Chapter Text
Sukuna
When I was a child, my mother told me I was beautiful. My mother was a liar. After all, she also told me people were kind.
***
“Holy hell, what is that monstrosity!”
I tried to ignore the exclamation. I heard such things on the street all the time, which was why I avoided being on the street as much as possible. Home to work, work to home. That was it. I had my groceries delivered to my small flat in the Quarter so I didn’t have to endure the horrified stares at the local market. At work, I could mostly stay hidden in the shadowy stacks of one of the upper rooms, but there were times I was spotted. Like now.
“Is that a map of New Orleans there on the side of his face?”
There were two of them, men in their late twenties. Both dressed in impeccable suits, one with a cane clearly meant for decoration as opposed to utilitarian use. They were posh, rich dandies … exactly the kind of men I hated.
“Can I assist you gentlemen in locating a specific volume?” I asked, refusing to bow my head or slink away under the heat of their derision. I didn’t have much, but I had my pride.
The one with the cane laughed. “Do you hear that, Geto? He wants to know if he can assist us.”
The one called Geto had not yet spoken, and he at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. Still, he did not meet my gaze, instead staring down at his feet as he shook his head and muttered, “Let’s go, Kenny. We’ve lingered here long enough.”
Kenny did not move to leave, however. He stood his ground, raising his cane and pointing it at me. “What happened to your face? Wait, no, let me guess. Mauled by a tiger? Are you from the circus?”
I felt the scars on the right side of my face burning, and my hands clenched around the handle of the cart full of books I had been shelving before being so rudely interrupted. I tried to swallow my rage, otherwise I might do something regrettable. In the moment I wouldn’t regret it; in fact, nothing would feel better than taking that cane and breaking it over the imbecile’s head. The regret would come later, when I lost my job and my flat. And that was best case scenario. Someone in my station assaulting someone of the upper class could very well land me in prison.
“Say, Geto,” Kenny said, though his eyes remained on me. “Why do you think they allow freaks like this to haunt the stacks? Maybe we should bring it up with the Board.”
“If you gentlemen don’t need assistance, I will get back to my work,” I said through gritted teeth. I turned from them and began to wheel the cart down a nearby aisle.
Behind me, I heard Geto say, “You don’t have to be such an ass.”
Kenny laughed and then the two men headed for the stairs. I retreated into the shadows, taking deep breaths to try to alleviate the anger that boiled in me like a spicy gumbo. I felt like screaming and crying at the same time, but instead I took the next book off the cart and found its place on the shelves. Then the next, then the next. Such repetitive work calmed me.
No, I thought. My mother was wrong. I am not beautiful, and people are not kind.
***
Geto
Kenjaku and I walked down the street toward the bank, his cane clopping loudly with each step. Such a stupid affectation. So much about my brother I found stupid. He was pretentious and mean-spirited. Like the way he had been so cruel to that guy in the library with the scarred-up face.
Sure, he wasn’t beautiful like Kenny and I were. We were both gorgeous in our own way. That wasn’t ego; it wasn’t conceited to acknowledge an objective fact. But just because someone was born without the genetic gifts that others of us were graced with, that didn’t mean we should be cruel to them. In fact, we should pity them. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to skulk through life with a face like the librarian’s. I shuddered to even think of such an existence.
Yes, Kenny was stupid, but at least he was beautiful. Beautiful people just had easier lives.
“Would you mind taking out an extra hundred?” Kenny asked, trying to make the question sound casual.
I decided to play ignorant. “I don’t need an extra hundred.”
“Yes, but someone close to you might.”
“Someone close to me? You mean like someone currently walking down the street next to me?”
“That would be a good for instance.”
I couldn’t stop the frustrated growl that escaped my lips. “Don’t tell me you have already burned through your entire monthly allowance from father?”
“He doesn’t provide nearly enough to subsidize a respectable lifestyle.”
“And yet I always seem to manage to have plenty for myself as well as enough for certain mooches that are ten minutes younger than me.”
“That is genetics at work, my brother.”
I found myself curious despite myself. “What do you mean, genetics?”
“We’re twins, which means all the qualities of one person got separated into two. You got all the financial management attributes, and I got the dazzling personality that stuns and attracts.”
I rolled my eyes, but also couldn’t stop from laughing. I had to admit, Kenny was funny even if he didn’t always know it. “We’re fraternal twins, brother; not maternal.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It means we were not the product of a single egg that split. We should each have a full set of qualities, as evidenced by the fact that my personality is in fact dazzling.”
“You’re right,” Kenny said, throwing his arm around me. “You are dazzling. The brightest star in the heavens above pales in the light of your shining presence.”
I laughed again. “Do you think if you butter me up enough, the money will simply slip from me.”
