.

And yet.

Tutoring Satoru Gojo… on a weekly basis? Maybe multiple times a week? That was the part that made his chest feel tight. Not because Satoru wasn’t capable, he was, surprisingly, when he put his mind to something, but because of everything else.

Because tutoring him meant more time with him. Alone. It meant looking at him across tables. Hearing him think out loud. Watching the way he chewed on his pen cap when he was focused, or slouched dramatically across his chair when he was bored. It meant hearing every joke. Dodging every flirtation. Pretending none of it affected him. It meant caring , just a little more than he probably should.

He ran the rag along the edge of the sink, slower this time. Suguru was used to keeping people at arm’s length. Friends, coworkers, customers, even classmates. He didn’t let people in easily. But Satoru? Somehow Satoru had made it into orbit before Suguru had realized what was happening. Loud and bright and careless, but also kind. Thoughtful, when he wanted to be. Clumsy with his sincerity in a way that made Suguru nervous.

He sighed, rinsed out another glass and set it on the rack to dry. He needed to decide. If he was going to give his two weeks’ notice at the café, it had to be soon. Like, tomorrow soon. And really, what was he holding onto that job for?

Because if he were honest, really honest, he didn’t hate the idea of more time with Satoru. He didn’t hate the idea of mornings that started slower, or study sessions that ended in sideways glances and dry humor. He didn’t hate it at all.

Suguru glanced at the clock again. Almost closing time, just half an hour left. He ran the rag over the counter one last time and let the thought settle deeper into his chest. Maybe this tutoring thing wouldn’t be so bad after all. Deep in thought, he looks out the window. The storm outside had gone from steady to downright biblical. Rain slammed sideways against the bar’s windows, wind howling around the corners of the building like it was trying to peel it open. Suguru exhaled slowly through his nose. 

Of course . He hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Because, of course he hadn’t. The sky had been cloudy when he left, but not ominous. He figured he’d risk it. Ten minutes wasn’t that long. Except now it looked like the kind of rain that could strip paint from buildings. Still, he said nothing. Didn’t complain to his coworkers. Didn’t text Satoru. He just kept cleaning, like the thunder outside wasn’t rattling the windows every five minutes.

And then, around 11:55, five minutes before the end of his shift, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He dried his hands, checked the screen, and blinked at the name.

[Sagittarius]: u really didn’t bring an umbrella huh

[Sagittarius]: you gonna dramatic walk home like ur in the climax of some indie film or should i come meet u

Suguru hovered over his screen, already typing out something dismissive like I’ll manage or It’s just water, but then-

[Sagittarius]: nvm dont answer im omw

[Sagittarius]: and yes ik i’m amazing

Suguru stared at the texts for a beat, jaw tight, before letting out a small breath that was almost a laugh. Of course. He tucked his phone away and kept wiping down the bar, heart lighter than he wanted to admit. He didn't text back. But he didn’t need to.

Ten minutes later, Satoru was standing outside the bar, a single black umbrella popped open over his head. His white hair was a little damp at the edges from the walk, cheeks flushed from the wind and maybe the hurry. When Suguru stepped outside and saw him, he blinked once, then raised an eyebrow.

“You only brought one?” Suguru asked flatly, eyes flicking from the umbrella to Satoru’s face.

Satoru froze for half a second, then looked up at the umbrella like it had just materialized there. “Oh. Shit.” His laugh was sheepish, breath visible in the chill air. “Yeah, I, uh… wasn’t really thinking. I’ve been studying all day… brain’s basically soup.”

Suguru stared at him a beat longer, unimpressed but faintly amused. “I’ll be fine. It’s just rain.”

Satoru immediately made a face. “No, dude, shut up. We can just share.”

He stepped forward and tilted the umbrella more toward Suguru without waiting for a response, like it was already settled. “You’re not about to do that corny stoic walk-home-like-a-loner thing. Not on my watch.”

Suguru let out a quiet sigh and stepped up beside him, reaching up to take the umbrella straight from Satoru’s hand. “You’re impossible.”

Satoru grinned, letting him take it. “And yet, here you are. Sharing an umbrella with me like we’re in a movie.”

“Don’t push it.”

They started walking, the rain a soft patter against the thin canopy above them, city lights blurring through the curtain of water. The umbrella, of course, was not designed for two people, especially not two guys over six feet tall.

Suguru noticed almost immediately that the left side of his shirt was already getting soaked, water running down his sleeve and sticking the fabric to his skin. He adjusted the angle of the umbrella slightly, tipping it more toward the right, toward Satoru. Ensuring he was fully covered.

