Chapter 1: In my restless dreams
Chapter Text
▷▷ in my restless dreams, i see that town - nzo ◁◁
Strong fingers tug at my scalp. I can feel my hair being pulled from its roots, but nothing has actually ripped yet. They’re my fingers, so the pulling instinctively stops when it hurts too much. I’m glad. I don’t actually want to rip my hair out, even if it may look otherwise.
Though the glossy, wooden desk is illuminated by an eerie, duck-yellow glow from the lamp, the streetlights make my study cubicle just that little bit brighter. Following another half an hour, give or take fifteen minutes, the brightness of the sky will fade totally for the night and the library will become truly dark. Aside from the lamp light, that is. It's a shame that summer is ending and the nights will gradually get darker. This time of year is one I always dread more than anything.
I release my hands from my hair and smooth it over slightly. It doesn’t matter all that much, since there’s no one else in the college library right now, but it still feels weird to walk around looking like a hot mess. I probably do anyway, but oh well. I put myself under a sequence of careful, deep breaths to calm my building rage at the problem set, nose scrunching in disgust as I look back down to the desk again.
Switching my iPad off, I swivel around in my chair to look away from the stark light that graced me with the ability to see. I need some refreshing, and contour integration is far from it, if not the direct opposite. How the hell did Richard Feynman learn this for fun? Back when I was at sixth form, I was just about keeping up with school work. Getting ahead and learning extra maths for fun was out of picture, no matter how much I wanted it.
This annoying workload is my fault, I suppose. I delayed moving in by a whole week so I could stay with my best friend for a little longer. That decision has snuck around me and returned to kick me onto my ass. 400 pages of required reading and three incredibly difficult problem sheets just might be the end of me.
Fat lie. I’ve endured a lot worse and always came out stronger.
With a groan, I outstretch my limbs, sliding down in my chair as I feel the tension practically dissolve into nothing, away from my muscles, like white sugar in coffee. The bliss is more than welcome, and I hate that it doesn’t stay any longer. Some of life’s greater pleasures only remain for fleeting moments. What a pity.
As usual whenever I struggle to understand something, I walk over to the maths section in the college library. It’s packed with books, some relatively new-looking, and some look as old as time itself. It amazes me every time; the concept of the world’s greatest mathematicians and physicists probably having walked these halls themselves, having read these books themselves, learning in a way similar to me… it’s an honour.
Are you watching?
The time is 01:36. I know I need to kick the habit of staying up, but just this once, I promise myself. Because it’s necessary, I promise myself. The brightness of my phone sparks a dull ache in my eyeballs and my skull as the screen lights up, but I suppose I’ll have to deal with it as I switch the phone torch on. It’s not like I’ll be able to read any book names without it.
It’s not a long trek to the maths section, but it’s kind of scary, given the place is pitch-black, save from my torchlight. Once I see the little sign that reads, “Mathematics,” I smile to myself and turn into that area.
The layout of the library is different to some of the other colleges. It’s not like I’ve seen all of them, but my friend showed me what her college is like, once. It’s different.
Obviously, the library is large. Astonishingly so. Down the middle of the bottom floor is an empty aisle, making traversing the library a lot easier. Either side is divided into regular intervals, separated by bookshelves positively packed with books containing only a fraction of the world’s knowledge. Within each interval is a singular study deck, complete with a lamp, set of plug sockets, and a window overlooking either the college courtyard or the Physics Department; it depends what side you choose to sit on.
I like to choose the left side of the aisle. The Somerville courtyard is beautiful in summer. The grass is well-kept by kind volunteers within the student life committee, and it’s always clean. The view itself feels like warm summer days and picnics and cucumber sandwiches. I'm half-tempted to dash outside and lay in the grass for a bit, until I fall asleep.
I grow increasingly unsettled as I keep reading along the shelf to find a book that can rescue me from calculus hell. No book seems like it’ll help, so I keep searching, searching, searching, moving further to my side as I do so, getting closer and closer to this study cubicle’s signature window. Just as I think I’ve found something that can help, a guttural yell of shock blasts me into the next dimension and I practically leap away, shaken to my core.
I point my phone torch at whoever it is that just screamed, scowling, “What the actual hell, man? Screaming like a baby at 1am?”
I literally cannot make out what this guy looks like. He’s wearing a dark hoodie that covers most of his head, and his arm shields his face from the intense white light. I’m not sure why he seems so averted to the light, that is, until I look at his desk.
“Were you… sitting in the dark?” I ask incredulously.
“Yeah. Gets the creative juices flowing.”
I cringe internally at the odd choice of words. “I implore you to never use that phrase again.”
His arm slowly lowers, eyes presumably growing increasingly adjusted to the light, but I get rid of the torch, feeling bad for shocking him so suddenly. “Only ‘cause you asked politely.” He has a bit of a cocky twinge to his voice, this bastard.
The guy turns around to face me properly. Well, not me, I assume it’s so he can get more legroom. He’s a tall-looking guy. Just as he closes his eyes to stretch, mirroring my actions from earlier, I catch a glimpse of cerulean blue in his eyes, and it drains away the breath in my lungs. I’ve seen eyes like those before, but I’ve definitely never seen this guy prior to this interaction; he just looks different in general. Sick coincidence. It pisses me off slightly that my heart began to race in that split second I had misrecognised this random guy.
“What are you doing here this late at night?” the man asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. He stands up and sits on the desk instead, presumably so he can feel as though he’s at my eye-level. Not that it matters, since I can’t see him.
“I, uh, moved back in a bit later than normal, and the required reading list piled up a little. Have to get it all done and get a problem sheet done, on top of that. I ended up coming to this section in the hopes of finding a book that would help me understand what I’m doing a little better.” Saying this reminds me what I was here for in the first place, so I turn away from him and continue to rummage through the shelves for a book.
A gentle chill graces the air as I listen to him turn to face me. His breathing sounds somewhat unsteady and as though I genuinely did startle him earlier. “What’s your course?” he asks politely. I can practically feel his eyes boring holes into me as he watches me continue my search.
“Doing my Master’s in maths and theoretical physics,” I reply, pulling out a “Calculus for dummies” book. I feel mildly insulted by the title, and even more by the fact that this actually might be the book I’ve been looking for, but I pay it no heed as I listen to the guy hum in thought.
“Oh, nice,” he remarks, a smile evident in his voice, “I guess you could say I’m doing the same.” Without even looking at this guy’s face, I can tell he’s smirking, and it immediately makes me frown a little. What’s he got to be so smug about?
“What’s with that ominous wording?” I scoff. What an odd way to put it. ‘I guess’?
“It’s complicated, sweet thing.”
I scrunch my nose at the pet name. This dude seems a little unhinged, to say the least: first, studying in pitch-black darkness, and now this nickname? Weirdo. Though I’m not really in a position to talk.
“What’s your problem sheet on?” he asks, that inquisitive edge laced in his voice once again. I think back to the blinding white screen of my iPad and that familiar, almost irritating font that graces all of my university’s problem sheets. The title is enough to make me smile. Though I enjoy maths, sometimes understanding it is truly torturous.
“Differential equations III,” I reply nonchalantly. As if that information was a shot through the heart, the guy suddenly begins to choke, out of nowhere, and I’m assuming it’s on his own saliva. “Whoa, didn’t know it was that controversial,” I mutter.
With a voice suddenly deeper than before, he says, “I’d say I’m pretty good with that, need any help?”
I consider the offer for a moment. It’s tempting, and might save me a heap of hair-pulling and tears for at least one night, and by the sound of his voice, he really does seem like he knows his stuff. Some part of me doesn’t want to trust him, though. After all, how credible is a guy who sits alone with his thoughts at 1am in the college library?
In the end, none of that influences my decision. I’ve never really liked asking for help, and while I know when it’s appropriate to do so, the situation isn’t dire enough to ask for help yet. I decide on asking him if I struggle further.
“Nah,” I shrug, “thanks for the offer, though. I’m gonna try my best to figure it out, but I’ll ask you if I really need it. I learn so well because I enjoy the struggle, even if I cry a lot.”
“I respect that. Well, I’m probably going to be here for a little while longer, so feel free to wake me up and ask if you need.”
“You sleep in the library?” my eyebrows furrow; I’m a bit skeptical. “Are you homeless?”
“What?” The guy chokes out, “No, of course not. I just like it here.” My question seems to have caught him off-guard purely due to its ridiculous nature.
“Right,” is all I respond, somewhat teasingly. I secure my book in one arm and turn to leave for my study spot.
I’m tempted to shine my torch light on his face to actually get a look, and put together the voice and face, but I decide against it. Maybe it’ll be a fun little thing to think about for my future library visits.
“You don’t believe me!” he exclaims accusingly, “I really do!”
“Sure you do.”
Chapter 2: This side of paradise
Chapter Text
▷▷ this side of paradise - coyote theory ◁◁
Being awarded Somerville College’s best undergraduate room has its benefits. Being known as a good student, the view out of my window, and the beautiful existing furniture is all well and good, but setting up the room itself is beyond daunting. I kinda just dumped my suitcases in my room yesterday and headed straight to the library, not wanting to even look at the mess I’d have to unpack.
I pull the new keys out of the pocket of my trench coat. It’s only 8am in the morning, and I only left the library twenty minutes ago, having slept there by accident.. My best friend, who has already moved in, offered to help settle in again, and she’s supposed to be here sometime soon.
Just as the key turns, the girl I’ve been looking for shows up. Her long, blonde hair hangs gracefully over her shoulders, bangs out of her way, since her sunglasses are resting atop her head. Yuki Tsukumo is happy to see me, and walks over giddily to give me a hug.
“Been ages since I’ve seen you, babe. You look… terrible, what the hell happened? Haven’t you slept?”
I chuckle. She’s always so stark, speaking her mind without much thought. I don’t mind, since she’s never actually hurtful. I love that she doesn’t beat around the bush—as expected from a second-year PhD student studying philosophy. She ruffles my hair and pushes the door to my room open, excited to see what it looks like.
Yuki is a bit like a proud mum—being two years older than me, she definitely harbours some responsibility over me, being her underclassman. It’s nice.
She’s also mentioned before that the postgraduate rooms at our college aren’t so nice. I don’t really know what they’re like, since postgraduate students are on the other side of the courtyard. Yuki also didn’t live in college last year, choosing to stay out for financial reasons. Knowing my best friend now lives thirty seconds away is very, very relieving.
“I did sleep, just… in the library. Oopsie daisy.” I shrug it off, knowing she’ll have something to say about that, but oh well.
Yuki frowns disapprovingly. She has told me time and time again not to pull stunts like that, but I still do. I’ll be fine.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you really haven’t set anything up,” mutters Yuki, eyes wide as she looks at my suitcase. That’s quickly cast out of her mind as she looks around.
My room is wonderful. To our left, at the back corner, is a single bed. Its frame is made of polished wood, and its shade perfectly matches that of the wardrobe, which is fitted into the walls, meaning I have a lot of space. A clear desk resides by the open window, and just by looking at it, I know it’s perfect for me.
There’s also an ensuite bathroom, which is probably one of the many perks of this room, and space for a mini-fridge and groceries. Thank God. No one’s going to be stealing my food this year.
I begin to unzip my suitcases and take everything out in bulk. I figure it’s time to just bite the bullet and get it all done and over with so I don’t have to worry about it later—I’ve not got long left until classes begin.
Yuki is gracious enough to tackle the clothes, which is probably what I was dreading the most. My room always ends up a mess after a while, and I just give up on clothes after a while of trying, but at least I get a fresh start, right?
“Did you try getting some blue light glasses, like I mentioned?” Yuki asks, out of the blue. In her hand is a bag of my hair products. She rummages around in it, that nosy side of her showing. I don’t mind. She knows nearly everything about me.
A pang of guilt tugs at my ribs. I don’t intentionally ignore Yuki’s advice, I just… struggle to put things into practice. Whenever she suggests something, I genuinely mean to give it a go or to check it out, but I just don’t ever remember afterwards.
When I had a particularly horrific migraine a while ago, mid-summer when we were on the train to go to a concert together, she told me she’d read about blue light glasses. I was sceptical at first, and I still am, but they’ve been said to help some people with their migraines. At this point, I’m so desperate to get rid of this annoying little thing, I might actually try it.
“No…” I trail off. “I forgot. Where can I buy them?”
Yuki hums in thought as she folds a pair of flared jeans. “You know, I think I remember seeing Typo selling them. Or Flying Tiger, I forgot. Try checking those shops out, you might hit some luck, I don’t know. Take this with a grain of salt, my memory is horrible.”
“Okay,” I smile. “Thanks for looking out for me, Yuki.”
“No worries, babe. Speaking of, has… er… never mind.”
I look up from positioning my desk trinkets to meet her guilty gaze. “You can say anything, you know. I’m not going to break down and cry or yell at you,” I laugh, knowing what she’s referring to. “Thankfully, no, he hasn’t contacted me at all. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Yuki is referring to my ex-boyfriend. It’s a weird topic for me—he wasn’t an absolutely abhorrent person, but I prefer not to talk about him. He’s in the past, and none of what happened matters anymore. Sometimes he still messages me out of the blue, and it’s really annoying. There’s a reason I broke up with him, and it’s the same reason I absolutely hate waking up to his messages in the morning.
“Good. Here’s to a new year without that specimen,” she winks at me.
I laugh heartily at her antics. She’s always hated my ex, and she is not afraid to show it. “Yeah! Here’s to a new year!”
***
▷▷ solo - frank ocean ◁◁
My cigarette is close to the end of its life, so I throw it to the ground, stamp over it, then throw it into a nearby bin. I don’t like the idea of just littering everywhere, so that’s why I throw it into the bin regardless.
One thing I’ve noticed is that cigarettes seem to help my headaches a lot. I hate that I even know that: one time, however, I just gave it a go after Yuki suggested it, and I’ve kept a pack on me ever since. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t smoke them often. It’s more of a last resort, and even still, I supplement it with paracetamol since nothing is enough. This is my first cigarette in a month, and I want to make it my last for this month, as well.
A bowl of instant ramen rests on the bench beside me. I filled it with boiling water, the seasoning, and it’s been softening for the past few minutes, though I suspect it’s not so warm anymore given it’s exorbitantly chilly outside.
The stench of the cigarettes slowly dissipates, and I’m grateful. I don’t like the smell; that familiar sense of guilt always floods my senses the moment I feel it. Not to even mention how disgusted I feel by the concept of smelling like cigarettes afterwards.
I admire the night for a few more minutes, and my fingers begin to stiffen up slightly from the chill seeping through. I decide it’s time to go back in, since it’ll be an extreme inconvenience to have stiff fingers when I’m trying to write. The bowl of instant ramen warms my fingers slightly as I head inside, keying my fob in after a small struggle.
As I return to my study spot, I hear a familiar voice call out, and my heart warms slightly. Maybe my stays in the library won’t be so intensely boring following the materialisation of Library Guy. I think he’s still sitting in the dark—when I walked by, his area was totally dark, reminiscent of our first interaction.
“Is that instant ramen?” he calls out with a chuckle. “I can smell it from here.”
“Yep,” I reply simply, “cheesy chicken ramen. Yum.”
“Lucky as hell.”
I have another box in my bag and sympathy quickly overtakes me when I remember I don’t actually have any to spare. It’s only 11pm, and I suspect I’ll be here until maybe 3 or 4am, so I’m obviously going to get hungry.
“I got it at the JCR. They started selling it last year, but I suspect you already know.”
“I don’t.” There’s a hint of curiosity in his voice. “I only moved into Somerville this year.”
I can’t tell if this is a fresher or a postgraduate I’m talking to. I deep his words for a moment, and decide it’s either a Master’s or PhD student on the other side of the shelves. Given he told me he’s pretty good at differential equations and knows I’m a fourth-year, it makes sense to me. Shortly afterwards, it occurs to me I never did find out what his course is—he was super vague but didn’t answer the question properly. I decide to ask him again.
“Oh? What’re you reading?” I ask, taking a tentative slurp of my noodles, hoping I’ll hear him over the sound. It takes a moment for him to respond.
“I’m in the first year of a PhD in mathematics,” he responds, and I can hear a hint of smugness in his voice. This makes me stop chewing.
“Why do you sound so amused?” I frown. This conversation feels a little too similar to our last; there’s got to be some catch.
“I’m your age, I would be doing my Master’s right now. But my Bachelor’s dissertation was so good I was able to skip right on.” Yep, I was right. There’s this complacent twinge to his voice that pisses me off.
It’s irrational. I barely know this guy but he’s annoying me already, whether he knows it or not. I feel mildly insulted by the direct comparison of our ages; it feels a bit like he’s comparing our ability. I choose to brush it aside, though, realising it’s too early to make a judgement on this guy.
“That’s… wild. I’ve never heard of that before. Didn’t know it was even possible.”
“Well, anything’s possible when you’re the best.”
Yuck.
I don’t feel too disgusted, though. Somehow, I have a feeling that this guy actually has the right to be as self-centred as he’s coming off. I hate when people are obsessed with themselves, but if they genuinely have a good reason, it’s even more annoying, because I can’t refute that, at all.
“I’ll be putting that to the test when I inevitably come to ask you for some help eventually,” I jibe back at him. It’s more just of a playful push to the chest over anything.
“I’ll be counting on it!”
I frown. “Are you calling me stupid?”
“No.” I can practically hear him shrug. “You seem smart, at least smarter than the average person here, so I’m just kind of interested to see how long you try to go without asking for help.”
He’s read me like a book and the grand total of time spent speaking to each other in our lifetimes isn’t even ten minutes. I sigh.
“I feel inclined to never ask you for help, now,” I grumble.
“What’re you working on?” He changes the subject. I hear him place his pencil or pen down onto his desk, and I’m surprised that he genuinely sounds interested. The shuffling that came with him doing his work has now halted, making me wonder if I have his full attention.
“Finishing off the pre-reading. I have a lecture tomorrow, and, like, I know I don’t really have to get this done, but I’d prefer to.”
“Don’t you sleep?” his voices calls out incredulously. “Your endurance during your late-night study sessions is kind of admirable.”
“I… normally don’t stay up late to study, but, like I said, it’s because I left all of the work super late. I can’t wait to actually get a good night’s sleep tomorrow.”
“I get you.” He pauses for a moment. “It was like that during my third year. I always stayed up to study and when I actually experienced good sleep I never wanted to go back.”
“Exactly!” I exclaim, astonished that this guy shares the exact same experience as me. He really is reading me like a book.
I figure it’s appropriate to end the conversation there so we can both get back to our own work. I continue to slurp up my ramen while staring out of the window into the Somerville courtyard.
The sun has already set, so the courtyard is dark and there’s not really much to see. I don’t like that the seasons are changing, it’s barely light outside and when I wake up in the mornings, it’s an untimely struggle between staying beneath the warm sheets and dredging myself up. It’s a common occurrence with students around me. Given we all have such an intense workload, it’s honestly kind of rare that we have time to spare.
I don’t ponder this for too long, and finally finish my noodles so I can get back to work.
There’s still something itching at the back of my mind.
So, I get up from my seat, taking my backpack with me. The stroll to the Somerville Common Room isn’t too far, given the library is only a minute away, but I still find myself speedwalking given that it’s just cold outside. I fill up my second instant ramen pack with boiling water and scroll on my phone mindlessly for a few minutes as I wait for the noodles to soften enough, before taking it in my hands and returning to the library.
Library Guy is still there, thank goodness.
I plop the box onto his desk. I can only vaguely make out a spot where the desk is empty.
“I had a spare box. Figured I’d give it to you since it’s, y’know, cold outside.”
That’s all there was to it. I honestly just felt bad that this guy loved noodles so much, and it’s a cold night, so what better to warm him up? In the end, I still have snacks in my bag, so it’s no big deal.
“Wait, what?” he asks, the shock evident in his voice. I hear him shuffle around and sit up, even if I can’t see him. “That’s… kind of sweet. How much do I owe you?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
“Handouts aren’t my cup of tea, sweet thing, how much do I owe?” he asks again, and I can hear the smile on his face.
“And I’m telling you, I don’t care. Just switch the lights on and study like that, that’s your payment. Can’t be good for your eyes to work in this darkness.” It’s still bothering me a bit that I haven’t seen his face before, but it’s okay.
The boy is silent for a moment and I stand nervously, unsure of what to do. I place a hand on my hip, waiting for a response, before he reaches out and flicks my forehead with his middle finger.
I can just vaguely see his hand. It’s slender and somewhat pale, as fair as I would imagine Snow White. He has long nailbeds and it seems as though he takes care of his skin. I’m almost jealous that his natural nails are better than mine even after I get a manicure.
“Thank you. I’ll pay you back eventually, though,” he teases, and I choke out a laugh in response as I leave him to his own business so I can get to my own.
I call out, “I highly doubt that!”
***
We don’t talk for the rest of the night, too absorbed in our work to do so. Come 6am, rays of sunshine peek through the window, striking my eyelids and forcing my eyes open. As I begin to stretch, I realise I’m warmer than usual.
Looking down, I realise that idiot must’ve covered me with a blanket in my sleep.
Chapter 3: But we’re not allowed
Chapter Text
▷▷ the walker - fitz and the tantrums ◁◁
The lecture hall is too bright for my liking. That said, I’m probably only thinking that because I only got a lick of sleep the previous night. I’m surrounded by maths, physics, and engineering students, though I don’t recognise anyone else actually doing the same course as me, but it’s fine.
Differential Equations III is known to be quite popular among the optional modules for fourth-years. It’s not as abstract as some of the other modules and it’s standard mathematics, so it makes sense that the hall is so full today.
One sight that catches my eyes, however, is the presence of students that aren’t on the course at all. I can make out the face of one Shoko Ieiri; though I’ve never spoken to her, I can tell who she is because she’s quite well-known among the cohort. She’s a fourth-year medical student at Balliol College, which is notorious for having brilliant but extremely competitive scholarships, and she won three scholarships in a year. I’ve wanted to become friends with that girl for so long.
Beside her is some guy I don’t know the name of, but I’m nearly certain he doesn’t do any of the subject I mentioned before. His hair is done in a half-up, half-down style, and it’s dark. His bangs are kind of weird, but they suit him, and he’s an oddly pretty guy so I don’t think it’s fair to judge.
As if they could feel me looking, both turn at the same time to meet my gaze. I panic for a split second but flash them my best smile, given I’m just quite a smiley person anyways, so it’s not weird. Shoko smiles back and the guy next to her waves a little.
It’s really wholesome, and it just about makes the day worthwhile.
The ambient chatter dissipates extraordinarily quickly when a man walks in through the main doors. He’s dressed somewhat smartly, but still exudes unconventional charisma. Clad in a spotless shirt tinged the slightest shade of blue, the air is filled with this resonating authority, and I feel inclined to look.
His hair is bright white, almost as though it’s been bleached into oblivion, and dark sunglasses adorn the bridge of his nose. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbow and the shirt itself is tucked neatly into his well-fitting trousers. I feel jealous and I don’t even know why.
I notice Shoko and Bangs Guy smiling to each other, and it’s kind of cute. Admittedly, I was confused for a moment, but as I turned my attention back to the sunglasses guy, I understood why. As he smiled at the pair sitting a few metres away from me, I made the revelation that these three are friends.
“So, as I’m sure you know, I’m Satoru Gojo.”
I’m immediately struck by his voice. It’s smooth and almost sultry, and it’s lulling me to sleep—but that could just be the fact that I haven’t slept in days. I sit up in my seat, finger subconsciously reaching for my iPad to switch it on and get ready to take any notes if necessary.
“I’m going to be your lecturer for Differential Equations III, until the end of Michaelmas Term. You’ll have two exams for this module, and it’s worth… I forgot how many credits. Pardon me.” Mr… no, Doctor? I don’t know. Mr. Gojo seems to have a very professional air about him, but I still can’t figure him out. There’s something I’m missing, and I don’t like it.
“You can call me Mr. Gojo, but I’d prefer Satoru. I’m a PhD student right now, and my work is centred on differential equations, so that’s why I’m taking this class.”
That's oddly similar to Library Guy, I note. What a small world.
After he finishes speaking and sorting some papers with his laptop on his desk, the odd guy looks up at us. He has the entire hall in a chokehold, myself included, and I can’t seem to rip my eyes away.
“I’ll ask you a bit about yourselves then give you exactly two minutes to ask me questions, then we’ll just get on with it. Does that sound alright?” he asks amicably, and a kind smile materialises on his face. Everyone relaxes when they see him become a little more friendly.
Some people nod, I see one or two flash him a thumbs up, and others just smile. Maybe it’s because this guy is visibly younger than all of the other lecturers we’ve had before, but people seem so… at ease. Comfortable. Interested.
“Quick show of hands…” he squints at us, and I can tell because of the way his face scrunches up slightly, “how many of us are mathematicians here?”
About two-thirds of us raise our hands. I’m not sure if I count, since my degree is in maths and physics, but I figure it makes most sense to count both. Mr. Gojo seems mildly enthused by us, looking around in interest. “Okay, how many of you are physicists?” Maybe just over a quarter of us raise our hands.
“Engineers?” he asks. I can count the number of engineering science students in the room on both hands. Nine people put their hands up, and it makes Mr. Gojo laugh a little. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I just find it interesting, that’s all.”
There’s this look on his face I can’t quite decipher, but it seems to me it’s an odd mix between amusement and excitement. He briefly glances at Shoko and Bangs Guy again, and it makes me realise that his friends are here for moral support. By no means does he look fazed, or nervous whatsoever, but I know I’d prefer to have two friends nearby if I was trying something new for the first time.
Looking around again, he begins to ask another question. “Okay, out of interest, why did you guys pick this module? Hands up, or just shout it out.”
I put my hand up, because why not, and so do maybe twenty others. It seems as though I’ve unintentionally drawn his attention to myself, because his gaze falls on me almost immediately. At least I think so, since I can’t see his eyes through those damn sunglasses.
“Yeah?” he asks, nodding in my direction. I point at myself while looking at him to confirm that he is, in fact, referring to me, since it would be beyond embarrassing to speak at the same time as someone else. “Yeah, you,” he says softly, voice laced with sweetness rivalling that of soft honey. It makes my face warm up a little.
“I like calculus, so, y’know… this looks fun.” I immediately feel Shoko and Bangs Guy staring at me; it practically burns holes through my brain. “Good for my master’s thesis, too,” I contribute, punctuating it with a shrug.
Something incomprehensible crosses Mr. Gojo’s face for a second, and his expression softens as he tilts his head in thought. I can hear a few of my peers chuckling to themselves, understandably so, because which psycho enjoys calculus?
“Never thought I’d hear that, but I welcome it,” Mr. Gojo smiles at me, and I smile in return. He continues to eye me for a slow moment, and I can’t help but do the same. Interesting guys always need to be ogled at a little.
Maybe I’m misinterpreting it, but it seemingly takes a lot of effort for him to rip his gaze away from me. Something seems so peculiarly… familiar about him, I’m having to hold back a frown.
Bangs Guy puts his hand up, and Mr. Gojo laughs heartily. “Suguru, you’re a History student. Put your hand down.”
“Arrest me,” Bangs Guy—or should I say, Suguru,—responds, following it with a charming smile. Damn, he’s cute.
This banter seems to make the rest of the room laugh a little.
Satoru Gojo is intriguing. Within three minutes of entering the room, he’s won over every student and bridged the connection between academic excellence and warm camaraderie. Having good lecturers always makes turning up to lectures a lot easier, since it actually becomes a lot more fun. He seems to be a pretty good teacher, too—as I look over the lecture notes he’s dropped online, I realise these have been created in brilliant detail, more than some of our previous lecturers have done so. Thank God, I’m going to have a decent first semester.
Mr. Gojo continues to survey a number of other students, sounding genuinely interested in each of their stories. Some are less impressive than others: “I didn’t know what to pick, it was the first on the list,” or, “it looked the least boring,” or, “I don’t know why.
Regardless of response, Mr. Gojo seems empathetic to every single reason, and it makes me wonder just what about this guy is so interesting that even I’m intrigued.
“Well, it’s nice to see that I’ve got a fun and interactive class,” he laughs lightheartedly. It seems like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders—understandable, it must be daunting to be a first-time teacher and not know if your class will actually cooperate. “You’ve two minutes to ask questions,” he finishes after glancing down at his watch and tapping it.
Someone calls out, “What university did you go to before coming here?”
“Good question, I’ve been here for all of my higher education. I was down at Queen’s College for undergrad and I’m now doing my research at Somerville, starting this year.” He slides his sunglasses further up the bridge of his perfect nose.
This guy goes to my college? I’m taken aback. Yuki might end up knowing him, given the postgraduate students all live in close proximity. It feels a bit weird knowing my lecturer goes to my college, but at least he’s not my tutor.
“You look so young, how old are you?” a girl’s voice calls out. She’s sat close to the front, which explains her observations. I’m near the back, so I can’t really tell whether or not he looks young or old. Though, now that I think about it, he looks incredibly young. Probably younger than me.
Mr. Gojo eyes the girl for a fleeting moment, and a knowing smile manifests itself on his face.
Now, seriously, what’s going on with this guy?
“I… will tell you that at the end of the module, how about that?” he replies smartly with a catlike smile on his face.
In the corner of my eye, I notice Shoko subtly chuckling to herself. Suguru nudges her in the side with his elbow, which promptly halts her giggling.
Gojo’s response causes a small mutter in the hall. I can hear the girls in front of me speculating his age, wondering why he’s being secretive about it, and using their detective skills to understand why he looks so smug. If only I was bothered enough to try to figure that out myself.
I put my hand up next, because I have a question for him. It’s nothing too out-of-the-ordinary, and it’s a standard question I’ve asked all of my tutors and lecturers before out of interest.
When Gojo’s eyes fall on me again, I feel small. Even with his eyes obscured, he has an incredibly scrutinising gaze, but I don’t feel threatened, for the most part. My senses feel heightened and I’m hyper-aware, more than usual. I can’t decipher what’s so raptorial about the way he looks at me, but I hate to admit I’m enjoying it. It’s exciting.
“Mhm?” he hums, looking at me.
“What’s your research focused on?”
“Oh, I like this question,” Gojo replies, focusing on me. He then turns around and whips out a marker pen from the drawers of the front desk, facing the rolling whiteboard. “Have you heard of the sunrise equation?” he asks me.
It rings a bell. Mindless hours spent looking through A-Level Mathematics textbooks ingrained part of it into me, and I can recall it specifically comes from the exponential modelling section. Or the integration section. Maybe? I think.
“Something like…” I wrack my brain trying to think. “I don’t really remember it, but I remember it being long and involving tan of something somewhere.”
For some reason, and I’m sure it’s not just me being weird this time, I can see Shoko and Suguru paying special attention to me. The other students pay mild attention to my words, listening but not really taking them in, but these two aren’t the same. They look interested, and I’m plain confused, given they’re the only two in the room who aren’t maths students.
“You’re right about that,” Mr. Gojo nods as he turns around for a brief moment to meet my eyes again. He proceeds to write the whole thing out for the entire lecture theatre to see. It’s long and I’m relieved that I didn’t remember it or I’d just look like a freak. That’s kind of mean, I take it back. Mr. Gojo remembered it.
“This… is the sunrise equation. There’s a good number of variants to it, but this is one of the ones commonly used.” The pen is placed back down onto the desk with a small click. “During my second year of my Bachelor’s, my differential equations II lecturer mentioned that differential equations and exponential models can be used to model nearly everything around us. Sunrise, sunset, sea levels, population growth and decay, the growth of plants, supply and demand, the fluctuation of currency value… I could go on. So I began to wonder if it’s possible to map climate change using differential equations and exponential models… and here we are. The primary focus of my research is the differences and efficacy of different solutions to climate change.” He finishes with a bit of a proud look on his face, and I smile. It’s nice to see someone so passionate about what they do, especially when it’s for a good cause. I can respect this guy.
“That’s… amazing. I…” I contemplate asking him further questions, but given he only gave us two minutes, I decide against it, not wanting to take up valuable time from anyone else.
Mr. Gojo gives me a mildly puzzled look before smiling at me and switching his focus to another student.
I then notice Suguru and Shoko high-fiving each other.
They really are an odd but riveting trio.
The remaining minute passes quickly. I turn my gaze away to have a drink of water, look through the pre-reading again, look through this guy’s lecture notes.
After another glance at his watch, Mr. Gojo finally begins the lesson. I honestly would’ve been okay with the entire ninety minutes being spent talking about him and the rest of us, but I suppose the work has to start eventually.
One part of his teaching style that immediately strikes me is his pure enthusiasm. Many of the lecturers here obviously like their work but they lack the kind of flair I tend to chase; Gojo is an obvious exception. He laughs loudly when he says something that amuses himself, always asks us for our thoughts, and genuinely seems happy to teach.
An international student puts his hand up. American, it seems, due to the accent. I can’t quite make out the question at first, and it seems that others can’t either, so Gojo pulls the standard, “those of you down there, could you hear that?”
A good number of us say no, so Gojo chuckles happily and asks the boy to repeat his question.
He’s still a bit too quiet, so Mr. Gojo exclaims, “come on, have some fire in you! Scream it. Scream it as loud as you can possibly muster.” This declaration is ended with a little “humph” as he smiles.
Interested, I lean forward to get a good look. Oh, boy, this guy isn’t playing around. I watch as he takes a massive, deep breath, and absolutely hollers the question at the top of his lungs. It’s so incredibly loud, I can feel the vibration in my own ribcage.
“Haha, that’s what I like to see!” Mr. Gojo says excitedly, before answering the question. What an amusing guy.
He’s also quite a fast teacher, I must mention. He goes through things in good depth and in quality, but I quickly find myself having to consciously increase the speed at which I write to cope.
I like this. I enjoy the challenge.
Time absolutely flies, and before I know it, we’re at the end of the lecture. Most people tend to pack away a few minutes before the end, wanting to leave on time, but that always feels a little rude so I keep writing until the final minute. This then means I’m one of the last people to pack away, but oh well.
Shoko and Suguru get up the moment Gojo releases everyone, and approach him at the front. Though I can’t make out their conversation, they share a cute series of high-fives, and I can make out Suguru patting Gojo on the back encouragingly.
I place my Apple Pencil into the iPad case holder, and then my iPad into my tote bag. My drink follows suit, then I put my jacket back on, preparing for the cold.
As I shuffle around to get up, I notice the trio at the front looking at me.
Unsure of how to react, I decide to pretend I don’t notice under the guise of fumbling around for my phone. They spent a few moments—the exact duration of time, I could not tell you—looking at me and mumbling something to each other, before finally turning away and changing the subject.
Something’s off.
***
▷▷ not allowed - tv girl ◁◁
Thankfully, there wasn’t much work to do after that lecture. I had one lab practical, and it was straight back to my place.
As is the tradition for the first day of term every year, we’ve got another formal dinner tonight. Somerville has formal dinners twice a week, and they’re always fun occasions; I love dressing up for each of them. The cute dresses, fancy meals, and little dots of makeup on my face; it’s all wonderful.
I’m just in a simple bodycon navy blue party dress today. I’ve worn this before, but no one really cares after the first few weeks—who’s even keeping count?
I don’t really know anyone I’m sitting near. Yuki is my best friend, for sure, but the postgraduate students have their own area to sit at. I peer over at her: she’s sat next to Mr. Gojo and a few other people I don’t know too well. As if she could sense me looking at her, she turns to me, flashing me a pretty smile.
Yuki always looks beautiful at formal dinners. It’s an effortless look she’s got going. Pink lip gloss gives her plump lips a gorgeous shine, and her healthy hair is settled over her shoulders and back. The outfits she chooses vary; sometimes she’s in a dress, and other times she’s in a suit. Today is one of those days. Yuki is clad in a pair of dark, low-waisted flared trousers, complete with a long-sleeved, pristine white suit shirt, and a cropped waistcoat. If she wasn’t my dearest best friend and a stranger instead, I seriously would want to date her.
Gojo is wearing a pair of sunglasses, as usual. His snow-white hair is slightly haphazard but not unprofessional, and he’s simply wearing a suit with a loose tie. If it was any ordinary person, I wouldn’t have batted an eyelash, but the suit looks beyond magical on it. It’s made for him.
A voice snaps me out of my trance. I look ahead a little to the right, and what do you know: it’s Suguru, the cute guy from the lecture earlier on today.
He asks if he’s got my name right, and I smile and affirm his question. I’m mildly confused as to how he knows that, but my question is quickly answered.
“You’re Somerville’s top student, two years in a row,” Suguru grins, taking a tentative sip out of his wine glass. “Everyone’s heard about you.”
“Really?” That’s news. I know the academic merit room is a big deal every year, but I’d no idea people would end up knowing who I am purely because of that. “Didn’t know it’d make me popular.”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s impressive. I’ll bet you’re really proud, huh?” It’s not much of a question, but it’s more his way of asserting he knows what I’m thinking. I’m inclined to respect that confidence a little.
“Well, it’d be a bit odd if I wasn’t proud of it,” I grin. “I didn’t mean to be rude, I should’ve asked earlier… you’re Suguru, right? I remember Mr. Gojo calling you that in the lecture earlier.”