“You don’t want your brother to be destitute, do you? Living on the street like that poor wretch over there?”
I followed Kenny’s gaze to a homeless woman huddled at the entrance to an alley. Her face was washed out, her hair a tangled mess. I couldn’t tell if she was twenty or sixty, her plight rendering her ageless in a strange way. The thing I could tell about her instantly was that she was ugly. A crooked nose, eyes too far apart, a jaw too square for a lady. This only lent credence to my thought that beautiful people had easier lives. If this woman had been beautiful, no matter how poor, no one would allow her to starve on the street.
“So is it a life of poverty for me?” Kenny asked, making the pouty face that usually got him anything he wanted.
It worked again. “I’ll get seventy-five for you, but that’s it for the rest of the month so be conservative with the funds.”
“Of course, that’s me. Conservative to a fault.”
***
Once I had collected my cash, giving Kenny the full hundred just as we both knew I was going to, I was preparing to take my leave when Kenny suddenly jabbed me in the side.
“Do you know who that is?” he asked in an excited stage-whisper.
Again I followed his gaze, only this time instead of taking in a homely homeless person, I saw the most exquisite man I’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Tall and muscular, his tailored suit clinging to him in all the right places. He was young, yet his hair was already white. So white it almost glowed. Flawless complexion, pointy chin. He was beautiful, but what made him exceptional were those crystal-blue eyes. I had never seen such a color in nature. For a moment, I couldn’t catch my breath but I tried to quickly cover my reaction. A man lusting after another man in public could land a person in prison.
“No, I don’t recognize him,” I said, hoping I sounded apathetic.
“That’s Gojo Satoru. Of the Satoru railway dynasty. His family makes ours look like paupers.”
“Do you know him?”
“We’ve run into one another at a few parties, but I don’t know him nearly as much as I’d like. Rumor has it that Gojo has a thing for pretty boys like me.”
I gave my brother a sideways glance. I never suspected he may harbor similar peccadillos as myself.
“I’m not a pervert,” he said at my look. “At least not that kind. However, I’m not above leading an invert on if it means I get a little extra coin. I think I’m going to go talk to him.”
“I better join you,” I said, maybe too quickly. “Just to make sure you don’t get into any trouble.”
“Fine, just don’t get in my way.”
I knew I was flirting with danger as we crossed the atrium of the bank, advancing on a man that filled me with a heat and desire greater than any I’d ever known.
***
Gojo
It was my very first cheque, for the very first story I’d ever sold. Mine. Mine alone. Something I’d earned without the aid of my family.
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I stood writing out the deposit slip. I still couldn’t believe my short story was going to be published in The Arcadia, a paper that sought to be the more literary minded sister to The Picayune. I'd practically leapt with joy that morning when the post arrived bearing an acceptance letter and a cheque. Granted, it was for a mere pittance of three dollars, but it wasn’t the money that mattered.
It was what the money represented.
It meant I was finally going to be a published author.
It meant that I could possibly make my own way in life, without relying on the influence of my family. Without caving in to their boring, business-minded expectations. Granted, for the longest time there hadn’t been any expectations of me at all. Because, quite frankly, they hadn't expected me to live to adulthood.
After all, I had been such a sickly child.
I was a mere five years old when I first caught pneumonia. That was the start of a childhood marked by frenzied doctors visits, by years spent in convalescence both inside and outside of hospitals. It was declared early on I had a frail constitution, a weakened heart. That I was something fragile, breakable. And like a delicate china doll, my mother sought to keep me out of harm's way. So she did.
She kept me away from everyone, everything. And as a consequence I grew up alone, unsocialized, with only my very active imagination to keep me company.
So I made up stories in my head.
And when I finally learned reading and proper penmanship (from a well paid private tutor, of course), I began to write these stories down. And not only did I have my own stories to keep me company, but I found other people’s stories as well.
I discovered books.
That’s when I knew that one day I would want to write my own. And not become, say, the CEO of a railroad company.
But my family wasn’t aware of this. They didn’t know of my literary aspirations. They were simply shocked and amazed that I made it through childhood. That I grew up. And not only did I grow up, but I grew tall, well over six feet. I filled out, and my appetite came back with a vengeance. And by the time I turned sixteen I no longer looked like a gaunt haunted Victorian doll.
In fact, I started turning heads.
I was suddenly being issued monogrammed invitations to rich soirées; I was being invited out to parties. I became an accidental social butterfly, the byproduct of possessing both money and a pretty face.
I was given social currency by default.
But it was strange. After being locked away in that fortress of a mansion for so long, I didn’t always know how to read people, or how to properly behave in public. Despite my newfound attractiveness, I was sometimes awkward. Strange ideas and observations came tumbling out of my mouth unchecked. This made social interactions difficult.