Satoru didn’t seem to notice, rambling about the quiz he took earlier in the day and how he was 80% sure he didn’t bomb it. His hands moved as he talked, even in the limited space under the umbrella, full of animated gestures and that usual boundless energy that always made him seem larger than life.

Suguru just nodded occasionally, quietly amused. His shoulder was drenched, but he didn’t bother to shift the umbrella back. It was just water. And for some reason, listening to Satoru ramble about ethics class and the vending machine that ate his yen was… oddly comforting. 

He glanced sideways at him, rain sliding down the exposed side of his face. “You talk a lot.”

Satoru smirked. “You like it.” Suguru didn’t answer, just huffed a faint breath of amusement and kept walking.

They walked in step down the quiet sidewalk, the rain a steady hiss around them, muffling the sounds of the city. Streetlamps cast long, wet reflections across the pavement, broken only by the ripple of puddles beneath their feet. The air was crisp, cool enough that Suguru could see his breath briefly when he exhaled.

Satoru’s voice carried easily over the sound of the rain, animated and bright. He talked about class, about a funny TikTok Yu sent him, about how Kento got pissed when he was spamming the group chat earlier. The usual. Suguru listened, mostly in silence, arms folded across his chest, the umbrella still tilted in Satoru’s favor. He didn’t mind. Not really.

A few blocks from the house, he cut in dryly, “So… is this you trying to butter me up?”

Satoru blinked over at him. “What?”

“This,” Suguru gestured vaguely with the umbrella, “the whole walking me home in the rain thing. You trying to seal the deal? Get me to say yes to tutoring you full time?”

Satoru gasped, theatrical and full of fake offense. “Excuse you. I happen to be a very thoughtful person.”

Suguru raised a brow. “Yeah, if you get something out of it.”

Satoru gave him a lopsided smile. “Okay, sure, I’m slightly manipulative and desperate. But in a good way.”

Suguru snorted, the smallest tug of a smile on his lips. “Right.” They turned the final corner, the familiar outline of their house coming into view through the rain.

“You’re not wrong though,” Satoru added with a shrug. “I mean, maybe I am trying to show you what an excellent investment I’d be as a student. Dependable. Charming. Always prepared, except for quizzes and umbrellas, apparently.”

Suguru chuckled under his breath and shook his head. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“And yet,” Satoru said, grinning, “you’re still walking next to me in the rain.”

Suguru didn’t respond to that, just adjusted the umbrella again so Satoru stayed dry as they reached the front steps. The soft clatter of rain still tapping at the umbrella above them. Suguru folded it down in one smooth motion and shook off the water, giving it a lazy flick to the side. Satoru was halfway through pulling out his keys when he paused and squinted at him.

“Wait-” He tilted his head, frowning. “Dude, your whole left side is soaked.”

Suguru glanced down at his damp sleeve and shoulder, then shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Yeah. Umbrella was too small.”

“You tilted it toward me,” Satoru said slowly, realization dawning. “Oh my god, you tilted it on purpose!”

Suguru gave him a sidelong look. “Well, I figured you’d complain the whole way home if your hair got wet or something.”

Satoru pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “You sacrificed your own dryness for me ? That’s basically romantic, Suguru.”

“That's a stretch,” Suguru deadpanned, stepping past him and up toward the door.

“I mean, not to be weird, but I think that puts us on, like… at least second base emotionally.”

Suguru didn’t even look at him as he replied, flat as ever: “You flirt with everything that breathes. I’m not special.”

“I- Hey. That’s not true. I am very selective.”

“You flirted with the bartender Friday.”

“She had great earrings!”

“You flirted with Kento .”

Satoru grinned. “Okay, but to be fair, Kento has incredible bone structure.”

Suguru sighed through his nose, clearly over it. “Unlock the door.”

Satoru chuckled, twisting the key in the lock. “You’re really not gonna give me a little credit here?”  

They stepped into the house, the door shutting behind them with a soft click . Suguru toed off his shoes and ran a hand through his damp hair, already dreading how humid it’d be in his room with this kind of rain. Behind him, Satoru flopped dramatically onto the couch, groaning. “I’m starving. Do you want food? I was gonna make some instant ramen.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “By ‘make,’ do you mean you’re putting hot water into a cup?”

Satoru pointed at him. “Exactly. Culinary excellence.”

Suguru smirked faintly. “I could eat. I need to change first, though. I’m still soaked thanks to someone’s umbrella planning.”

“Not my fault I was too busy being a hero.”

Suguru didn’t dignify that with a reply. He disappeared into his room, pulling on a pair of loose, dry sweats and a soft black T-shirt. His damp clothes were tossed in the hamper, and he towel-dried his hair a bit before stepping back into the hallway. 