“Yeah. Suguru Geto,” he offers, extending an arm out across the table to reach me. I take his hand and give it a friendly shake. His hand is warm and soft.
“What’s your course, and when did you move here? I’ve never seen you before this year,” I inquire, genuinely curious. A few new people that aren’t freshers tend to spawn in every year, and they’re always postgraduates. They have this jaded look in their eyes that tells me exactly that: they’re mature and worn down slightly by the intensity of their studies.
“I’m doing my Master’s in Ancient History this year. I did my History Bachelor’s at Cambridge, now I’m here, after my best friend convinced me to apply. My friend’s Satoru, the lecturer from this morning.” He turns around briefly, inquisitive eyes searching the long tables for a certain face. Once he finds it, an arm quickly points to Gojo before he turns around to meet my gaze again.
“Ah, so that’s why you two seemed so comfortable with each other earlier. How do you know Shoko?” I ask.
“The three of us were close friends at sixth form. Satoru and Shoko applied for here, and their asses are still here, somehow. Feels weird knowing I’ve already graduated and I’m back to seeing them nearly every day. It’s a small world,” Suguru smiles to himself. He’s got a very kind face, and I know immediately he’s someone I want to be friends with. Trustworthy seems to be the right way to describe him, though that’ll prove itself with time. “What’re you doing?”
“Master’s in mathematics and theoretical physics,” I answer. It’s always a bit of a mouthful, and extremely embarrassing when someone doesn’t hear me the first time so I have to repeat it. Thank goodness, he heard me the first time. “It’s integrated, so I’ve been at Somerville since year one. Feels weird, nothing changing for the past three years, but I kinda like the continuity.”
“Wow,” he replies, mildly surprised at that. Understandable: most people I’ve met around have been dead-set on leaving after their Bachelor’s or at least transferring colleges. “You must really like being here, given you enjoy it and… well, you’re the top-performing student.”
“I do,” I smile, “it gets fun. I don’t know what it is.”
“Most physics students I know are stressed daily. You’re interesting,” admits Suguru, and the words make my face radiate intense heat. Being called interesting is a sweet compliment, and I’m not sure if Suguru intended it like that, but it’s certainly having an effect on me.
I continue to poke at my food a little, not wanting it all to disappear so quickly. Somerville meals are nice, I can’t even help myself sometimes. “That’s really sweet, thank you,” I reply. “I think it’s nice that you, uh, accompanied your best friend for his first lecture. I wouldn’t have even thought of that.”
“I’m sure you would have,” Suguru shrugs it off, “it’s what anyone would do. I also honestly just wanted more reasons to tease Satoru, being a teacher and all that.”
That comment makes me snort a little. They seem to have the kind of friendship I’ve been missing during my university experience thus far. I love Yuki, don’t get me wrong, but she’s very mother-like. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend that’s all fun and games. It’s been a long few years since I’ve been genuinely happy.
“You’re an amazing friend, aren’t you,” I giggle softly, meaning it in a half-sarcastic way. He genuinely does seem like a good friend, but the nature of their friendship is kind of amusing. My fingers curl around my fork as I try to finish chewing, giving Suguru my full attention.
“I try to be. But when your friend makes it that easy to take the piss…” he trails off with a shrug, punctuating the sentence with an airy laugh and pretty smile. It’s infectious, and makes me smile too.
“What’re your friends like?” he asks, changing the topic slightly, a genuine, honeyed tone to his voice. He finishes the last of his wine as he does so.
The question makes me twitch a little. There’s not much of an issue with it, but there’s no real way to answer that, given I have one friend and it sounds like he’s asking about multiple. In the split second it takes me to conjure up a response, I decide to just talk about Yuki, since she’s one of my favourite people.
“I, uh,” I clear my throat as my eyes search the rows of students, under- and postgraduate, for my best friend. My hand points in the beautiful blonde’s direction, and Suguru turns to look. “See the blonde woman next to Mr. Gojo? That’s Yuki. We met before the start of year three, when she moved into Somerville for postgrad. We’ve been kind of joined at the hip since. I love her to bits,” I grin. Again, she seems to feel us looking and happens to turn at that exact moment, beaming at me. She notices Suguru observing, too, and tosses him a friendly smile, one meant for greeting strangers. He waves in return.
Once Suguru turns back around to face me, he tilts his head and squints slightly, trying to figure something out wordlessly. “Are you…?” he says, leaving the sentence hanging, along with comprehension of his words, hanging in the air.
“Am I… what?” I frown in confusion. My eyes follow Suguru’s thumb as it flicks between me and Yuki’s direction.
It finally clicks.
He clarifies, starting, “Are you guys dating? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, your wording was just ambi—”
“Oh, my god,” I chuckle, “no, no, nothing like that. I love her like a girl loves her mum. She’s just very protective of me, we’re kinda like the same people in different fonts. I’m single… nope, not dating.” The words tumble out of my mouth, the subconscious depths of my brain fumbling to clear up the doubt. I had no idea he’d think we were dating purely from my poor phrasing. We met. Joined at the hip. I love her. The surrealty of the conversation makes me giggle.
“Right,” Suguru laughs, “well, that’s really sweet.” His eyes are warm, the hazel tone resembling the glow of fresh amber on trees. I look away before he notices I’m staring. “Anyone else interesting in your life, before I become one of the people?” he quips smartly. Oh, he’s smooth.
“It’s been a quiet few years,” I shrug, nonchalant, “looks like that might change soon.” I look him up and down as I say that.
“I’m glad,” replies Suguru softly.
The conversation lulls itself to a comfortable end, and I’m okay with that, choosing to finish eating before engaging in any more conversation. I don’t want the food to get cold.
I feel a gentle throb tug at my skull, so I endeavour to finish the dinner, bringing down the last of the sweet wine along with it. I begin to observe my surroundings. It’s a bit odd—every place seems to become a site for me to just people-watch, after a while. I’m okay with that. There’s something so incredibly blissful about switching my brain off and listening to external conversations as if they’re podcasts.
Yuki’s table laughs particularly loudly, and I wonder what’s so hilarious about the conversation. She’s elegant when she laughs, as always, and Gojo is particularly funny to look at. He’s practically keeling over as his snickers bubble up his throat and flood out through his mouth. Long arms and slender hands clutch his stomach as he loses his breath from laughing, and now I’m actually intrigued. Just what is so funny?
One of the other postgrads, whose name I don’t know, holds up his plate. All that’s left on it is mashed, duck-yellow potatoes, arranged neatly and carefully in the shape of a very familiar face. I squint at it… the bald head, wrinkly eye bags and ugly beard ring a bell, but it’s just out of grasp.
Two more seconds of careful analysis leads me to the realisation, the slap in the face, the “Eureka, that’s it!” moment.
The unflattering portrait depicts Principal Gakuganji, the professor with an infamous reputation for being the most irritating and frankly rude teacher. I spend a moment thinking it’s beyond immature for grown 22- and 24-year-olds to be giggling at something like that, but sometimes it’s just deserved. In Gakuganji’s case, it’s beyond deserved.
Gojo turns around to face his best friend, as if to say wordlessly, “Did you see that?” Given that Suguru’s laughing intensifies the moment Gojo looks at him, it seems as though he definitely did see that.
It’s a cute moment. I’ve had my fair share of occasions in secondary school where I looked at my friend without a word to giggle at something questionable going on. This mirrors it exactly.
I avoid looking at Gojo as he’s laughing. It seems like crossing a boundary—though it does appear I’ve just befriended his best friend, when boiled down to the core, Gojo is still my lecturer, at least until the end of the semester.
I tidy the rest of my plate, leftover onion slices and peas strewn loosely across the pristine porcelain. Looking up again, my eyes are graced with the sight of Satoru Gojo looking directly at me.
Painful, electric tingles shoot up my arms and through my legs as we make eye contact, and the ache in my head intensifies slightly. I warm up, half-unsure if he’s actually looking at me, but… no. He really is. The expression he wears is alluring, almost a physical manifestation of the beautiful voices of sirens. The corners of his mouth subtly upturn as he gazes at me.
Satoru’s head tilts down. Not enough for me to actually see his eyes through the abyss that is the jet-black sunglasses resting atop his nose bridge, but it’s enough for me to deduct that he’s truly looking at me, not something nearby. White eyebrows raise simultaneously, almost like a silent greeting.
Unsure of what to respond with, I give him my best smile. In the corner of my eye, I spot Suguru observing us, looking from Satoru to me; from me to Satoru. If that wasn’t enough, Yuki turns around, too, having noticed the man next to her going quiet.
In the moment it takes Satoru to react to my tentative response, I feel myself burn. From the depths of my muscles to the tip of my nose, my skin heats up exponentially and it makes my arms and legs all prickly. It takes an incredible amount of willpower to not shudder on the spot.
As if to relieve my discomfort, Satoru finally smiles in return. I can’t say for definite, but judging by the way the skin around his left eye moves slightly, I suspect he’s just winked at me. Winked. At me.
Once Satoru finally turns around, immersing himself into the conversation on his own table again, I stare at the plate in disbelief, doing my best to calm myself down. It was just a weird, weird interaction. I’ve spoken to this guy once, not even properly—he’s my lecturer, too, for goodness sake—and my body seems to lurch, blood boiling and coursing through my veins at record speeds. I shouldn’t be reacting. Beyond unprofessional. Beyond.
I can feel Suguru looking at me. I decide to finally meet his eyes, and he’s laughing at (or with?) me softly, kind eyes shaped like crescent moons as he waits for me to say something.
“Mr. Gojo… he’s an odd guy, isn’t he?” I ask, sheepish.
“To, uh, say the least.” His response is firm but giddy. “By the way, he’s a casual guy. He actually kind of hates being called Mr. Anything. Just call him by his name,” he shrugs.
“Is that so?” I ask. “Why’s that?”
“I mean, you go from being a wonderchild student for eighteen years then you become a teacher… while being a student. Not something prodigies are used to. Think he just wants to remain himself for… a while. Teaching is just new to him,” Suguru shrugs. “He’s adjusting just fine, but you can imagine it’s odd being in a position of authority above people the same age as you.”
“Same age?” I ask. My smile fades slightly. This is familiar, the information brushes the tip of my finger, but I can’t grasp it.
Suguru looks me in the eye. Something clicks in his eye, too, and I stare at him, trying to pull out the words stirring in his head.
The response he gives me is simple. “Mhm. He’s, uh… young. How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Ooh, nice. Me too, but I guess that’s obvious.” Suguru smiles.
It’s obvious there’s something the man isn’t saying, but I decide not to pry. If anything, I can just coax that information out of him later.
There’s no more time to focus on whatever it is Suguru’s hiding; my head is now pounding, and it makes my eyes water a little. I fight not to clutch my head in my hands, not wanting people to witness my instability. I clench my fists under the table, jaw tightening a little as I take a deep breath.
The night has reached an unwelcome end. I love formal dinners, but this headache is enough to make me curl up into the fetal position until I fall asleep.
“You… okay?” asks Suguru, looking concerned. He calls my name but it falls on near-deaf ears as my brain fills with a nonexistent fog.
“I, uh. Getting… a headache,” I choke out, sniffing slightly to clear my blocked nose. “Just gonna go grab some fresh air. I’ll probably be back.”
“In case you’re not, can I get your number? So, y’know, I can invite you to things.”
“Oh… yeah!” I’m glad he’s asked. It’s nice to have another friend around, and someone I can reach from my phone. I quickly open my phone, going to the Contacts app to allow him to enter his number. He does so quickly, sensing my urgency, before quickly calling his own phone.
“There we go,” he smiles, but it’s quickly replaced by a frown when he looks at me again. “You need anyone to come with you? You don’t look like you’re doing too great.”
It’s a sweet request, and I’m tempted to take him up on it. But, I don’t want to be that vulnerable in front of someone I’ve just met properly, so I politely refuse it after thanking him, saying I’ve got Yuki to call if it’s an emergency. Suguru nods and smiles in return, waving me goodbye as I approach my best friend to let her know I’m leaving.
“Hey,” I tap her shoulder. I look around at the rest of her table, feeling kind of bad for interrupting the conversation. Mr. Gojo looks at me, mildly interested, and the guys and girls around Yuki also look up. Their expressions are polite but indifferent.
“Hi, babe— headache. You look horrific.” She notices straight away, and it makes me chuckle. I stop immediately, however, since it makes my head palpitate even worse.
“Yeah…” I say weakly. “I’m gonna leave.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No, no, I can’t ask that of you. Just gonna head to bed early, I think, enjoy your night, Yuki.” I pat her shoulder. I can see Gojo in the corner of my eye, observing the conversation. I look at him for a fleeting moment before looking back to Yuki again.
“You sure? I can leave, for sure. All good.”
I watch as Gojo turns away, hair obstructing his face. With the dark sunglasses in his hands, his focus is now on the accessory in his hands.
“Don’t you worry, babes, I’ll be alright. Nothing some sleep won’t heal.”
A concerned look crosses her face, and I can see Gojo sticking his glasses back on before turning his attention to me. “Alright, then, but call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” I smile as I give her a hug, and I apologise for interrupting the conversation at hand as I leave.
Gojo shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”
I throw him a quick glance, unsure as to why he’s speaking to me specifically, but I take it with gratitude anyway, smiling in response. “Thanks.”
Chapter 4: Wander far from me
Notes:
Still settling into this story a little. Please remember this is a slowburn, so trust the process.
If you'd like to contact me, I'm on Tumblr. It's @heythererenyaeger :)
Chapter Text
▷▷ how deep is your love - bee gees ◁◁
[10:10] suguru >>> where are you?
[10:12] you >>> the rad cam
[10:12] you >>> i’m at a study spot in the american lit section, why?
[10:13] suguru >>> i needed someone to study with and you seem like a good person to stay with, if that’s good with you.
[10:13] suguru >>> satoru also isn’t answering my messages, which doesn’t really help me at all.
[10:13] you >>> he’s here loool
[10:13] you >>> saw him sprawled out on the floor with liek five books
[10:13] suguru >>> let him cook.
[10:13] suguru >>> in that case, i’ll go find satoru and leave you to it. thanks! :)
[10:13] you >>> feel free to join me if you wanted, but i’m guessing you normally study w him?
[10:14] suguru >>> sharp girl.
[11:39] suguru >>> satoru mentioned he saw you a few minutes ago while walking around.
[11:39] suguru >>> join us! satoru suggested it.
[11:49] you >>> will it not be awkward?
[11:49] you >>> him being my lecturer and all
[11:54] suguru >>> i wouldn’t say so, no.
[11:54] suguru >>> in the end, he’s still a student even if he’s taking your class for a little.
[11:54] you >>> okay
[11:54] you >>> heading to the gym in a few hours so i can still stay a while
[11:55] you >>> i’m On my way! rn
[11:55] you >>> apple autocorrect oopsie
[11:55] suguru >>> lol
Suguru texts in a slightly rattling way, but the more I think about it, the more I like it. He’s straight forward and it feels easier to read what he’s actually thinking because the abrupt full stops and near-proper grammar seem quite typical of someone who’s not hiding anything. I smile. He’s refreshing.
His suggestion is unexpected, but not unwelcome. My study sessions are often quiet and monotone, the air filled with sounds of friends walking through the city, or couples taking photos of each other in front of the Radcliffe Camera. Being alone doesn’t bother me by any means, but it sure is more fun to have friends nearby. If I can consider Suguru my friend after one night of knowing him, and Gojo… well, is a different case.
Most of my work has already been completed; on Saturdays, I make a point to get up early and make it to the library to get my work done promptly. I prefer relaxing on the weekends and studying hard during weekdays, so it all works out. Normally, I’m finished by 2pm, giving me an entire afternoon and evening to relax a little more. re.
Shovelling my belongings into my tote bag, I tidy up the study desk after getting up.
The day is warm, borderline unpleasantly so. Sunny weather in early October is unheard of, but it’s becoming increasingly common as the years pass. Global warming is a bitch; no wonder Mr. Gojo’s doing his thesis on it.
My thighs stick together slightly from the heat, and I cringe, knowing that I’m hot and bothered despite being sat down for the past few hours, no exhausting movement whatsoever. Not wanting to make a fool of myself in front of Mr. Gojo and Suguru, I dig around in my bag for a Victoria’s Secret body spray and douse myself in it before getting up completely. The golden shimmer of the spray clings to the fibres of my shirt and pencil skirt—so does the sweet, delicious smell—and it makes me smile. Glitter is pretty, and it’s the kind of finishing touch I love adding to my outfits.
The last place I remember seeing Mr. Gojo is upstairs, laying on the floor in between two, secluded shelves, surrounded by several piles of books. I only cast him a sideways glance, not wanting to seem odd. It also doesn’t help that I’ve been seeing him everywhere these past few days, it makes me look a bit like a stalker. Though, I doubt that’s what’s going through his head, given he suggested I join him and Suguru to study. Thank goodness.
The walk to the suspected spot is quick, given that there’s only one flight of stairs separating us. As I walk, the telltale sound of intelligible mumbling and laughing increases in volume, and I know immediately I’ve reached where I need to be.
Passing the final shelf, I’m met with the sight of one Satoru Gojo sitting on the floor, cross-legged, one hand buried in his hair as he clutches a century-old textbook.
The spot is quiet, relatively small, and I’m not sure I’ve been here before. It’s similar to the area I normally steal in the Somerville library; a baroque window accompanies Suguru as he sits on the ledge in front of it, legs up on the surface too as he balances his iPad on his lap, writing with fervour. Rays of daffodil-tinted sunshine burst through the window, making me squint a little.
Suguru is wearing a pair of seemingly high-waisted, baggy, black trousers, accompanied by a thick fleece of sorts that hugs his torso perfectly. Gojo is dressed similarly, and I’m sure anyone could spot from miles away that these two are the best of friends; he instead wears a pair of baggy white tracksuit bottoms, accompanied by dark, short-sleeved turtleneck which is compressed onto his body so tightly I can see the ridges in his toned back. His hair is floppy but not dishevelled, as usual, and those damn sunglasses obstruct my view of his eyes again. Something tells me he’s wearing glasses for reasons that go beyond shielding his retina from the stark sunlight that’s been gracing Oxford for the past week, but it’s too early to make any assumptions, and I decide not to ask.
“You made it!” Suguru says happily, looking up from his work. So does Satoru, but he opts not to say anything, simply observing.
“Hey, Suguru. Hi… erm.” I stop. I have absolutely no idea what to call Mr. Gojo. I know Suguru told me specifically that he’d prefer ‘Satoru,’ but it still feels weird. That feels a little too close for comfort, especially given he’s my teacher.
“Mister… Gojo?” I try. It doesn’t sound right, and he certainly thinks the same, because his face scrunches in displeasure. “Satoru?” He has no particular reaction to that and seems to prefer that a lot. I still feel apprehensive, but it’s better than the formality, so I decide to stick with it.
“Nice to meet you, but I guess I’ve met you before, in a way,” Satoru grins. “You studying with us or just passing by?”
“Studying with you, if that’s okay,” I reply, looking at both of their faces for confirmation. One smiles and one nods.
“There’s no desk here, if that’s alright,” adds Satoru, and I simply shrug.
“No problem. I can study in basically any position.”
Satoru seems to meet my eyes, and there’s a look on his face that could only be described as a cross between incredulous and amused. His eyebrows raise and he frowns slightly in acknowledgement before moving some of his belongings closer to Suguru to make space for me. I gratefully smile before telling him it’s not necessary, since all I need is my iPad and to cross my legs. He asks if I’m sure, to which I nod yes.
I settle my tote bag down on the floor beside me, leaning up against one of the bookshelves. I bring my legs up, somewhat close to my chest, before opening my iPad up and returning to GoodNotes to continue solving my problems. It’s only 12pm, but I don’t actually have too much left to do. Maybe two more hours and I’m work-free, at least until my next tutorial.
It feels odd, solving problems set by my teacher while sitting less than one metre away from him. I suppose I’m overthinking things a bit too much, so I get off that train of thought before I genuinely begin to rethink my decisions.
Suguru looks focused on his work. He writes quickly and I’m intrigued for a moment. When I solve problems, I’m taking my time, so part of me wants to know what he’s thinking. This is all thrown out of the window when I remember he’s a history student. Essay after essay fills their to-do list, but I hardly think they mind. One look at Suguru and it’s obvious he enjoys it. His eyebrows are furrowed in deep thought and lips pressed together tightly as he focuses on writing, occasionally pinching the screen with his thumb and index finger to zoom in and out.
On the other hand, Satoru is rifting through piles of books. His legs are crossed, with one book open in between his thighs, and another balanced on his left knee. A dark laptop with a neon-blue lining accompanies him, switched on but cast aside next to him. Porcelain-coloured, recently-brushed hair falls over his face and I can see his white eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
White? Eyebrows?
His eyebrows are white?
An urge to study his features nearly overcomes me, but I know he’ll be able to notice immediately, so I decide against it. As I scribble down the derivative of some function I’m not even paying attention to, all I can think about is those eyebrows. His eyebrows are naturally white. Does he have Albinism or something?
No, that doesn’t seem like it. People I’ve met who do have it usually have a very pink-red constitution, and Satoru’s skin is radiant and golden. Maybe that’s because the sunlight through the window is shining on him directly, but his skin is really, really nice.
The voice of Suguru snaps me out of my thoughts. “Can I get your opinions on something?”
I look at Satoru and shrug at his best friend. Satoru mirrors my actions. “Sure.”
“If you were Hitler—”
“What?!” exclaims Satoru, “Where the hell is this going?”
“Yeah, what the heck?” I look at him with wide eyes.
“No, no, I promise it’s serious and pretty sensible.” Satoru and I both squint at him accusingly. He puts his arms up in front of him in defence. “Listen. If you were Hitler, and you were rejected from art school by a Jew, then some other grievance happened to you supposedly because of another Jew, would you be mad at Jews or just bitter in general? That’s dumbing it down significantly, but the idea’s there.”
“Oh.” I consider the situation and put myself in those shoes. It’s a bit of a ridiculous question, but I do see where he’s coming from. I’ve had my fair share of misfortune at the hands of religious boys, but it’s not like I think anything particularly negative about their religion as a result. I just hold a bit of resentment towards the boys themselves.
Satoru turns to me to ask for my opinion. “What do you think?”
“No… I don’t think I would be mad at Jewish people. I’d just be mad at the people themselves who wronged me. Collective punishment is not the vibe.” I frown in thought as I explain my logic.
“I was thinking that too, yeah. Satoru?”
“It’s funny, because I was going to say what she said nearly word-for-word,” he responds with a hint of surprise in his voice.
“God, you guys are like the same people in different fonts,” Suguru mumbles as he scribbles something down on the screen. With a clearer voice, he explains, “I’m asking because the essay I’m writing scrutinises the psychology behind Hitler’s hate for Jews. I honestly just think it’s ridiculous that he hated Jews so badly for so many reasons. It was never that fucking serious.”
“I’ve wondered that too, to be honest,” I say, “I did Germany for GCSE History. Made me sick, but it was still a very interesting topic.”
“Lucky,” Suguru frowns, scrunching the bridge of his nose in thought. “I had to do the Mao’s China option. It was okay, but I already knew about Weimar Germany, would’ve been more interesting.”
Not one unique experience, I think. Having done Weimar Germany in history when I was younger, I love and still remember a lot of what we’d learned. It’s generally mutually agreed by most ex-history-students that it was the best topic.
Part of me wants to live vicariously through Suguru, too. Sure, I love my degree, and it’s fun, but there are fleeting moments I spend wondering if I’d have been better off using my intelligence for the humanities. It’s still weird to think that, at one point, I was considering a history degree. I miss the days where I could just do maths for fun. Born to be a philosopher, forced into STEM.
“What other options did you guys do at GCSE?” Suguru asks, slotting his Apple Pencil away to fully turn his attention to the two of us on the floor.
I turn to Satoru, expecting him to answer first, but by the time my neck is craned over so I’m facing him, he’s already looking at me, expecting my response. When I don’t speak, he makes a little gesture with his right hand akin to a spinning cylinder, coaxing me into speaking.
“You go first,” I counter, looking at him through the sunglasses. There’s a tiny, unapparent glint in his eyes as he looks at me, and I watch his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows in thought.
“God, it’s like I’m looking at two clones of each other,” frowns Suguru.
I can only chuckle sweetly in response, unable to say anything else, really. Satoru just shakes his head, laughing as he does so.
“I did… warfare through time, Weimar and Nazi Germany, Elizabethan England, and the American West. Warfare was beyond mundane, you guys. I like history, but the year we spent learning that topic… bleurgh. Never again.” Satoru ends the sentence with a shiver, seeming genuinely shaken by the thought of having to repeat that year again.
I like how expressive Satoru is. Maybe that’s a stretch, but he seems to be the “interesting when he tries” type. From the very limited interactions we’ve had so far, he seems rather jaded by anything that he can’t directly relate to. Secondary history, it seems, is one of the things he’s passionate about. If you’d compared the current Satoru to the one I was seeing five minutes ago, you’d be shocked to learn they’re the same people. He’s so… animated now.
Satoru shakes his head slightly, presumably to get hair out of his eyes, and his right hand rakes through his hair to push it back. It’s not very effective, though; his hair is the perfect mix of silky and dry, so it just immediately falls back into his face. He sighs.
“Why was it so bad?” I ask. I vaguely remember my old teacher mentioning that my school avoided that topic specifically, for some reason.
“It was just us learning about weapons and battle strategies through the different eras,” says Satoru, hurriedly noting something down on his iPad.
He has a peculiar way of holding his pen; I can’t say I’ve never seen it before, but the number of people I’ve met who mirror his style I can count on two hands. There’s no way for me to describe it in words apart from rigid and painful-looking. I have no idea how he is doing that.
In the corner of my eye, I notice Suguru squinting at Satoru in thought, face a mix of confusion and scrutiny. Though I can’t decipher what Suguru’s thinking, I can tell he’s a bit baffled by something his friend is doing. But it seems their friendship is an entire bag of worms in itself, one that’s worth waiting to open.
“That sounds as boring as shit,” remarks Suguru. That makes me grin a little.
“Random fact, my old physics teacher at secondary did his PhD thesis on something to do with poo. Maybe it’s not that boring,” I add, looking up with a smile as I speak.
When the guys don’t say anything for a moment, I feel myself shrink a little. It’s embarrassing. Did they think that was weird, uncalled for? Too random? Were they regretting the decision to invite me up here?
Regardless, it seems to finally pull Satoru’s head out of the books, even if only for a brief moment, and I see Suguru smiling shortly afterwards. “Really? Do you know anything about it? What’s so amazing about shit that he had to spend a whole few years studying it?” The corners of his mouth turn downwards as he entertains the thought.
“Oh, man,” I frown, “I don’t remember very much, no. I remember it being kind of big at the time, though, if it means anything.”
Now it’s Satoru’s turn to speak, and he mutters something out of the corner of his mouth as he begins to type furiously on his laptop. “What’s the guy’s name? Do you know the university he went to? I kinda wanna find this now.” The faintest hint of a smile tugs at his lips. It’s contagious, and makes me grin at his enthusiasm.
“Dean Brown…” I furrow my eyebrows in thought. Satoru types the name quickly before looking up, waiting for me to finish the sentence. “It’s either Warwick or Swansea, I forget which.”
“We’ll try Warwick’s first,” shrugs Satoru, eyes scanning the web page for any relevant results. He occasionally mutters random words that look even mildly relevant. “Bacteria… amoeba… biomass… bacterial activity in faeces?” Eyebrows raising as he looks to me for approval, he turns the laptop on his lap slightly so I can see it a little better.
The font size is still too small for my failing eyes, so I shuffle a little closer to get a better look.
Suguru finally looks up, not deciding to join us, but watching carefully, and I notice Satoru breathing a lot slower than normal once I lean in. He sniffs slightly, as if there’s something in his nose, and his heart-shaped Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows nothing.
“D’you mind if I scroll?” I ask, not wanting to touch someone else’s belongings if they might not like it. Satoru hums in response. Part of me wishes he’d just put the laptop onto my lap or something, but oh well. I plant one palm on the ground by his thighs, and two fingers of my other hand stroke the touch pad slowly to keep scrolling.
Nothing in particular grabs my attention, and I’m scrolling for a minute or two before I find something. Satoru watches me—or the screen, I can’t tell which—intently as I do so.
Simultaneously, we raise our eyebrows and frown in thought, looking at each other when something worthy catches our eye.
I read out, “Dean Brown. Submitted to the University of Warwick. A thesis submitted for the degree of PhD at the University of Warwick. ‘The vitality of bacterial organisms in aged faecal matter of farm animals.’ That seems… about right.”
“That’s… some wild stuff. Click on it,” he asks, a tinge of excitement in his voice.
Now Suguru’s interest has been piqued a little, so he folds the iPad cover up, clutching it within his left arm as he stands up to approach us. He takes a seat on the floor behind us both, leaning in slightly to get a better look at the screen.
Since both men are in such close proximity to me, their deep but subtle scent wafts into my nose. I endeavour to not make it obvious that I’ve noticed, but whether or not I’ve succeeded is beyond me. Satoru, before the arrival of Suguru, smelled a bit like musky cologne with gentle vanilla, from a body butter, perhaps. Suguru smells a bit like cocoa, and it reminds me of slow days in summer, and laying in bed without a care in the world. Combined, they smell like what I can only liken to… happiness.
The silky voice of Suguru pulls me out of my trance. “So, is this your teacher?”
“I’m almost sure,” I respond, gulping, “it sounds similar to what he mentioned.” When I catch a glimpse of the photo of a young, white man with grey hair and thick spectacles, I nod. “Yep. That’s our guy.”
Satoru’s mumbling to himself as he skim-reads some of the pages. I watch, entranced. Though subtle, there’s a slight rosy stain on his lips, and a nearly invisible gloss populates his smooth lips. I’m jealous. I wish I had lips like that.
“Y’know, this is actually pretty interesting,” Satoru shrugs.
Suguru and I both give him a dubious look, as if to say, look at this guy.
“What, you think me reading about shit and finding it interesting is odd?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“A little, but it’s not that big of a deal. I’m just…” There's an image forming in my head, but it’s not finished, so I hold off finishing the sentence to try to figure it out completely. “Oh my god. Here’s what it is. Have you ever watched The Office?” I ask.
Both best friends nod. I continue.
“Do you remember that scene where Dwight makes jokes about Michael… wait, was it Michael?” I think. “Who cares. Anyways. Dwight jokes about Michael following cats around when he was younger and putting his hands out by the cat’s butt, asking it for more poo to collect. I’m just… you reminded me so much of that, right now. That’s so random, but it just came to mind”
With a long-winded snort, Suguru laughs out loud, eyelids closed in the shape of crescent moons as he laughs at his best friend. Satoru only looks on, bewildered, totally unsure of what to think. One eyebrow is raised in my direction, and I shrug.
“You…” he grins. It’s a nice smile, I suppose. Mischievous and amused. Up to no good. I like it. “You still are something else.”
I giggle softly. “Still?”
It seems I’ve caught Satoru off-guard, but I mostly think he’s just confused by his own words. “Well, people talk,” the white-haired man shrugs, “people think you’re cool, so… yeah.”
“Do you think I’m cool?” I jab at him playfully, the tip of my index finger pressing into the cold skin of his bare arm for a fleeting moment. His flesh is hard, and doesn’t budge. My god, those muscles aren’t just for show.
His eyebrow shoots up even further, and I’m surprised that was possible in the first place. An abrupt choke stops his mouth opening any further to respond, and he’s coughing, bent double over himself in an attempt to calm the fit that consumes him entirely. Concerned, I try to meet his face, but before I can, he seems to have calmed down a little, just clearing out the block in his throat. “Now, what the hell.”
“Satoru. You okay?” asks Suguru, a protective hand on his back. “Hey.”
“Yeah, yeah, all good,” he mutters in response. “I don’t know what it is. I keep biting my lip and choking randomly. Pissing me the fuck off.”
The crude choice of language catches me off-guard, but I’m hardly shocked, or even disgusted. It’s odd, but the words seem to come so naturally from his mouth, as if he should be the only one allowed to say it. “Your brain makes thoughts too fast for your mouth to process,” I suggest.
Satoru’s muscles tense slightly when he hears this. “My English literature teacher once told me that, nearly word-for-word.”
My eyebrows crease in thought. The first time I’d heard that phrase was a long time ago.
Back at that ice-skating rink. On that fateful night, when I’d been stumbling relentlessly on the skates, and I’d been teased slightly for my messy handwriting when writing something down as I offered the rent-skates back to staff.
“How do you even read that?” he had asked.
I looked up at him. The boy had charcoal-coloured hair and brilliant, cerulean eyes. There was an entire sky—an entire universe—behind those eyes. My breath caught in my throat, as if so much information had been poured into my mind during that instant to the point where I couldn't form another logical thought. Those eyes. They made me feel omnipotent.
“I… uh.” I cleared my throat. With a nervous chuckle, I responded, “It’s like a language of my own, mate. Gotta be real skilled to read that.” I glanced back at the ragged little sheet, looking over the callously-scribbled words. It was kind of embarrassing. I'm okay with my handwriting being messy, but, regardless, it was just kind of degrading having someone notice that immediately upon meeting me.
“Messy handwriting is a sign of intelligence,” he’d said, an enthused smile gracing his pretty face. His skin was clear and pale, but not unhealthy. The kind of pinkish-pale that told me immediately that he was sensitive to the cold. “Your brain thinks too quickly for you to write. Let me try and read that.”
Holding his own skates, which were white and patterned with black swirls throughout, he approached me, beautiful eyes squinting as he glanced at my sheet of paper.
“Apples. Bananas. Strawberry trifle. Double cream. Reese’s peanut butter cups." A pause as he concentrated a little harder. "Coriander. Garlic naan bread. Broccoli. Cashew nuts. Lurpak spreadable salted butter. Orange juice. Tropical carton juice.” Those pupils met mine, and I couldn’t look away. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t tear my gaze away. “Shopping list, right?”
I swallowed. “How the hell did you even read that? It’s so… messy.”
“Nothing’s impossible when there’s a pretty girl watching you.”
Being thrown so suddenly back into that memory is unexpected, and it warms my heart a little. “Yeah. I mean, it’s true, isn’t it?” I feel myself smile.
“You’re a real enigma, aren’t you?” Satoru says, not really asking, but asserting. He smiles softly as he returns to immersing himself in his work, typing something in a Word document on his laptop.
When I look up, Satoru and Suguru are briefly glancing at me. I reply, “So I’ve been told.”
Chapter 5: Take my breath away
Notes:
I had no idea this took a month to write I'm surprised lol. As usual, let me know if there's any grammar or spelling mistakes, I've done my best to proofread.
Here's the story playlist, you notice a pattern with the songs as it goes along.
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6XNGqet7KuGWTBTunwN4bS?si=fa06e9243c34498bAs always, I hope you enjoy the chapter, please leave comments and let me know of your thoughts!
Chapter Text
▷▷ super freak - rick james ◁◁
In some sick and twisted way, the Department of Physics feels like home. Whenever I’m not studying in the Somerville library, I’m instead in one of the free labs or the small library at the large science building, relishing in the peaceful air of my fellow scientists and students alike. At least, it’s more homey than the actual house I’d grown up in. I frown at the thought of whatever it is my parents could be doing right now.
“Come in!” the voice of Satoru Gojo calls out, and I turn the handle of the lecture theatre to open the door and enter. Mr. Gojo is sat at the front desk, typing on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he pushes those damned glasses further up his nose with just a scrunch.
The lecture ended just ten minutes ago, but I realised that there were still a few things I couldn’t understand that also weren’t explained explicitly in the lecture notes. It’s not really the fault of his own teaching, but sometimes there are just things in maths that are difficult to decipher without a little push.
“Hey, you,” Gojo says with such familiarity. There’s a certain warmth to his voice, and it spreads to me, too, infectious but not unwelcome. The sheer intimacy of his greeting feels wrong, but I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, so I have to shake it off.
“Hi, Mr. Gojo,” I say. He grumbles in response, but doesn’t fight it any further, which is surprising. I decide not to call him by his forename right now, since, after all, we’re in a professional setting, contrary to the few hours spent in the library two days ago. “Are you busy at all right now? I had a few questions I wanted to clear up about today’s lecture.”
Pushing the laptop away from him on the desk, his torso turns completely to face me, beckoning me over. Running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face, he replies, “I was just about to leave to head back to Somerville, but no, I’m not busy. Walk and talk, or would you prefer having the whiteboards?”
Gojo points to the large array of ginormous white sheets behind us. I have never been a fan of the signature rolling paper boards due to their wasteful nature and being generally unpleasant to the eye, but we have to make do. I suppose it’s also convenient for the lecturers, since it means they don’t have to stand on a mini-ladder or something just to make full use of the space. Plus, it means nothing has to be rubbed out to continue writing, which is pretty helpful post-lecture if there’s anything I’ve missed.
I consider his proposition for a moment, and I decide that I won’t really be needing the whiteboards at all. My iPad is clutched firmly to my stomach, and that’s enough of a surface to write down. It’ll probably be more convenient anyways, since it means I can keep anything that he writes down while explaining to me.