So despite my looks and my vast fortune, I spent a lot of my time alone, either writing or reading books. That, or talking to Shoko, who lived next door, and whose wrought iron balcony was right across from mine. She was the closest thing to a friend I had. But even then, I knew society would frown on such a friendship.
Just as I knew society would frown on so many, many things about me. Female friends and writing stories being just the tip of the iceberg.
But I decided quite long ago that I didn’t want to follow the rules of regular society. I wasn’t cut out for it. Despite my family’s money and pedigree. Despite the perfectly tailored waistcoat and fancy tie pin I was wearing. I wanted something different, something less boring.
I wanted beautiful words and poetry.
I wanted to escape to the Quarter.
And maybe, right now, I wanted some powdered sugar beignets from the Cafe du Monde.
With beignets on my mind, I took my cheque and deposit slip up to the teller’s window and asked, “May I please get some change back from that as well. A simple dollar will do.” I stood at the counter, fidgeting, the newest book of stories by Kate Chopin tucked under my arm. The thought of sitting by the river in the quarter (an idea that would horrify my family if they only knew) with my new book and some beignets seemed like a perfect afternoon.
So I started smiling to myself again, my thoughts on pastries and cafe au lait and brand new books. So engrossed I was in my own world that when I turned to leave I almost collided with two other gentlemen.
***
Geto
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice low and thin. “We weren’t looking where we were going.”
Gojo smiled at me. I suppose he smiled at us, but I wanted to believe it was directed at me specifically. That smile dazzled because it wasn’t merely a curling of the lips, but the smile reached into his eyes, making them sparkle. I had long since heard the expression ‘I went weak in the knees’ but had never believed it happened outside of overly-sentimental novels, but now I felt literally weak in my knees. In fact, I leaned on my brother to ensure I didn’t topple over.
For his part, my brother returned a dazzling smile of his own. “Satoru, it has been ages. How are you doing, pal?”
I could tell by the blank look in Gojo’s eyes that he didn’t recognize Kenny but was too polite to admit it. “I’m well. How long has it been?”
“Oh, at least since the New Years party at the Russell’s. That was quite a soiree. I admit, I only remember about half of it. The first half, you know.”
Gojo laughed politely then turned his gaze on me. I practically swooned. “Were you also at the infamous Russell party?”
Before I could answer, my brother did so for me. “Oh no, my older brother isn’t fun like I am.”
Older brother?!?!?! How dare he! I was only ten minutes older. He was acting as if I were some decrepit thing hobbling along. Hell, he was the one with the cane!
Then again, why did I care? Whatever I felt for Gojo, it didn’t really matter. I couldn’t act on it. It would be too dangerous. Although I kept thinking of what Kenny had said earlier: Gojo has a thing for pretty boys. I was pretty, and still young enough to be called “boy.”
I realized Gojo was looking at me again, his gaze intense and penetrating. “Maybe he just likes to have a different kind of fun than you do,” he said with a chuckle.
“I like fun,” I said stupidly, and could feel my face coloring. My tongue was tied in a knot more complicated than the Gordion one.
Kenny brayed laughter, loud and crass, slapping me on the back hard enough to make me stagger. “This one is a regular stick in the mud, but in the clean way. Not like me. I like to get down and dirty, if you know what I mean.”
Kenny winked like he was trying to crack a walnut with his eye. He could never be accused of subtlety.
Gojo shifted uncomfortably and his own cheeks colored, a stark contrast to the white of his hair. “I’m not sure that I do. However, if you will excuse me, I really do need to run.”
“Perhaps we can have drinks in the Quarter sometime. The Old Absinthe House on Bourbon is a favorite haunt of mine.”
“Really? I prefer Jean Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop myself.”
“Ah yes. That’s my other favorite haunt. Perhaps I’ll see you there sometime soon.”
“Perhaps,” Gojo said and started to turn. Just before he did, I detected a wink. Unlike Kenny’s, his was subtle and sly, and I thought aimed directly at me. Warmth flooded my body like fire in my veins.
“I’d say I have set the ground work,” Kenny said, tapping his cane on the floor in perceived victory. “Last I heard, he had his heart broken by some beautiful footman who earned a small fortune for inventing a new kind of clock. I will make Gojo forget all about that clock twink and open his purse to me.”
“How far are you willing to open yourself to accomplish your goal, brother?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m not actually going to do anything. Just string him along until I’ve filled my pockets then cut him loose. Maybe even report him to the authorities once all is said and done. Now let’s dash. I have a hundred dollars burning a hole in my pocket.”
My brother started from the bank, but I hesitated before following. I felt lightheaded. My brother seemed oblivious to the fact that Gojo was totally uninterested in him. In fact, I would put money on the fact he was interested in me.
The only question remaining was simply this: could I get my tongue untied enough to actually talk to him?