He had just started walking toward the kitchen when- click . The lights went out. Everything fell into sudden, humming darkness.

There was a pause.

“…Was that the power?” Satoru called out from the kitchen.

Suguru sighed. “Storm probably knocked something out.” He turns on his phone flashlight and stepped around the corner and into the kitchen, just in time to see Satoru standing in front of the stove, waving a chopstick over a scorched, slightly melting cup ramen.

“…What the hell happened?”

Satoru turned toward him, sheepish. “I think I… left it too close to the burner.”

Suguru pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “It’s instant ramen. How do you mess up instant ramen?”

Satoru lifted his phone and turned on the flashlight, casting a glow around the kitchen. “Don’t worry. I’ll light the way. You’re up, chef.”

Suguru didn’t argue, he grabbed two fresh cup noodles, and moved quickly. The water had just finished boiling before the power cut, so he poured it over the noodles without wasting a second. They sat in the dim kitchen, both perched at the island, lit by Satoru’s phone flashlight propped against the salt shaker. A strange little world of shadows and steam.

Satoru poked at his noodles dramatically. “We’re like, camping. Indoor camping.”

“Sure,” Suguru muttered, chewing slowly. “Except the tent is climate-controlled, and you just tried to burn down the kitchen.”

Satoru gasped. “That’s slander. I’m a professional.”

“You almost set a cup on fire.”

“That cup had it coming.”

Suguru shook his head, amused despite himself. “How have you lived this long without knowing how to boil water?”

“I have charisma, Suguru,” Satoru replied, as if that explained everything. “I don’t need practical skills.”

“You do if you want to eat something and not burn down the house.” 

They ate in silence for a minute, steam rising slowly in the faint glow. Outside, thunder rumbled low in the distance. Inside, it was quiet and strangely… peaceful. Suguru leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm resting on the back, the other still curled around his cup. 

He didn’t say it out loud, but this, dim lighting, rain outside, warmth in his hands, and Satoru, of all people, actually not being insufferable for once… it wasn’t the worst way to spend a stormy night.

Satoru took another bite of his ramen, then leaned his chin dramatically into his hand, eyes fixed on Suguru. Suguru looked back, in the dim glow of his phone flashlight, his white hair looked silver, and there was a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You know,” he started, voice light and teasing, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you enjoy taking care of me.”

Suguru didn’t even look up from his noodles. “I don’t.”

Satoru gasped softly. “Cold. After I walked in the rain for you?”

“You forgot your umbrella. That’s not the same as chivalry.”

“I brought an umbrella. I just generously shared it.”

“And nearly drowned me in the process.”

Satoru grinned wider, swirling his chopsticks in his cup. “Hey you're the one who held it and made sure little ol me didn't get wet.” he bats his eyes in a joking manner. He lets out a laugh and continues, “You looked good drenched. Like something out of a tragic romance movie.”

“Stop flirting,” Suguru said flatly.

“Why?” Satoru cocked his head, smile widening. “It’s my love language.”

“You flirt with everything that moves.”

“Not true,” Satoru said, raising a brow. “I’m very selective.”

Suguru finally looked up, expression dry as hell. “You flirted with the cashier at the campus bookstore. She gave you a pen, Satoru.”

“A very thoughtful pen,” Satoru defended. “Fine craftsmanship.”

Suguru just shook his head and went back to eating. “If I took you seriously, I’d die of embarrassment secondhand.”

Satoru laughed under his breath, taking another bite. “You wound me.”

“Good.” The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was soft. Companionable. The flashlight between them hummed faintly. Outside, thunder cracked again, a little farther this time. The worst of the storm was already passing.

Satoru slurped his last noodle and leaned back, sighing. “Still, I’d say this is the coziest I've been during a power outage.” Suguru didn’t answer, but his faint smile said enough. He finished the last of his ramen with a quiet slurp, then set the empty cup down on the counter with a dull thud . He checked his phone.

12:57 AM.

His jaw clenched subtly. “Shit…”

Satoru glanced over from where he was lazily spinning his chopsticks between his fingers, one leg swung over the side of his stool. “What?”

Suguru rubbed at his face with both hands, leaning forward against the counter. “It's almost one, I gotta get to bed” he sighs “got work in the morning.”

Satoru winced in sympathy. “Rough.”

“It’s been rough.” His voice wasn’t bitter, just tired. Worn around the edges like the sleeves of his hoodie.

The light from Satoru’s flashlight flickered as he adjusted it. “You’re still thinking about it, huh.”

Suguru didn’t say anything. Satoru didn’t need him to. They both knew what it was. 

The offer. The money. The tutoring. 