“Walking and talking should be fine. I’d hate to get in the way of whatever you’ve planned, anyways,” I shrug.
“You’re good, I’m always down to help my students,” shrugs Gojo, packing away his laptop into a dark purse, before slinging it over his shoulder and approaching me.
He whips out a collection of keys from one trouser pocket, spinning them around his index finger by hooking the tip through the circular connection of all of the keys. A shrill but somewhat familiar whistle leaves his mouth as he does so. Gojo seems nonchalant.
After opening the door for me, Gojo quickly follows suit, before closing the large, solid door behind him and turning the key in the lock to shut it. Once that’s done, he stuffs the keys back into his left pocket and looks at me. His eyebrows are subtly raised and the corners of his mouth curled upwards in a friendly but professional grin. The expression he wears tells me he’s expecting me to say something, though I’m not sure exactly what.
“I need to drop by my supervisor’s office to collect a few of my belongings, either we can sit down in there, or if you’re short on time, you can tell me as we go,” Gojo suggests with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I’ll just wait until we get there, it’ll probably be easier,” I reply, then I add, “who’s your supervisor, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“That’s alright,” he nods, probably looking at me—I can never really tell, with him. “Doctor Yaga, do you know him?”
Who doesn’t know who Doctor Masamichi Yaga is? He’s a world-famous scientist who won the Nobel Prize in Physics after pioneering small-scale quantum computers. He’s been based in Oxford for his entire research career, including the three years I’ve been here, but I’ve never been able to meet or even speak to him because his team is always so busy. The fact that Satoru is working under him is telling me that, perhaps, there’s more to Satoru than meets the eye. Not like I’ve ever actually met his eye, though.
“The Masamichi Yaga?!” I exclaim at him, mouth wide open in shock. Satoru does nothing but smiles in response.
“Yeah… I get that a lot. You’re right, the Masamichi Yaga. Is that shocking to you?” he asks. At first, I feel my nose twitch slightly at how condescending the question sounds, but when I turn my head to look at him, I realise he’s being sincere. It’s genuinely no big deal to him, but it sure is for me.
“I mean… yeah. That’s sick. Your PhD supervisor is a Nobel laureate, that’s beyond amazing,” I mutter, slightly embarrassed that I got so passionate for no reason. Gojo hardly seems enthralled.
To my words, he has no response, apart from a wry smile creeping up on his face. It almost seems like he’s fighting it, and that’s soon confirmed when he quickly wipes it off of his face and sharply inhales.
“So, what do you plan to do with your Master’s degree, then?” he asks, and while he does seem mildly interested, I can tell he’s honestly just feeling a little awkward and is trying to make small talk.
In each of the last three times I’ve spoken to Satoru Gojo, he starts off friendly, warm, and seems like one of the more sociable people around. Something, I have no clue what, seems to tarnish that the moment he begins to ease into the conversation. Every time a smile pulls at his glossy lips, it quickly disintegrates; every time it seems as though he’ll allow himself to laugh, he suppresses the fit of chuckles threatening to boil over. Whether I should be annoyed or just confused, I’ve no clue—for the most part, it’s the latter. At this point, I’m just curious as to why he’s like this. Is it intentional, or am I reading into his personality too much?
I return to the question at hand, and think about my response. There’s honestly a lot I could say, but I don’t feel like waffling on today, but I suppose there’s a whole walk to an office for us to talk.
“I’m kind of undecided, but the current plan is to get my doctorate. Either that, or I go into teaching, but I’m not that fussed,” I shrug.
Gojo’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. “PhD is standard, but teaching? What makes you want to teach?” he asks curiously.
“I guess I could say the same for you, what makes you so passionate and energetic during the lectures you deliver?” I answer his question with another question. I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while, since this guy just seems to have such dense energy stores inside of him during lectures, and I’m barely awake in the mornings as I make my way over to the Department of Physics. In the end, too, if he didn’t enjoy teaching one bit, he wouldn’t have seemed so enthusiastic about it, especially given he’s obviously strongly recommended to take a class since he’s a PhD student.
“It’s fun,” he shrugs in response, “there’s not really much more to it, to be frank. The youth are the most important part of today’s world, and though I’m part of that youth, I still want their time in this hellish place to be somewhat enjoyable.”
That makes my eyes widen slightly. Given that he’s doing his PhD at this “hellish” place, I’m beginning to wonder why he’s here in the first place.
“If it’s hellish, why are you here? No offense intended, but, y’know. Do you see what I mean?”
“Yeah, I do,” he shrugs in response, considering my question for a second. Ivory eyebrows raise in thought as he narrowly meets and tears his gaze away from me. One lock of hair falls in front of his face, and he’s quick to swat it away, and something about the vigour he pours into that action makes me snicker a little.
After nodding in acknowledgement, he finally answers my question, after what felt like an eternity of waiting for him to compile his thoughts. His response seems more cautious than usual, given he’s quite witty and quick-thinking in class.
“Mainly the funding, but also the fact that I would only really be able to skip onto my PhD here. Funnily enough, the only two fully-funded offers I’d managed to get from universities were from here and Cambridge. Since I’m already here, and Suguru was planning to move here, plus Shoko’s going to be here for another three years… just made sense.”
The explanation is long, but it makes sense. Bony hands fidget in the small pockets of Gojo’s trouser pockets.
“Why do you think it’s hellish here, then?” I ask, smiling. There are so many answers to that question, but I want to know his side of things.
“You don’t think it’s hellish?” he asks me incredulously. “Well, it makes sense since you’re coping so well with the workload, but still.”
“I do think it’s hellish, but I enjoy physics, so it’s not really the biggest of deals to me. Honestly, it’s just fun to live on my own in such a beautiful area away from my family. How could I not enjoy it?”
A string of unsaid sentiments hang in the air as he looks at me, and I’m sure in that moment that an array of questions are brewing up a storm in his mind; regardless, he chooses not to act on it. I watch Gojo as he pushes open the doors to leave the building, and he holds it open after I cross to the other side before closing it. When we start walking again, I notice him looking at me, a mildly bewildered look on his face. I ask him what’s up.
“Nothing in particular, it’s just rare that I meet someone who… shares the same sentiment about this place as me. Yeah, it’s definitely tough, and there have been a few nights I’ve laid awake wondering what I’m actually doing here, but it’s just so fun because I love maths. I just love it. I think, if you’re here and you’re not happy, it’s just not the right place.”
If a stranger had to listen to that answer without being able to see Gojo’s face, they would automatically assume he was a posh snob who refused to understand others. However, just from looking at the wry, yet confined smile on his glowing face, I realise that those words aren’t out of criticism for others—they stem purely from his love of what he does. For that, I hold some level of respect, even if he himself is an odd guy.
“What made you love maths so much?” is all I can ask, because that’s all I really want to know.
Gojo winces as a fly slams into his face, before gently swatting it away. “I’ve liked it since I was really young, to be honest. I just thought it was incredible how things just somehow… make sense. They slot together so perfectly. I liked history, sure, but it wasn’t as much of an art as mathematics. When I did further maths four years ago, it just amplified that so much more. When complex numbers were introduced into things… I just. You get it, right? It’s fascinating.”
“I do!” I exclaim, “I do! I remember the first time I simplified an imaginary surd, it was so simple but so fucking cool.”
“I get you!” he responds, “I don’t think I even have to fully explain why. I can tell you get it.”
We reach the doors of Mansfield College, and wait at the doors until they slowly begin to open. The porter is behind an ancient-looking counter on the ground floor, and he gives Gojo a knowing look as we approach.
“I need to gather a few of my belongings from Doctor Yaga’s office,” Gojo says nonchalantly. “I believe you’ve been notified?”
The porter hums in response and buzzes us through. Gojo allows me in first then follows me through, before rejoining my side again. “He has a large whiteboard in his office, we’ll work on whatever it is there.”
I nod in response. A collection of keys materialises in Gojo’s right hand after he dips a hand into his pocket, and he quickly unlocks the door. Again, he lets me in first, and leaves the door wide open while entering after me. The office smells kind of old and comforting.
“Do supervisors just allow their students to… you know, have access to their things?” I ask curiously. Something feels so intensely surreal about this entire situation.
“I can’t speak for others, but I think it’s just because Yaga knows me anyways. He was my tutor for undergrad, so I know him well, and we’re somewhat close. I guess it all just works.”
He says this while taking a seat on the large office chair opposite me. It must be Doctor Yaga’s chair, though he sits on it as if it’s his own. Beckoning me with one hand, he tells me to sit, so I do.
I open my iPad and return to the page on GoodNotes, and swivel the screen to face him. In the middle of the screen is a large question mark in a chalky grey, accompanied by the words, “come back to this,” in royal blue. Gojo lowers his glasses slightly to get a good look at the screen, digesting my notes in and mumbling to himself as he does so.
“So you’re confused about the implementation of the Lambert Function?” he asks me, scrolling slightly to read my notes below that point. Gojo nods knowingly when he sees everything else I’ve written.
“Yep. Using the logarithm was fine—though I hardly think it was necessary—but when you got to separating the real solutions and complex solutions, you lost me. Why are there complex solutions in the first place? How do we separate the two? And what even is the analytic continuation?” I fire away, frowning as I dig myself a deeper hole with every word, every fleeting question that spills through my mouth.
“Do you mind if I use your Apple Pencil?” he asks, to which I shake my head. “Oh, wait, would you prefer if I wrote on the whiteboard? Either’s fine, I guess you’ll be able to keep whatever I tell you if it’s on here.”
“The iPad’s fine, yeah.”
“So,” he begins, scrawling something nearly intelligible down on the screen below the section for today’s lecture, “you see this?” Gojo asks, the tip of his slender index finger pointing at the bright screen.
I pause. “Yeah?”
“Since the inverse of e to the power of that complex number is just the logarithm, it makes sense to call the inverse of this exponential,” he emphasises, pointing to an equation I’ve scrawled down, “the product logarithm. We use that to find the value of x in the question.”
I chew the inside of my lip, eyebrows furrowed as I study Gojo’s annotations. His handwriting can be described only as a mix between disgustingly neat and chicken scratch—in other words, it’s only neat to people who, themselves, have messy handwriting. In effect, me.
“Why are we using a complex exponent, though? Everything in the original question is real, right?” I return.
“You don’t really know that, do you? Sure, it’s implied that x is real, but it can just as well take on complex values, and an infinite number of them, at that.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, my god.”
A smile crosses Gojo’s rosy lips. “Yeah?”
With a deep breath, I reply, “Yeah.”
“I love teaching,” he smiles. “This is why it’s so fun. I had that exact same lightbulb moment while writing my Bachelor’s dissertation.” Standing up, Gojo finishes gathering a few miscellaneous items and safely packing them into his bag, smiling to himself as he does so.
I feel awkward, not knowing whether I should just leave or wait for him to finish to leave together, but I figure it’s more polite to do the former, so I scribble a few final notes onto my iPad before closing it up and putting it away. Just as I finish, so does he.
“You good to go, or?” he asks, a tone of questioning hanging on the end of his statement.
“Yeah. I am,” I reply, so he waits for me to leave before locking up the office again.
Just as we approach the doors to leave the college, Gojo waits a moment after seeing what seems to be a friend of his.
He’s blond, with a neat undercut resembling that of Gojo’s, but the longer locks of hair are well-kempt. The guy has very, very healthy hair.
The dude happens to have a very nice facial structure, too, his well-defined cheekbones being the first thing I notice. His small eyes seem relatively unaffected, and no particular emotion shows on his face as he looks at Gojo.
Next to him are two familiar faces I’m very happy to see.
Suguru Geto is mildly confused but happy to see me, and Shoko simply looks as the man greets me.
“Hey. What’re you doing here?” Suguru asks, looking at me, then at Gojo, and back.
“I needed a bit of help with the recent lecture material, so I just came with him ‘cause he needed to gather a few things.”
After a small pause, he replies, “Right.”
Gojo is saying something I can’t quite make out to the blond guy, before slotting an arm around him and ruffling his hair. Blond Guy looks unamused, and it makes me chuckle slightly.
“I think I should introduce you two. Kento, our friend from Somerville,” Suguru states, and I extend my arm out to shake his hand. Kento’s gaze softens slightly when he looks at me.
“Nice to meet you,” he says kindly.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I smile. Kento has a firm, proper handshake, and I have a feeling that speaks a lot about his personality, too.
“Satoru, I will slap you if you don’t remove your arm,” Kento warns, raising an eyebrow, though I suspect it’s not a serious threat, given that Gojo merely chuckles and winks at his friend.
“He’s a third-year Econ student here at Mansfield,” quips Suguru, and my eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. I’m not sure what I was expecting him to be in the first place, but it’s fair to say I wasn’t really expecting him to be an economics student.
“Just economics or PPE?” I reply, looking at Kento.
“I started off with PPE but specialised in economics this year. The politics side of things wasn’t really for me,” he states, shrugging.
“Are you coming later, Kento?” Gojo asks with a giddy little swing in his voice.
“Six o’ clock? Yeah.”
It’s not really got anything to do with me, so I decide not to pry into that. I’m tempted to try to speak to Shoko before leaving, since, to be honest, she looks like someone I would be good friends with. Before I can say anything, however, she gets the first word in, grabbing my attention by calling my name.
“By the way,” Shoko shrugs. She tosses a glance at Gojo before looking at me. “You should come along. Bring your friend—Yuki, right? Bring her, too. It’ll be fun.”
I notice Gojo’s eyebrows furrowing in thought slightly, but he doesn’t seem to have any reservation about it, so I consider the idea. Though, I don’t even know what’s going on, yet.
“What’s this all about?” I ask, mildly confused.
“We’re heading into London for dinner tonight, it’s a weekly thing we do. We’ve been looking for more people to join us four, you two seem great.”
I consider the idea for a moment. It’s not necessarily out of choice, but I haven’t been out for dinner in ages, and this could be very fun—even more so because of the new faces.
“Let me ask her,” I reply, referencing Yuki, because I’m not going without her. Though I don’t think my new friends have bad intentions, it’s hard to be sure, so I’d prefer to take someone with me. I trust Yuki with my life.
Shoko nods in response as I take my phone out to call her, and she picks up within two rings. Her pretty voice immediately fills up the speakers, and it makes me smile.
“Hi, love,” she says to me.
“Dinner tonight in central London with Suguru, Shoko, and… Satoru? And Kento,” I say. “They’ve just invited us. You got time?” I ask hopefully.
“You know I do. What time, and where are we meeting?” she replies.
My phone is on speaker, so Shoko takes initiative and replies for me. “We usually just meet at Satoru’s place and head to the train station together. Do you know where that is?” she asks, looking at me, but her words are partially aimed at Yuki, too.
“Yeah, I think he’s on the floor above me,” Yuki considers, and I can practically hear the shrug in her voice.
The rest of the group are calmly listening in on the conversation, too, and it makes me feel a strange sense of warmth because they care. They care as to whether or not I’m coming. Kento looks interested, and even the normally nonchalant Satoru is paying attention. That, especially, shocks me, given how indifferent he’s been recently.
“If anything, you’ve got Suguru’s number, he can come get you both.”
I look at the man in question, and he smiles softly before nodding. Dark bangs fall in front of his face, obscuring his vision slightly, so he pushes them out of the way before saying, “That’s alright with me.”
“Who’s dropping Megumi and the twins off to the sitter’s place?” Shoko asks, looking at the men next to her. Satoru looks up, and his face looks a little more serious, but not melancholy.
“I’ve got it, don’t worry.” Satoru says. I can’t tell for sure, but I think he’s tossing a side glance at me, and it makes me nervous. It feels like I’m intruding, and that I’m listening in on something I shouldn’t be. I turn my attention away to my phone and pretend that the conversation doesn’t concern me.
I can’t help it. Megumi? Twins? I think. Who are they? Daycare?
Do these guys have kids together?
I feel awkward asking, especially with Yuki waiting on the phone, so I decide to wait until a later time to do so. I’m sure it’s a bit more complicated than what I’m thinking, so it’s left alone, at least temporarily.
It makes sense that Satoru and Suguru live in Somerville, now, given it’s the only college on campus that has a daycare. So, who are these kids?
Stop. I halt my thoughts and continue talking to Yuki.
“Genuine question for you guys,” I begin. It’s been bothering me slightly for the last few days. While it’s not a bad thing, I want some explanation, because I feel weird hanging out with this group of people so soon after meeting them. Especially since they all know each other already.
Suguru hums in response, acknowledging my question.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but why do you take so kindly to us? We haven’t even known each other for that long but it really feels like you invite me to things a lot. I’m just confused, I guess,” I shrug.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Suguru replies, and Shoko nods. “You’re both fun and you have the perfect energy. It’s exactly what we’ve been missing.”
“Oh.” I smile. “That’s sweet. Thank you.”
Satoru grins, and so does his best friend. I have to fight a dumb ear-to-ear smile from appearing on my face.
“What’s the attire like? Casual?” she asks, and I’m glad she did. I’d be sitting in my room wondering for half an hour before even putting something on.
“Yeah, ‘course. Wear whatever you want,” Shoko smiles. “So you’re coming for sure?”
I wait for Yuki’s response before replying. “I’m down, love.”
I look up at Shoko, then Suguru and Kento, then Satoru. They look at me expectantly, eyes wide and attentive for my response. When I say “so am I,” they all smile just a little, and I begin to think that maybe, just maybe, my life will become a bit more interesting.
***
▷▷ feels like we only go backwards - tame impala ◁◁
Yuki hates being late to things, so, as usual, she’s at my place early after getting herself ready. On her gorgeous body aren’t any particularly fancy clothing, rather a pair of deep red cargo pants and a dark, sleeveless, turtleneck which hugs her torso perfectly. Though it’s simple, it’s an outfit she pulls off effortlessly, and I’m almost jealous that you can’t even notice the lack of makeup on her face. The dull tint of rose in her cheeks is natural and her plump lips are a pretty, natural tint of dusty pink.
She sits on my bed as I pick a few miscellaneous items out of my cupboard. A burgundy party dress, a puffer jacket. A translucent sweater. A pair of flared jeans, and a pair of bootcut leggings. For once in my life, I have an incredible number of options, and it’s taking a lot of effort to make a decision. I guess it’s a good thing I have Yuki with me.
“Those flared jeans and that sweater would be nice if you have a spaghetti strap top underneath,” she suggests, meeting my eyes through the mirror’s reflection. Her eyebrows are raised in thought. “But the party dress might also be cute if you want to leave an impression.”
“Who am I leaving an impression on?” I snort, turning around to look at the woman. “Not like I’m gonna meet anyone.”
Yuki gives me a knowing look. It feels like an inside joke I’m not a part of. “Who knows. You could meet someone that tickles your fancy.”
“Ever since… well. You know who,” I raise an eyebrow at my friend, and she merely hums in acknowledgement, “After him, I cannot be bothered for something like that again.”
Sighing slowly, Yuki’s eyes close as she thinks deeply, and I know what she’s about to say. I know what she’s about to say, yet I can’t actually put the words into practice.
“Honey, you should at least open yourself up to the possibility. What if the perfect guy comes along and you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself?” she questions, crossing her legs. She then points at my reflection in the mirror. “The flared jeans are a look. Stick with them.”
“Okay,” I respond to the jean comment. “I don’t know, Yuki. It’s just. It’s kind of hard to believe anyone would actually want me. I’m obviously not closing myself off, I guess I’m just waiting for something to happen. I don’t like the idea of going out and searching, y’know?”
“First, you’re literally one of the most lovable people I know,” retorts Yuki, a frown visible on her face. “Second, yeah, I can get on with that. I want you to find someone.”
I pout slightly, knowing she’s right, and it’s exactly what I’m thinking too, even if I don’t want to admit it. “Me too, Yuki.”
I slide a white spaghetti strap top on, then the sheer mint green knitted sweater on top, and the flared jeans quickly accompany the ensemble. It doesn’t take me too long to get my hair and face ready afterwards, and Yuki lays on my bed as I do so, enjoying the comfortable silence that graces my room.
Before long, I grab my keys, jacket, and purse, and usher my friend out of my room so we can both head to Satoru’s place. She knows the way and guides us both there. The conversation is light and pretty funny, and it’s only a minute before we’ve traversed the Somerville courtyard into the postgraduate accommodation.
Yuki opens the door, but before we can go through, a familiar face makes his way outside, with three little kids in tow.
Porcelain-coloured hair and dark sunglasses meet my face as Satoru Gojo looks up from coaxing the children outside. Suguru is behind them, holding the hand of a small, chestnut-haired girl, with Shoko following closely behind.
“Oh. Hey,” Satoru says.
“Hi,” I reply, dumbfounded.
To Satoru’s left is a boy just over half his size, with coal-coloured spiky hair and lapis eyes. He looks unhappy, sporting an annoyed pout on his face as he fidgets to get his hand out of Satoru’s grasp.
To his right is a girl just a little shorter than the child; she looks maybe ten years old at most, and her hair is up in a cute little pigtail I can only imagine Suguru doing for her. Two spiral-shaped ringlets frame her face, and the curls are a bit too perfect to be natural, but it’s still very, very cute.
“Nanako, Mimiko, Megumi, meet my friends,” Satoru quips, ruffling the younger boy’s hair vigorously. Megumi blinks, clearly angry, but his expression softens when he finally looks at me.
Friends. An odd word choice for someone in a class he’s teaching, but I think I’m gradually warming up to it. After all, we’re both adults of similar ages, so maybe it’s not the big deal I was thinking it could be before.
“Are they… your kids?” I ask, unsure of how else to word the question. It’s clear that Satoru and Suguru are their guardians, at least, but I doubt they’re biologically related.
“You could say that, yes,” Satoru smiles. “Nanako and Mimiko, the girls,” he adds, gesturing towards the girl he hangs on to with his right hand and the girl clinging onto Suguru, “they’re Suguru’s adopted daughters. Megumi’s my adopted son.”
The girl by Suguru’s side holds onto her father with an iron grip while hiding her face behind him shyly. I’m not sure why, but she seems apprehensive about meeting me. It’s either that, or she’s intimidated by how pretty Yuki is.
“Mimiko, be polite and say hi,” Suguru says sternly. He tugs her arm gently, and I watch as a soft smile crosses his face, and I realise that I can never, ever go back to viewing these two as not -fathers. They seem to be the only ones capable of doing this at their age and in their position. Suguru is a girl dad, for sure, and a natural at that, and Satoru screams chaotic boy dad to me. The way he jokes around with Megumi tells me that immediately.
“Hi,” she says quietly. Her eyelids flutter as she looks at me for a split second before her gaze flits away, dissolved in a fleeting moment like sugar dissolving in warm tea. “Are you papa Geto’s friend?”
“I am,” I reply, giving her my best smile. She slowly shuffles forward from behind her father, meeting my gaze.
“You’re very pretty,” says Mimiko, now grinning. The shy girl from sixty seconds ago has now disappeared, replaced by a new, happy young child, one who seems quite excited to meet me. I imagine she would be, given the only important woman in her life is probably Shoko. Bless the poor children: what sequence of events could possibly have led to Satoru and Suguru taking them in, at this young age?
“Not as pretty as you and Nanako,” I giggle, tapping her nose with my fingertip. She blushes, and I swear in that moment that all I can see in front of me is my younger self, the little, innocent girl full of hopes and dreams continuously dashed away by unfortunate events with parents and an unkind world. If anything happens to these girls, I’m taking it on me personally.
“Oh, so this is the pretty girl you mentioned?” the boy, Megumi asks, genuine curiosity laced in his prepubescent voice, and it takes every cell in my frail body not to snort on the spot. He’s staring up at his father, who is failing miserably to hide the shock he wears so openly. Jaw slack from the bombshell, he furrows his eyebrows at the raven-haired boy before hastily tugging them along.
Satoru taps the expensive watch on his wrist. “We’re supposed to be at Yaga’s place at seven and it’s five past! Come on, or your dad is going to be hungry. You don’t like me when I’m hungry.”
“Why are you changing the subject?” Megumi asks, bewildered and mildly irritated again.
All I can hear Satoru say as he tugs the children and his best friend along is, “Because you’re being annoying!”
“They’re always like that,” says Shoko, smiling nihilistically, “it’s all in good fun.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I grin. “If you, and they, wouldn’t mind me asking, how did all of that come about?”
Yuki adds, “I was going to ask that, too. That’s interesting.”
“Follow me up to Satoru’s apartment, they just told us to wait while they drop the kids off before we head to the train station,” Shoko starts, gesturing at us to go through the door she is now holding open. “It’s kind of a complicated story. During sixth form, Satoru and Suguru happened to get involved with an older guy when they took on the job of looking after a fifteen-year-old girl. I won’t share the details since it’s their story, in the end, but some shit happened and the guy died.”
I gasp softly, unable to hide the frown on my face. Shit happened. The guy died. How bad could it possibly have been?
Shoko nods in acknowledgement, dark eyes focused on nothing specifically as she focuses on explaining. “On his deathbed, he told Satoru that he had a son down in Cornwall that didn’t have anyone looking after him. Satoru took it upon himself to track the kid down before moving into Somerville for his first year. It’s been tough for him, what with having to rent a family room and having to pay Megumi’s expenses, but the two of us have helped him.”
The more I get to know these people, the more questions I have, but they go unasked and unanswered; in the end, it’s not Shoko’s place to say, and it’s not my business to know unless they want me to. I can’t, however, help but imagine that it must have been an extraordinarily bad situation for Satoru to take in a whole child under his wing.
“That’s… really sad. Does Megumi know who his father is?” Yuki asks softly, a sympathetic look crossing her face as we climb up a flight of ancient-looking stairs.
Shrugging, Shoko shakes her head, and I’m not sure how to feel for Megumi. “Not really. The guy was a deadbeat dad. Satoru volunteered that information to him, but he had literally no interest in his father’s identity or whereabouts. Satoru said something like, ‘so, about your father,’ and all the kid had to say was, ‘I’ve no interest, if he’s left me and Tsumiki’—who’s his sister, by the way—’then he’s done with us, right?’ It shocked me, too.”
It feels like I’m intruding, but it has to be asked, “Where’s Tsumiki?”
Shoko chews the inside of her bottom lip, footsteps slowing slightly as she waits for me and Yuki to return to her side after we get up the stairs properly. “I think that’s Megumi’s story to tell.”
“Right,” I nod, accepting it. I decide to give up hope of knowing who Tsumiki is. As whimsical as he seems, I doubt I’ll be getting any information out of the stoic Megumi any time soon. “What about the girls?”
“Nanako and Mimiko? They’re fraternal twins, refugees of war. Suguru was in Japan on work experience during the summer, the same summer that Satoru adopted Megumi, you see. Women and children were being evacuated, but he met these two, no parents, no nothing, and there were things going on in his life that made the twins so important to him. Two days before Suguru was scheduled to fly back to Oxford, he called us, and, well… we knew what we had to do.” She stops as we reach the door of someone’s apartment, frowning to herself. “I don’t have the keys. Let’s just head back outside and wait for them to come back.”
Yuki chuckles quietly at Shoko’s passive indifference as we turn around to return the way we came. Shoko, yet again, leads the way, with the two of us following behind.
“Don’t take this badly, but I never thought I’d hear about something like this, ever, let alone from three university students. It’s wonderful that you’re able to take the kids and look after them as if they’re your own.” It’s the truth, and I have no choice but to say what I’m thinking. This explains a lot, and I make a mental note to myself to try to figure out the specifics later. I’d like to be a saint and say that I’m going to mind my own business, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least slightly curious.
“Yeah, that’s fair enough,” snickers Shoko. She’s really cute. “I guess so. Not to be cringe, but it’s so natural for us, since we’re so… odd. It feels fitting. Natural. During exam season, it’s tough to look after the kids while studying, but they’re good kids. Life wouldn’t be complete without them.”
Shoko’s comment about being ‘odd’ catches my attention, since it leaves me wondering for a moment what she actually thinks is odd. However, it makes sense. In my three full years, there have been very few people campus-wide that are known by everyone for such special, but unvarying, reasons. They’re unconventional, almost like they belong somewhere further up than a university, but the fact they have children completes that part of their identity.
It leaves a sweet taste on my tongue. Something seems like it’s going correctly for once.
“How often do you look after the bunch?” I ask, curious. It doesn’t seem like she had any particular connection to the children prior to their adoption.
“When one of them is busy, the kids stay with me. For example, when Satoru’s doing your lectures, Megumi stays with me. If Suguru’s in class, the twins stay with me. If I’m not free, then Masamichi looks after the kids. He and Satoru go way back.”
I guess that explains why Satoru can enter his private space so nonchalantly.
“Sorry I held you all behind, my door wasn’t locking,” a sultry voice appears out of nowhere. It’s Kento, with Satoru and Suguru by his side, with the children no longer around. He’s dressed in a simple blue button-up—though the top few buttons are undone—and khaki trousers. It’s not an outfit I normally see, but it works really well on him.
“Don’t worry,” Shoko shrugs. “We didn’t notice the time pass. Time to go?”
I’m not sure, but Satoru seems to look at me for a moment. It feels ridiculous to attempt to meet his eyes through glasses, but I do it regardless. He smiles, and for a moment I forget anyone else is around. “Off to the train station, we go.”
***
▷▷ stargazing - the neighbourhood ◁◁
There is a large rush of people waiting underground to begin their journey just as ours ends. Yuki’s arm hooks itself into mine and we fight our way past the crowd of impatient, tired Londoners attempting to get onto the train. Somewhere, lost in the haze, Suguru, Satoru, Shoko, and Kento have made their way off, too, and it’s not long before everyone has dispersed, making it easier for all of us to find each other.
“There you are,” Satoru says, sounding mildly relieved. “Come on, off we go.”
“Where’s the place we’re eating at, again?” I ask, looking at Satoru’s bright hair as we climb the open stairs to get onto the busy, Friday-night streets of London. He turns around and gives me a happy grin before responding.
“Bibimbap Soho,” he says. There’s a childish excitement to his voice; though I never expected to see my own lecturer like this in front of me, it’s a sight that bleeds happiness from every corner, enough to spread to my skin and warm me inside and out.
“I take it that’s a place you like?” I ask him, and he nods.
“I’ve usually got a sweet tooth, but this is the one exception. The best Korean food I’ve tried in London. And I’ve had a lot.” The final word is emphasised greatly, and it makes me giggle a little. Who would’ve expected this eccentric mathematical genius to be a foodie? Every smart person has their quirk, but I was expecting something like a hand fetish. Obsession with eating soap.
The night is warm, unexpectedly so. London is always particularly warm, more so than the rest of the country, but it feels weird that it’s mid-October and it’s still warm outside despite the darkening night sky, but things like this have been happening more and more as the years go by.
“When was the last time you came to London?” I ask Yuki, interested. She travels whenever she has free time, and I know she’s been to London before, but as her doctoral studies increased in intensity, the frequency of her actually going out decreased.
“Maybe six months ago?” she questions, frowning as she twitches her nose in thought. “Yeah, I think six is a—”
Yuki is abruptly cut off by some collision, though I can’t see what it is properly. Her face scrunches, not in pain but more from shock, and she turns around, only to see a chestnut-haired guy looking incredibly disoriented. The side of his head is in the palm of his hand, and he wears a displeased frown on his pale face.
“You okay?” Yuki asks him softly. There’s a twinge of concern in her voice, but I can tell that the crash annoyed her slightly.
“All good,” he groans slightly. His voice is deep and smooth, like rich chocolate. The rims of his eyelids are smudged with dark mascara, a look that’s rare but suits him a lot. Chocolatey, mid-length hair is tied up in space buns, an unorthodox look for men, but I don’t hate it.
I look over at Yuki again. Her eyes are wide, lips parted subtly in surprise.
The man looks up. He blinks several times in rapid succession when his eyes meet Yuki’s.
“Sorry I, uh, didn’t watch where I was going,” he says, a regretful frown materialising on his lips. However, there’s a certain glimmer in his eyes that wasn’t present before.
Suguru, Shoko, and Kento are still walking. Satoru stops a few metres in front of us, having noticed only a few seconds ago.
“That’s okay,” Yuki beams at him. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? Me and my buff shoulders.”
The hand clutched to his head slowly detangles itself from his silky hair, and his gaze travels down slightly to look at her arm. So do I. She’s muscly, and it’s obvious that he’s noticed, because his eyebrows shoot up a few millimetres in ill-concealed shock.
“Don’t worry about me. Did I hurt you?” he asks.
Yuki smiles, blinking rapidly. “No, not really.”
“Okay.” I watch the man gulp slightly as he tosses his shoes a fleeting look. “You’re really pretty.”
“You’re not too bad yourself, sweetheart. What’s your name?” my best friend gives him her best smile.
Oh. My. Goodness. She’s flirting.
My head shoots behind me, needing someone to react to the situation with. Satoru, thank the heavens, is that person. His eyebrows are raised so far they probably touch his hairline, jaw parted significantly from a lack of response to the situation. He mouths to me, “What the hell am I witnessing right now?”
I speak to him, even without sound, as Yuki speaks to the guy, whom I now know is named Choso. Choso Kamo.
“Never thought I’d witness someone else fall in love at first sight,” I articulate by exaggerating my lips’ movements in Satoru’s direction. I briefly remember that boy at the ice-skating rink, and how similar Yuki’s current experience is to my own. “Holy shit, Satoru.”
Satoru’s gaze softens as he looks at me. There’s an almost-unnoticeable tremble on the corner of his lip as he says to me softly, “Yeah.” He motions at me to join him, and I rush over, realising that I’m probably intruding in the ensuing conversation between the pair. We stand together in comfortable silence, trying our best to pretend that we aren’t listening in. It’s hard to tell if we’re succeeding or not.
Choso looks over Yuki’s shoulder, and I think that answers my question.
Satoru’s warm hand removes itself from his trouser pocket and lands on the small of my back, and he leads me a few metres away from the pair. The touch, even if it’s through my clothes, makes my skin tingle a little. It’s probably because it tickles.
“I’m not the only one shocked by that, right?” he asks me quietly, voice down to a dull whisper. Dark sunglasses slip down his nose bridge a little, and before I get a good look, he slides it back up.
Why the heck is he wearing sunglasses when it’s not even light out?
“Not just you, Satoru,” I murmur, looking behind me. Yuki seems enthralled by Choso’s company, and it makes me grin, seeing my best friend looking so excited. Satoru removes his hand from behind me, and I have to disguise my disappointment. He radiates warmth; though it’s not necessarily cold outside, being warm definitely feels nice.
“What should we do?” he asks teasingly, knowing he has material to tease her about later. The mischievousness that radiates from his voice makes me smile. It’s a refreshing change from the Satoru previous. “We can’t just leave Yuki alone in central London and get her to find us on her own, but we absolutely, ” he pauses after saying the word, “absolutely cannot interrupt this.”
“Suguru, Shoko, and Kento are still together. We can always lurk around her until Yuki updates us on whatever it is she plans to do with this guy.” It’s an odd suggestion, and even I’m taken aback by it. I still feel hesitant in hanging out with my lecturer; it was okay before because we were in a large group, and never along together, but now it’s just us, in the ever-darkening, busy streets of London, a wave of uneasiness washes over me like a cold wave on a winter day at the beach.
Whether or not Satoru feels the same way, I have no idea. Regardless, however, he doesn’t show it. He simply looks at me and nods nonchalantly, simply agreeing that it’s the only right option. “That sounds alright to me. I’ll call Suguru.”
A plain iPhone is quickly in the palm of his left hand, and it takes him less than a second to dial his best friend’s number and wait for the man to pick up. It only takes one ring. He’s fast to pick up.
“Suguru,” the guy next to me calls out into the air. There’s a slight honeyed tone in his voice, bleeding affection for his friend through every sound wave emanating from his glossy lips.
“Yeah?” the familiar voice returns, slightly muffled and impeded by what can only be pinned down to a poor signal. “Why’d you stay behind?” There’s no concern present, just pure trust.
“It’s kind of a long story, but we’ll explain in full when we all join back up. It’ll probably be a small while before we do, all good? Feel free to start ordering.”
“Alright, Satoru. Stay safe, you three,” he says softly. The bright voice of Shoko calls out, “Have fun, you two.” He holds the phone out to me slightly, offering the opportunity to respond to her words.
“As much as we can without you!” I exclaim into the microphone, and a subtle grin forms on Satoru’s face.
“Miss you already, hurry up,” Shoko giggles, and I smile. The call ends, and I quickly look back at the pair behind me. They’re still engrossed in conversation, and I suddenly feel kind of uncomfortable, unsure of what to do now.
“Ice-cream shop nearby, you wanna grab something while we wait?” Satoru asks.
“That sounds alright.”
To our right is an ice-cream parlour, not too busy and well-decorated inside. It’s only ten metres away from Yuki, give or take, so it’s probably the best spot around for us to wait. Satoru leads us inside, and just as I enter, I make eye contact with my best friend, signalling to her that we’ll wait as long as she wants inside the shop. She’s quick to blow me a kiss of appreciation, which I return with a playful wink.