Suguru exhaled slowly through his nose and stood up, taking both of their ramen cups to the sink. He rinsed them out one by one, the rhythmic sound of water filling the quiet. “I have to give notice tomorrow if I want next week to be my last,” he finally said, back turned, voice low but steady.

Satoru sat up straighter. “You’re gonna do it?”

“I don’t know,” Suguru admitted. “It makes sense. It’s smart. My schedule would actually open up for once. I’d sleep. I’d maybe stop feeling like I’m dragging myself through the week by my teeth.” He turned the faucet off and leaned against the sink, hands braced on the counter. “But that’s a lot of money, Satoru.”

“You’re worth it,” Satoru said without even thinking. Suguru glanced over his shoulder. Satoru blinked. “I mean, like, your time. I know you work hard. I’m not just paying to pass. I’m paying to make sure you’re not wrecking yourself to survive. It’s not a favor. It’s a trade.”

Suguru turned fully, arms crossed now, thoughtful. His eyes were shadowed by the dying beam of the flashlight, unreadable but not closed off. “I haven’t said yes,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“I might still say no.”

“I know that too.”

Silence again.

Then Suguru sighed and muttered, mostly to himself, “God, I need sleep…”

Satoru shooed Suguru with his hand. “Then go, I got class in the morning so I'm gonna head to bed too” he stands up. “hopefully the power will be on tomorrow.”

That pulled the smallest exhale of a laugh from Suguru’s nose. “Don’t burn anything else.”

“No promises.”

Suguru shook his head and padded off toward the hallway, the faint shuffle of his socks on the floor soft in the dark. The storm had passed. But the question still hung in the air.

Satoru

April 17th, 2025

The basement of the library was quiet as ever, untouched and hushed like some forgotten wing of an old museum. Dust pooled in the corners and thin cobwebs clung to the high, dim corners of the ceiling. No sunlight ever reached this deep underground. Only the dull, flickering hum of old fluorescent lights and the faint buzz of the aging HVAC system reminded them that time still moved down here. It smelled faintly of paper and worn leather and dust, like the inside of an old chest. The shelves were lined with books no one checked out anymore: Japanese history, ancient philosophy, war theory, political structures of pre-Meiji dynasties. Dusty hardcovers with fraying cloth spines and faded gold lettering, standing at rigid attention like soldiers left behind by time.

Satoru had decided he liked it down here. Or maybe… he liked this version of it. The one where Suguru sat across from him, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, notebook open, pen in hand, brow slightly furrowed in thought. He was always like this when they studied. Calm, focused, deceptively quiet. His fingers would curl slightly at the edge of a page when he was explaining something. His voice was low and even, more patient than Satoru thought anyone had ever been with him in an academic setting.

It had been almost a week since their conversation in the kitchen. Since Suguru had leaned over the counter, forehead pressed to his clasped hands, and said, “I’ll think about it.” Since Satoru’s impulsive, maybe-a-little-manipulative but still brilliant plan had turned into something real and fragile and hard to define. And in that week, everything had shifted, just slightly. The air between them didn’t hum the same way anymore. It was still warm, still threaded with easy banter and the occasional sideways smile, but now there was something else there too. Something unspoken. Something careful.

Suguru had agreed to help, just for now. No promises. No formal arrangement. “I’ll help for now,” he’d said, and Satoru hadn’t pushed. He knew better than to corner him into anything. So instead, he’d just… shown up. And Suguru had shown up too. Four times that week, to be exact.

Once at their kitchen table, sunlight pouring in through the window as Suguru quizzed him between bites of toast. Once at the café near campus, Suguru with an Americano, Satoru sipping something with way too much syrup, both hunched over a textbook they half-pretended not to hate. Another time outside the law building under the ivy-laced arbor, where Suguru had worn sunglasses and still looked too composed for a man explaining the Tokugawa Shogunate. And now, here again, in the library’s basement. Dusty, half-forgotten, and theirs alone.

Their sessions had taken on a rhythm. Suguru explained things with a kind of clarity Satoru hadn’t expected. He never talked down to him, never acted like he was doing him a favor. When Satoru misunderstood something, Suguru made him rephrase it until it clicked. When he got lazy, Suguru called him out, blunt, but not unkind. And, weirdly , Satoru liked it.

He liked being challenged. He liked that Suguru expected him to rise to the occasion. And maybe it wasn’t just the study sessions that had changed this week. Maybe it was something else.

Because Satoru found himself looking forward to them. Not just because he needed the help, or because he didn’t want to flunk out and disappoint his parents. But because there was something about being across from Suguru like this, focused and quiet and just a little closer than they had to be, that made everything else feel quieter too. Like the world outside of this dusty library wing didn’t really exist. Just the scratch of pen on paper. Just the low murmur of Suguru’s voice. Just the pulse of something he didn’t have a name for behind his ribs.

He tapped his pencil against the edge of his notebook and looked across the table.

Suguru hadn’t noticed him staring. He was writing something in the margins of his own notes, black ink looping into clean, practiced strokes. Calm as ever. Satoru looked back down at his notes and tried not to think too hard. Tried not to ask. Tried not to want to ask.

Has he decided yet? But he had said he’d give it a week, and it hadn’t been a week. Not technically.

Not yet.

Suguru's help is actually working though, Satoru felt sharper. Like his brain was finally catching up with the class. He’d taken two more quizzes since they started, one on early Meiji reforms and the other on historiography methods. The grades weren’t posted yet, but for the first time all semester, he didn’t leave the room thinking well, that’s a redo waiting to happen. He actually felt… okay . Like maybe he wasn’t totally doomed.

Satoru stretched his legs under the table, the toe of his sneaker bumping Suguru’s. Suguru didn’t react, eyes still on his notes, pen tapping lightly against the margin. He looked good today. Not like he didn’t always, but something about the soft gray tshirt he wore made him look less guarded. More at ease. His hair was half tied back, a few strands falling loose in front of his face, and Satoru found his eyes drifting there again and again when he should’ve been re-reading the section on the Iwakura Mission. He rested his chin in his hand, cheek pressed against his palm. Suguru noticed.

“You’re not reading,” he said, not looking up from his page.

“I am. In my own way,” Satoru replied, grinning.

Suguru sighed through his nose, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “What does ‘your way’ involve?”

“Absorbing the information through vibes.”

“Fascinating.” He flipped a page. “Do you want to pass or do you want to fail with style?”

“Oh I have a choice?”

Suguru shook his head, but he was smiling now. Satoru tapped his pen against the edge of his tablet. He could ask him. Now would be the time. One week, Suguru had said. That was the deal. Technically is hasnt been a full week, 4 days to be exact but it sure did feel like a whole month. But he didn’t want to push. Not when they were finally finding a rhythm. Not when Suguru seemed… steady. Not distant. Not cold.

He leaned back in his chair a little. Watched the way Suguru underlined something neatly in blue. His handwriting was precise and slanted, almost too neat, honestly. A perfectionist, even in notes. Satoru still couldn’t decide if it was hot or terrifying. Probably both. Maybe he’d wait until they finished reviewing. Maybe he’d just… gently ask.

He flicked his eyes down to his own notes, mostly legible, half chaotic, the word “Iwakura” spelled three different ways. Still. A lot had changed in a week. Suguru wasn’t just his roommate anymore. Not just the guy with all-black outfits and that unreadable stare. They talked now. Studied together. Ate together sometimes. And it felt easy. Familiar, even.

And underneath all of that, Satoru was still wondering, what if this thing they were building actually worked ? What if it could be something more? He shook the thought loose. Focus. Quiz first. Questions later. But then again, Satoru never was good at waiting.

Suguru let the silence stretch for another few beats, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook while Satoru watched him like he was trying to gauge the exact wind speed before making a risky shot.

Suguru shook his head, still amused as he flipped a page in his notebook. “So is there a reason you kept fidgeting, or are you just trying to give me secondhand anxiety?”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, legs stretching out under the table until one foot lightly nudged Suguru. “You said a week. It’s been a week.”

Suguru didn’t look up. “It's been 4 days.”

“And I rounded up,” Satoru said, drawing the word out, “have you decided? About tutoring. About the job thing. Or are you gonna keep me hanging?”

Suguru sighs, “That's now how rounding works” There was a beat of silence. Then, finally, Suguru set his pen down and glanced over at him. “You really can’t just study with a regular tutor?”

Satoru gave him a flat look. “We both know that’s not going to work.”

Suguru sighed, leaning back in his seat now too, mirroring Satoru without realizing it. “Yeah. I figured.”

“So?” Satoru asked, eyebrows lifting in something between hope and challenge.

“I put in my two weeks at the café,” Suguru said simply, still staring at the ceiling as if he didn't just drop a bomb on Satoru.

Satoru blinked. “Wait, really? When?”

“Mmhm, Monday.” he looks at Satoru, who is beaming with joy. “I decided that morning. I got off work the night before at 12 then had to immediately get up at 330 in the morning for the cafe shift.” He rubs his forehead with his hand as he is laid back in the chair, “Lack of sleep will make you do some stupid shit.” he says with a slight smile.

Satoru is beaming with joy. “You’re gonna be my tutor?”