“So, how long have you known each other?” Satoru asks, opening the parlour door for me. I’ve noticed he always allows me to enter first, which is nice.
“Just over a year,” I answer, looking at him. “We met when she moved into Somerville for her doctorate, and have been friends ever since. She’s one of my favourite people.”
“How did you guys click so well? You’re practically joined at the hip. She was talking about you at the hall dinner the other day, y’know.” There’s a momentary rise in his eyebrows as he thinks about his own words. “She’s very complimentary of you. You seem very close.”
“Really? What did she say?” I ask, curious. I’m well aware that she’s always got nice things to say about me, but it’s always fun to ask.
“You’re her best friend, you’re super reliable, not rude to anyone, but you’ve got a real sense of self-worth. The works, really. She admires you a lot,” he shrugs.
We arrive at a small table for two, and Satoru pulls the chair out for me, motioning at me to sit. I toss him a thankful smile before sitting down and waiting for him to join me before I respond.
“She’s a sweetheart. I think people get kind of scared of her because she’s so tough, but she’s an angel. My favourite.”
“People get scared of her?” Satoru asks, “I wasn’t scared. Is there anything to be scared of?”
I gasp softly, feigning offence. “Of course not! She’s kind and just very objective in how she sees people, that’s all. Hates people who don’t work hard, I suppose. That’s why you probably saw no issue, you’re clearly intelligent and she respects that.”
Satoru gulps, leaning back in his chair slightly. I swear the expression on his face darkens ever so slightly. “What makes you think I’m intelligent?”
Passing a menu over to him and casting my eyes over my own, I shrug. “The way you carry yourself, really. I think emotional intelligence matters more than anything, and the way you look after those three kids exudes maturity.”
Something, though I’m not sure what, soothes the tense look on his face, and it begins to look like he’s holding back a smile. “I suspect you think too highly of me,” he laughs.
“Only time will tell,” I grin. “What flavour would you recommend, by the way?”
“You speak as if I’ve been here before.”
I pause, taken aback. “Haven’t you?”
Satoru’s gaze lingers on my face for a second. “I have. How could you tell?”
“You looked kind of excited to come in here, you know that?” I giggle, “I don’t know if you were trying to hide it, but you had this little smile on your face. I guess I could’ve pinned it down to you having a massive sweet tooth, but I had a vibe more than anything?”
He’s practically frozen in shock.
“Did I overanalyse you?” I ask, frowning. Satoru looks beyond disturbed by what I’ve said.
Life seems to return to his body. “Not really an overanalysis, I respect it. You’ve got some crazy deduction skills. Yeah, I’ve been here before, it’s one of my favourite ice cream places in London. I’d say… the cookies and cream is really good, but the standard vanilla is genuinely amazing.”
I raise an eyebrow at the final statement. I’m not necessarily arguing, vanilla is great, but how astounding could it really be?
“Hey, don’t bash it before you try it.”
I shrug. “Alright, whatever you say, Mr. Gojo.”
“Oh, drop the formalities,” he groans, a hint of irritation in his voice. I feel bad. “It’s so embarrassing, even if I’m technically teaching you. I’m your age, for goodness’ sake.”
I choke on my own saliva, wincing in the process as I fight my own throat for control. “I knew you were young, but you’re my age?! What?”
Satoru pauses, like a deer in headlights. “Yeah… I am.”
Before I can say anything else, one of the parlour staff approaches us, asking for our order, and we say it quickly in the hopes of continuing with the conversation. Satoru orders vanilla and mint chocolate chip, and I decide to take his recommendation, going with cookies and cream. He volunteers a bit of his own vanilla for me to taste, to which I agree.
It doesn’t take long for that previous sense of awkwardness to return between us, which is unsurprising and kind of unpleasant. I know Satoru insists that I don’t see him as a teacher. I know that I’m becoming friends with his friends, and we’re hanging out away from university. I know. Regardless, I can’t help but feel as though it’ll be weird if I get too comfortable with him, if I get to know him as a person instead of my academic superior. It was never weird to ask my teachers in sixth form about their lives, or my tutor, so I settle on just keeping conversation strictly academic, hoping he’s not the “no talk about work outside of it” kind of guy.
“Y’know how you said your Bachelor’s dissertation was, like, really good?” I start, and Satoru begins to give me his full attention, letting out a small hum in response. “What about it was so good?”
Satoru doesn’t smile, nor does he show any kind of emotion on his face, and it makes me wonder if it’s odd of me to ask something like that.
“Mainly the fact that I conducted primary research,” he shrugs casually, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he recalls his memories of the stressful previous year. “I conducted numerous surveys, each of which had tens of thousands of responses. So, I had a large data set from which I was able to compile my findings. The committee was impressed, so they let me start with my PhD this year.”
By the time he’s done talking, there’s a gentle smile on his face. Thin, coral lips are stretched out slightly, and it spreads to me reflexively. I’m not sure why, but it feels so, so wrong, so I just smile for a brief moment while looking down at the table.
“How did you even get that many responses?” I ask.
His legs spread out slightly, and I can see his knee poke out through the side of the table. “I just kind of put it on my Instagram story, asked people to fill it out, and asked them to do the same. I guess shit spreads when you know enough people.”
The fact he’s willing to swear in front of me makes me chuckle. Maybe he’s more casual than I originally expected.
Satoru’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Did I say something weird?”
“No, no,” I hastily wave that assumption off, “I don’t know, I’m just kind of shocked that you’re so… informal with students.”
An uneasy look materialises on his face. “Is that a bad thing?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s a bad thing. Sometimes I forget teachers are allowed to… y’know, talk to us, since we’re all adults. Even more so since you’re so young.”
“I think I’d be more awkward if I was in my thirties, but I’m your age. In my head, I’m just teaching people in an informal setting, that’s why I try to make my classes so open. Is it working?” There’s a gentle tilt in his head as he asks me, genuinely receptive to my feedback.
“Very well, I’d say. People liked you immediately,” I smile, and he nods, seemingly attempting to hide any reaction to that statement.
The more I think about what he’s just said, the more it stands out, and I’m practically kicking myself for having not asked sooner or deducted it myself. “You’re my age?”
The conversation is halted temporarily as another waitress approaches us, tray in hand, with three sundae glasses balanced carefully on top. As if racing to beat me to it, he takes my cookies and cream dessert first, placing it in front of me with care, then taking the mint and keeping it to himself. The vanilla ice cream is in the precise middle of the table, and it fills me with some sense of warmth, knowing he’s sharing a part of himself with someone he’s known for a grand total of a week. Some people really are a lot kinder than others.
“Have I really never mentioned that before?” Satoru asks sheepishly, “Yeah, I’m the same age as you. I was a third-year last year.”
“What the fuck?” I frown. If he’s part of the same year group as me, and was reading maths, there’s simply no way I haven’t seen him before.
“Before you say anything, let me ask, were you a physics student until this year?” he asks, taking the small, stainless steel spoon and digging it into the soft, melting ice cream. It’s an almost-white shade of mint, and I fear to admit it genuinely looks delicious.
“Yep,” I respond simply.
“Ah, that’s why I’ve not really seen you before. I forgot if I’ve mentioned it before, but I was reading maths at Queen’s, then I’m doing my doctorate here starting this year. If you’ve been reading physics here from year one, then… I think that explains why we haven’t crossed paths. Properly.”
The addition of ‘properly’ to the end of the sentence hardly feels necessary—more confusing, over anything—and it definitely gets me wondering. Has he seen me before, paid attention to me before?
Arguably more interesting, however, is the look on his face when he finishes speaking. It resembles the look he gave everyone when Megumi asked if I was the pretty girl he’d mentioned.
Now that I think about it, that’s somewhat fishy, too. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time since I was so dumbfounded by the presence of Megumi, Nanako, and Mimiko at the time, but only now has it really settled in my mind that he’s mentioned me to his dear son before. Why?
As always, I choose not to read into it, thinking it’s probably not the big deal it seems to be. After all, who am I to assume everything is about me?
“Did you go to a state school or a selective school?” he asks me curiously, snapping me out of my thoughts. There’s a small patch of melted mint on the corner of his lips, and I point it out so he can wipe it off. With a red face, Satoru gently thumbs off the cream, looking at me as he licks it off his finger.
Inklings of what can be described only as bewilderment consume me entirely, unable to process the motion he’s just made at me. I’m sure it’s nothing. It almost always is. But something about the way he did that—
“Hello? You there?” Satoru asks, smiling, the beginnings of a smirk dragging at the corner of his lips.
“Yeah. Um. State school, not like I could afford a private school.”
He smiles softly. “Thank goodness, you’re one of us.”
My eyes widen at the response. It’s no secret that there’s a noticeable difference between the wealthy students and working-class students, but I didn’t think he’d point it out so openly.
Voicing my second thought about his words, I say, “You mean to tell me you three got into here from a state school? What are the chances?”
Over eighty percent of students here came from selective schools, or private schools, so to hear that Satoru and his two closest friends were from neither is beyond shocking.
“I couldn’t calculate the exact probability,” Satoru shrugs, “but it was a first in my school’s history. We had four-hundred people in our year group, and we three were the only ones to get Oxbridge offers. The stars aligned for that one.”
“ Wow,” I exclaim, swallowing a cookie chunk, “man, you guys really are special.”
Satoru is quick to wave that sentiment off, one hand flicking away at the invisible matter in the air. “Nah, nothing like that.”
The fact he’s so quick to deny that only serves as testament to his true intelligence. It’s rare I meet people like him—this is only the second time, ever—and when I do, it’s something I treasure forever. Satoru and his friends are definitely people I want to keep near me.
Before I can respond, however, the familiar face of my best friend appears from thin air, with the brown-haired boy next to her. She’s smiling, clearly happy, and he looks amused, if not shy.
“So… what’s up?” I question, putting my spoon back into the glass to face the two.
“Would you be okay with me and Choso… y’know, going off on our own?” Yuki asks me. Though there are times, in situations like this, where that’s more of a statement than a question, it’s clear she’s asking me for permission.
I’m glad she is, because the thought of that makes me uneasy.
Yuki never leaves me to fend for myself. She’s always there for me, watching over me like a dutiful best friend or a caring mother. The idea of being alone in London without anyone I truly trust is a thought I don’t want to entertain any further; however, given Yuki has literally always been there for me, it seems wrong to deny her something so important at such a crucial time.
Though no person within the little quartet we’ve travelled to London with seems malicious, even in the slightest, I can never be too sure of my surroundings. I can wait to get to know them a little better before trusting them with my safety.
As if she were reading my thoughts, she hums in consideration. “Actually, would you be okay with him and I just talking in the restaurant, separate from you guys? I’m still coming home with you, babe, just, uh. Choso over here’s at Imperial College, and I kinda don’t wanna wait to see him again.”
Now that sounds like a more viable idea.
“Yeah, of course,” I grin.
“We’ll, uh…” Choso starts, blushing profusely as he throws Yuki a glance while gathering his words. “...Wait outside for you to finish your ice cream.”
“Alright,” Satoru says smugly as the pair walk away, hand in hand. “Hey, use protection!”
I snort at the sudden exclamation. It’s sudden and somewhat surprising, especially from him, but, weirdly enough, it doesn’t feel out-of-character. Like being cocky and shit-eating is natural for him.
“Satoru! You can’t just yell things like that in public!” I gasp, whacking him softly on his arm with the palm of my hand. “Do it again, I like this side of you,” I giggle.
Something flickers in his demeanour when I say those words, and it makes me ponder what exactly it is I’m saying that seems to have such a vast effect on him. He has no response, but his body seems more at-ease than before, and there’s now a genuine smile on his face. It’s pretty, suiting his elegant face, and I could only wish he smiled more often.
***
▷▷ take my breath - the weeknd ◁◁
Contrary to the typical Friday night, Bibimbap Soho is relatively empty. The only customers in the restaurant are the very group I’m hanging with, Choso and Yuki one floor above, plus a trio a few tables away.
The place is ambient, the only noises audible being the low hum of kitchen machinery and the chatter of my new friends. There’s a subtle sizzle from fatty meat grilling leisurely at the centre of the table, and it’s a nice sound, one I can’t help but focus on.
“What if we play Twenty-One Dares?” Satoru suggests, left hand holding a diluted glass of whisky, chopsticks tossing meat in the other. There’s a questionable excitement present in his voice, though it doesn’t show on his face, since he’s so focused on cooking the pork belly.
“That sounds fun, what about you guys?” Suguru replies, looking up through his bottle of soju at me, Shoko, and Kento. The blond shrugs, and Shoko gives Satoru a knowing smile.
“Sounds great.” She looks at me. “You down?”
I haven’t played Twenty-One Dares in a while, and given we’re all slightly tipsy, it sounds riveting. I shrug, letting out a simple, “Sure.”
I take a look at the seating arrangement. We’re in a closed booth at the corner of the restaurant, a table in the middle of a long, concentric seat. To my left is Shoko, and to her left is Kento; opposite the three of us is Suguru and Satoru, the latter being directly opposite me. It’s easy to get a good look at anyone’s face, so I think the game might be fun.
“I’ll start. One,” says Satoru happily, following it up by throwing a hunk of food in his mouth.
There’s a strategy to the game only some are aware of, though I’m not sure of how well it’ll work given I’m now in a bigger group of people. Sticking to multiples of four ensures I never have to say “twenty-one,” so I never have to do the truth or the dare. I don’t have time to think through the logistics of trying this in a group of five, so I cast it aside and just immerse myself in the game, hoping it’ll work. I am not about to do anything super embarrassing today.
It gets around to Shoko, and she ends up on fifteen. If I stick to sixteen right now, it’s possible it can still get to me. “Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.”
“Nineteen…” Satoru smirks at Suguru, who casts his best friend a deadly glare.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Satoru.”
“Just because you told me not to, twenty!”
“Twenty-one.” Suguru rolls his eyes, taking a hefty gulp of his soju. A throaty groan leaves his mouth as he swallows. “Alright, you asshole, hit me.”
I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but the friendship between this pair isn’t at all what I thought. They seemed quite close and affectionate with one another; though this isn’t totally untrue, there’s a lot of jokingly-angry banter between the two, and it’s nice to watch. Yuki is my best friend, but living vicariously through the pair is still fun, since I haven’t had a friendship like that since… I don’t know when.
“Truth or dare?” Shoko asks.
Suguru hums in thought. “Truth.”
“What should we ask him, you guys?” Satoru asks us, looking satisfied with himself. He seems to enjoy making his friend wait for something like this, which makes me giggle.
The perfect question hits me. “What’s your most embarrassing story from your undergrad years?”
Satoru immediately snorts, covering his face with one hand and cowering below the table from a fit of laughs. “Right on the money!”
All under the watchful stare of Suguru, Satoru lifts one arm in the air, aimed at me, and I meet his gesture, palm hitting his with a loud clap. His hand is extraordinarily warm, and I assume it’s from all of the alcohol he’s been consuming.
“Satoru, stop being so fuckin’ complacent or I’m going to ask you the most annoying shit when it comes to your turn,” he grumbles.
The man in question looks at me briefly before looking back at his friend. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, spill the story to our two friends who don’t know it already.”
So, Shoko and Satoru already know what the raven-haired boy is going to say. Satoru’s amused reaction inspires anticipation in me, and I’m beginning to find out just what has Satoru so damn excited.
“Third year, I went out clubbing one night. Met a girl, we kinda made out and stuff, she took me to her car, and we were about to get into it, but I couldn’t be bothered anymore, so I kinda left her high and dry. I walk into the lecture theatre the next fucking day,” he pauses after this detail, and I’m beginning to piece it all together, “and… Fuck, I hate this. Okay. Turns out, she was my new lecturer.”
I snicker uncontrollably at the embarrassing confession, and Suguru’s face flushes a deep fuschia. “How old was she?”
“Don’t… make me answer that,” Suguru sighs.
I take a sip of my milkshake. “How old, Suguru?”
Heavy eyelids droop at my question.
“Why don’t you tell her, Suguru?” Satoru jeers, gripping his chilly whisky glass excitedly.
“She was… in her early forties.”
Even Kento begins to laugh at this, and I watch him as he does. He’s got a sweet laugh and a handsome face. Though he looked quite stoic at first, I’m beginning to realise he’s actually a sweet guy, it just takes a lot for him to react to something.
“Man, your guts really were looking out for you that night,” I chuckle, finishing the last of my milkshake. “Oh, my God, they literally were!”
That statement makes even the embarrassed Suguru start laughing, and he looks at me approvingly. “Unhinged, but gold. That one was actually pretty good.”
Shoko, wordlessly, bumps her shoulder with mine, a small sign of acknowledgement. It’s subtle, but present, and I can’t help but smile at that.
I’m kind of curious as to what Yuki and Choso are up to right now, but I fight to suppress that thought, wanting to give them a bit of privacy. If they’ve taken to each other so well already, after only a few hours of knowing one another, something special has to be going on.
“I like your sense of humour. I told you she’s what we’ve been looking for,” Shoko shrugs, raising an eyebrow at her friends. “Actually, speaking of, where’s Haibara right now?”
The question piques Kento’s attention, since it’s clearly aimed at him. “Oh. He has a tutorial tomorrow he didn’t do the reading for, poor dude is up in the library right now trying to finish all of it. Let me call him, actually.”
“Who’s Haibara?” I ask curiously. That’s a new name.
“His best friend,” Suguru says, head pointing in Kento’s direction. “He’s a third-year, like Kento, and he’s reading Geography. Sweet kid, I like his energy.”
The way Suguru speaks about his younger peers brings a smile to his face; despite being older, he clearly shows them a lot of respect and looks after them, something that’s rare for people around here, since everyone is normally so focused on their own work.
Upon hearing Kento’s voice speaking into his phone, our conversation halts slightly. “Hey, Haibara.” He hits the speaker button on the screen.
“Hi, Kento. What’s up?” he says, the happiness evident in his voice. I wonder how he can sound so optimistic despite being swamped with work.
“Nothing in particular, everyone just wanted to know how you’re doing. You’re on speaker, by the way,” replies Kento calmly, a tiny smile on his face. Even if Suguru hadn’t told me, I probably could have inferred that they’re close.
“Hey, kiddo,” Satoru exclaims loudly, ensuring he’s heard properly over the background noise of the restaurant. “The rocks got your ass?”
“Not all rocks, Satoru,” the young voice of Haibara responds, “but yeah, it did. I totally forgot about tomorrow’s tutorial. On the bright side, my essay is nearly done. Thank goodness.”
“You already got it all done? That was quick.” Kento furrows his eyebrows.
“I mean, I enjoy it, so… y’know. Wasn’t that hard to do all of it, to be honest.”
“I’m glad. Well, we will leave you to it, yeah? I was just checking up on you.”
There’s a small chuckle from the boy that can be described only as gleeful. “Alright. Thanks, Kento. Bye, all of you!”
Everyone says a little goodbye, and so do I. Before Haibara manages to fully ask who the “extra voice—” is, Kento’s accidentally already cut the phone.
“Oops,” Kento frowns.
“Maybe it’s better if he just meets her in person,” Satoru says through a rice cake.
“True.”
I pick up my chopsticks, wanting to grab a few hunks of meat off the grill and place it on my own plate. Before I can, however, Satoru swats the tip of my sticks away with his own.
My eyes travel up from the searing food up to the icy-haired man in front of me, and his sunglasses-covered eyes are already trained on me.
“Satoru.”
A smug grin materialises on his face. “Fight me for it.”
I know he’s referring to the chopsticks, but I escalate it for fun anyways. The chopsticks come to a rest by my plate and I stand up, cocking an eyebrow at him, and his smile quickly turns into a panicked frown.
“No, no, no, the food! I can’t fight when I’m drunk, I’ll probably just do some stupid, embarrassing shit.”
“Hit his dumbass, go on!” Suguru exclaims, chuckling with me. His large hand loosely strikes Satoru’s back, a slap of encouragement, or, rather, fuelling him on.
“Slap him for me,” adds Kento, which makes me giggle.
“Sorry, guys, he’s my teacher, what’s he gonna say on Monday if he has a swollen face and a black eye?”
Now it’s Satoru’s turn to say something. “Uh, yeah, guys, one of the girls here actually has a mean right hook and beat the shit out of me at a Korean barbeque. No, thank you. Thank you, no. Please, I’m sorry, don’t hit me, I’ll do whatever you want!” he says, the sarcasm evident in his voice.
His dark chopsticks reach over to the grill, carefully picking up a slab of meat before he reaches up and inserts it swiftly into my mouth. I chew. It tastes good.
“Happy now?” Satoru suggests, eyebrows raised optimistically.
“You’re lucky I’m not a fighter,” I giggle, chewing my food happily. It feels odd that someone else fed me, but I’m not complaining.
“You say Yuki’s the scary one, liar alert,” he snickers.
“The fuck do you mean? She’s my baby girl,” Shoko chips in, an arm sliding hastily around my waist, pulling me in. A hand reaches up to my hair to ruffle it slightly, and I can’t help but chortle a little at her antics.
“Ugh, please,” Satoru groans, “never speak again.”
“Shut the everliving fuck up,” snaps Shoko. “You’re the corny one.”
Satoru’s gaze meets mine, and his incessant chewing slows. Though he’s trying to hide it, that little shift in his vibe happens again; instead of turning cold suddenly, however, this time, he just smiles and pulls himself out of his thoughts before focusing his attention onto Shoko again.
“I am not.”
Chapter 6: You always double back
Notes:
Not proofread thoroughly, let me know of any grammar/spelling mistakes. Please bear with me, remember this is meant to be quite slow-paced :)
Story playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6XNGqet7KuGWTBTunwN4bS?si=ea9c39935175412b
Chapter Text
▷▷ role model - brent faiyaz ◁◁
Tentative trails of midday sunlight peek through the pewter-coloured clouds and pass through the ornate windows, providing a subtle, natural light to my section of the Somerville library. Outside, despite the chill of the oncoming winter, various students sit on the dull grass of the courtyard, speaking to each other, or studying, or just enjoying the rare sunlight.
As the previous month whizzed by, warmth and bright mornings became an infrequent phenomenon, a melancholy signal of the turning season. Today’s one of the rare days that the Sun feels bold enough to shine even through the dark patches in the sky attempting to hide it, and I’m glad. It seems that everyone else, is, too, given that people are getting outside for once.
I peer out of the window, wanting to observe what everyone else is up to. We’re taking a break from the work, so this seems to me a better option than just mindlessly scrolling on my phone for five minutes.
A couple I recognise but can’t recall the exact names of are sat on a bench under a willow tree. The bright sunlight is mere inches away from the girl, but the weeping branches of the tree provide precise shade to them both. The boy, who has spice-coloured hair and bright red lips, stares at his girlfriend lovingly, one long arm wrapped around her torso and securely clutching her skin through a knitted sweater. She’s talking into the air, arms painting an image and fingers weaving in fine details, a saccharine smile on her bright face.
I recognise them both clearly, the more I stare. The gorgeous girl is a second-year English literature student, and the boy is an Engineering Science student. Opposites really do attract.
“Why are you being so quiet?” Satoru asks softly. Even without looking, I can tell that he’s not looking at me or in the same direction as me, but rather he’s facing the ceiling. I turn my gaze to him.
A dark cloth, silky and jet-black, rests loosely over his eyes, and his head is thrown back just over the chair. A few loose locks of snowy hair rest atop the blindfold, but the rest loosely hangs down, influenced by the force due to gravity, I suppose.
His prominent Adam’s apple bobs subtly with every breath he takes, and I try my best not to stare, but I can’t help it sometimes. It’s rare to see men with features like that, and sometimes, they have to be admired.
Despite the sunlight, it’s still not very warm, so Satoru is wearing a slate-coloured trench coat. Underneath is a plain black compression shirt—a common item of clothing for him, I’ve realised over the last few weeks. He’s turned up to lectures wearing it a few times—much to the amusement of some of the girls within the course module—and he wears it sometimes when he’s at the gym, I’m pretty sure.
Megumi is curled up in the corner, between my desk and the bookshelf, focus buried in a good book.
“Why am I quiet?” I repeat, in a mild daze and having forgotten the question.
“Yeah.”
I look at his perfect nose as I speak, then look up to the ceiling out of curiosity. He can’t even see anything, eyes covered by the damn blindfold, but I look anyway. “I’m just… looking outside, I guess. People-watching.”
“Oh. Okay. How long of the break do we have left?” Satoru asks, scrunching his nose.
I briefly switch my iPad on to check the timer. It reads, “02:05.”
“Two minutes and five seconds.”
“Alright.”
I fidget with my fingertips, the nails briefly scraping against each other. “Can I ask you a question?” I say quietly, feeling apprehensive about what I’m going to say. Despite being entangled up within his friend group over the past month, I’ve endeavoured to keep our relationship strictly professional, and so has he. It feels odd that he’s helping me personally with some of my maths work, but there’s no rule against it, and he’s the best person for me to ask, in the end.
“Hit me,” he says confidently.
The blindfold he’s wearing has been bugging me for a while. First, the sunglasses, and now this. Is it some kind of insecurity? Is there something wrong with his eyes? Is there something he’s hiding? The last one feels particularly like a stab through the heart; for a while, Satoru has been hiding something from me. I can’t grasp what it is, but I know there is something. Creeping feelings of uneasiness have plagued me ever since the first day I met him back at the lecture hall.
It feels like I’m overstepping, so I stop myself before any words can actually come out of my mouth. My lips part as though I’m to speak, but no sound comes out.
“Never mind, I forgot the question,” I lie.
I watch his forehead shift a little, and it becomes obvious he’s just raised an eyebrow. “How did you forget it that quickly?”
I look back out of the window, searching for the bench couple. They've got up and left. “I’ve got a short attention span.”
“But you’re a top-performing Oxford student in spite of that.” He chuckles knowingly. “Very interesting,” Satoru adds, practically purring.
I say we’ve been keeping things professional, but if I were to say we’re not comfortable with each other, I’d be lying. There’s always a small sense of uneasiness hanging around in the air, but that doesn’t stop us cracking the occasional joke and relentlessly taking the piss.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I dismiss his sly response, knowing he’s not bought my jibe about the short attention span. Oh well. Two can play the hiding game.
My iPad suddenly makes a little chime noise, and I turn my attention to the device. It’s a notification from the group chat.
It’s only been two weeks since I was added, but they figured it’d be a good idea since I’m beginning to see everyone regularly, not to mention it makes coordinating Friday night dinners a lot easier. Even if two or three of us are busy, the rest are free to hang, which has made my life just that little bit less boring. Despite the winter, I’m finding it’s actually not a massive struggle to get up in the mornings.
[15:53] suguru >>> are any of you doing anything? i need someone to hold me accountable lol
It’s only a Tuesday night, so I’m surprised to read that, given he’s a Master’s student like me. Towards the end of the term, though, it’s always a bit of a struggle to stay focused.
I tab onto GoodNotes, checking the work I’ve done today. Satoru has been helping me with some extra problems I found online in preparation for the module’s final exam. As aforementioned, it feels illegal to ask him for help, but everyone else can do the same if they want. I’m just one of the few choosing to exercise that right. I guess it also just helps that Satoru lives in the same college as me.
To my surprise, most of the problems are done. Even better, I’m getting the hang of it all, which feels foreign but beyond liberating.
My gaze turns to Satoru. His head is still thrown backwards over the chair, black blindfold shielding his eyes. I don’t think he’s tired, but he definitely doesn’t seem like he’s doing amazingly, so I decide to ask him.
“Hey, Satoru, you good? You’ve been looking a little… knocked out for the past few minutes,” I raise an eyebrow as I speak, even though he won’t see it.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine, thanks for asking. Just a little headache.”
My breath hitches in my throat. Surely, he doesn’t have the same kind of issue as me?
“Should we stop?” I suggest thoughtfully. “Suguru just asked the group chat if anyone’s free to hang, I’ve basically got the hang of this properly, and… you know. I think you need a bit of a break, too.”
“Good to see you’ve been getting all of this,” he replies, “so, when I grade your final for this topic, you’re gonna get one-hundred percent?”
“Arrest me if I don’t,” I laugh.
“I’ll hold you to it,” he responds with a chuckle.
“Should I tell Suguru to come down here?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows, “Since we’re done.”
“Go for it.”
I quickly type a response, and a few others are quick to read the message.
[15:57] you >>> satoru and i are in the library, join us lol
[15:57] shoko >>> Lmfao what are you guys doing in the library
[15:57] suguru >>> lol right
[15:57] you >>> oh i needed help with some work so i jus asked him
[15:57] you >>>
IMG_7301.png
[15:58] shoko >>> He’s cooked LMAO
[15:58] haibara >>> is he okay???
[15:58] haibara >>> he doesn’t look too good :(
[15:58] kento >>> Don’t give that idiot your time of day, Haibara
[15:58] shoko >>> Realest shit
[15:58] shoko >>> Fork his eye, it’ll be funnie
[15:58] you >>> i js ate pasta with myfork is that fine,,,
[15:58] suguru >>> even better, you smart cookie
[15:59] shoko >>> You’re so iconic btw
[15:59] shoko >>> Fcuk men I want u
[15:59] yuki >>> She’s mine
[15:59] yuki >>> The fuck?
[15:59] satoru >>> shoko you homewrecking ass
[15:59] satoru >>> calm your fuckin tits
[15:59] satoru >>> sleep w one eye open
[15:59] satoru >>> i’m gonna touch you!!!!!!!!!
[15:59] shoko >>> Kill yourself
[15:59] satoru >>> only after you kys
I look up. The blindfold is long gone, replaced by the familiar sunglasses shielding his eyes. I can see the skin around his eyes, and nothing seems wrong, so I doubt he covers his eyes out of insecurity. He’s smiling at his phone, clearly enthused by what he’s seeing.
[15:59] satoru >>> i’m in. Your walls
[15:59] shoko >>> You fuckin wish
[15:59] satoru >>> never speak again omd
[15:59] shoko >>> I’m behind you, bitch
[15:59] satoru >>> that’s me when i lie
[15:59] satoru >>> and that’s me after pretending i didn’t cheat on the med entrance exam
[16:00] suguru >>> gagged you there, didn’t he?
[16:00] shoko >>> No litterally turn around we’re behind you
I look up, and what do you know, Shoko, Suguru, and the twins are in the library, behind Satoru, and he jumps at the sight, wholeheartedly startled by their presence. It’s obvious they crept up on us silently, and Shoko looks damn proud of them. The twins excitedly hold in their giggles.
“How the hell didn’t you notice?” Shoko asks incredulously, a satisfied smirk on her face. Satoru still looks like his soul left his body.
“Because I was too consumed with responding to your dumbass.” Satoru’s voice is at a low grumble.
I snort before noticing Megumi up and walking. He high-fives both girls. I’ve noticed it’s just a thing they do, a mark of their happy little trio. It’s cute, and a stinging reminder of the youth that was practically stolen from me. Regardless, though, it brings me some kind of bliss knowing they’re living happily, despite their odd situation.
“So, what’s up?” Satoru asks, “Why are you here?”
“You don’t seem happy to see us,” jabs Suguru playfully, nudging him in the shoulder.
Satoru tosses a glance at me before responding to his best friend. “No, I am. I think we were just finishing up. What were your plans?”
“We were gonna study for the final exams, but it seems you guys are done with that,” Suguru responds, eyebrows furrowing as he observes our surroundings. Watchful eyes trace over the iPads on the desk and various open textbooks loosely strewn around, and he nods in acknowledgement.
“Actually,” the Gojo responds, the tips of his thumb and index finger toying with the hilt of his sunglasses. “Your favourite physicist and I were going to have a little competition.”
“Huh? With who? This is new,” I question. I search Satoru’s face for an answer, and it becomes apparent very quickly. He makes no move to conceal his amusement whatsoever.
“You know, for top of the class two years in a row, you’re awfully slow,” Satoru snorts, picking up a whiteboard marker out of his pencilcase.
Before he can do anything else, I lurch forward and playfully smack him on his bicep, fingers making contact for the most brief of moments. Despite the short-lived contact, I’m immediately struck by how incredibly solid his muscles are, and I bite back a frown. I knew he went to the gym, but this far exceeds my expectations.
What was I even expecting, though? Satoru doesn’t try to conceal his good looks at all. A miniscule shudder pollutes my ever-weakening shoulders as my mind casts itself back to that day, just over a few months ago, only a few metres away from our current position, where I joined the two friends for fun, immediately greeted by the sight of Satoru Gojo in a greyish-jet compression shirt. That sight hasn’t left my mind since, and I get the odd feeling that this brief contact, this testament that Satoru hides a whole repertoire of muscle underneath vague ridges of an all-too-tight t-shirt, will quickly become a moment that sticks around, unwelcome, uncalled for, in my disturbed mind.
Before they can notice that I’ve began to drift away, I pull myself out of those annoying thoughts, and punctuate my silly attack with a lively remark, “Only Shoko’s allowed to say that stuff.”
“Yeah, you fuckin’ loser,” Shoko smirks, walking over to me and happily placing an arm around my shoulders. She constricts, pulling me in, and I giggle softly at her open expression of distaste at Satoru and approval of me.
“Oh, Shoko,” frowns Satoru, grinding his teeth, “you’re lucky you’re my friend, I’d have punched you time ago.”
“I don’t think the friend part matters,” she shoots back in return, “you’d never punch me so long as our gorgeous girl is here, would you?”
A hearty laugh erupts from Suguru’s chest, warm and content. “Low blow, Shoko. Low blow.”
“Why is that so low?” I frown in confusion.
“They’re just being idiots, as always,” mutters Satoru in response, and his eyebrows move up slightly as he does so. I presume he’s just rolled his eyes. “But, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you’re going to compete with me. In a little maths contest.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I back up, and in the corner of my eye, Shoko raises a finger in Satoru’s direction, too.
“Yeah, man, whoa!” she adds on.
“You never said nothing about any contest. Now you’re just talking out of your ass,” I raise an eyebrow at Satoru, who is now standing up, beckoning all of us over to follow him.
“Well, we’re competing now. Consider it the last part of your final prep. You and I…” he trails off for a moment to draw a stark line through the middle of a clear whiteboard with the very marker he picked up a few moments ago. “Are competing to see who can solve some differential equations the quickest.”
“Not to doubt your ability or anything,” questions Suguru apologetically, and I wave it off, presuming he’s going to say exactly what I’m thinking. “But that’s kind of stupid. First of all, she’s a physics major. Her Master’s incorporates maths. Second, you’re like some world-renowned genius, and third, you’re literally the lecturer. This is some weird ego-boost type shit, man. You don’t need another boost.”
“Right?” I pile on. “I’ll do it for fun, sure, but this seems embarrassing as hell. We both know you’re going to absolutely ruin me.”
“Got that right,” Satoru murmurs.
I choke at his quiet response. “You’re not even denying—”
“If you solve any differential equation quicker than me, I’m taking you and Yuki on a shopping spree, no budget.”
That proposal is one I can’t turn down.
A cocky smile materialises on Satoru’s face, and his gaze is trained directly on me. Expert hands swiftly touch cap to pen, and he taps the board with its tip, still focusing on me.
I chew the inside of my mouth, ashamed that I’m even considering this in the first place. It’s going to be beyond degrading. The fact he’s so confident in his ability that he’s putting so much on the line over one, small loss speaks a thousand words.
Yet, it’s an opportunity I simply can’t miss.
There are so many reasons for me to milk money out of him. The winter formal, the Christmas party, the New Year’s Party, the spring formal, and a general change of clothes, maybe a new bag would be nice. Or that nice ice cream place in London with the millionaire’s cone I’ve been wanting to try since I was a little girl. So much I could do. And it’s just in my grasp. All I have to do is leap at it, grasp it, and hold on like there’s no tomorrow in sight.
Not only that, winning this means I’ve won something for Yuki. Though money is never necessarily tight, it’s not in abundance, and it sure would be nice to do something nice for Yuki using my skills.
“Why is that the prize?” I ask him, sceptical. There’s bound to be a catch somewhere.
“People are motivated by two things. Love and money. The only one of those two I can offer currently is money. And, well… who doesn’t like money?”
I scoff. “What makes you think I’ll be swayed that easily by your little credit card?”
Satoru slides the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose a few millimetres. “Aren’t you?”
A frown crosses my face as I toss a glance at Shoko and Suguru. They look mildly amused. “Yeah, fuck you. I’m in.”
“Ooh, naughty girl, swearing at your teacher,” Shoko chuckles, jabbing me in the side with the tip of her index finger.
That’s enough to elicit a deadly stare from the teacher in question.
“Uh oh,” I warn Shoko, concealing a giggle, “think you made him angry!”
“I have been making him angry,” she smiles happily, “but go on, I know you can beat his sorry ass. He’s been asking for it for God-knows-how-long.”
“Goodness, what’s gotten into you, Shoko?” Suguru quips smartly, the corner of his mouth turning upwards, forming a tiny dimple in one cheek. It’s cute. “You’re always coming for Satoru, but today more so than ever.”
“No particular reason.” Shoko squeezes my arms softly as Satoru turns around and looks at her questioningly. “I just feel like pissing him off, to be honest. Little taste of his own medicine.”
Satoru stands up straighter than before, pointing the marker’s tip at his friend accusingly. “I am not as irritating as you’re being right now.”
“If only you knew, big boy,” Shoko chuckles disapprovingly. Without a word of warning, she whacks me on the back, full of encouragement, beckoning me forward to get closer to Satoru. She’s applied enough force to get me to stumble slightly, but before I can fall even a little, Satoru leaps over in a flash, quick to catch me.
One arm securely wraps around my waist and his other hand holds me by the wrist, forefingers wrapping around while his thumb presses deeply into my palm.
Only now do I realise just how tall he is. It’s the first time I’ve been forced into such intensely close proximity with the man, and I’d be lying if I said I disliked it. Slack, pearly hair hangs loosely down in front of his face, not enough to skew my view of him, but just enough for the tip to tickle my forehead.
Curiosity kills the cat, yet again, and I try my damn hardest to get a look at his eyes, or at least around it.
The sunglasses are pitch-black, allowing absolutely zero light through. Unless they’re one-way glasses or something else of the sort, it’d be a miracle that he could even walk around without stumbling and tripping like a bumblebee.
“Whoa there, you’ve gotta be more careful. You clumsy girl,” quips Satoru smugly before gently releasing his hold on me, letting me fully catch my footing.
I turn back to Shoko, ready to give her my best death stare for putting me in a situation like this, but she just smiles at me, looking a bit too pleased with herself. I can’t bring myself to be mad since I never fully fell in the end. How Satoru even made it in time, I’ve no idea.
Yet again, something deeply unsettling settles in the depths of my stomach, churning its contents until there’s nothing left, and it makes me want to throw up. I know it’s not a big deal that he’s my teacher since he’s still a fellow student, and my age, at that, but how bad would it look if someone else taking his class happened to see whatever it was that just occurred? Wouldn’t it be bad?
“I’m not clumsy,” I murmur, shaking his grip off. Not wanting my behaviour to look suspicious, I try my best to perk up quickly, picking up another whiteboard marker and scrawling my name on the top of the left-hand side, claiming it all as mine.
“So you’re in?” Satoru confirms, to which I nod. He smiles like a Cheshire cat. “Let’s get Yaga in here. Get him to moderate the game.”
“Moderate?” I ask, confused. I hardly think our contest needs any monitoring. “Why?”
“In case we don’t solve any of the problems between us, he can determine which one of us was the closest. Or, we can play our rounds until one of us gets a solution. But then, again, we’d need someone to check it’s right. He could even set them himself.”
I consider these rules for a moment, and decide they’re suitable, so I nod in response.
It doesn’t take Satoru long to make a quick phone call, but within that time frame, I stare back at my lecture notes and some of the problems I’d solved earlier this morning. Forgetting how you do things isn’t very common when you’re studying maths, but it can’t really help to remain as sharp as possible.
[16:08] satoru >>> library, rn, ego contest with my monkey on stake
[16:08] kento >>> What?
[16:08] satoru >>> *money
[16:09] you >>> whoa there lil bro
[16:09] satoru >>> lil bro is crazy
[16:09] you >>> NOT an ego contest. shutuo
[16:09] shoko >>> Er it’s an ego contest and you know it
[16:09] shoko >>> Because you are THRAHSING HIM
[16:09] shoko >>> Do it for me baby
[16:09] you >>> just for you babygirl <3
[16:09] satoru >>> anyways
[16:09] shoko >>> Just say you hate gay people bro
[16:09] satoru >>> you’re going to hell regardless weirdo
[16:10] satoru >>> AS I WAS SAYIGN. KENTO HAIBARA YUKI COME TO THE SOMERVILLE LIBRARY
[16:10] yuki >>> Genius vs genius? Fuck yeah i’m coming
[16:10] you >>> it’s really not that much of a spectacle lollll just more me prepping for my final
[16:10] satoru >>> say it’s a contest or no pussy
[16:10] you >>> i’m so fucking confused as to what you’ve just said
[16:10] you >>> like no pussy? are you saying i get no bitches
[16:10] satoru >>> i mean pussies can take a lot more than balls so i say no pussy instead of no balls
[16:10] satoru >>> but thanks for the idea actually i’m gonna call you bitchless now
[16:10] shoko >>> The projection is so fucking real right now it’s actually sad dude
[16:11] kento >>> It’s more than fair to say you pull the least here, Satoru, no idea why you’re calling her bitchless
[16:11] haibara >>> right! she’s so beautiful
[16:11] suguru >>> wholesome lol
[16:11] haibara >>> sorry was that weird?
[16:11] you >>> NOOOO NOT AT ALL OMG that’s so sweet
[16:11] you >>> bless ur sweet heart
[16:11] haibara >>> :)
[16:11] haibara >>> kento and i should be there in a min
[16:12] yuki >>> Yea give me abt ten minutes too
[16:12] suguru >>> we won’t start w/o you dw
[16:12] yuki >>> Ooh pressure!
[16:12] yuki >>> See yall there
One by one, the remaining four people begin to file in, and they drag a chair from some other corner of the library to sit near us. Satoru and I are standing in front of the large whiteboard, while Dr. Yaga patiently reads something on his laptop, presumably whatever it is he’s going to ask us to solve.
Yuki sits, cross-legged, atop a wooden chair, by Shoko’s side. The latter simply scrolls on her phone, waiting for something to begin, and Suguru, who isn’t far to her side, absentmindedly stares out of the window.
“Okay, I’ve got the problems I want you to solve ready. Are you both good to go?” asks Dr. Yaga. I nod, and so does Satoru.
Yaga makes his way up, picking up the final board marker and scrawling the question in a small box we’d drawn in the centre of the board. It’s messy, but not enough to make it illegible, and it’s so hard, it’s pissing me off.
However, it’s not too far from a problem I’d solved with Satoru earlier. That doesn’t help me at all, though. He’s the one more experienced, and he’d also just had that practice.
I try my best not to let it deter me, beginning to scribble on my side of the board. Splotches of ink spread out from the centre, colouring the board black and blue, and I’m sure it’s incredibly boring for those watching to have to stare, since they don’t understand a work of it. Dr. Yaga aside, of course.
My ears perk up to the sound of Satoru mumbling to himself, taking the occasional step back, and overall being annoyingly loud for someone simply solving a question. It’s not enough to faze me, though, so I let it go.
“Got it. The answer’s four-pi over three radians,” Satoru blurts out, before turning around to face Dr. Yaga.
I stop, in disbelief, taking a step back to look at his method. It’s beyond illegible, akin to pure scribbles, but I can still read it… somehow. Yaga comes up to scrutinise his method, but he doesn’t have much to say.
“Correct. However, Satoru, what did I tell you about showing your working? Seriously, this is horrendous. I can’t read a word of it.” Yaga glances over at everything I’ve been writing. “Her working is borderline perfect. She may be your student, but you’ve still a lot to learn.”
Yaga scolds him harshly, and for a moment, Satoru is reduced down to a young, receptive boy. Though he doesn’t seem small, he eagerly drinks in his mentor’s advice, exuding both guilt and respect for the older man. It’s quite shocking, just how quickly he’s reduced himself down into a medium so pliable, so flexible. Perhaps that’s why he learns so quickly. Despite seeming full of himself, he really does listen, even at his own expense.
“Okay. I’ll do better after this,” Satoru shrugs, rubbing out his illegible pen marks. Yaga returns to his seat after scratching a clean line into Satoru’s tally box, and it feels like a jab in the stomach, but it’s okay. I can catch up.
The next problem is thrown our way in no time, and the race to solve it begins immediately after. It’s even tougher than the last, and it takes a few moments of me staring at it to even get an idea on where to start. What’s daunting, however, is the fact that Satoru somehow gets it immediately, hurriedly beginning to write ideas down, connecting it in a massive spiderweb.
More shocking, though, is the fact that Satoru genuinely has put in an effort to make his working out clearer. I’m not even that close to his side of the board, yet I can read most of what he’s writing, and it’s a scary change from the kind of mathematics he was engaging in not even five minutes ago. I frown, not even halfway through solving, when he slams down the pen in triumph, exclaiming, “I’m done.”
“Are you joking?” I splutter, taking a step back to stare at his work.
God damn, he’s not kidding.
His method is as clear as day, numbers drawn out with elegance rivalling that of a calligrapher’s. Even a fresher could understand what he’s doing. Perfectly curved arrows link one chunk of his board to another, creating a path so incredibly easy to follow, it makes me stare at the palms of my own hands in disbelief.
“To three significant figures, it’s two hundred and fifty-eight,” Satoru says, looking at his mentor for approval.
To my utter dismay, he’s correct.
Yaga comes up to write the next tally mark under Satoru’s name.
“Eight questions left. Remember, if you beat him in terms of timing even once and get it right,” Yaga adds, looking at me, “you, and Yuki, it seems, will win.”
Now, it’s Yuki’s turn to speak. Her eyebrows are already furrowed in thought, but this piques her interest even further. She puts down her pen—what kind of notes could she even be taking?—to look back and forth between the man beside me and myself.
“Huh? What have I got to do with this?” she asks, dumbfounded, and I look at Satoru, making him respond.
“She immediately backed down from the contest, saying she wouldn’t take part because I’m bound to be better,” he begins, then turns to me with a smile creeping up on his perfect face. “Then I told her that you two get a no-budget shopping spree if she wins. So… here we are.”
Blonde eyebrows slowly raise, almost comically, out of shock. “Yeah? And who’s paying for that? We’re expensive girls.”
I snicker at her words, but my smugness quickly dissolves when I notice a knowing smirk on Satoru’s face. “I know. I’m paying,” he replies simply, hands slotted neatly into his pockets.
“Enough flexing, weirdo,” Shoko grumbles, “get on with it!”
With a snort, he waves her words off, before turning his attention back to the whiteboard, immersing himself in our contest once again. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
I roll my eyes at his complacency before doing the same, uncapping my pen and raising my arm in the air, poised to begin.
Yaga hastily brings up the next question, and I try my best, I really do, but I’m outdone on timing again. It’s not anything I wasn’t expecting—after all, he’s apparently some kind of prodigy, and he’s the same person who taught me most of this in the first place. Regardless, it feels like a bit of a blow to my ego, borderline humiliating, given that many of my few friends are behind us, observing, patiently waiting for a sign that their self-centred friend was about to be humbled.
When the fifth problem comes, victory is in sight, but one mental calculation from him again beats me by mere seconds.
“You can do this!” Yuki and Shoko yell at me in unison, and I smile weakly in response, giving them my best thumbs-up. Okay, maybe not my best, but it’s kind of hard when you’re being thrashed so badly.
The seventh problem comes along, and just when I think I have an answer, I’m outdone again.
“This one’s just pi,” shrugs Satoru, putting down his pen.
I turn around, defeated, ready to tap out, when I notice there’s an eerie silence from Dr. Yaga.
Yuki’s face contorts suspiciously, watchful eyes flitting back and forth, and the moment hers meet mine, she mouths to me silently, “Finish solving that one! He’s wrong!”
My eyes widen in shock, before I quickly turn to Dr. Yaga. He’s furrowing his eyebrows at Satoru’s side of the whiteboard, looking between that and his laptop screen.
Hurriedly, I finish the very last few lines of my working out, and as I near the end, Yaga says five words I had never expected to hear in my pathetic life.
“You’ve done something wrong, Satoru.”
“Huh?” The smirk is gone. That smugness is gone. Slender fingers clench around the base of the marker as he dashes back over, analysing his method for the error in the hopes of correcting it.
For fear of embarrassing myself like he’s just done, I calmly read my answer off the calculator screen, biting my lip softly in anticipation.
“Three pi radians,” I frown, pinching my forehead in anticipation.
Dr. Yaga slides his shades down the bridge of his nose, raising both eyebrows as his pupils meet mine. “You’re correct.”
I stare at the man blankly, who looks equally shocked at his own words. “Are you being for real?”
“Very real,” Yaga nods, turning the laptop screen my way and zooming in so I can see the answer from my distance. What do you know, it’s the exact answer I’ve just provided.
Yuki cheers at the top of her lungs before abruptly stopping, remembering that, in the end, she’s still in a library. Shoko high-fives the woman, knowing her friend will be worse off for it, and high-fives me through the air. I replicate the motion as if there was no distance between us. In the corner of my eye, a distraught Satoru looks at me, then at our friends, and back, eyes wide in shock. Though I’m a little offended he was truly sure I couldn’t beat him, I can’t blame him in the end: it’s not like I expected myself to beat him either.
As everyone observing quietly marvels to themselves, filling me with an awful sense of pride, Satoru’s presence draws away all of the oxygen in my lungs. The cloth of his sleeve brushes against mine, and I look up at him, wondering what he wants to say to me.
There’s an odd, wry smile on his face, and I tilt my head slightly in confusion. The realisation dawns on me in a heartbeat, and my confusion morphs into hostility within a mere second.
“Don’t tell me you lost that on purpose,” I frown, furrowing my eyebrows.
His face immediately contorts, shocked, and he shakes off the accusation without a hint of hesitance. “Nope. You genuinely won. Why were you so intensely sure I’d beat you? Got impostor syndrome or something?”
The final question isn’t serious, I can tell, but it’s odd that he’s got the exact reason for his original question. I chew the inside of my lip softly, not knowing what to respond with, and it only takes a second or two of Satoru waiting for him to realise that he’s not wrong.
“Damn, girl, my bad.” He scrunches his nose in thought. “Genuinely, though, I’m not sure how I actually got that wrong. And I’m not surprised you won, either. Maybe if we only played five rounds, you wouldn’t have had time to warm up properly, and I would’ve won. I, on the other hand, think a bit too fast, and that must’ve been where I messed up.”
I choose to ignore his observations. Not because there was anything wrong with them, but it’s more from the fact that there’s one question bugging me more than anything.
“Satoru, can I ask you a personal question? Feel free not to answer if you don’t want to,” I ask, looking up again.
“Yeah?” is all he responds, voice down to a calm, receptive volume, one ready to take in whatever it is I have to say.
“How do you have the kind of money to, you know… just spend on me and Yuki?”
The question seems to catch him off-guard, eyebrows twitching slightly as he takes a deep breath. Drinking my question in, he seems to run the tip of his tongue across the walls of his mouth in consideration for what seems like forever before he decides to finally say something.
“It’s kind of a long story, one I can’t get into proper detail about if we’re just here,” Satoru nods, smiling softly. “And kind of a tough one. I’m happy to tell you, but I’d rather do so when we have more time.”
Is he being totally honest about that, or is that his way of politely dodging my question. If so, why did he dodge the question? Does he have something to hide from me, or from others?
Satoru seems like a relatively honest guy, so I try to cast aside that assumption before responding.
“That’s alright. I honestly just got curious, that’s all.”
Satoru cracks another smile and opens his mouth, ready to say something, before Suguru calls us both over. The former swallows his words back down his throat and looks at me, beckoning us both forward to join everyone else.
“Shoko and I have been considering this for a while,” Suguru begins, eyes scanning the faces of everyone around before finally landing on his best friend’s. He gulps softly before continuing his sentence. “What if we go to the ice-skating rink, as a group, once the term’s over?”
The ice-skating rink. The odd place where several memories of mine sprouted to life, strengthened by the nutrients of agonising time and soul-crushing distance. The black hair; the stark, blue eyes; the snow-white skates. All of it. A myriad of sights, words, and sounds envelop me entirely, and my throat seems to constrict slightly at the thought.
It’s not an uncommon reaction, one that happens every time I think about the rink again. Odd, because it’s not like there were any bad memories there, but the spark of hope that someone else was there to witness the day never fails to turn my poor muscles to mush every time it manifests itself within my chest.
Suguru’s gaze lingers on Satoru for a second or two, and it doesn’t go amiss. It’s an odd look that he’s giving him, and for a split second, I see Suguru turn his focus to me, before reverting back to normal.
Satoru turns to me. “What do you think? You down?” he asks before turning back, “Seems good to me.”
I wince at the thought. Ice-skating seems easy for literally everyone but me, given I can’t even maintain my balance on the ice for more than two seconds. A frown subconsciously materialises on my face as I consider his proposition.
“You guys have fun. I genuinely can’t skate for the life of me, it’ll be so embarrassing.”
Before I even finish my sentence, Satoru is snickering to himself as if what I’ve just said is the funniest thing in the world.
“What’s so funny to you?” I scowl.
The laughing intensifies, and now I’m beyond confused. “It’s just… the fact you thought we would care. Who gives a fuck if you’re shit at ice-skating? Just have some fun with it.”
My eyes narrow. He’s not wrong, but the thought of humiliating myself like that is a lot to bear. “That’s embarrassing, Satoru. No thanks.”
“Please,” Yuki pouts, batting her eyelashes at me. “It’ll be fun! I’m shit at ice-skating, too, but it’ll be fun. For the jokes!”
“Exactly. I’ve never been ice-skating and I’ll probably fall a few times, who cares? No one’s gonna point and laugh. They’ve all been in that position before,” adds Shoko, shrugging. Her eyes light up in hope, and the little sparkle contained in them makes me begin to seriously consider the idea a second time.
“Not me, though, you guys stay safe,” shrugs Satoru, and just about everyone throws him a death stare.
“Not cool, Satoru,” Kento shakes his head disapprovingly.
“Are you trying to convince her to come or stay?” Suguru asks questioningly, eyebrow raised at his best friend. “Really, bro?”
“Weirdo,” Shoko rolls her eyes.
“We’re trying to encourage her to come, not pretend like you’re some natural at everything.” Haibara, too, shakes his head.
“Hey, hey, I’m just not gonna beat around the bush, alright?” Satoru shoots back defensively.
I consider his response, deeming it good enough. “To be honest, I hate liars. I’ll take it.”
“So, are you gonna come with us?” Satoru queries again, looking at me, then at Suguru’s phone. “It’s £9 a ticket, but I’m okay to pay for that.”
“Fuck no,” I stop him, “I hate owing people—”
“None of that B.S.,” quips Satoru, raising a hand in the air to shush me. I’m practically programmed to take offence at that, but I have to admire his determination. “It’s really not much. Also, I’m taking you and Yuki shopping. How come you don’t hate the idea of that?”
“Because I actually earned that one. Sort of,” I shrug it off. He does have a point, but they’re just different situations on the whole. Situations that can’t be compared.
“What makes you so… averted to ice-skating apart from that, anyways?” Satoru pries in, “Seems like an excuse to me.” The expression on his face is one that can be described only as expectant, as though there’s something he can see that the others can’t. I hate it.
He’s seeing right through me.
I look at Yuki, gulping, expecting her to reciprocate my emotions, but she purely looks at me with an excited smile. She looks at Satoru then at me, signalling something, but I can’t quite put my finger on what.
Trusting whatever it is she’s trying to say, I give in. “Fine, I’ll come.” I roll my eyes, realising it’s the only way to dodge the question. The only other thing making me say those words is his willingness to just pay for it himself, and the hopeful, giddy expression on Satoru’s face as he awaits my final verdict. “But your ass is not paying.”
Satoru raises an eyebrow and playfully nudges me in the shoulder. “We’ll see about that.”
Chapter 7: We'd see it through
Summary:
It's finally Christmas break. The group decide to hang out in celebration of that.
Notes:
Story playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6XNGqet7KuGWTBTunwN4bS?si=ea9c39935175412b
Why is this chapter 9,400 words (I had only originally planned 7,000), I was possessed by a demon and he had the most immaculate white hair and creepy blue eyes
Chapter Text
▷▷ happy, from "despicable me 2" - pharrell williams ◁◁
“You’re lucky I love you, you know.”
There’s a wry smile on Yuki’s face as she chuckles softly at me. Her gaze flits from the dropped hydroflask on the floor to myself, and she simply shakes it off, only mildly unsettled by the unnecessarily loud bang that appeared when I accidentally dropped it. It continues to roll on the floor, velocity changing but speed reducing as it gradually comes to a stop. I shake my head, unamused, before picking it up. The bang was more than unwelcome.
“Why is the damn flask so greasy? The fuck?” I wince at the unpleasant residue coating my fingertips, rubbing it between them. My nose creases in disgust.
“It’s your flask, how the hell would I know?”
Yuki’s strong arms carry my suitcases through the door effortlessly, one hanging off each arm as she shuffles through the doorway.
“Hey, don’t worry about carrying it all!” I whine, feeling bad enough that she lets me stay rent-free, now she’s carrying all of my stuff. “You’re doing enough.”
“You know me well enough to know I enjoy lifting this stuff,” she retorts smartly, smirking. It’s true, but it doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad. Regardless of her words, I take my items off her and set them down in the corner of the room. It blends in naturally, as if that’s where they’re meant to be. Maybe it’s just a sign that Yuki and I really are the best of friends.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out curiously.
[09:37] suguru >>> where are all of you?
I’m quick to type a response, wondering why he’s asking.
[09:37] you >>> yuki’s place
[09:37] suguru >>> oh alright.
[09:37] you >>> what’s up?
[09:37] suguru >>> we’re on our way lmao
Visits in short-notice aren’t uncommon occurrences. Over the past month, Yuki and I have been adjusting to the random knocks on our door and requests to hang out, but it’s welcomed by us with open arms. Before, we’d led relatively quiet lives, but the little family branching out from Satoru seem to have pulled their own chairs and gathered themselves around the fire. Not a day goes by without some form of interaction with them.
I look up at Yuki, and I’m met with the usual indifferent expression. The drop-in is no surprise to her. “Let’s unpack your shit real quick before he— wait. Who does he mean, ‘we’?”
Deep in thought, I tilt my head, considering the question. “I actually don’t know. Let’s let them surprise us,” I shrug.
“Yeah, I guess.” She replicates my shrug. “But, yeah, let’s unpack your stuff before we lose the will to, basically before they make an appearance.”
“Good idea.”
We get to work quietly. I unzip my suitcase of clothes, choosing to leave the other one in the corner of the room. That’s just full of trinkets and I know for a fact that Yuki’s place will get too overcrowded if I take all of my miscellaneous belongings out, so I settle for just my clothes. After all, that and my hygiene products are all I really need.
Yuki lifts a little lacy bra out of my suitcase, swinging it around on the tip of her index finger. “Damn, girl, didn’t know you indulged in slutty little pieces like this. Knew you were hot, but damn.” She marvels over the cerulean lace and intricate patterns, and I immediately feel the blood rush to my face. It’s not embarrassing; above anything, it’s just unexpected.
I’m quick to lunge over and snatch the piece out of her hands, grasping it within my own. My eyes trace it for a few seconds, and it becomes clear again why she’s so interested in it. It really is very, very pretty.
“Anyone home?” a familiar voice calls out politely. I can’t quite fathom who it is by the voice, so I turn around, only to be met by the observant face of one Suguru Geto, along with two giddy sisters, their easily-distracted uncle, and his jaded son.
“Hey,” I reply, not expecting them to come by so soon, let alone the entire ensemble.
Satoru’s eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at me, and no response comes out of his face. Additionally, Suguru has nothing to say, eyeing me with his lips shaped like a little ‘o’.
I look down in my hands. The bra.
Hurriedly, I stuff it deep into the depths of my suitcase, burying it away and hoping I never see it again. Once it’s down, I steady myself with one, deep breath, before finally turning around and doing my best to pretend that nothing ever happened.
“Why do you look so flustered?” Satoru snorts, clearly amused. “Is this a thing girls do?”
That’s the kind of remark I don’t normally get from Satoru, so to hear something like that is surprising. Not that I hate or even dislike it, but it’s obvious that he hides some of his true personality around me, whatever the reason may be. It’s mildly upsetting, but forcing his hand was never a good idea, so I just left it.
This smart little comment is different though. As if he’s not afraid of something. As if the imaginary barrier has been lifted. As if there was no longer something to hold him back.
“Yeah, why, do you wish you were here sooner?” I raise an eyebrow, before looking down at Megumi and wishing I hadn’t responded. It’s always a little odd to say something like that with children around. I tuck my lips in between my teeth and frown, partially holding back a laugh, partially feeling guilty.
Satoru feigns offence, quick to place a protective hand in front of his son’s face. “Not in front of the children!”
“Don’t start things you can’t finish,” I chuckle softly, raising two eyebrows as I do so. “Either way, what’s up? The whole… uh, family’s here. Apart from Shoko.”
“We’re grocery shopping today. We’re just out of everything, to be honest, and figured we’d pop by to ask if you guys wanted to hang out tonight, since the term’s over. And before either of you go home for the holiday, if you are,” Suguru answers, gently squeezing Nanako’s hand.
“Neither of us are,” Yuki offers, looking at me. Her eyebrows raise, a silent signal that she likes Suguru’s proposal. To be honest, so do I, so I shrug, agreeing.
Satoru looks interested. “Why’s that?”
“Postgrad, so, obviously, I’ve gotta stay,” Yuki explains for herself, trailing off and gesturing at me to explain myself, too. It’s a rough subject, so I try my best to brush it off vaguely.
“I don’t really want to go home, that’s all,” I say, trying my best to sound carefree and as though it’s nothing serious. I don’t think I’ve been too convincing, given Satoru is nodding hesitantly. His mouth opens, words threatening to escape, but he quickly closes his lips before anything is said. I add, “Either way, that sounds great. What time?”
Suguru checks the time on his phone. “No specific time, just head over when you feel like it.”
“Okay.” I smile. Before I can say anything else, I suddenly remember I have a few things I need to buy, and now is probably the best opportunity to do so. “Which shop are you heading to? I need to grab a few things myself, I might as well come along.”
“Tesco Express,” replies Satoru. His face motions at the two excitable girls next to him. “They love Tesco, I don’t really know why.”
“Great,” I grin in return, turning around. “Sorry, Yuki. I’ll finish unpacking afterwards.”
“Absolutely no worries,” she returns, smiling a little too hard for comfort, looking between Satoru and myself. What’s got her so excited? “You kids have fun. I’m gonna go to the JCR restaurant in the meantime.”
I quickly stuff my phone in my pocket, along with the keys I’m supposed to be returning to the Somerville porter’s lodge, before stepping out of Yuki’s room. I quickly feel a small hand tug at my arm, and I look down to see the face of one happy Mimiko staring up at me.
“Mimiko, don’t touch people without asking. It’s rude,” Suguru scolds. “What do you say?”
“Sorry,” she frowns. “You’re just really pretty. I want you to do my hair.”
I squat to meet her height, unable to suppress a grin forming on my face. Tossing up a glance at Suguru, I ruffle her neat hair gently enough not to disturb up, replying to both of them, “Oh, it’s not a worry, Mimiko! Of course I’ll do your hair, if your dad’s okay with that.”
“Go… ahead,” he articulates, a hint of confusion and hesitance in his voice. “Mimiko, that’s strange for you. What makes you ask her all of a sudden?”
“I mean, Auntie Shoko has short hair,” the girl shrugs innocently, “plus she doesn’t know many hairstyles.”
“Right,” Suguru nods. “Well, she can do your hair when she feels like it, okay?” he says softly, referring to me. “But, for now, we need to go to the shops.”
Mimiko looks up at me, hopeful. “Okay!”
I pat her head softly, watching her melt as I do so. Not wanting Nanako to feel left out, I do the same for her, and she giggles to herself quietly, just happy to be here. Her tiny hand clutches her father’s tight, and we begin to walk together as a group.
It’s not long before we’re out of the college, and we take a quick detour for me to hand my room keys into the porter’s lodge. Everyone is relatively quiet as I do so, but once we’re out, finally experiencing the fresh air and ambient background noise, conversation picks up naturally, as expected from a bunch as young and excited as my friends and their children.
As Mimiko tells her father, I listen in on a conversation between Satoru and Megumi.
“I called Mr. Itadori, by the way. Get ready at around six, and I’ll drive you there, okay?” Satoru asks, nudging the young child in the shoulder. He looks up.
“Okay.” It’s a simple response, and I’m not sure I was expecting anything more from a boy as aloof as him.
“Make sure to just call me if something’s wrong, I’ll come pick you up. I don’t care what time of night it is, let me know if you need anything.”
My heart warms at those words. Though I expected nothing less from a pair of young, intelligent men, they really do care a lot for their adoptive children, and it’s quickly becoming obvious that they are the centre of their attention. I can’t blame Megumi for having no particular response, either. He doesn’t seem like a rude kid, he just keeps to himself a lot. And that’s okay.
“Okay. Thanks,” Megumi replies gratefully, nodding at the pavement.
“No problem,” Satoru smiles skittishly. “I like that Yuji kid. He’s a good friend for you to have. We should invite him over here sometime if you both want.”
There’s a slight pause as Megumi silently considers the idea, staring at the ground as we all continue to walk at a steady pace. After a few seconds, he returns, “Yeah, I think he’ll like that.”
“What about you?” Satoru asks, “Would you like that?”
Megumi nods, nonchalant. “I would.”
Just as Satoru opens his mouth to reply, Mimiko stops in front of me and turns around, prompting me to halt my movement and pay attention to her. She has a hopeful kind of look on her face and her small hands are intertwined together, a silent plead.
“Hey, Mimiko. You okay?” I ask, trying to coax the words out of her mouth.
“Can I have a piggyback?” she questions, looking me directly in my eyes. With pupils as glittery as hers, and a smile as wide as hers, how could I ever say no? Not that I was even planning to.
I crouch to her height after turning around, helping her hook her short legs around my waist, and holding her securely underneath the knees. Short arms wrap themselves around my shoulders, and her fingers interlock. She’s on my back securely, like a backpack, and I’m left fighting a grin in response.
Nanako doesn’t seem like the type for piggybacks, because she simply grabs her father’s hand and clutches it tightly, standing close to him. The man looks down at her endearingly, a subtle smile forming on his face at his daughter’s quiet act of affection. One hand reaches down and ruffles her soft hair gently before smoothing it over, and a wide, toothy grin appears on her face.
To my left is a small shuffle. I turn to see Megumi looking up at me, then at Satoru. My eyes lock with the latter and he tosses me a slightly perplexed look; however, it’s quickly alleviated when Megumi silently taps him on the arm twice, signalling that he, too, wants to be lifted up the same way I just did.
It’s obvious that Satoru is trying his best not to express his utter shock at the situation for fear of deterring his son from asking for things like that any further, but I don’t miss the subtle curl of the corner of his mouth upwards when he crouches down to allow the raven-haired boy to climb onto his back. Satoru holds him carefully, securing his legs tightly by his hips, with Megumi’s hands firmly planted on either shoulder.
Satoru clears his throat slightly. “Tesco’s just up there,” he points by jerking his face in the forward direction, and I turn to look in the same direction as him, too, as we all resume our steady walking pace.. I try my best not to laugh at Satoru’s feigned insouciance, very narrowly succeeding.
I slowly fall into step by his side, the both of us slowed by the children on our backs. Suguru and Nanako are a few metres ahead, absorbed by their own enthusiastic conversation, too wrapped up in the other’s conversation to notice us far behind.
“How’d you find the final for my module, by the way?” Satoru asks casually, the jumpy tone back in his voice.
“It was actually alright,” I answer calmly. That’s the truth. It was better than I’d expected, definitely improved by the strange incentive given in the form of heated competition prior to the exam.
“Did our contest help at all?” he questions, briefly looking at me, “I was so worried Yaga would accidentally give us questions akin to those on the exam. Thank goodness he knew what I’d set in that paper.”
“Not to toot my own horn, but it probably wouldn’t have made a difference,” I say honestly, “it became kind of easy after a while, even if it’s time-consuming.”
“Easy?” Satoru asks, incredulous. “You’re telling me that exam was fuckin’ easy? Don’t play around.”
“It… was,” I frown, “what’s so hard to believe about that?”
“I don’t know. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given you’d beaten me and come close to beating me several times during our contest, but still. Easy? I feel like I didn’t make it hard enough now.”
I’m quick to rebuke that statement, the images of my tearful and annoyed coursemates post-exam quick to flood my mind. “Nah, that exam was plenty hard. Did you see the way Ophelia just up and left afterwards?”
Ophelia’s one of the really gorgeous maths students. I don’t know her personally, but I’ve heard enough from my peers to know she’s renowned for her hypnotic appearance and beautiful smile. More importantly, though, is the way she flirts with Satoru during lectures: you’d have to be blind to miss a detail like that. Whether or not he’s into the flirting is beyond me.
“Oh… phelia?” Snowy eyebrows furrow in deep thought. “Who’s that?”
“Oh, come on,” I chastise, having to hold myself back. I can’t just say that she practically meatrides him every single lecture, but for him to genuinely not notice, how clueless would he have to be?
I continue. “You have to know who she is. Long, blonde hair, always talks to you before and after lectures, always giggles when you say something funny?”
“Everyone giggles when I say something funny,” Satoru corrects me, and I can’t help but agree, since he’s not wrong about that. “I have no idea who this is. How did you pay more attention to her interactions with me than I did?”
The question catches me off-guard, and it takes everything in me not to stumble on the spot, for fear of not only humiliating myself, but hurting Mimiko in the process. I huff quickly, clearing my throat of the sudden buildup of bile, and I hear Satoru chuckling to himself next to me.
“Y’know, I was kidding, but I wasn’t really expecting you to take that to heart.” There’s a sardonic twinge to his voice, one that makes me itch slightly. That crassness is the kind I recognise, but I can’t quite fathom from where it originated.
“Whatever,” I roll my eyes, looking at him briefly. Though Satoru is just gazing straight up ahead as we approach the grocery store, I notice a mildly amused look on Megumi’s face, and I can’t help but question it slightly. “Megumi, what’s got you so entertained?”
“What?” he asks blankly, the amusement wiped off his face in a flash. “Nothing.”
I glare at both of them. “I hate that you two are always in cahoots.”
Satoru carefully lifts one arm in the air, and Megumi leans in slightly to strike his father’s palm with his own. There’s a noticeable difference in their hand size.
There’s something that Satoru and Megumi know that I don’t; it’s frustrating, but borderline exciting.
Suguru pulls open the Tesco door, knowing we can’t do it for ourselves with the children wrapped around us like koalas. I duck slightly as I go through the entrance, worried about Mimiko’s head hitting the doorway, and something about the motion gets her excited, since she’s giggling slightly and now holding onto me a little tighter.
The first aisle we find ourselves in is the fruit aisle; extensive assortments of various fruits and vegetables are lined up on either side. I can feel Mimiko looking around, and she takes one, intense look at the section of grapes.
“Papa! Can we get these grapes? It says it tastes like cotton candy,” she exclaims. The man in question turns around, nose scrunched in confusion.
“Huh? Cotton-candy-flavoured grapes? That’s probably full of chemicals, Miko, it’s not good for you.” Despite the immediate rebuttal, he still searches for the fruit in question, eyes scrutinising the aisle for it. Honey-brown eyes catch onto it at the same time as me, and the sight makes my pupils widen slightly.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” remarks Suguru, “they’re not cotton-candy- flavoured , that’s actually the type of grape.” He looks up at his daughter, gaze narrowly missing me. I can tell he’s experiencing some inner turmoil, trying to decide whether or not to buy it.
“Even if your loser dad won’t get it, I’ll get it, Mimiko, it sounds yummy,” Satoru butts in, quickly approaching to stare at the green-ish grapes. He crouches. “Megumi, can you pop it in the trolley?”
The boy does as asked, since Satoru’s hands are both full from supporting the back of his knees.
“Surprised you’re not bankrupt, with your crappy spending habits,” Suguru mutters, rolling his eyes.
“Papa, what does crappy mean? And what does bankrupt mean?” Nanako asks with scrunched eyebrows. She tugs on her dad’s arm.
His eyes widen as he looks down at the girl. One hand gently pats her shoulder as he explains. “Okay, first, you can’t say that first word—”
“What, crappy? It sounds funny, though.” Nanako is now pouting.
“It’s a rude word,” he rebukes her statement, “only big girls and boys can say that.”
Nanako frowns, clearly displeased with the response.
We continue to walk through the store, various food items from a shopping list tossed into the shopping trolley. We decide to just use one trolley to put all of our items in, since it’s hard for me and Satoru to push trolleys around ourselves, plus it’d just be hard to navigate the store with three separate trolleys constantly clashing into one another.
After a while, we approach the “Home” section. There’s not anything we’re looking to buy, but the kids seem to love looking at the toys, namely Nanako and Mimiko. Some colouring books, some scented shampoo, some books to read.
I crouch slightly to let Mimiko pick up a hat. Securely holding onto my shoulder with one arm, she leans down, picking it up effortlessly before I stand up straight again. Satoru is simply standing next to me as Megumi watches Nanako.
“Can you go towards Uncle Satoru?” Mimiko asks softly in my ear. I comply, stepping closer until we’re half a metre away from one another.
Without any warning, Mimiko leans over my shoulder heavily to reach her older friend.
“I think you might like this hat,” she states simply, trying to place it atop Megumi’s head. He lets her.
In the process of leaning her weight over my side, however, I stumble forward. Before I can fall completely, I’m able to catch myself with one foot, and I steady myself before raising my head up again to look ahead of me.
I yelp as I’m met with the face of Satoru mere centimetres away from my face.