“I’m going to try ,” Suguru corrected. “If you don’t drive me insane first.” He sits up, “I told my manager about the situation and he said he’d ‘happily take me back’ if shit goes south. So you actually have to lock it in and study. No fucking around.” he says holding up his pointer finger, as if he were scolding him.

Satoru clasped his hands together and tilted his head toward the ceiling. “A miracle. Thank you, gods of academia.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Suguru said, already flipping back to his notes. “You’re still on academic probation in my mind.”

Satoru snorted. “Fair enough. But I feel like this is the part where we high five, or shake hands, or do something formal.”

Suguru stared at him. “We’re not doing any of that.”

“C’mon,” Satoru said, holding out his hand across the table, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just a little handshake. For the contract.” Suguru looked at the hand like it was contagious. Then, reluctantly, reached out and shook it once, firmly.

“There. Now if you fail,” he said, deadpan, “it’s both of our reputations on the line.”

Satoru smirked. “Guess we better make me a scholar, then.”

Satoru didn’t let go of Suguru’s hand right away. He narrowed his eyes, lowering his voice in mock seriousness. “Your hands are surprisingly soft, you know that?”

Suguru gave him a blank look, not feeding into what he's saying.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Satoru shrugged, finally releasing his grip. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to impress me.”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t know any better,” Suguru replied dryly, already going back to his notebook.

Satoru grinned, undeterred. “So mysterious. So cold.”

“Focus on your outline,” Suguru said without missing a beat. “You’ve got a midterm soon, and if I have to explain the Tokugawa period to you again, I’m charging double.”

Satoru leaned his chin into his hand, watching Suguru write. “You’re kinda hot when you’re threatening me academically.”

Suguru didn’t look up. “What did I just say about fucking around?” he flips the page, still avoiding eye contact with Satoru, “You talk an awful lot for someone who got a 59% on a quiz on the syllabus.”

Satoru huffs, pretending to be offended, “It was over module 1 as well! I just forgot…”

“Well,” Suguru said, flipping a page, “get to studying and maybe you won't make that mistake again”

Satoru let out a huff of laughter and finally turned back to his own tablet, pretending to pout. “Can’t even get a smile these days…”

“You want praise, write a proper thesis statement,” Suguru murmured. It was quiet after that, the kind of quiet that had settled into something comfortable, even with the occasional teasing jab. 

Their pens scratched against paper, the dim light of the basement library softening the tension. Satoru glanced at Suguru every so often, not to flirt, not to push, but just to look. And maybe that was enough. Satoru’s stylus hovered over his tablet for a moment before he leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh, arms stretching high over his head.

“Y’know,” he said, peeking at Suguru from under his lashes, “I always knew you cared about me. But putting in your two weeks? That’s a whole new level of devotion.”

Suguru didn’t even look up. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just value my sanity.”

“Ouch,” Satoru grinned. “That sounded an awful lot like love to me.”

“Then you’ve never been loved properly.”

Satoru let out a laugh that echoed lightly between the shelves. “God, you’re mean.”

“You’re distracting.”

“Only because you’re into it.”

That got Suguru to glance up, eyes flat, unimpressed. “You flirt with anything that breathes, and even that is debatable.”

“Not true,” Satoru said, hand to his heart. “I have standards.”

Suguru quirked a brow. “Do you?”

“…Okay, maybe loose standards.”

Suguru shook his head and went back to his notes, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. Satoru didn’t miss it. He stared for a second too long before pretending to refocus on his tablet.

Still, the air between them had shifted. Not like before, when everything was tight and uncertain and sharp around the edges. Now there was space to breathe. A steady rhythm to fall into. The scratch of pens. The occasional quiet murmur of a question. Satoru wasn’t used to this kind of focus, especially not with someone else, but Suguru had a way of anchoring him, even when he was being impossible.

Maybe especially then.

After a while, Satoru glanced at the clock on his screen and leaned back again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey,” he said, “how long are we planning to stay here? My ass is starting to fuse to this chair.”

Suguru looks at his watch, it reads 2:30. “Maybe another 15 since i have class at 3. If you lock in now we won't have to pick this up after my class.”

“Oh my god.” Satoru let his head thunk against the table with a groan. “You’re gonna be unbearable now that you’re officially my tutor, huh?”

“Now?” Suguru said, flipping another page. “You think this is new?”

Satoru grinned into his arm. Yeah , he thought. This might actually work .

Not just the tutoring. The them of it all. Whatever this was turning into. Even if Suguru refused to flirt back. Even if he pretended like every small thing Satoru did didn’t get under his skin. He was still here. Still helping. And Satoru didn’t say it out loud, wouldn’t dare, but having Suguru choose to stay… that meant something. It meant everything.