“Um, hi,” I say weakly, unsure of where to look. Since he’s slightly taller than me, I’m having to crane my neck to look at his face. Mimiko continues to adjust the hat on Megumi’s head, and all I can do is pray in my head that she’s done soon.
“What’s up?” Satoru smirks.
“Ew,” I frown at his insolence, backing my face up slightly; I can’t move my body since Mimiko is still babbling on to Megumi. “Don’t look at me like that.”
The annoying smirk remains present, and something rises in my throat, akin to the fizz of a shaken soft drink.
“Look at you like what?”
That’s a good question, to be honest, given I still can’t see his eyes very well. The sunglasses are so incredibly dark to the point I’m surprised he can see even a speck of light through them. I can merely make out the silhouette of some movement past them—presumably his periodic blinking—but no colour shows. Something about his facial expression, however, feels like he’s scrutinising me with a jeweller’s eye.
“Like… there’s something on my face,” I blurt out, unsure of what else I could say.
“What if there is something on your face?” Satoru raises an eyebrow at me cautiously.
My heart drops into my shoes. Do I look stupid right now? Was it something I ate, or is there a patch of dry skin somewhere? I can’t even check it without putting Mimiko down, which I don’t really want to do, so I frown to myself for a few painful moments, deep in thought.
“Megumi, hold on tight, okay?” Satoru asks, and I watch as the boy’s arms constrict further around his dad’s shoulders.
Satoru gently releases Megumi’s right knee as he curls the foot further into his side, and his slender hand reaches up to my face. Bony fingers settle under my chin and tilt my face to match his line of vision, sparking an electric jolt from deep within my spine, and the tip of his thumb pries into the corner of my lips. I feel the fingernail gently scrape at my skin as he takes a deep breath, as if it’s the last before he plunges himself deep into the ocean, and he passes it over one more time, except with more care. His minty breath fans over my face as he exhales almost imperceptibly.
My face burns as I choke out softly, “Is it gone?”
“Yeah,” he breathes, through parted, cherry lips, “you’re good.”
“Satoru, do I get the…” Suguru begins before trailing off. There are two tin cans in his hands, and he’s turned to face us, mouth hanging open in what could be described only as shock. “Heinz baked or the hot dog beans…” he frowns as if there’s a bitter taste in his mouth. “Never mind.”
It seems as though Mimiko’s done fitting Megumi with the hat, so I take a step back to allow clear air to re-enter my suffocated lungs. Satoru clears his throat as I do so, gulping and looking at his best friend again.
“Huh? What’s up?” Satoru asks him, returning the same hand that caressed my face to the underside of Megumi’s knee, holding him up properly.
“Nothing, uh, whatever,” replies Suguru dismissively, before Nanako holds his phone up to him, giggling. He tries to hold away an incredulous laugh at whatever it is she’s showing him, but fails miserably, so Satoru approaches him, eyeing him suspiciously.
“The fuck’s making you laugh so much? Go on, sharing is caring.”
The sudden change in demeanour intrigues me, too, so I begin to approach as well.
“Fuck!” Nanako giggles, to which the three of us gasp in horror.
“Nanako, you can’t say that word!” Satoru exclaims, totally startled.
“You know, in her defence, you shouldn’t be saying things like that around my girls, you hypocrite. They’re basically parrots, bro. You know full well one, or both, would repeat it,” saying Suguru smugly, knowing Satoru can’t rebuke that statement whatsoever.
“I’m honestly surprised Megumi doesn’t swear at all, given you have such a pottymouth,” I raise an eyebrow before looking at Megumi. “Don’t be like your father.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he says simply.
Satoru scowls in response, clearly displeased that no one is taking his side. Not that the sides are even clear. “You guys would kill yourselves in my position from the kind of grief you put me through on a daily,” he says, looking as though he’s just rolled his eyes.
I join his side, gently relenting my grip on Mimiko’s knee for a moment to pat Satoru’s head in feigned comfort. “Don’t make yourself so easy to bully, sweetheart.”
His eyes widen in shock as he straightens his posture, my touch lingering for a moment before I retract my hand, returning it to Mimiko’s leg. Just as quickly as it appeared, that momentary surprise melts away into the familiar smugness I’m so painfully used to.
“Me? Easy to bully?” Satoru shoots back, distrustful.
Suguru snorts as I respond, “Yeah…” My face scrunches as I scrutinise his lanky stature. “You just… you have a very bully-able kinda look.”
Knowing he won’t have any smart response to combat my words, I continue to walk behind Suguru and Nanako, letting the girl on my back continue to look around for any item she wishes. I toss a fleeting glance behind me, jokingly sticking my tongue out at Satoru, but instead of seeing him following suit, he’s merely standing in the same position as he was when I patted his shoulder with a wry, incredulous smile poking at his lips.
I pretend not to notice, focusing my attention back to my front.
Satoru and Megumi catch up eventually, and I can’t help but pay heed to the way the younger attentively surveys the items around him. We’re only in the homeware aisle, so I’m not sure what specifically is catching his eye, but I can’t help but think he wants something.
After a while, Mimiko and Megumi elect to walk on their own. The former is a curious girl, so she’s quickly dashing up ahead, clumsily looking at various products, but Megumi hangs loosely by his father’s side. I join his other side as he reads the label on a pack of gummy worms.
“You got a sweet tooth?” I ask nonchalantly. I’ve been noticing, over time, that he seems to have some affinity for the more sugary foods our shops have to offer. From the cotton candy grapes in the basket to the tooth-rotting raspberry ripple ice-cream, he only really seems to pay attention to those things, whereas Megumi is the only one actually referencing the shopping list and placing items neatly in the trolley.
“Huh?” Satoru says absentmindedly before ripping his gaze away from the magenta wrapping to look at me. “Oh. Yeah, big time,” he grins, flashing me his pearly, white teeth. His sharp canines are marginally larger than the rest of his teeth, and it makes my breath hitch in my throat slightly.
I glance at his pearly teeth briefly before stopping, not wanting him to realise. “D’you have a favourite snack?”
“You’re asking me to choose a favourite? Oh, my,” he frowns, a troubled expression crossing his face.
“Give me… your top three, then,” I compromise.
“Very fair,” he agrees, “okay. Mochi, maltesers, and… marshmallows. Man, I really could do with some mochi right now.”
I make a mental note to grab some when we pass the frozen section. “What about the little guy?” I ask, referring to Megumi. He looks up at me, sensing that I’m talking about him.
“I’m not little,” he mumbles, though he doesn’t sound too angry. Satoru ruffles his hair.
We let Megumi walk ahead of us slightly, to the point he’s just behind Suguru and his daughters. It takes a minute or two before Satoru responds to my question, clearly not wanting his son in on the response.
“Honestly… I don’t know,” Satoru frowns sadly. I’m inclined to give him a sassy response, but I realise that the ever-present happiness genuinely has deflated, replaced by bewildered sadness. “I’ve really spent a lot of time trying to understand him, and what he likes. He’s a good kid, but he doesn’t express his personal opinions much. I have no idea what he likes and dislikes.”
“Wow,” I mutter, conjuring up a reply, “what do you mean? Like what makes you say that?”
We pass the confectionery section, so I toss a family-sized bag of massive marshmallows into the trolley ahead of us.
“I buy him clothes and I ask him if he likes it, he just gives it all this really numb look. Okay, fair, maybe it was bad taste on my part, so I take him with me to go to the shops and he doesn’t express any particular opinion on any of the clothes. Or, I ask him what he wants me to make for dinner, and he doesn’t make a choice, telling me he’ll eat whatever I’m okay to make. That’s sweet and all, and I want to make something he loves. Not something he’s chosen to appease me. I know he has his own opinions, I’m sure of it, but he just doesn’t express them to me. I could do with being thrown a bone, y’know?”
It’s just a thought, but I offer it to him anyway. “Do you think it makes him feel guilty? When you spend money on him?”
I watch as he chews the inside of his cheek as he considers the thought. “I never thought about it that way. You’re making me feel dumb.”
“You? Dumb?” I ridicule. “You’re just a caring dad. I don’t blame you for not thinking about that in the stress of it all.” I pull a family bag of maltesers off another shelf and toss it into the trolley.
Satoru acknowledges my words with a frown. “I’ll think about that, actually. That seems— holy fuck. No, genuinely, what made you say that? I think you’re right.”
My face contorts in confusion, and I’m curious about what kind of revelation was so important for him to perk up within the blink of an eye and shower me with praise.
“I don’t know. It just didn’t seem like it was down to teenage—well, childish—angst. Megumi seems like an earnest kid, even if he doesn’t really show it. I guess I want to see the best in him.”
Nodding gently, he looks at the floor, deep in thought. He adds quietly, “All of the clothes he actually picks out when we shop are the cheapest ones available. You’re so right.”
“Why don’t you try today? Try to get him something he genuinely, really likes?” I suggest. It’s a daring idea, and I doubt its chance of success, but above anything, it could be a fun activity for the pair.
“I don’t really think he’ll do much, but I guess it can’t hurt to try,” Satoru shrugs. He looks up at me, face softened and smiling gently. “You doing anything today? Got anything planned?”
I frown in confusion, answering the question anyway. “No, not really. Unless you count the little evening hangout you mentioned earlier. And this grocery shopping. Oh, yeah, I’m going to the gym after this.”
“You’re a gym girl?” he asks me hopefully, briefly eyeing my arms before snapping himself out of it and looking at me. “Can’t believe I never noticed. Your arms are so toned.”
The words roll off his tongue so naturally, so rehearsed; my face heats at that comment, painfully aware that it’s a plain observation and nothing more. Part of me wishes he’d say more, but I decide to tidy the idea deep into the drawer of my mind and focus on the conversation at hand. “Yeah, I am. I’m hitting legs today,” I respond with a shrug.
We make a turn into the bakery aisle, and the kids immediately get excited, running back and forth to marvel at various baked goods. Satoru and I continue to lag behind everyone else, too engrossed in the conversation to notice.
“Are you an arm girl or a leg girl?” he asks me, looking at all of the sweet treats and seeming enthralled himself.
“Arms, for sure. I still work my legs a lot, but, God… every time I do a set of Bulgarians I’m too engrossed in praying for it to be over to focus on counting my rep number.”
“Correct answer,” Satoru chuckles. “I was testing you.”
I snort. “Testing me in what way, the fuck would you do if I said the ‘wrong answer’?”
“Dunno,” he shrugs, smiling to himself. “There's only one, right ans…”
Concerned, I look at Satoru’s face for some kind of indicator as to why he’s just trailed off mid-sentence. There’s a dumb smile on his face, and his eyes are fixated on the trolley a few metres ahead that’s being pushed by Megumi.
“Was that you? That put the maltesers and marshmallows in the trolley?” He looks up at me.
I hum, affirming his question. “Guilty as charged.”
“I didn’t think you’d pay attention to something like that.”
“How could I not? You love sugar.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” he agrees, smiling. “Handouts aren’t my cup of tea, so what do you like? Let me buy it for you.”
My mind is abruptly thrown back to the night in the library a while ago when the mystery Library Guy insisted on returning my favour in an identical mannerr, slipping in a little pet name along with it. What was it that he said? Pretty? Sweetheart? Sweet thing? Yep, that’s it.
Now that I think about it, what could Library Guy be up to right now? It’s been a good few weeks since I’ve seen him, and a pang of curiosity strikes me in my ribs. I make a mental note to figure it all out later, but the task at hand is combatting the smart responses of the snowy-haired man in front of me.
“No way in hell, Satoru. Handouts aren’t your cup of tea, but it’s not like I do things expecting to be reimbursed.”
“Yeah,” Satoru raises an eyebrow at me, though I can’t decipher his expression through those infuriating sunglasses, “that’s exactly why I want to repay—”
“Shh,” I scold as if I’m talking to a little boy who’s just spoken out of turn.
“You—”
“Shut.”
“I’m gonna—”
“Shut!”
“You’re so—”
I’m quick to place the pad of my index finger flush on his lips, and I notice his posture sharpen in a heartbeat. His lips are supple and actually somewhat moisturised. Satoru attempts to speak but I just shush him further, digging my finger into his lips until his jaw clenches slightly.
“God, I can’t with you, sometimes,” he grumbles.
Blowing Satoru a kiss, I wink, walking ahead and grabbing the rest of my groceries after hoisting Mimiko on my back again. Satoru eventually catches up, too, and the rest of the trip goes by without a hitch.
As we begin to walk back to Somerville, two hefty carrier bags in the arms of each adult present, the children trail along, clearly restless. It’s still early in the morning and it’s obvious they still have immense stores of energy available for the day, a quality I’m beyond jealous of. Most mornings, especially this winter, I haven’t even been able to get up in the mornings. How the girls have it in them to chatter to their hearts’ content so early in the morning, I have no idea.
The walk isn’t too long, but it definitely feels like it. Not in a bad way, but all of the time spent staring into the distance feels a lot longer than it actually is.
Satoru falls back into step with me, and he picks up the conversation from where we left off.
“I forgot to finish what I was leading up to earlier,” Satoru says. “I was asking if you’re free today to see if you want to come with me and Megumi to find something he likes.”
“You want me to come with you?” I ask, bewildered, to which he nods.
“Yeah, of course. You’re fun to hang out with, and I think Megumi likes you.”
“Oh.” That’s all I’m capable of saying in the moment, too riddled by a horde of fleeting thoughts to even respond.
“Not that you have to, of course,” Satoru quickly saves it, “it’s just a thought, that’s all.”
“No, no, I was just thinking about my day’s schedule, that’s all.” It’s not the whole truth, neither is it far from the truth. “Yeah, that sounds great. Where to?”
“I’m thinking we drop all of the bags off at our places then head back out, save us the trouble of carrying all of this shit around or getting Suguru and the girls to carry it for us. I have a suspicion that the kid just might take to the Lego store, y’know.”
When I see the satisfied expression that crosses his bright face, I’m disposed to agree, too.
***
▷▷ sugar - men i trust ◁◁
“You mean to tell me you’ve never been here?”
The look on Satoru’s face is priceless. One side of his nose tugs upwards, like a prolonged facial twitch, and part of his teeth pokes out due to his partially opened mouth. His expression is a cross between plain baffled and somewhat disgusted.
“Satoru.” I raise an eyebrow. “The store is called Menkind. What makes you think I would want to go in there?”
“Do you have any idea what they sell?” he returns, clearly unamused. Megumi simply looks around, unsure of what to do with himself.
I look down at the unsuspecting child, choking back my normally sassy response for fear of raising more questions than I could possibly answer. “I can’t say that out loud.”
The navy-haired boy looks up at me. Being as insightful as he is, I can tell he knows I’m referring to him, but he makes no move to say anything about that fact.
“Yep, you’re wrong.” Satoru opens the door to the questionably-named store, standing next to it and beckoning us to enter. “Off you pop.”
I scrunch my nose at the phrase, since it’s unusually jolly even for Satoru.
Not long ago, we returned to Somerville to drop off our shopping bags and immediately left, leaving Suguru and the twins behind. He had mentioned something about them being hungry again. In the meantime, the remaining trio involving myself, Satoru, and his sated son, Megumi, returned back outside, heading into the city centre to browse vast arrays of shops along the high street in the hopes of finding something that genuinely appeals to the latter.
The only noteworthy shops so far are the local Lego store, Menkind, HMV, and Bodycare.
Bodycare was a peculiar one—as we walked by, Megumi had cast a prolonged glance at the shop, an action he hadn’t repeated for any other shop. Since he expressed no verbal or physical interest to enter the shop, we mutually agreed to keep it on the list, only going if no other shop satisfies him. We’re not at that point yet, but it’s beginning to look like we’ll have to consider it. Why a nine-year-old is interested in that shop, we have no idea, but he just might end up surprising us one way or another.
Menkind is dark, but the lighting is sufficient to allow us to see, a bit like the Somerville library late at night. To our left is an entire wall covered from peak to trough in Funko Pops from various franchises. In contrast, on our right is an assortment of computer accessories, like mechanical keyboards, RGB mice, and PC fans. I might have to get some of this stuff for myself.
We explore the shop slowly, the only noise present being that of quietly chatting customers around us. As Megumi walks around, quietly observing his surroundings, I fall into line with Satoru again, making sure to speak quietly so Megumi can’t hear us.
“You’re insightful,” Satoru states plainly, closely watching his son. “Do you have a theory on why he seemed interested in Bodycare?”
“None at all. He’s kind of hard to read,” I shrug. It’s true. Even as he plays with one of the display keyboards, the expression on his face reminds painfully neutral.
“Damn, smarty. Well, let me know if you’ve any idea.”
My eye twitches at the nickname. Why does he irk me so much sometimes, even if he’s trying not to? Maybe it’s just a quality of his, one I’m beginning to warm up to.
“He has a sister, right?” I question, casting my mind back to the conversation with Shoko a while back.
“Yeah. Tsumiki Fushiguro,” Satoru frowns.
“Does Megumi care for her?”
Satoru turns to me, almost as though his eyes can see through the atoms of my skull and witness the turning of cogs in my brain.
“I think she’s his number one priority,” he replies bluntly. “You’re forming a theory in that pretty little head, I can sense it.”
Another twitch of my eye. What’s with this guy?
“Do you think Megumi’s focusing on buying something for her? Instead of himself. If he could be avoiding you spending money on him out of guilt, he could then decide to buy something for Tsumiki instead to appease you.” I turn to my right to face Satoru, only to see that he’s not there. He’s two steps behind, legs stationary with his feet planted on the ground. “I’m just thinking out loud. Ignore me.”
“I hate that you’re making so much sense right now. I actually do.” His lips thin in frustration.
I knit my eyebrows, feeling bad for trying to assume too deeply. “I’m sorry.”
Satoru’s face warps from displeasure to concern. “No, no, no, what? Why are you sorry? Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s cool that you’re thinking about it so sharply. I just feel kind of annoyed at the fact that I couldn’t think of that myself, being his caretaker for, what, five years?”
“You have a lot on your mind, Satoru,” I offer, “don’t beat yourself up.”
Satoru seems to perk up at that, a weird thing I’ve been noticing with him lately. He’ll look really unsure about some kind of problem he’s facing, be it academic or social, and the moment I say something to refute his inane worry, he returns to his normal self, content with whatever it is I have to say. Whether or not he genuinely is content, I have no idea.
“You’re right. In the end, it’s only been five years.” He continues to walk, joining my side again. I give him a small smile. He returns a sheepish grin before running a lithe hand through his alabaster hair. As always, it’s perfectly silky and floppy.
We catch up to Megumi, who has now stopped to look up at the collection of action figures. Silently, we stand behind him, watching his actions but trying our best to make sure he doesn’t feel pressured or observed too closely. After a few moments of mental deliberation—or a long while of it, it’s hard to tell—he finally opens the glassy cabinet and stands up on his tiptoes to try to reach for a particular box. However, we can’t tell which, since he’s just barely too short to reach.
“Need a little help there, buddy?” Satoru asks, eyebrows furrowing in worry. He knows his son well enough to realise that that’s a question Megumi won’t take kindly to; he’d be lucky if the boy even answered it.
Megumi turns around at a leisurely pace, so slow that it makes me chew the inside of my cheek in anticipation. Have we just offended him?
More importantly, who is we?
“Okay,” says Megumi, turning around, self-assured. As expected, Satoru is quick to crouch down; he wraps one arm behind his son’s knees and the other around his waist, giving the boy a throne of sorts to sit down on at an elevated position.
He opens the transparent cabinet again. One, small hand leans in and reaches for a particular, vibrantly-coloured box within, and quickly motions at Satoru to be put down once he’s obtained it.
Satoru gently scoops the item from Megumi’s hands.
It’s a My Little Pony figure, one I recognise well. The well-designed shape of the humanoid Twilight Sparkle from Equestria Girls is all I can make out, and Satoru looks up at me, mildly puzzled. Not wanting to ostracise him, we blindly accept it and continue to walk.
A barely audible statement makes us freeze in our tracks.
“It’s for Tsumiki. Twilight was her favourite.”
Right on the money.
Though it’s no solid proof, this serves as some kind of confirmation to the theory synthesised not long ago. Megumi is fully aware we’re shopping for him, yet he chooses to shop for his sister, a decision that is neither unforeseen nor disliked by us.
Satoru seems to be at a loss of words. For what reason, I’m not sure, but my best guess is that he’s perturbed by the fact that I was right from the start.
In the hopes of alleviating Satoru’s lack of speech, I crouch down to Megumi’s height and inspect the figure in front of him.
“This is really cute. I’d have dug this when I was younger,” I state simply, smiling. Deciding to take a risk, I ruffle his hair for a split second. He looks mildly baffled but a trace of a smile briefly tugs at his face. “What about you? What do you like?”
“Does it really matter?” Megumi asks, furrowing his eyebrows. There’s no hint of malice or frustration on his face: above anything, he looks indifferent, unbothered.
“It’s important to us,” I say softly, briefly glancing at Satoru, who still looks slightly shell-shocked.
“Why?” he questions.
I grin. “You’re a kid. We were kids once, too. We had toys and stuff when we were your age, it only makes sense if you get to experience something similar, too.”
Megumi looks me in the eye briefly. I watch his tiny Adam’s apple bobble as he swallows nothing, maintaining his focus on my eyes the entire time. After sneaking a quick glance at his dad, he turns back to me. “Okay,” he nods softly, “okay. I’ll get something.”
***
▷▷ tek it - cafuné ◁◁
Suguru’s apartment is a lot larger than mine; I spend a while pondering the reason before remembering that he lives in one of the postgraduate family rooms, obviously to help cater for his two daughters, too. Checks out.
Said daughters and their figurative cousin are off in the next room, doing God-knows-what. Mimiko, not long after the arrival of me and Yuki, drifted off to sleep, which resulted in Suguru carrying her off with the utmost care into her bedroom—naturally, her sister followed, and so did Megumi, not wanting to be around a bunch of rowdy adults in the late evening hours.
Megumi finally settled on a Power Rangers Lego set after another hour of browsing. Even after his agreement to try to find something himself, he still attempted to take the first, cheapest item available on the shelf, which was immediately shut down by his father. For someone who wears glasses so dark not a single photon could possibly pass through, he has a peculiar sense for things. He finally accepted the Power Rangers set because it seemed the most believable and genuine out of everything he had picked, especially given Megumi actually watches Power Rangers in the mornings before getting dropped off to school—a fact I learned on the way back home.
To my right is Shoko, who is busy stirring the boiling noodles of a Korean army stew in a large pot at the centre point common to all of us. On my other side is Satoru; the fact he chose to sit next to me in the first place had me a little baffled, but I’m not complaining, since a new, funny side of him is beginning to come out.
Kento is still on his way, the late running session taking a little longer than originally expected to complete. On the other hand, Haibara was one of the first to arrive, and he’s sitting directly opposite me, engaging in some apparently very amusing conversation with Suguru, who is by his side.
The room is cosy, a combination of the steam from cooking food, thick clothes, and closed windows proving an efficient combo in warming us all up. Though it’s entirely possible that the stain tinting Satoru’s cheeks a gorgeous shade of rose is from the wine we’ve been consuming slowly, I suspect that the layers of clothes covering his body are contributing, too.
“I’ll be back, just gonna go have a smoke,” says Shoko, putting down the chopsticks and pulling out a half-used pack of cigarettes from her hoodie pocket. Of all people, I had never expected Shoko to be the regular smoker, but you learn something new everyday, right?
“I thought you were trying to quit, c’mon, Shoko,” Satoru frowns, finally looking up from the pot.
It’s becoming harder nowadays to go for a Headache Cigarette now that I’m friends with a group of people so evidently against smoking; every time I do, I’m struck with a pang of guilt, wondering what Satoru would say to me if he saw me taking such long hits. In the end, however, I can’t be blamed—it’s practically necessary.
“And I thought you’ve been trying to mind your own business, but potato-po ta to.” Shoko’s response is filled to the brim with sharp sass, a trait that’s common for her. Yuki, too, gets up to join her.
Satoru’s eyebrows shift slightly, signalling to me that he’s just rolled his eyes.
“Do you guys want us to make you another drink or something?” Suguru offers as he and Haibara get up and begin walking to the kitchen area. Their own glasses are empty.
“I’m good,” I shrug. I’ve already had enough wine for one day and I’m not really in the mood to get wasted tonight.
“Me, too,” Satoru adds, briefly raising an arm in acknowledgement. He then reaches down to the gently simmering pot of stew, grabbing his bowl and scooping a few ladles’ worth of noodles and meat inside. Before I can even try to do the same for myself, he takes my bowl and serves me a hefty portion, too.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, grabbing my chopsticks to start eating.
“You’re very welcome,” he shrugs.
In the corner of my vision, I watch as Satoru raises a mouthful of noodles to his lips. As he blows on them slightly to cool the food down, billows of translucent steam quickly cloud his dark sunglasses, and he stops, frowning at the food in front of him. He puts the bowl down and takes the shades off, loosely placing them on the table.
In that moment, it felt as though I had been drawn into an ethereal abyss—one I had seen and experienced for myself several times before—and lost myself in its sapphire brilliance. Satoru’s eyes practically glowed with the kind of radiance you see with jewels being struck by rays of light from the setting sun, and his intensity seemed to lay bare my every thought and feeling on a silver platter in front of him. I’ve seen those eyes before. There’s no one in this world that could possibly have eyes like those. Ensnared by his gaze, I gulp softly, placing down my food on the table before I risk losing my grip and dropping it.
“You’re…” I start, but the words get caught in my throat. His icy, yet beautiful eyes, freeze the words I want to say.
“I’m what?” Satoru asks knowingly, pupils piercing mine. Eyelids adorned with lashes just as snowy as his luscious hair blink slowly, momentarily stripping away the sight of his beautiful pupils—an action that, to me, feels like a shot through the heart.
“Library Guy,” I gulp, “you’re Library Guy.”
No, that’s not it. That’s not the only thing that blares in my mind like the incessant howl of a fire alarm. It just doesn’t make sense. It’s impossible to forget those eyes, yet something in them feels so incredibly familiar, to the point where my fingertips have brushed the hands of truth itself and lost the battle to grasp it as my own.
Satoru stares at me blankly. A potent concoction of both dissatisfaction and confusion crosses his diaphanous face. All the while, he doesn’t break eye contact, not even for an attosecond, and with each passing moment he spends scrutinising me with such omniscient eyes, I feel myself set ablaze from my very core to the last millimetre of my fingertips. I gulp as I wait for him to say something, anything, as the chilly cerulean of his eyes somehow continues to burn me alive.
As if his blatant discontent was never there to begin with, he smiles wryly at me, facial muscles relaxing ever so slightly. “You’re right. I’m kinda shocked it took so long for you to realise, big brain and all.”
“Grades don’t imply intelligence,” I respond dryly, unable to fight off a smile creeping onto my face. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I was honestly sure you’d notice at that first lecture, y’know,” Satoru begins, picking up his bowl of stew to resume eating. I’m too entranced by his pupils to do the same. “But, I figured, given how informal we had been with each other with the little library rendezvous’, I just didn’t say anything. For the sake of professionalism.”
I soak in his response like a parched sponge, still trying to mentally piece together every piece of evidence that, theoretically, should have led me to this conclusion weeks ago, but somehow failed along the way.
For starters, the way he dulled his voice after I mentioned I was taking the very module he taught. The gut-wrenching blue I’d caught a glimpse of before switching off my phone torch, and the fact that Satoru conveniently wears glasses around me constantly. Though I’m not sure how those glasses managed to conceal a glow like that. The “I guess you could say I’m doing the same,” and the way he explained things very vaguely whenever we spoke in the library. Everything adds up so perfectly, to the point my face turns red from embarrassment, and I’m forced to rip my gaze away from Satoru.
“I still have that blanket from before your first lecture,” I blurt abruptly. “Was that you? Who placed it on me as I slept?”
Satoru’s chewing halts, expression akin to a deer in headlights, before he swallows and places his bowl down again. “Yeah. You looked cold.”
“Oh,” is all I can respond; as far as I can remember, I was already wrapped up pretty well.
Chapter 8: Someone to hold true
Summary:
The gang go ice-skating in London on Satoru's birthday. It's all fun and games until you realise the world really is small than you think.
Notes:
Sorry this took so long! Life was very busy for a few weeks then I got a cold for another week. Now exams are kicking me onto my ass. But I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Next update should be a double update.
Here's the story playlist if you're interested. It contains all songs used, in order. It'll be edited frequently and if you're insightful enough, you might get a feeling for what turn the story takes and when :3 https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6XNGqet7KuGWTBTunwN4bS?si=9b4c4fa516124ccd
As always, please leave comments here and asks on my Tumblr, @heythererenyaeger :) I love love love seeing your thoughts.
Chapter Text
▷▷ louise - tv girl ; pink + white - frank ocean ; pretty girls make graves - the smiths ◁◁
It’s Satoru Gojo’s birthday.
That information would have been several times more helpful if it had been revealed to me a few weeks ago. Nevertheless, I somehow managed to rush out to the high street yesterday and purchase a suitable gift for the man. It’s a unique tie, royal-blue in colour with ornate patterns covering its every inch. I think back to one of my old maths teachers and his black tie with a simple pi symbol on its front; this is far from it. Instead, equations are neatly etched in, the font familiar to me as the University’s official font, too.
However, all of that doesn’t matter anymore, because of a particular few messages I received fifteen hours ago:
[00:00] you >>> happy birthday, satoru!!! hope it’s a great one
[00:00] yuki >>> Happy birthday dude!! Don’t get too big-headed about it
[00:00] you >>> who am i kidding lmao you’re hanging with us it’s gonna be beyond great
[00:00] shoko >>> Happy birthday! Expect a very bruised arm later
[00:00] suguru >>> happy birthday, satoru. you excited to celebrate it with us today?
[00:00] haibara >>> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SATORU! wowoow i can’t believe we’re already here
[00:00] kento >>> Happy birthday, Satoru. Hope it’s a great day, God knows you deserve it.
[00:01] satoru >>> ugh i love you guys thank you all so much
[00:01] satoru >>> i’m surprised you’re all still awake LOOOOL preciate it
[00:01] shoko >>> Don’t become a cornball js bc it’s your birthday
[00:01] you >>> man it’s on sight w you two isn’t it lmfap
[00:01] satoru >>> YES IT IS AND IT’S SO UNPROMPTED you need to pick a side rn
[00:01] satoru >>> fuck off shoko
[00:01] shoko >>> Neverrrrrrr!!!!!
[00:02] you >>> i’m gonna have to side w satoru this time PURELY BCS IT’S HIS BIRTHDAY AND NOTHING ELSE
[00:02] shoko >>> Betrayal omfg
[00:02] satoru >>> this is why you’re my favourite btw!
[02:36] satoru >>> btw friendly reminder
[02:36] satoru >>> well acc two of you don’t know this
[02:36] satoru >>> if you got me a birthday present, just save it for christmas, i feel weird about getting separate gifts for both occasions
[02:37] satoru >>> i expect you all to get me something btfw
[02:37] you >>> my brother in christ i was stressing over this yesterday so much and you only say this now?
[02:37] you >>> ur so fake dhmu
[02:37] satoru >>> go to sleep wtf are you doing
[02:37] you >>> wtf are YEW doing
[02:38] satoru >>> don’t answer a question with a question bbg
[02:38] you >>> why are you speaking to me like a woman
[02:38] you >>> and why do i like it
[02:38] satoru >>> LMFAOOO
[02:38] you >>> idk i js couldn’t sleep
[02:38] you >>> so i am lyign awake listening to musci
[02:38] satoru >>> what’re you listening to?
[02:38] you >>> ‘there’s a light that never goes out’ by the smiths
[02:39] satoru >>> fuck
[02:39] you >>> what?
[02:39] satoru >>> you ever watch 500 days of summer?
[02:39] you >>> more like 500 days of trauma lmfao ofc i did
[02:39] you >>> my favourite horror movie!
[02:39] satoru >>> don’t need to tell me twice ugh
[02:39] satoru >>> can’t listen to the song without thinking of them
[02:39] you >>> tbh they’re the reason i like it so much
[02:39] shoko >>> My phone just buzzed itself off my nightstand what the fuck you two
[02:39] shoko >>> Go to sleep we’re literally going to london in a few hours
[02:39] you >>> sleep? who’s she :3
[02:40] satoru >>> realest shit i ever did see!
[02:40] shoko >>> Blocok button looking real tempting rn
[02:40] shoko >>> I should have expected you two of all people to tag-team me bye
[02:40] satoru >>> Blocok
[02:40] you >>> Blocok
shoko has left the group chat.
satoru added “shoko” to the group chat.
[02:41] satoru >>> okay whatever, we’ll sleep now ugh
That was just under a day ago.
Since then, we met at the local train station and made our way into London in the afternoon, completing the journey with a short walk to the largest ice rink in the area.
A gentle chill permeates my fingertips even through my pilled-up mittens. Legs shaking subtly, I look up at my surroundings, briefly blinded by the stark, white lights of the lampposts.
Just in front of me is the large ring in which we’re all skating; it’s close to the size of a football pitch, give or take a few metres from the width, and a visible chill clouds the air up slightly. The floor itself is riddled with small specks of shredded ice, and haphazard lines are carved into the large block of frozen solid from razor-sharp blades. There are already a good number of people out on the ice, some simply gliding along and others whizzing around in laps like there’s no tomorrow—neither of which I’m going to be doing, given I was an absolute mess last time I skated. I sigh in defeat.
“You ready, babe?” Yuki asks me, firm hand patting my thigh in a weak attempt to positively rile me up. Her skates are on and she’s just returned from a quick test run. As expected, she has absolutely no problem skating, that graceful beauty.
My eyes carefully scan the area. I can make out the silhouette of one Shoko Ieiri, her chestnut hair bobbing from the wind beating at her as she traverses the perimeter effortlessly. Satoru and Suguru aren’t far behind, instead just skating at their own pace while engaging in some conversation I can’t discern. Lastly, Kento and Haibara are facing each other, holding hands for support; I suspect Kento’s the one who needs it, given he’s staring down at his feet intermittently, checking if they’re still holding him up. Unsurprisingly, they are.
I give Yuki a reluctant nod before bracing myself on the bench to stand up. Cautiously, I shift all of my weight into my feet and rise, aware of Yuki’s hands loosely hovering around my torso to catch me if I fall. To my pleasant surprise, I don’t; there’s a slight wobble in my legs as I try to adjust to the feeling of standing on two, very thin blades of metal, but it doesn’t feel like I’m about to fall quite yet. So, with Yuki’s watchful eyes by my side, I vigilantly take small steps toward the open barrier, and with one, deep breath, I step onto the ice.
There it is. The unnerving wobble in my legs increases tenfold—no, twentyfold—as my feet step onto the slippery floor, and in a rush, I lean to my right, clutching the wooden railing in the hopes of finding some kind of stability. It definitely helps, but it doesn’t reduce the rising panic that I’m about to fall over and hurt myself.
“You need any help there?” Yuki asks.
She’s done enough already, and I don’t want her to be stuck babysitting me, so I choke out a, “Nah, don’t worry,” and wave her off. Sceptical, but not unbelieving, she stylishly glides away, leaving me cold, shaky, and clinging to my only support.
For an incomprehensible length of time, I’m simply stuck by the railing, fingers turning white from the force required to anchor me to the edge of the rink. It’s slightly embarrassing, but I feel slightly calmer when I finally decide to look up; two or three others are in the same state as me, that is, a cold mess. Yuki completes an inconceivable number of laps in the time it takes me to complete only one, but I shake off that fact with a simple statement: comparison is the thief of joy.
I spend a while watching Shoko and Yuki shooting clouds of shaved ice at each other, but a small issue interrupts that bliss. A guy, just a teenager, he doesn’t seem older than me by any means, is leaning on the railing. Stationary. A barrier to my only sanctuary.
There are only two options, I consider.
Option #1: Politely ask this guy to go out of his way to move so I can get by.
Option #2: Attempt to let go of the railing for a moment or two so I can skate around him, then return to my one and only, the railing.
Option two it is—in the end, who has the kind of guts to request an action like that of someone? Isn’t it just borderline selfish to do so?
With trembling legs, I slowly angle my feet towards the left in the hopes of just gliding by without a thought. Breaking away from the wall is easy—if we disregard the mental toll—and I’m able to just get directly in front of the random boy before I lose all momentum and come to a disheartening stop. In disbelief, I stare down at my feet. I try to will them to move, knowing it won’t have any effect unless I physically use some force to propel me forward. To rectify that, I try to lean my weight forward slightly, sliding one foot along the floor in an attempt to finish the final half of the journey.
Wrong move.
My heart drops to my shoes in a femtosecond, a stabbing twinge of panic blowing up in my pounding chest as I lose my balance. I’m about to fall. Directly in front of a stranger. In a rink with few people, so the sound will carry, and everyone will know and turn to look and point and laugh.
I accept my fate, unwilling to look stupid in trying to find my centre of mass again.
Before I can fall entirely, a whizz of wind seems to pass me by, and, all of a sudden, I’m weightless, being lifted through the air with my feet up and off the ice like Jennifer Grey held up by Patrick Swayze.
Stupefied, I turn my head around as my speed seems to decrease.