Fifteen minutes later, the quiet hum of the library basement was broken only by the soft zipping of Suguru’s bag. He slid his tablet and notebook into his backpack with practiced ease, finishing off the last of his notes before pulling the strap over his shoulder.

Satoru glanced up at the sound. “That time already?”

“Mm,” Suguru hummed, standing. “History of Philosophy.”

Satoru gives a disgusted look, “Sounds riveting.”

“Only if you’re sleep-deprived and full of existential dread.”

Satoru snorted, gathering up his own things at a much slower pace. “That’s basically my default state.”

Suguru gave him a long look, then deadpanned, “Then you’d love it.”

Satoru slung his own bag over one shoulder and followed Suguru out of the basement and up the narrow staircase that led to the first floor of the library. They stepped out into the main corridor, bathed in afternoon light, and parted at the front doors.

“I’ll see you at home?” Satoru called, half over his shoulder.

Suguru just lifted a hand in a lazy wave, not turning back. “Yeah. Don’t burn anything.”

“No promises!”

The doors closed behind Suguru, and Satoru stood there for a second, watching the sun slant through the tall windows. His mood was oddly light, maybe from the caffeine, maybe from the win of getting Suguru to say yes. He’d take it either way.

He walked slowly back toward the dorms, earbuds in, not really listening to his music. His thoughts were already drifting ahead, dinner plans, maybe a nap, definitely some scrolling through TikTok to avoid his reading for another hour or two.

But beneath all of that was something quieter. The knowledge that, for once, he’d done something right. Something real. 

Suguru had said yes.

Chapter Text

Suguru

May 15th, 2025

It had been about a month since Suguru agreed to tutor Satoru. A quiet agreement at first, low stakes, temporary. But now, looking back, it was obvious: everything had shifted.

Suguru had put in his two weeks at the café that Monday, and though part of him worried about giving up steady income, he didn’t regret it. The change had been... surprisingly easy to settle into. His mornings were his again, slow starts, coffee in silence, a routine that didn’t demand a cracked smile at six in the morning for strangers. The bar shifts still drained him, but without the cafe weighing him down, he didn’t feel like he was constantly running on fumes. The added time gave him room to breathe, and space to work with Satoru.

And that, in itself, had become a rhythm.

They met four, sometimes five times a week. Sometimes more. At first, strictly for studying, campus cafés, the library basement, and their shared living room. But lines blurred fast. Sessions lasted longer. Breaks turned into conversations. Somewhere along the way, they stopped being just roommates, or even just tutor and student. They've become close friends. It wasn't official, but it was obvious.

Satoru flirted… often. Careless comments, offhand praise, dramatic compliments that made Suguru roll his eyes. And Suguru downplayed them. Always. He never encouraged it, but he never really shut it down, either. And Satoru, for all his dramatics, never pushed. Not really. It was like they were orbiting something unnamed. Something neither of them was ready to say out loud.

Still, they got closer.

They shared more meals than not. Fought less. Laughed more. Suguru got used to seeing Satoru’s things scattered in common spaces, his charger in the kitchen, notebooks on the couch, shoes kicked off right by the front door. And weirdly, Satoru got quieter around him, sometimes. Not withdrawn, but… less performative. More real.

Somewhere in that month, Satoru’s grades started climbing. Suguru noticed first. Then Shoko. Then the rest of the group chat. And finally, Satoru’s mother, who texted him twice in one week just to say how proud she was. Suguru had caught Satoru staring at his phone after one of those messages, a funny little expression on his face, something almost small, almost vulnerable.

And maybe that was what changed the most. Not the grades. Not the study hours. But that Satoru was changing, too. Peeling something back. Dropping a layer. Suguru felt it. And if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t mind.

Sometimes, Suguru caught himself waiting for Satoru to come home. He wouldn't call it that, exactly. But after a long bar shift or a solo study session, when the key turned in the front door and that familiar stomp-into-the-hallway energy filled the apartment, he always felt… steadier. Like the house settled a bit when Satoru was in it.

Their routines had started overlapping more, too. Not by design, not at first, but they synced up, gradually. Suguru started saving him a plate when he cooked. Satoru started making extra coffee in the morning without asking who it was for. They started walking to class together, sharing earbuds when one of them forgot theirs. Suguru pretended not to notice how often it was Satoru who "forgot."

The flirting kept coming. Playful. Sharp. Sometimes it danced close to the edge of something heavier. Sometimes Satoru said things that made Suguru pause, blink, look up and look away just as quickly. But the air between them was always light enough to laugh it off. That was the safety net, they could always laugh it off.