It’s Satoru. Two, mitten-covered hands strongly grip my hips and he wears a wry smile on his face, clearly proud of himself for saving my sorry ass from inescapable doom. As though he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he puts me down too quickly, he steadily brings me closer to the ground again when we reach the next corner of the ice-skating rink. Protective hands remain lingering on my waist even after I've fully stood on my own, leaning on the railing again.
“Well, you weren’t wrong when you said you can’t skate for shit,” Satoru smirks, eyeing me up and down. “What would you have done if I wasn’t there to save you?”
There it is. Yet again, this new cocky attitude has returned, contrary to the sensible and collected Satoru I’d had to get to know through lectures. Part of me begins to wonder if this is just the real him, if he’s always been this frivolous.
I take a good look at him. It’s quite obvious that it’s his birthday; albeit ironic, he wears a large birthday badge nearly ten centimetres in diameter towards the left of his chest, and he’s skating around with a party horn loosely in between his teeth. Even though mittens cover his hands, the rest of his body isn’t covered up very much, and I’m surprised he’s not shivering whatsoever. Covering his graceful legs are a pair of straight-leg, royal-blue jeans, not enough to define his muscles, but enough to see the overall form of his legs. A white, conforming wife-beater hugs his toned torso. Additionally, a dress shirt is thrown on top, but not fastened. The streetlights fall on Satoru in a way such that shadows form on his chest and abdomen, highlighting each crevice and carefully-carved ridge of his torso and it takes one second of staring for me to become aware of where my eyes have fallen. Praying he hasn’t noticed my gawking, I rip my gaze away and turn my focus to his eyes. Pools of coruscating azure stare right back at me, an unequivocal reminder of the events that occurred over seven years ago in an environment unusually similar to this one. I gulp.
Satoru waves his mitten-clad hands in front of my face. “You there, sweet thing?”
I scowl at the name. It’s not the first time he’s said that, and in any case, I’d be inclined to feel disgusted, but it’s kind of impossible to dislike that question when he’s cornered me in a secluded area of the rink, white lights highlighting his every feature to the point he’s the only thing I could possibly focus on.
“Yeah, sorry. What did you say?” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant so as to not alert him to my inherent staring.
“I said,” he begins, a honeyed laugh escaping his parted lips for a moment, showing his bright teeth. I can’t help but laugh, too. “What would you have done if I wasn’t there to save you?”
Glowering at him, I place a palm to his bicep and push him away with minimal force so he knows it’s not serious. “I don’t need saving. This isn’t some fairytale.”
“Really?” Satoru retorts, cocking his head to my left slightly. He eyes me watchfully. Something about my legs makes him stop for a moment, pupils honing in on my lower half as he scrunches his eyebrows and snorts. “Damn. If you’re gonna lie, at least get your own legs to agree with you.”
Confused, I let out a simple, “Huh?” and immediately look down. My knees are slightly buckled from using the railings to support my weight, with my feet shaking slightly from sheer instability. Defeated, I roll my eyes and look up again. “You’ve become really annoying lately, you know that?” The statement is punctuated with a smile just so he knows I’m only feigning irritation.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snickers, the amused look ever-present in his brilliant eyes. “I’m gonna teach you a thing or two despite you being mean to me on my birthday because I hate to see you looking so helpless!”
“Do you have a saviour complex or something? With a bit of superiority mixed in there?” I return smartly, knocking the blade of my right skate against his left.
“Call it what you will, but it’s not a complex when it’s just facts,” he says seriously, gaze so radiant it holds the power of a thousand suns. With each microsecond I spend staring into his eyes, it becomes increasingly obvious that he means it wholeheartedly. And, with conviction like that, I can’t help but agree.
“Okay, Mr. Arrogant,” I roll my eyes, lifting one of his hands off the rail, uncaging myself from his towering figure as I do so.
“I’ll cut you a deal,” Satoru smiles earnestly. His eyebrows raise. “If I lap you again, you’re—“
I cut him off. The words he’s beginning with are all too familiar to me, practically identical to a thing or two I’d heard a while ago. “Coming off the railing and skating with you?”
The enlivened look on his face slowly contorts into one of amazement. A tiny smile forms. “How’d you know I was gonna say that?”
I briefly think about the tall, charcoal-haired boy from the ice all those years ago. He had uttered those exact words to me after catching me from falling and challenging me into leaving my comfort zone. Now that I think about it, this is some cruel amalgamation of past memories and future possibilities.
“I don’t know. Just… had a feeling,” I sigh, smiling weakly. I hope he can’t sense my slight disappointment at recalling that memory; judging by the way he tilts his head, I suspect I’ve all but worn the word ‘disappointed’ on my forehead.
“Seemed so practised, though. Like you predicted it,” he shoots back, squinting with a smirk.
“Nah, nah, nothing like that,” I chuckle, shrugging it off. Either way, I decide to revert to the topic at hand, not wanting to draw any more attention to the sensitive matter. I snicker, “Either way, I’m not agreeing—”
Satoru darts towards me, the shriek of the blades alerting me to his sudden movement. His taffy-coloured fingertip reaches my face in no time, exerting a soft pressure to my lips in one, swift motion. It’s cold, and I’m tempted to dart my tongue out from instinct to annoy him, but I restrict myself for fear of alienating him from utter weirdness.
“Satoru—”
He shushes me mockingly.
“I swear to God, if you don’t—”
“Shh,” he smiles. As if we have all the time in the world, Satoru lifts his fingertip from my lips, millimetre by millimetre, until we’re fully detached from the other’s touch. He glides backwards slightly to give me a bit of space, eyebrows fully raised to warn me against disagreeing again.
“Get skating if you don’t want me to lap you!” he finishes quickly before shooting off backwards in a hurry.
Satoru’s skating skill is admirable. It seems all too natural to him, as if he had come out of the womb with two pristine skates on his feet, and instead of having first steps, he’d had first twirls. The wind curves around his figure, causes his hair to oscillate almost calculatedly with every movement, and seems to sweep only him around the ginormous rink, a sort of paid actor in his grand choreography. Fluid knees bend at turns, limber arms extend out by his sides to aid his balance, and thin eyebrows furrow in concentration—it’s just like the time he spends dedicating to his life’s work. Every fibre of his being focuses on this one task.
Not even to mention his immense speed—I’m starting to think he purposely suggested the punishment after lapping me, given that after only a few seconds of my incessant staring, he’s travelled an incredible distance across the dimly-lit rink. Though the size of the area is similar to a football pitch, it doesn’t seem like the case for him. He travels so fast that the notion of absolute time and absolute space are no longer existent, leaving behind any Aristotelian ideas suggesting that Satoru is just like everyone else. No. He’s something new entirely.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen elegance like this, no, it’s not. Satoru is that boy’s mirror image, save for the differing hair colours. No other person could possibly have eyes as brilliant as his, movements as graceful as his, and charisma that outdoes his. No.
He and Satoru are the same person.
If it weren’t for Shoko catching up to me, I’d have continued to stare until Satoru caught up again.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asks me, a piece of gum loosely laying around in Shoko’s jaw. There’s a dreamy smile on her face, and I squint at her in response, trying to discern what it is she knows that I seem to be missing all the time.
“You could say that, yeah,” I shrug, “just Satoru being a cocky shit again.” It’s a lie, but I have no choice. How am I supposed to explain that a boy I met nearly a decade ago has been living in my mind rent-free ever since, and he’s probably just reappeared in my life again? Even if Shoko seems very trustworthy?
“Well, Satoru’s already annoying, but his birthday brings out something else in him. We love him for it, though,” Shoko laughs.
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I smile in response.
In the corner of my eye, I see a flash of snow white and cerulean blue. Shoko seems to notice it too, since she immediately peels my fingers away from the railing, taking my hands in her own and dragging me along and away, faster than I’d been dredging myself along earlier. My heartbeat frequency spikes immediately, partly from the thrill of going quickly all of a sudden, partly from fear of falling. There’s a youthful grin on Shoko’s face as she drags me along, young excitement bleeding through her fingers into my skin.
“I just know Satoru’s gonna bite my head off, but you know what we’re gonna do?” she asks challengingly, though that spirit isn’t directed at me. Her eyes flick between myself and Satoru’s figure, keeping careful tabs on our speed relative to his.
“What are we gonna do?” I question. Another question bugs me, too: why would he bite her head off? I save that for later, however, since there are other, more pressing matters at hand.
“We’re not letting Satoru catch us up. He told you he’s gonna take you off the railings if he completes a lap before you, yeah? Or some shit like that, I don’t know?”
I scrunch my eyebrows. “Yeah, he did… nearly word-for-word.” It’s a bit scary that Shoko could tell what was going on without even being present, but I guess observational skills of that calibre come quite naturally when you’re a top-performing medical student at a prestigious university. Doesn’t stop it feeling at least mildly eerie, though.
“Yeah. So, just to piss him off, we’re gonna out-skate him!” she laughs, adjusting her grip on my hands so I’m more securely in her grasp.
It feels like I’m about to fall any second, but Shoko is somehow able to skate fast enough—bear in mind, backwards—to keep me gliding along with her, almost leaving no time for me to fall in the first place. Her head often turns behind her to check for any glaring obstacles, so I decide I’m going to be the one alerting her of anything, so she can focus all of her energy into going fast enough to outrun Satoru.
That’s the problem. Satoru is simply too fast. I can tell that Shoko is at her maximum speed, evident from the way her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, and she’s expending a lot of her strength by dragging me along. If I was able to, I would be carrying a bit of my own weight; given, however, I couldn’t even move one metre on the ice without falling over, that’s just not an option. Instead, I try to actually push with a bit of my own weight into the ice as we move, so she’s not just dragging plain mass around.
My heart absolutely pounds in my chest from the sheer terror of actually trying to skate more independently, but it only helps me, since I remain incredibly aware of my surroundings. It’s not long before we’ve circled half of the rink.
“See, I knew you’d be able to do it!” Shoko exclaims, grinning widely. Her eyes glimmer, beyond thrilled. “You ready to let go?”
“Fuck no!” I exclaim, clutching onto her hands even tighter so she can’t let go of me. “I’m only not falling because of our momentum!”
“You big baby,” she rolls her eyes, “you and Satoru really are the same.”
My face contorts in disgust. “The same? As Satoru? What a joke!”
“I’m being serious,” she smiles, adjusting her grip on my hands slightly so we’re more tightly-knit. “You may not see it now, but it’ll just become more obvious as time goes along.”
“What makes you so sure?” I roll my eyes in disbelief. She seems very adamant that he and I are very similar, but what I need now to believe that is proof. Because, as far as I can tell, he and I have barely anything in common.
“Sometimes, there are just some things you’re sure of. This is one of them,” she smiles ominously.
However, to my utter dismay, when she looks up, the smile is wiped off her face immediately. Concerned, I turn around, only to be greeted by the sight of one Satoru Gojo gaining on us. In the heat of our playful little conversation, we had slowed down, allowing Satoru to close the already little distance between us.
“Okay, I… give up,” I shrug. There’s no point in trying to fight it any further. Given he’s an extraordinarily skilled skater, and I can’t even stand up for more than four seconds without falling onto my ass, he’ll catch up in another ten seconds if I continue at this pace.
“Really?” she questions, “I didn’t take you for a quitter.”
I sigh. “I’m not a quitter. Quite honestly, though, all of that clinging to the rail and now tensing my entire body to stay stable has knocked the life out of me. Not to mention the fact that I genuinely think I’m going to fall within the next ten seconds.”
Shoko parts her dusty-pink lips as if to speak. After a quick glance at something I can’t discern behind me, she chews the inside of her lip and nods, slowing us down and diverting the path of our travel to bring me back to my safety, the trusty railing. Once we reach it again, she gently lets go of my cold hands to allow me to stop and lean against the wood for a bit in the hopes of catching my breath and also just spending more time watching everyone else. With a wink, Shoko leaves my side, but before I can protest, her presence is quickly replaced by one Satoru Gojo.
“Damn. Lapped your ass.”
I blink incredulously. “You what?”
Snowy eyebrows furrow in confusion; it’s not long, however, until he understands what’s going through my head. “Oh, you freaky fuck.” He chuckles at me, clearly amused. “I meant that I completed one lap in the time you spent just dawdling around.”
“Freaky fuck?” I question, jabbing at Satoru’s chest with my index finger. “Not my fault you worded things in the most questionable way possible.”
“Yeah, okay, sweetheart. I know who you really are,” he rolls his glistening eyes jokingly. Satoru glides over to lean on the railing by my side. “So, you’re well aware that you’re going to be coming off the railing, aren’t you?”
Defeated, I look down at my trembling feet. How I’m still standing, I haven’t the slightest clue.
“Yeah,” I frown. “I’m well aware.”
After eyeing me up and down, he nods out of pity and turns back away, continuing to observe our moving peers. “You look kinda winded, so let’s just recover here for a bit before you come with me.”
I still can’t fathom why he’s so insistent on getting me to try harder to skate. I cast my thoughts back to the midnight-haired boy who held my waist with the utmost care while coaxing me into the centre of the rink. Words of kind encouragement went in through both ears and branded themselves into my core, with the imprints of his gentle fingers seemingly continuing to burn in my sides even after so much time.
My only question now is why? How? Does he have any clue that I’m the same person he met all of that time ago? Is this something he just does for damsels in distress? Or am I being delusional and allowing time to unrecognisably modify my memories, resulting in an unfortunate mixup between Satoru and the boy who seemed to have eyes for only me back then?
I try to steer the conversation in another direction, hoping to take my mind off the flurry of questions bubbling up in my brain. “How are you so good at ice-skating?” I ask.
“I skate in my free time. As much as I want to make fun of you for being bad, I’m only really this good because I’ve had a good amount of practice,” he shrugs, sapphire-like eyes meeting mine.
I furrow my eyebrows, slightly sceptical. As far as I can remember, there’s no ice-skating rink near Oxford. We’re here in London for that exact reason. “You skate in your free time? Is there some rink closer to the college, then?”
“No,” he says nonchalantly. “I used to take trains down here so I could skate. Definitely time-consuming, but Megumi enjoys it, believe it or not. He actually really wanted to come along today, but figured he’d feel awkward being the only little kid with, like, seven adults.”
I frown, feeling bad. “Man, why didn’t you tell us that?” I scold Satoru, jabbing him in the side with my pointer finger. “I would’ve done my best to integrate him.”
“Integrate?” Satoru looks confused, “How do you… oh, like integrate. ” I watch as a wry smile tugs at his soft lips, and he smiles in return. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s a sweet kid. I guess you telling me about his supposed selflessness makes me want to… you know, be a part in getting him to do things he genuinely enjoys. I’d be lying if I said that getting Megumi to buy himself some stuff a few days ago made me feel good. Like, I know that sounds conceited, but do you get what I mean?” I frown, looking at Satoru. Part of me expects him to look weirded out at my words, but the same, kind smile persists.
“Are you good with kids?” he returns, tilting his head to show his interest. It’s an odd question, and mildly off-topic, but I suppose it’s still related, one way or another.
I shrug, thinking about all of the other times I’ve interacted with a young child. “I guess so? Kids don’t hate me, but I’m no childcare prodigy.”
Satoru’s smile widens. Detaching himself from the railing, he swivels around to fully face me, the entirety of his front facing mine. He extends both hands out to me, and I look at his inner palms, dumbfounded. “Come on, then, off the railing, sweetheart.”
“What is it with you and nicknames?” I grimace, raising one eyebrow. The mischievous glint in his eyes remains ever-present, especially prominent when his attention is focused on me.
“Why, do you hate them?” Satoru replies, so sweet I could vomit.
I roll my eyes, dodging the question. It’d definitely be weird if I said I liked the out-of-pocket nicknames, but kind of mean if I said I didn’t, so I decide to avoid it altogether, changing the topic.
“Don’t answer questions with questions,” I glare, returning my attention to his perfect hands. “Why are your hands just out?”
“So you don’t fall when you come off the ice, what other reason?” he asserts, as if it were the most obvious and natural thing ever. Satoru emphasises his hands yet again, and I reluctantly take them, placing my forefingers on his palm and curling my thumb around his fingers. He does the same, securely holding my hands before cautiously gliding backwards.
“Fuck, your grip’s so solid,” he grimaces before smiling at me enthusiastically. I look down at my hands, wondering if I really am gripping him that hard, and I realise that my knuckles have turned white from the sheer force I’m using to hold on.
I pout. It’s all fun and games to pretend you’re tough and independent, but when that’s put to the test in the most unlikely of situations, it’s not as easy to pretend anymore. “I’m scared.”
“Scared?” he asks bashfully. “You know, I’m glad you’re here and everything, I really am, but you didn’t have to come along if you didn’t want to.”
Unsure of how to respond, I simply look up. It’s a risk, given my focus is no longer on my feet or our intertwined hands, but I want to meet his eyes in an attempt to discern what’s going through his head.
It’s impossible to tell just by looking at him. Satoru’s gaze softens subtly. Youthful, bright eyes stare back at me, and it becomes very clear very quickly that he genuinely means every word he’s just said. He is glad I’m here. He wants me to feel safe.
Filling up the silence between us, he revives the conversation with another question. “What scares you so much about the ice, anyways?”
“Falling,” I say bluntly. “What else would I be scared of?”
Satoru furrows his eyebrows condescendingly. “Are you scared of falling or scared of embarrassing yourself?”
“Y’know, I can’t stand how insightful you are sometimes,” I reply, looking at our interlocked fingers. Isn’t it just stupid that he’s asking questions like these when he so clearly already knows what I’ll respond? “Given the way you asked the question in the first place, I think you know the answer.”
Satoru simply returns a self-satisfied shrug. Smiling, he says, “I have good eyes.”
To that, I’ve no snarky remarks. To fight that assertion is sacrilege. Blasphemy. Borderline disrespect, and the incredible blue glowing back at me solidifies that. However, one key thing still tugs at my mind.
If you’re so sure about that, why do you cover them most of the time?
I have to bite that question back, unsure of whether or not it’s a sensitive topic.
“I’m gonna swivel us around, it’ll make it easier for me to see where we’re going,” Satoru states unequivocally. Before I can respond or protest, realising it may not be the best of ideas since I’d then be skating backwards, he pulls my waist into his, our hips so close together there’s no room for Jesus. One palm is splayed out defensively on the small of back, the other resting on my bicep before he twirls us one hundred and eighty degrees, effectively switching our positions.
“Satoru,” I hiss, shocked. The proximity makes my face heat exponentially, and I can only pray to some higher being that he won’t notice. Somehow, given his earlier statement, I suspect he’ll notice even if he doesn’t look at me.
Satoru only beams at me excitedly. “Satoru, what?” he mocks dramatically, and I punch his solid shoulder in response.
“What if I fell?” I glower. My face only continues to warm at his benightedness.
“Fall, my ass. I’m not going to let you fall so easily.” The tips of his fingers curl further into my waist.
“Oh, really?” I practically twitch, trying my best to relax my tensed muscles. “How can you possibly be so sure of that?”
Satoru’s attention returns to me from our surroundings. Unusually kind eyes peer at me. “I’m good at a lot of things.”
I feign disgust at the very words, knowing full well it’s just sent stark jolts of electricity through every nerve ending in my body.
“I’m telling you, I will keel over if I keep skating backwards, Gojo.”
“And I’m telling you,” he asserts, raising his left eyebrow slightly as he continues to stare at me. “I’m not letting you fall that damn easily. Now hold onto me, properly, and relax a little. You’re gonna be okay. For real.”
I tense my jaw. Placing both palms on either shoulder hesitantly, I try my best to allow the rest of my body to go slack—after all, that could be the very reason I’m so incredibly prone to falling whenever I try to skate. Sensing my genuine attempt to ease into it, the previous teasing look on his face gradually changes into what resembles endearment, and I watch as he shoots me a genuine, giddy smile. At the same time, his thumbs rub my stomach softly. Some gesture of reassurement, I suppose. Gradually, a lack of sound permeates the air, but it’s surprisingly comfortable; in spite of the proximity, it feels a little like we’re in separate worlds, focusing on the movement of our respective bodies and maintaining our positions. With the additional thought of his touch searing holes through my body, but that’s kind of obvious; when you’re as touch-starved as I am, it’s a given.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Satoru begins, voice as smooth as melted chocolate. This is a sentence I’ve heard him begin before, so I try my hand at finishing it for him.
“You accidentally hit someone on the ice on your first few times, maybe?” I quip, trying my best to sound nonchalant and as though that were a thought I pulled out of thin air. It’s not exactly what happened, though—the actual story is a bit more specific and marginally funnier than that, but it would definitely come across as odd if I just somehow knew it.
Back then, when he had pulled me off the ice with slightly damp, dark hair and ice-cold hands, he had done his best to ease me into our joint movements, telling a short story in the hopes of making me laugh and forget about my panic. It referred to his first time skating in another city. He had always been graceful and somewhat amazing at maintaining his balance and a steady speed, but by an unfortunate stroke of bad luck, he had ended up swivelling off-track and crashing into a middle-aged woman, head-first. She had been knocked over, and was totally angry about it, but what would she have done to a prepubescent teenager? The cherry on top was the final remark, an incredible statement that would take brain damage for me to forget: “I’m not joking when I say that she was yelling when she first processed the fact I knocked her down, but she shut up when she looked up and saw me.” At least I can be sure that I’m not the only one who finds him unusually stunning.
“That’s… actually not far off,” Satoru smiles, visibly entertained. Sparkly eyes glimmer further when he looks at me, sharp teeth in sight from the sheer size of his smile. “I knocked an old lady over once when I was younger. She was pissed. Not for long, though.”
I scrunch my eyebrows and nose in a serious attempt to look like I’m hearing this for the first time. “What do you mean, not for long? Sounds ominous.”
“Kind of is. She was, like, yelling when I first knocked her over, checking her legs and hands and shit to be sure she wasn’t bleeding, but when she looked up at me, she stopped talking and started to laugh it off. Honestly, she looked embarrassed. I do feel bad, since, in the end, I was the one who ran into her full-speed, but I also can’t help my good looks,” he shrugs, chuckling at his own words afterwards. It’s obvious that this remark is amusing to him. It is to me, too, but I can’t show that—instead, it’d be best to keep up my normal, argumentative attitude in this situation.
“What makes you so damn sure it was your good looks that made her stop?” I shoot back, raising an eyebrow superciliously. He leans in incrementally so he can push backwards with increased force, trying to get us to go slightly faster.
“You think I’m good-looking?” Satoru teases, briefly making eye contact with me before returning his attention to the world behind me. It’s honestly kind of impressive how he’s managing a conversation with me, gliding us both around the rink at a high speed, and avoiding obstacles all at once. I can’t even hate his cockiness.
“O-kay, buddy, pack it up,” I frown, patting his shoulder in disdain. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
A jovial chuckle escapes his laughs, and my ill-constructed facade crumbles; his laugh is contagious, so contagious to the point that I have to giggle a little too.
“So we’re both just lying to each other today? I thought you hated liars?” he retorts smugly. Before I can respond, he adds, “I want you to start pushing backwards with your feet a little. You’ve been getting increasingly stable over the last few minutes, I think you can do it.”
I look at Satoru dead in his beautiful eyes, realising he’s totally serious about what he said earlier: he’s not willing to let me fall that easily. After all, I’m still standing at the moment, and he’s done his best to keep a safe but chaste grip on me. So, adhering to his advice, I lean back by a tiny factor. Large, surprisingly warm hands dig further into my sides, keeping me secure and far from harm. My pushes are initially weak, consisting of simply lifting my feet one after the other, but I gradually lean into it a little; after a few minutes of adjustment, we reach our collective top speed, leaning and pushing in sync, a bit like a well-oiled machine.
My heart begins to beat rapidly, not from the proximity but from the sheer thrill of it all. Going from being previously incapable of skating to now managing because of Satoru is beyond terrifying but also incredibly exciting. It’s not long before I notice a wide smile on my own face, and contrary to my normal actions, I don’t wipe it off from embarrassment; instead, I let myself grin unapologetically, enjoying the feeling of the chilly air nipping at my skin and the incessant fidget of Satoru’s hands on my waist.
“See, you’re doing it!” he praises me, clearly uplifted by my attempt, “Look at you!”
I snort in disbelief. “Fuck, yeah, look at me.”
We fall back into sync yet again, leaning left and right, pushing left leg after right leg. Every breath we take coincides with our skating rhythm, and before long, we’ve reached a new peak speed for me. Satoru continues to focus his attention on keeping us clear of obstacles and stopping me from hitting something, and I keep my thoughts directed at my feet in the hopes of avoiding an unfortunate accident. It gets easier with time, however, and it’s not just thanks to me.
Our eyes meet fleetingly, and his expression softens. A look resembling pride crosses his face as he looks at me, a confident but sweet smile appearing gradually.
Pressing the tip of my index finger to the centre of the comically large birthday badge on his chest, I chuckle at the surrealty of it all. Satoru looks up at me, mildly fazed but not disliking my actions at all. I simply grin at him, blurting out, “Happy birthday, Satoru.”
“That’s unusually sweet coming from you,” Satoru beams back at me, eyelids momentarily obscuring my view of his eyes. “Thank you.”
Chapter 9: My thoughts err away
Summary:
Study session consisting of you, Yuki, and Shoko. The conversation somehow shifts dramatically during a well-earned break.
Notes:
Here's the story playlist, as always: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6XNGqet7KuGWTBTunwN4bS?si=9b4c4fa516124ccd
Sorry this (double update) took so long! Between exams and other issues I had going on in my life, writing these two chapter took way longer than I expected LOL. Honestly, I know I didn't have to do a double update, but this chapter isn't all that eventful, so I figured I'd write 9 and 10 at once and publish them at once.
Also, I did not proofread 9 or 10 whatsoever. I usually have to let it sit, unread, for a few days or weeks since I won't spot any errors until after a while LMAO. I just didn't want to wait any longer to publish it.
Chapter Text
▷▷ sugar - men i trust ◁◁
The air is sweet.
It’s no surprise, given I’m sitting close to two high-maintenance women. The scent is pleasant and reminiscent of the strong fragrance of perfume shops, and it floods my nostrils passively as I scribble notes on my iPad. Shoko is mouthing incoherently to herself and Yuki types at an immensely high speed, so quick I’m almost envious.
I take one, longing look at the timer placed strategically at the centre of the table. It reads “02:33”, meaning there’s only two minutes and thirty-three seconds left in this sector of our study session. After realising we spend way too long gossiping when we have other things to do, we decided to just set up a Pomodoro timer in the centre of the table; we work in silence for fifty minutes, taking a break for the next ten, then repeating. However, three cycles of that have already been completed, so the next break will be one hour. I almost can’t wait, but I decide to power through the very end of the reading I’m completing until the very last millisecond of the timer.
Christmas lies ahead in the near future, so we decided ultimately that we were going to try to knock out every single required reading for the next term today, in the hopes of finally getting to enjoy our holiday without worrying about deadlines looming over our heads. A shared Note containing all of our combined tasks remains open in our tabs, and we’re gradually nearing the end. But we’re not quite there yet, maybe three or four hours more and we’ll be done for good.
After what feels like several eternities, the timer finally gives us its familiar ring, and we sigh in relief. It’s a bit like the silence has been cut by a hot knife. As if tired from a marathon, our breathing suddenly turns laboured and the previously stiff posture we were all maintaining turns slack and more relaxed.
“Colour me relieved. Oh, my god, I was fighting for my life in those last ten minutes,” Shoko frowns, exhaustedly rubbing her eyelids with the palms of her pinkish hands. “I fucking hate Anki.”
“How many cards do you have left?” I ask absentmindedly. “At least that’s the last thing you’ve left to do today, though, I’m kind of jealous.”
Shoko shrugs at me, fiddling with her iPad screen as she squints. “One thousand, two hundred and forty-six cards left,” she sighs. “I can’t be arsed.”
“Yes, you can!” I exclaim encouragingly, to which Shoko smiles.
“Yeah, I can,” she grins.
“What about you, Yuki?” I ask, turning a little to my other side. She’s pushed her laptop a few inches away, signalling that she’s fully done, at least for this next break.
“I’m just writing an essay right now. I have two left to do today, but they’re not so bad, since I’ve done all of the readings. It’s just gonna be a case of translating the notes into an actual cohesive, y’know… essay.” She picks up a bottle of water and opens it before chugging half of its contents. It’s obvious she’s dehydrated. “How ‘bout you? The numbers making any sense?”
“Surprisingly, yeah,” I smile, “I’ve got six readings left, about fifty pages each, but that’s not gonna be too bad. I get most of it, but one topic is kicking my ass, so I might get up to find a book on it and hope for the best. I hope I’ll get this all done today.” I punctuate that sentiment with a sigh.
[17:25] suguru >>> cute girl keeps looking at me at the bar
[17:25] suguru >>> do i go for it or not?
[17:26] satoru >>> you ask us this several times a week, how the fuck haven’t your decisin-making skills gotten better over the last few years
[17:26] satoru >>> anyways. why not go for it lol
[17:26] suguru >>> idk i don’t feel like sleeping with anyone today
Shoko begins to type out a response with her nimble fingers, and somehow, I suspect it’s filled to the brim with her usual, characteristic snark.
[17:26] shoko >>> Slut alert
[17:26] suguru >>> at least people actually approach me.
[17:26] shoko >>> At least there’s no possibility that random girls are raising my children .
[17:26] yuki >>> Helloooooo???????? Out of pocket
[17:26] suguru >>> ooooookay. that’s enough.
[17:26] suguru >>> not my fault girls think i’m good0ookinh
[17:26] shoko >>> I can’t wait to tell your daughters what you get up to. Just you wait
[17:27] suguru >>> this is so unprompted wtf wrong w you guys
Even after putting the phone down, we’re all giggling slightly from Shoko’s sarcastic comments. She’s always incredibly sharp, and a bit of a man-hater, but it’s why I love her and her personality. None of it is ever serious, and everyone is well aware of that, which is why she’s so brilliant.
“You know, I never see Satoru talking about girls. Do they not, like, approach him or something?” I ask curiously. It’s been on my mind for a while; especially after witnessing the way women are absolutely drawn to Suguru for myself, it does beg the question of why Satoru doesn’t experience the same thing. He’s just as attractive as his best friend, so it’s definitely odd. Maybe people notice some weird aura about him.
“Surprisingly,” Shoko begins, followed by a pregnant pause. She eyes Yuki cautiously for some reason before turning her attention to me, adding, “Suguru pulls way more. That’s not to say that Satoru doesn’t pull, but Suguru gets approached way more.”
“They’re kind of equal in, like, attractiveness, though,” I state plainly. “Maybe people find Satoru weird.”
With a snort, Shoko replies, “Do you find Satoru weird?”
“No,” I shrug. “He’s not weird. Well, definitely eccentric, but in an endearing way. But, like, I imagine people might find him a bit unapproachable. Glowy blue eyes and all.”
“What about the fact he’s constantly calling you by pet names?” Shoko smirks mischievously. Her eyebrows are raised slightly in anticipation. Confused, I shrink away incrementally, face scrunching out of cautiousness.
“Whoa. Why am I being interrogated all of a sudden?” I ask.
“You’re not,” Yuki chuckles, “I guess she’s just curious. It’s normal for people to be curious about your life, y’know.” The last part is muttered quietly, intended for only me to hear, though I’m sure Shoko has heard it too. It’s a small reminder of my previous life, the one I had been living so imperfectly and miserably.
“Okay,” I say, smiling in an attempt to ease up the cloudy atmosphere I’ve just built up. “I don’t hate his petnames. I was definitely weirded out the first time, but it’s just something he does, right? So, no biggie. It’s honestly just funny now. I think it’s just a kind of joke.”
Shoko frowns in acknowledgement before straightening her posture and looking up at me. “Yeah, fair enough. He’s a bit odd but I was hoping you wouldn’t get weirded out by it.”
“Weirded out?” I chuckle, “What got you so worried?”
There’s a genuine smile on Shoko’s face now, contrary to the normal nihilistic smiles she normally has to offer. “Honestly, it’s not like that. It’s just more… uh, how do I describe it? His single ass just doesn’t know how to act. It’s of his own choice, obviously, but he doesn’t really get to know many new people, so you’re a bit of a breath of fresh air. But it was scary, though. Like getting a house cat to go outside a little more. There’s not much to actually be worried about, but it’s more a case of what move he’s gonna take next.”
I blink several times in rapid succession. “There’s just so much to unpack from that.” He’s single? I’m the first new person, aside from Yuki, that they’ve welcomed in? He chooses not to talk to new people? I choose the last question to begin with, since asking the first one might sound kind of odd. “It’s his own choice? Why doesn’t he meet new people?”
“Seems like he just likes the way his life is right now, I suppose. With the addition of you two in it. There’s been a good number of people we’ve liked but just haven’t fit in the way you two have. Satoru’s kind of particular about the company he keeps.” As Shoko explains, she’s fussing about with various objects in front of her, namely her iPad and Apple Pencil. “I guess he’s taken to you and Yuki quite nicely.”
Yuki high-fives the air in my direction and I return the gesture, a simple but purely comedic gesture. It makes Shoko chuckle slightly, too, and we join her, laughing quietly.
“Why us, though?” Yuki finally speaks up. Nowadays, she’s not very active in conversations, choosing to just listen in on what everyone else is saying. That said, it makes her quite an apt listener. “I’m not sure why he’d be okay with the two of us out of all people.”
“No offence intended, but I do wonder that as well. I honestly think he just likes the fact that you’re both massive nerds, like the rest of us.” Shoko’s lips purse in thought.
I snort. “This university is nerd central, Shoko.”
“Amen,” Shoko titters, “but like, you’re… different.”
“Different how?” Yuki returns.
“It’s like you’re dedicating your life to the things you like. I, for sure, think your drive is pretty admirable. My theory is he’s seen that, too, and liked it.”
“What was Satoru like before we met you guys?” I say, slightly off-topic but not out of the blue. It’s a question that’s been bugging me for a long time. Obviously, in case, I would just ask Satoru himself, but he’s not here, and Shoko would probably provide a more subjective opinion, to be honest. I haven’t quite figured out what kind of response I’d get from Suguru. Part of me suspects he’d give me one of those odd, knowing looks, chuckle, then answer all of my questions. He’s interesting like that.
“Why’d you wanna know?” smirks Shoko, scrunching her eyebrows while scrutinising me. There’s definitely something going on in that pretty little head of hers.
“I’m honestly just curious. Satoru’s an interesting character. I guess I just want to know for fun,” I shrug innocently.
Brushing chestnut bangs out of her face, Shoko looks at me with pursed lips and squinting eyes. Slightly taken aback, I shift in my chair, unsure of why she’s looking at me with such intensity, but she quickly eases my nerves by smiling and relaxing in her seat again. “Yeah, fair enough,” she replicates my shrug. “What d’you wanna know? What he was like during his Bachelor’s? What he was like during sixth form, maybe?”
“Anything you find interesting, I guess,” I say simply.
Shoko’s eyes flit towards Yuki, then down at her lap, before she chuckles and mumbles something so quietly I haven’t the slightest clue what she’s talking about. With a smile, she meets my eyes again, humming in thought as she tries to figure out what details to reveal.
“Well, first off,” Shoko says absentmindedly, tapping her index finger on her knee repeatedly. “During sixth form, he was a bit of a clown. In the secondhand embarrassment kind of way, but no one actually disliked him. In fact, everyone liked him a lot. He was just a bit of a loner, aside from me and Suguru, obviously.”
My eyes widen. “I wasn’t expecting that, like, at all.”
Interested, her gaze narrows at me. “What were you expecting instead?”
“He seemed like the type who was really popular back then. Girls liked him and shit.”
“They definitely did,” Shoko considers the thought. The frown on her face makes it very clear that she’s thinking very hard about this whole thing. “A good number of girls had spoken to me about finding him attractive and stuff. I told them they should go for him but all I got in response was that he just seemed kind of unapproachable to them. Like someone they would admire from afar but never actually go for. Untouchable, I suppose.”
It’d be wrong of me to deny that he still has that aura about him. Maybe I’ve just noticed it less because I’m actually a friend of Satoru’s somehow, but people always admire him without a second thought. All of the times Ophelia had cracked jokes with Satoru only for him to meet her with a subpar response because he’s always got something going on in his head suddenly makes sense. He seems awfully different publicly than he does with us.
“Was that intentional on his part? Like, what did he think about all of that?” I return, pouting in thought.
“He didn’t really care for it. He was somewhat happy during year twelve and thirteen, liked the way his life was. I’ll be real with you for a second, though,” Shoko squints at the table, carefully picking her words, “I think it’s because he just didn’t think about relationships and stuff. It’s like his brain is always processing so much information he doesn’t have time to think about the things that people haven’t immediately reminded him about.”
“Huh?” I say blankly, “Like what? Give me an example.”
Shoko laughs at herself. “Well, okay, here’s one. On the night of our final exam—further maths was the last exam, so we all finished at the same time—we were at a houseparty, right? Hosted by one of our classmates. Satoru was pretty wasted, but when some girl was trying to chat him up, I genuinely think he had no idea. He had this thousand-yard stare at a whiteboard in the distance. Then,” Shoko pauses for comedic effect, “and you won’t believe this, but he genuinely just got up from the conversation randomly and started integrating on the whiteboard after digging around for a pen. I genuinely don’t know what goes on in his head sometimes. I don’t think any of us do.”