But there were moments. Subtle things. Satoru leaning in a little too close over his tablet. A hand brushing against Suguru’s on the shared couch cushion, neither of them moving it right away. Suguru catching Satoru watching him, not with mischief and not with smirking flirtation, but with something softer. Something still unnamed.

And Satoru had changed in other ways, too. He was still loud. Still dramatic. Still couldn’t cook a single edible thing without burning it. But he listened more. Focused more. The studying was starting to stick. He was trying. Really trying. And Suguru could see how much it meant to him, this need to prove himself, to not just coast on the name he'd been given.

It made him frustratingly endearing.

And yet, Suguru still hadn’t let himself feel whatever was creeping at the edges. Not fully. He kept it buried, neat and quiet and folded under his rational brain. Because feelings, real ones, complicated things. And he’d worked too hard, built too much control, to let himself stumble into something that could fall apart the moment it got too close.

But now, a month in, Suguru was realizing something terrifyingly simple: He didn’t mind Satoru’s presence anymore. He sought it. Expected it. Maybe even needed it. And that… was the part he couldn’t admit. Not even to himself.

Over the past few weeks, Suguru had found himself spending more time around Satoru’s friends. Not by force, Satoru never pushed, never cornered him into socializing, but by invitation. Casual, soft-edged invitations that always left Suguru room to say no. But he rarely did.

Sometimes it was just a movie night in the living room, everyone lounging in a pile of blankets and takeout containers. Other nights, they’d gather at Shoko’s place, everyone cracking jokes over cheap wine and old music playing low in the background. Suguru usually didn’t say much, he never had to. Just being there, just showing up, was enough. And slowly, something began to change.

He still kept a bit of distance. That part was instinct. But Yu started tossing him a drink without asking what he liked. Kento had started talking to him about books. Utahime had added him to a group chat and called him out the one time he left it. Even Shoko, effortlessly cool and always a bit unreadable, had texted him out of the blue once, just to send a TikTok that reminded her of something he said.

And Suguru could feel it, that warm, almost foreign sensation of being… wanted. Not tolerated. Not just a friend of a friend. But someone they genuinely enjoyed being around. It surprised him more than it should’ve. He never said it out loud, but he liked it. That feeling of being part of something without needing to fight for space. That they welcomed his quiet without trying to fix it.

Which was probably why, for the past week, he’d been thinking, quietly and privately, about introducing Satoru to his people. To his small circle.

Riko. Misato. People who felt like home to him. People who knew the ugly, formative parts of him and still loved him without condition. They were practically his sisters. He never let just anyone into that world. But Satoru… he wasn’t just anyone anymore. And that thought alone made Suguru’s chest feel tight in a way he couldn’t quite name.

— — — — — — —

The quiet hum of the ceiling fan did little to fight the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds. The desk was cluttered, laptop open, half-filled coffee mugs, a stack of flashcards with Satoru’s impossible handwriting scrawled across them. Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, shoulders loose, spine curved lazily over his notebook as he skimmed over a highlighted passage. Satoru was splayed out on the couch nearby, shirt wrinkled, feet hanging off the side, spinning a pen between his fingers with absolutely no focus behind his eyes.

It was just half past four. Suguru’s 3pm class had ended barely fifteen minutes ago, but they'd fallen into this rhythm easily, him walking in, Satoru already waiting, sprawled out like he lived in this room, not just the house. No questions asked. No small talk needed.

Suguru flipped a page. “So. The Japanese history test.”

Satoru perked up like a dog hearing a treat bag crinkle. “Oh,” he said, grinning. “Easy. Like… stupid easy. I probably got a hundred.”

“You probably got a hundred,” Suguru echoed, amused. “You wrote ‘Tokugawa’ as ‘Takoyaki’ in one of your flashcards dude.”

“Details,” Satoru said breezily, then leaned back, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I got it together by test day, thank you very much. Someone’s been tutoring me, in case you forgot.”

Suguru snorted, not looking up. “I try but you make it hard to forget.” But his voice was light. No sharp edges. No dry detachment. Just easy teasing, genuine, almost indulgent in its softness. That was the difference.

The last few weeks had peeled back something in him, just enough. His guard didn’t drop all at once, but it had loosened. Satoru wasn’t just a classmate he was helping. Wasn’t just a roommate anymore, either. He was… Satoru. The same Satoru who texted him stupid videos in the middle of the night, who handed him mugs of tea when he looked tired without saying anything. The one who always had something to say, but never demanded Suguru say anything back.

There wasn’t a switch flipped. It was more like the steady drip of water against stone, something that wore him down gently, until suddenly the quiet wasn’t so heavy, and being around him didn’t take energy, it gave it.

Satoru cracked one eye open. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Be honest.” He rolled his head lazily toward him. “You miss working at the café, don’t you?”