We’re all engulfed in a fit of giggles as she finishes the sentence from the sheer surrealty of it. There’s no way that Satoru is a real person.
“I think the best part is the fact that the girl was a math nerd, too. So she was very, very turned on by watching him do maths, but so angry from the fact that he just up and left that she stormed off and left the party. Bless that poor soul. Either way, though, I know they wouldn’t have been a good pair, so I guess they both dodged bullets.”
“What makes you say they wouldn’t have been good together?”
Shoko nods, continuing to tap her fingers on her knees in thought. “First of all, Satoru’s a pure mathematician. So is she. I know for a fact Satoru would rather be with someone who does applied maths, since it’s the best of both worlds. Raising unstoppable children, and shit. Second off, most people used to think Satoru was a big freak. Not like an alien freak, more like a freak in the sheets, purely because of the way he spoke to girls jokingly sometimes.”
“Prett-y ironic that Suguru’s the actual freak, huh?” Yuki interjects with a chuckle. It makes all of us smile in response.
“Very ironic. But, yeah, part of the reason that girl went for him is because, well, she wanted to sleep with him. Satoru, for one, is an insane loser, but I love him for it. The most he’s done is kissed a girl. Even so, he just wasn’t interested in that stuff so young. Something about preferring to do it with someone he’s actually emotionally invested in.” Shoko eyes Yuki while saying the final part, which is mildly confusing given Yuki and Satoru don’t know each other all that well, plus she’s with Choso. I think. Well, I haven’t had any updates for a while, so I make a mental note to ask her about it later.
Yuki, in turn, looks at me expectantly. Why she’s doing that, I have no idea, but it’s incredibly jarring.
“Sometimes I do wonder how Satoru and Suguru are such closely-knit friends when they’re so different,” Yuki sighs thoughtfully.
“Oh, brother, me too,” Shoko shrugs. “I should mention, though, he was kind of different during his Bachelor’s. Like he’d relaxed down a little. His brain still runs at a million miles per hour, but he actually did put himself out there a few times.”
“And then what happened?” I ask, shifting in my seat. Before Shoko can reply, I look down at where I’m sitting, realising that I am, in fact, on the edge of my chair. How did I even get there?
“Well, what do you think happened?” replies Shoko sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing?” I say, somewhat hopeful. I don’t really know why I’m so optimistic about this, I guess it’s just the excitement of knowing a little more about him coming through.
“Bingo. Guess he just didn’t click with any of the girls he’d spoken to over the years.”
“I really wasn’t expecting that. Any of what you’ve just said, to be honest with you,” I return. I cross my legs, tightly knitting them together in thought. In the corner of my eye, I notice Shoko’s gaze narrowing at me, possibly out of interest.
She’s definitely been acting odd lately. It’s not anything too bad, nothing to be concerned about, but it’s hard to miss the passive, or knowing, looks she gives our friends when speaking with me about random topics. It’s not a dirty look, I suppose, it’s just hard to decipher. For example, why was she eyeing Yuki earlier when talking to me about Satoru?
I decide it’s nothing to be too concerned about, and, if it gets worse, I can just ask Yuki in the end. Setting those thoughts away to the side for now, I turn back to my friends. They’re both just absentmindedly organising their belongings, some being put away with a sense of finality and others simply being pushed away into a corner.
Yuki pulls out a pasta salad and begins to eat. That’s more than deserved, given we’ve been here since the morning and we’re all bound to be a little hungry, if not a lot. In the hopes of quenching my own thirst, I pull out a carton of orange juice from my bag, cracking open the cap and getting ready to gulp some of it. Before I can, however, Shoko stops me.
“You have a whole carton of orange juice? Were you just carrying that around with you?” Shoko laughs incredulously, inspecting the label of the juice box. It’s pretty large, so she doesn’t have to try very hard to see it properly, and it only makes her laugh more. “I like you. You’re an interesting one.”
Sceptical, I look back at the woman. “Huh? Just over a carton of orange juice? What’s so special about that?”
“I mean, it’s just funny. Whenever I see people carrying juice around, they usually have it in a bottle or something, just not a carton. I kinda wanna start doing that,” Shoko smiles while closing her iPad and pushing it to the far corner of our table.
Through a gulp of juice, I eye her carefully, trying not to laugh for fear of spilling everywhere. “‘Start doing that’?” I ask, “You’re acting like it’s some revolutionary trend.”
“It basically is, though, isn’t it?” Shoko shrugs. “I just know Satoru would have an absolute field trip if he saw this.”
Sometimes, it’s impossible to tell what she’s talking about, as much as I hate to admit it, and this is one of those times. She’s always had a bit of an interesting brain, and in this case, I just can’t tell what she could possibly be talking about, even if it was to save my life. Confused, I ask bluntly, “Why?”
“He just finds things like that amusing. You haven’t noticed?” Shoko asks, sceptical.
“Well, I have, but I didn’t think this would be of interest, Shoko,” I reply with a shrug.
“I’ll prove it to you,” she says, smiling. Her phone is out in a flash and aimed at me; to help her slightly, I hold up my juice carton and smile while she focuses the lens properly in my direction, not stopping until she’s satisfied with the image that shows up on the other side. It takes a few subtle clicks and rotations of the phone orientation for her to choose one she likes, and it’s sent into the group chat, making all of our devices go off immediately. It’s kind of funny.
[17:42] shoko >>> IMG_2306.png
[17:42] shoko >>> I’m tempted to post this one on Instagram lmao
[17:42] satoru >>> GAHAHA WHY DOES SHE JUST HAVE AN ORANGE JUICE THING
[17:42] satoru >>> UHH WHAT’S IT there we go it’s carton
[17:43] you >>> i wanted to drink some orange juice bruh
[17:43] satoru >>> whole carton of it is crazy tho i might steal that
There’s a dull thud on the table as Shoko sets her phone down. She says smugly, “Told ya.” Before I respond, she opens her phone again, asking, “Are you good with me posting that on Instagram? It’s cute.”
I inspect the photo again. It’s honestly not bad at all; the lighting is good and my face looks pretty. Shoko really does have a knack for photography.
I reply, telling her it’s all good, and she gets typing away. It’s not long, however, before Satoru comes back to the group chat with more to say.
[17:45] satoru >>> wait what yall doin rn
[17:45] you >>> getting all of our work done in the library rn lol since christmas is coming uo
[17:45] satoru >>> oh smart
[17:45] satoru >>> i was considering that too but i literally cant oopsie
[17:45] shoko >>> Good. That means we have to see you less!!!!
[17:46] satoru >>> shoko. when i catch you shoko. shoko when i catch you
[17:46] shoko >>> Do your worst
Just to confirm, I ask Shoko, “You guys don’t actually hate each other, right?”
“Huh?” she asks, looking up from her phone in a daze. “Oh, no, not at all. It’s good fun, don’t you worry,” she laughs. “No idea how it started, but consider it a weird token of our friendship. We all just have our little ‘things’ with each other. You’ll both find yours eventually. Actually— wait, you and Satoru basically already have yours.”
My posture straightens slightly, and I pause unscrewing the cap on my orange juice to listen in a bit more carefully. “Huh? We do? What is it? He and I are just becoming friends, I didn’t think we had a ‘thing.’”
Yuki snorts complacently. “Seriously? You never noticed?”
“No… no I didn’t, are you guys gonna enlighten me or not?” I scrunch my nose in displeasure.
“I mean, it’s so obvious. The nicknames, babe, the nicknames. It’s so recurring with you two. He calls you something sickeningly sweet and you do that disgusted little nose scrunch but continue to indulge him in your conversation.”
Considering Yuki’s words, I lean back in my seat. It feels as though some lasting tension has just been wringed out of my muscles like a wet washcloth before being left outside to dry. She’s not wrong, and it’s weird that I hadn’t really noticed that pattern until now. Our little back-and-forth has been becoming increasingly common over the last few weeks, and it’s no shock that the others have noticed, too. I say we’re “just becoming friends” but I think we’re already there. It’s a nice thought, considering this is my fourth year and I’m finally starting to branch out a little bit more. If you can consider a small group of friends ‘branching out.’
“Call him. Right now. I bet you a… a cinnamon roll or something that he’ll call you some kinda nickname as soon as he picks up.” Shoko’s challenge is fierce and smug, and I can’t help but seriously consider it. In the end, it can’t really hurt; I’m only going to be down a few pounds if she’s right.
“Okay.” I laugh, apprehensive. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
With mildly shaky hands, I pick up my phone again, and in the corner of my eye, Yuki does the same. As I scroll to where Satoru’s number is saved in my phone, I watch her open the camera app and keep it almost ready for something.
I frown in confusion. “What’s that for?”
“To record this. Because I think it’s funny.”
“Good shout, Yuki,” Shoko approves, reaching across the table to give the woman a high-five.
Chuckling to myself at their antics, I stare at Satoru’s contact in my phone. It’s just his name with a photo of him I snapped at a random hang out. It’s weird, thinking about the fact that we have each other’s numbers without having explicitly asked due to the existence of the group chat, but I guess that’s the case with every other person in the group, too. However, he and I have never privately messaged or called or anything, so this might be a little odd. But, in the end, he’ll understand why I’ve called pretty quickly once he hears our reactions to him picking up the phone. If he does.
I hit ‘Call’ and immediately Shoko gestures at me to place the phone in the middle of the table. I comply, and Yuki angles her phone camera at me, Shoko, and the phone itself, trying to capture the moment he answers.
It continues to ring for ten or fifteen seconds, and just as I’m thinking about just ending the call, the ringing halts.
For a moment the line is silent, then there’s a cough and a shuffle, then he speaks.
“Hey, sweetheart, everything alright?”
Before Satoru even finishes the sentence, the loudest snort I’ve ever witnessed leaves Shoko’s nose, and I look up, only to see her and Yuki crumbling in fits of laughter. The latter’s face is scrunched up and bright pink from the blood rushing to her head, and she covers her face in her hands, body repeatedly vibrating from trying to be silent while laughing. I don’t blame her, either.
Shoko, on the other hand, is laughing very loudly, perhaps too loud for a library, but I don’t think any of us really care at the moment. The fact that Shoko’s innocent little conjecture was completely true is enough to make me start laughing, too, and there’s no sound coming out of my mouth from the sheer strength of it. I can hear a small, “What the…” from the phone as the girls continue to laugh. He’s clearly heard them, and he adds a small, “Okay, buddy, jig’s up. What’s going on?”
“I just…” I choke out, pulling the phone towards me again, “okay, okay.” It’s difficult, but I try to calm down my fit of giggles to speak.
“She…” Shoko begins, before beginning to laugh again. “No, you say it.” That’s aimed at Yuki.
After snickering one final time, Yuki picks up my phone and speaks into it. “Shoko bet that you’d answer her call with some kind of dumb little pet name. She was sceptical but nope, you actually did it. I actually can’t believe she was right, dude.”
I’m glad Satoru finds it funny, too, because, without his laughing on the other end, this would’ve been awkward. I can practically hear his smile as he replies through a defeated chuckle, “Gagged me there.”
“Is that, like, your thing?” I ask, thinking back to the time Suguru texted the group chat a similar phrase. It’s not really anything I’ve heard before, but it’s definitely a good expression, and I mentally store it away for my own personal use.
“I guess so. There’s a whole story behind it, I’ll tell you another time,” he chuckles. I can tell he’s reminiscing on whatever that story is, even though I can’t see him. It’s getting pretty easy to tell what’s going on in his head nowadays.
I shrug, talking into my phone again. “Alright, Satoru, I’ll hold you to it!”
As I’m about to hang up, I notice Yuki in the corner of my eye still recording. Why she’s doing that, I have no idea, but it’s not that big of a deal, so I decide not to comment on that fact.
“Alright, then. I’ve got stuff to do, so I’m gonna go, but see you ‘round, yeah?” confirms Satoru, to which I nod, even though he won’t be able to see that.
“Okay, Satoru. See ya.”
My phone beeps thrice after we end the call, and I look up at Shoko. “I’ll take you up on that cinnamon roll whenever you have time, then.” She shrugs smugly before giggling.
“After we finish our work?” I return, raising an eyebrow. Shoko sighs at the thought of having to power through the rest of her flashcards.
“Yeah, after we’re done.”
Chapter 10: Cigarettes out the window
Summary:
Christmas Day with the gang. Some truths are shared, gifts exchanged, and plans made.
Notes:
Here's the story playlist, as always: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6XNGqet7KuGWTBTunwN4bS?si=9b4c4fa516124ccd
This chapter hasn't been proofread at all LMAO. As I said in the previous chapter, I proofread after a few days or weeks since it's really difficult to actually spot errors right after I've written something. Please bear with the errors!
Next chapter will probably be a long-ish one! Sorry, loyal readers ;)
Chapter Text
▷▷ cigarettes out the window - tv girl; tangerine - glass animals ◁◁
“What the fuck is that supposed to be?”
I look up in shock. Satoru is looming over me, his own pizza next to mine. Attentive sapphire eyes peer down at me, switching back and forth from my food to my face. I’m mildly offended at his statement. Personally, I thought my creation looked very nice, but he doesn’t think so, apparently. How rude.
“It’s supposed to be a heart, Satoru, have some god damned imagination,” I retort, obviously displeased. I reach up hastily, flicking his forehead with considerable force using my middle finger and thumb. He winces in pain but doesn’t look overly annoyed, contrary to my expectations. Instead, he just fake-frowns at me before shaking it off with a laugh.
Haibara, for some reason, has mozzarella smeared on his face. How that’s possible, I’ve no idea, but I suspect that Kento’s the culprit, judging by the way he’s smiling wryly at his best friend.
Shoko and Yuki are leaning against the oven, mouths stuffed with freshly-baked pizza, talking about some girl they met earlier in the bookstore while shopping. Beside them, on the counter, is a stack of wrapped boxes and trinkets, brought in by all of us. Christmas Day is in only forty minutes, so it’s only that long until we all gift each other everything we’ve bought.
I do hope they like what I got. Satoru’s royal blue tie and cerulean crystal dragon ring are together in one, small box. I got Suguru a new, viridian-coloured fleece jacket, since it mildly matches his eyes. Not totally, of course, but the jacket is merely a few shades brighter. I’ve already given Yuki her present of matching bracelets prior to this little pizza party. I got Haibara a phone case chain with an overarching chocolatey colour scheme, and Kento a new tie, as well. Though it felt a little weird at first to get Satoru and Kento similar presents, the extra ring I got Satoru due to the combined birthday and Christmas makes up for it. Kento got a lemon-yellow tie with silver embroidery across the borders. Finally, I got Shoko a lacy corset from Urban Outfitters; it was definitely expensive but it absolutely screamed her name while I was browsing, so how could I not?
We had been hoping to get Choso over here for the party, too, but he couldn’t make it, since his family wanted to celebrate with him. I expected Yuki to be angry about that, but she seemed perfectly fine with the fact; something about “his brothers are honestly really cute. I don’t blame him for wanting to celebrate Christmas with them.” I’ll have to decide that for myself when he brings them over to visit his new… well, girlfriend isn’t the right word, but it’s safe to say they’re damn close to dating.
Another interesting fact we learned over the last few days is that one of Megumi’s playmates, Yuji Itadori, is Choso’s half-brother. None of us even believed it at first, but when Yuki happened to mention that Satoru’s son was out with a friend, the name came into the conversation, and Choso realised that he was, indeed, his brother. Though only Yuki knows the full story, it’s something about having a slutty father leaving a scattered legacy of ten brothers across the country. Choso had taken it upon himself to find them all, and including Yuji now, that’s four brothers united—his two younger brothers live in an apartment near Imperial College. It’s insane what a small world it is; would Choso have ever found the little kid if it wasn’t for his chance meeting with Yuki back in London around two months ago?
I smile at the thought. Yuki and Choso really do seem like a match made in heaven.
“I really do not think that’s a heart,” Satoru shrugs smugly. I know for a fact he doesn’t mean that, and he’s just messing with me. He’s a nice dude, but, my god, I can’t deal with the teasing sometimes.
“I hope you burn your pizza,” I frown, casting him a shady side glance.
Feigning shock, he gasps dramatically, which makes a few heads turn. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, yeah,” I assert, squinting my eyes and invading his personal space to the point where our faces are maybe five inches apart, “I mean it. Every single word of it. And I’m not going to give you any of my pizza when it comes out amazingly.”
I can’t really see Satoru’s eyes through the pesky sunglasses again, but I can sort of make out the silhouette of his blinking underneath. How he’s able to make a pretty decent-looking pizza through that blackness, I have no idea, but he’s practically some kind of superhero, so I’m not surprised in the slightest.
Frowning at me, “So be it. But I’m not going to burn it, just you watch.” He flicks my forehead in return.
I try my best not to flinch, but it’s difficult, given my head is already hurting. Another headache, what a shock? It’s been raging on all evening, but I try not to make it visible, for fear of letting the others know of my issues. Though it’s nothing to be ashamed of, it just feels like a hassle, having others constantly looking out for me. I’m okay with just Yuki watching over at any instant.
I can’t tell how badly I flinched, but it was definitely visible, and I’ve deduced that from the way Satoru briefly glanced at me after the fact. A flash of sorrow seemed to flash over his face, though for what reason, I can’t quite tell. He doesn’t really have any reason to feel bad given he’s just copying what I did to him not even a minute earlier.
Though painkillers are definitely an option, I’d rather not take them; it’s kind of a fear of mine that they’ll stop working when I really need them. Don’t get me wrong, my head does absolutely kill right now, but it’s not that bad, yet. I might just go outside and get a bit of fresh air then come back in when it eases slightly. I guess that will also help the time spent waiting for my pizza to cook pass by quickly.
Once I’ve finished topping my heart-shaped pizza with small pepperoni slices, I slide it into the oven with one jerk of my arm. It comes off smoothly, and I can’t help but smile in response. Whenever I make pizza, it often just sticks and it’s a pain in the ass to take off the board.
Subtly, I tap on Yuki’s shoulder, signalling to her that I’m off to take a breather, and she acknowledges it with a pretty smile. I slip out silently, trying not to let the door make a noise behind me as I leave.
I sit in the courtyard of Somerville College, letting the cold wood of the bench sap the warmth from my body. The sky is navy-black with bright specks scattered throughout, and the glowing moon resides within. I stare at it for as long as I can. I’ve looked at it countless times, mainly from my corner in the library, but other times just when I’m sat outside for my smoke break. A bit like this time.
Smoking is bad. I know that. But that very fact isn’t stopping me pulling my cigarette pack out of my back pocket, pulling one out, and lighting the end. The odour of burning tobacco fills my nose immediately and I simply accept it. Smoking is bad. But I don’t care enough right now, given my head is throbbing. I repeatedly take drags off it and blow it silently into the air, leaning my arm on the armrest of the bench in between hits. As I reach the end of the cigarette, I flick the butt with my thumb, allowing the glowing red sparks to fly off and hit the floor, extinguishing themselves mid-flight.
“Didn’t know you smoked.”
I jump. The end of my cigarette flies out of my grasp and burns out on the ground, and I stare at the ground in disbelief. The last of my cigarette, done and dusted, and not through my lungs.
“Where the fuck did you materialise from?” I ask Satoru, watching in awe as he takes a seat beside me. The bench is fairly wide, but he chooses to sit nearer to me than he does to the other end. The warmth that was previously taken from my body by the cold night slowly returns with every second he spends next to me. He hasn’t covered up at all despite the chilly night.
Satoru’s outfits are all quite similar to each other. The first time I joined him and Suguru in the library to study, he was wearing a black compress with loose white joggers; he’s not too far from that same look right now, instead he’s wearing a white compression shirt with white joggers, too. He looks like some kind of ice prince. Ethereal, untouchable, all-round beautiful. It doesn’t really help that his hair colour perfectly matches his clothes, too—the outfit is incredibly well-constructed. I hate that he looks this good.
“It’s pretty hard not to notice a room without you in it, sweet thing.” Satoru stares ahead, right arm resting on the back of the bench. He has a bit of a habit of manspreading a lot, except it’s not with his legs, it’s with his arms taking up all the damn room. I wouldn’t say I’m all that mad about the proximity, though.
“I thought I was pretty discreet,” I frown, ripping my gaze away from the man next to me. My gaze turns briefly to the floor again, where my cigarette is finally ebbing out. I feel a small pang of sadness at the fact that I wasn’t able to finish the whole thing—I don’t even get to smoke that often, what a waste.
Satoru’s left hand reaches up to his face and pulls off his signature sunglasses, passing them over. He’s finally focusing on me. Cerulean, foreign, yet fascinating pupils practically bore holes through me as I take the glasses from his hold.
“Your eyes are so pretty, but you wear these pesky sunglasses. Why?” I frown as I look at the pair he’s slotted into my hands. They’re pitch-black even from the inside, so it’s definitely not some weird one-way mechanism like I was thinking.
Satoru’s eyebrows raise slightly, considering the question. “That’s because, sweetheart, I get chronic migraines. Just like you.”
“Right.” That’s all I can respond, because something unfamiliar and unsettling is stirring in me. I stop. “Satoru, how do you know I get migraines?”
His eyes meet mine, and I’m sure it’s the first time he’s looked at me with some kind of genuine intent. There’s a certain glimmer in those pupils I can’t quite understand. “When girls like you show up in someone’s life, it’s impossible not to pay attention. I just kind of noticed after a while of knowing you.”
That’s a valid response. Now that I think about it, I’ve known the man since mid-October. Time really is a bitch.
Satoru’s words are impossible to decipher. What does he mean, ‘girls like you’? And how do the glasses have anything to do with Satoru having chronic migraines? As I look back and forth between him and the forbidden glasses, he simply stares off ahead again, as if his brain is miles away.
“I don’t…” I begin, not knowing how to continue the sentence. “What do you…?”
“Guessing you smoke the ache off?” Satoru asks me. He’s not even trying to answer my confusion.
“Yeah. I think the darkness helps a little, too,” I say quietly. Though I’m not looking at him directly, I can tell Satoru is gazing at me from my side. I’m not sure what’s up with him looking at me periodically, then at the sky, over and over again.
“Do you know what causes it?” he asks. The direction his voice travels in indicates that he’s not looking at me anymore, instead looking up at the sky once again.
I laugh bitterly. I wish. “Nah. I tried going to the doctors when I was younger but they didn’t have any explanation. I felt a bit schizophrenic, going back repeatedly, but it’s not really of any good when your attendance is shit because your head hurts that badly. Honestly, the first time I went, they just offered me the Pill and called it a day. To be very honest, though, I just don’t like the idea of having to take all of that for an extended period of time. Who actually knows what it can do to your body long-term? But, like,” I pause, mind going back to his earlier statement, “do you wear the glasses and blindfold because of your headaches? I didn’t know you had issues like this, too.”
Satoru’s arm peels itself off the bench and he sits forward slightly. He turns to me, taking the sunglasses out of my hold and turning them so the arms face me. Wordlessly, he lifts them up and carefully slots it onto my face. It’s still mildly warm from him wearing it previously.
I cannot see a single thing through the blackness, apart from the lights dotted through Somerville. So, that confirms both of my suspicions: he can definitely see, but to an infinitesimal extent.
“I tried seeing the GP about it when I was younger. They had no idea what causes my headaches, and, to be honest, they still don’t. Then, when I was, like, sixteen? Well, yeah, whatever. They referred me to a psychologist. I was kind of pissed, because what the fuck will a psychologist do?” Satoru begins. I can feel him slowly leaning back into the bench again, arm returning to the same position as before. His voice is quiet and sincere, a contrast to his usual giddy persona. With a gentle rhythm, he taps on the wood behind me, one finger after another; it’s regular and oddly comforting.
“Well, what did they do?” I say softly in response. Secretly, I’m hoping this information may be of use to me. I’ve met a few people in my life who often get headaches, but no one had it as bad as me. Satoru seems to be the first exception.
“Surprisingly, a lot. At first, we just spoke. Kinda pissed me off, thought it was a waste of time. But, after a few weeks, they gave me a pair of glasses exactly like these and told me to wear them. I thought it was ridiculous. I couldn’t even see through them. But, I noticed pretty quickly that my headaches were nowhere near as bad as before. When I told them, they had a pretty decent explanation. That’s why I’ve just given you my pair to try on for a while, even if you won’t be able to see shit through it right now,” he chuckles, and I can practically hear the amusement in his voice.
“What was their explanation? Now that I think about it, I can sorta see the connection. Mine sort of ebb away when I’m in the dark, and, well, yours seem to go away when you wear these.” I decide to close my eyes. There’s not really any point in keeping them open right now, and to be perfectly honest, Satoru’s baritone voice is lulling me to sleep. I try my best not to fall asleep, though, since that would be quite rude in the midst of a conversation, especially when it’s a deep conversation.
“They think my brain processes too much information for me to physically handle. At any given time, I’m thinking about so many things at once that it makes my head hurt. The number of things I think about itself doesn’t actually bother me, it’s the fact that my head hurts because of it that I was so pressed. It’s one of the reasons I’m so good at maths, I suppose, because I’m hyperaware, and always thinking about things. I don’t make mistakes very often, and I think about things in every way I possibly can.
“Removing my ability to see seemed to reduce the workload on my brain, since I don’t have to process anything visually anymore, and as I got better as discerning different objects with my glasses, it helped narrow my focus at any given time, since I’m no longer thinking about maths in a given moment; instead, I’m focusing most of my attention into just being able to see something.
“There’s not really any way they can confirm if that’s truly how the glasses are helping me, or if it’s some kind of placebo effect, but it’s the best explanation they have. Their evidence to back it up is the fact that my head doesn’t hurt that badly when I’m at the gym without my glasses, and, obviously that seems to make sense because I’m focusing every bit of my attention into training till failure. But the reason why I decided to tell you all of this is because, sweetheart, I think it could be of use to you, too.”
I shrug. By the time he’s finished giving me his truth, I’m warm again, presumably from engaging in conversation for so long. I listen to his regular, slow breaths as he sits next to me calmly. Though I can’t see him, I can tell he’s looking at me: the way my skin burns under his watchful gaze is the perfect indicator of that fact. Allowing his words to soak through me slowly, I think about whether that’s applicable to me or not.
Is it? Do I really think enough to make my head hurt that badly? There’s no way, right?
“I’m guessing someone out there has given you the ‘smoking is bad’ lecture, yeah?” Satoru asks me casually. I hear a small shuffle on his part, from the arm resting behind me, and I feel a chill wash over my body as he encloses his long arm around my cold body. By the sound of it, he’s now leaning his other arm over the bench to his left, and his pointy fingertips tap against my bicep rhythmically. Every muscle in my body fights the urge to shiver at his touch; not only is it unexpected, but it’s unusually kind for someone as nonchalant as him.
Even beneath my clothes, my skin feels as though it’s just been lit ablaze; the prominent feeling of rising goosebumps and burning ice follows the trail that his fingers trace on my skin, and I have to remind myself that there’s no reason I’m so affected by this. I just haven’t been close with a man for a while. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. No reason to overthink it.
Not a big deal. You just haven’t been physically close to anyone in a while. Not. A big. Fucking. Deal. Chill the fuck out.
“Yuki did when I first met her, yeah, but she calmed down when she realised I smoke quite rarely. To be honest, I lecture myself more than she does,” I say lowly, a wry smile forming on my face. Yuki really is one of the best friends I could ask for.
“Is there anything else that eases your pain?” Satoru returns thoughtfully, before sitting up excitedly and nudging me in my left side. “Let me guess, actually. Erm. Sleep and warmth. Maybe hot food, I don’t know, but those are my best, educated guesses.”
Well, I’ll be damned. “Gagged me there, dude, those are the only other things that help. Guessing it works for you, too?” There’s a gentle rumble in his chest from laughing softly as I respond—it’s obvious that he’s very amused by this situation. To be honest, he’s always amused, but now he’s more giddy than ever. If that’s even possible.
Satoru laughs even louder this time, one that comes from deep within his belly. “You used our phrase! Oh, that’s brilliant,” he says, constricting his arm around my shoulders briefly in acknowledgement before chuckling quietly again. “I never did tell you the story behind that, did I?
“Nope,” I grin to myself, eyes still closed.
“In year twelve, we had a maths lesson right after maths paper three, so, obviously, we had nothing else to do. Instead, we just had a little integration bee in the classroom— maybe that’s where my love of integration competitions came from!” he says excitedly, tapping my shoulder in response. “Yeah, but, anyways, enough yapping.”
“It’s alright, I like it,” I shrug under his touch.
The turn of Satoru’s head is barely audible but just discernible. His chest practically heaves once as he huffs happily at my statement.
“You’re fun,” Satoru replies, the smile evident in his voice. “But, yeah, we were doing this one integral, uh, trig substitution, then by parts, then using inspection. Suguru was on the other team, and we both solved it at the same time, but our answers looked different. Very, very different. Suguru was celebrating that I got it wrong, but when our maths teacher was looking at my answer, he realised mine was the same but just in a different form—mind you, the teacher thought my answer was better. So I yelled, ‘got you there, didn’t I?!’ super loudly when the whole class was quiet, but somehow, everyone thought I said ‘gagged you there’, and it just became a thing. Somehow,” he mutters, punctuating that with a gentle laugh.
“I’m stealing that from you, now,” I quip, nudging him in his side with my elbow.
“Ooh, scary,” Satoru muses, and it feels a lot like he’s just rolled his eyes at me. To be honest, he does that a lot, the sassy little shit.
We cease to speak for a few moments, and suddenly, the gentle ambience of the night amplifies considerably. There’s a soft hum in the air from the movement of cars outside of the college, and, occasionally, when the wind passes us by, the grass whistles. It’s refreshing and comfortable despite the fact we’re sitting in total silence. His breathing is regular and somehow synced with mine, the arm wrapped around my shoulder remaining there as if where it belonged was with me all along.
“I’m gonna stay with you until you wanna come back inside, if you even want to. Doesn’t feel right, leaving you in the dark, on your own,” says Satoru quietly, the frown evident in his voice.
I’ve no idea how to feel about that—we’re inside the college, for goodness’ sake, nothing bad could possibly happen, especially in this relatively small courtyard. That said, no one ever knows when creeps are creeps, so I guess we both have reason to be cautious. If anything, he could be the creep, too, but I’d just end up being very unlucky if that was true.
“You don’t have to, Satoru. Don’t worry about it,” I say, feigning indifference, when, in reality, I’m very much affected by his considerate decision to stay with me. Having headaches in the middle of social situations is beyond isolating, but maybe it isn’t so bad when there’s someone with you who gets what’s going on perfectly.
Don’t get me wrong, Yuki has always been that person for me. At parties, she’s always accompanied me when I needed a small break, or just needed to leave in general, but I can’t help but feel guilty when she does that—not only am I cutting my own night short, she’s halting hers abruptly for my sake, too. Yuki has always insisted that she doesn’t mind, and she could honestly do with a break, too, but the enjoyment written on her face when she’s partying properly tells me otherwise.
Yuki always has and always will be enough. However, the confirmation that I’m not a burden, and that people genuinely mean it when they do actions like these, is very comforting, especially it’s given by a guy I’ve only known for a few months.
“Think about yourself for once. Would it make you feel better if I was sitting with you?” Satoru murmurs, speaking a little closer to my ear now. I fight a shiver at that, taking one, deep breath to calm my nerves. Why is he being so damn nice all of a sudden?
“I guess it would,” I say softly, smiling for a fleeting moment.
“Okay, then, we’ll stay.”
I pull my earphones out of my pocket, taking them out of their case and offering the left one to Satoru with a small ushering motion. “You wanna share?”
I can’t see him all too well, but the one thing I can discern through his glasses is his eyes, from how intensely glittery they are. The way he takes the earphone out of my pocket is slow and hesitant; it’s almost as though he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he grabs it too quickly. He breathes out in a low voice, “Yeah.”
Spotify opens up relatively quickly on my phone, and I spend a while scrolling. Luckily the screen is bright, or I wouldn’t be able to see it otherwise.
I play Hand in Glove by The Smiths, loud noise only blasting through my right ear, since Satoru is sharing the left. The way he takes a large, deep breath in doesn’t go unnoticed, and I simply listen while looking at a tree nearby.
Satoru mumbles something, ending with “Smiths”, but I can’t quite catch what he’s just said.
“Hmm?” I hum softly, turning to Satoru. I can’t see him properly, so I briefly take his glasses off to get a good look. There’s a mischievous smile on his perfect face, and he’s already looking at me acutely, beautiful eyes wide open to allow in as much light as humanly possible. I can’t help but stare a little.
“I said I love The Smiths,” repeats Satoru, and I stare at him blankly for a moment. He speaks so animatedly—just then, his eyebrows raised slightly as he spoke, and the corner of his mouth tugged slightly in a wry grin. He always seems so damn smug, though; no shit, Sherlock, we spoke about them the other day. What’s up with that?
After a few moments of looking at him, confusion surely written on my face, his words suddenly click, and I understand exactly what it is he’s talking about. 500 Days of Summer. It wasn’t even that long ago we spoke about the damn movie..
“This one is different, because it’s us,” he says, in a sing-songy voice. It matches our current position in the song. Weirdly enough, he’s a decent singer. Well, maybe it’s not that weird—he has a fairly melodic voice. “I love ‘em.”
“We are not Tom and Summer,” I laugh, whacking him playfully on the stomach with the back of my hand. He only chuckles softly in response, and that chuckle is enough to make me mentally take a step back and reevaluate what’s going on.
This feels oddly intimate; though I don’t hate it, this whole situation is just weird. Satoru sympathising with me over a shared issue; his arm wrapped kindly around my shoulders; now, reenacting a scene from a movie we both love. A couple, at that. I definitely mean it when I say we’re not Tom and Summer, god forbid we end up like them.
Maybe it would be less weird if we were inside, with the rest of our group, but no. We’re on our own, outside, in the silent dead of night, with none of our friends in sight. In fact, this just may be one of the first times he and I have been alone together, save for the times he was still Library Guy and not my blue-eyed mathematician friend, Satoru Gojo.
“Yeah, yeah, very true,” he beams at me.
I briefly check the time on my phone. I don’t really know how long it’s been since I went for my smoke break—all I know is that we’re approaching Christmas Day very quickly.
The time reads 23:56.
“Satoru!” I exclaim, jumping up with a stark start, “It’s fifty-six! We need to get back inside to open our presents!”
“Are you okay, though? Like, good to go back inside?” he asks me, cautious, now sitting up attentively. His eyes are wider than normal, eagerly awaiting my response, and his perfect eyebrows are raised.
“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it,” I shrug it off, swatting away the air in his direction. Hurriedly, I begin to walk in the direction of the entrance back into the residential areas, briefly pausing and turning around so Satoru can catch up to me. He takes his time, pupils intently staring at mine, and I simply smile in response, waiting for him to reach me.
The music continues to play as we walk together in silence towards Suguru’s place. Satoru’s hands rest loosely in his pockets, right arm occasionally brushing mine since I’m fairly close by his side.
By the time the song finishes, we’re back at Suguru’s apartment. It’s almost as if we never left; the gathering is still going on as normal, with a few eating, Shoko drinking wine slowly, and Suguru giving his daughters a bite to munch since it’s late, and they’re hungry. It’s 23:58. Two minutes to midnight, or two minutes to Christmas Day.
Yuki, being the responsible, older one, hurriedly arranges the pile of presents onto Suguru’s dining table, and I begin to realise that she’s sorted it by the person. One gift in each pile is wrapped in the signature musky pink—courtesy of the first wrapping paper I could find in Big Tesco, and same with the sapphire-blue wrapping paper, reindeer wrapping paper… and so on, so forth. There’s even a pile for Megumi, Mimiko, and Nanako, which tugs at my heartstrings slightly; my friends are so compassionate that they even considered three young children while doing their shopping. I really did strike gold with them.
Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town’ plays in the background quietly, and everyone quietens down, gathering around the table. It’s definitely an odd way of celebrating Christmas, but I’m not complaining—it’s fun, and honestly, I’m just glad they’re so happy to incorporate me and Yuki into their apparently long-standing traditions.
It’s something they’ve done every year since moving here for undergrad; they get together on Christmas Eve, make pizzas together and drink a bit of wine, get each other gifts and open them all the moment the clock strikes twelve a.m. The background music and loud giggling from the children is just an added bonus.
My AirPods are long back in my pocket, and we’re all anxiously drinking wine while waiting for the clock to hit 12 a.m.
In the corner of my eye, I notice that someone has indeed set up a digital countdown for us to watch while waiting. It’s eerily similar to a New Year’s countdown, but I’m not really complaining—if anything, the events are of a similar importance in the end.
“Can you believe it’s already Christmas?” Yuki turns to me from my left, excitement evident in her voice. She’s always been a fan of events like these. “Feels like just yesterday that the new academic year started, and, well, we’re already here now.”
Yuki definitely has a point. The time-dilating effect of getting older only gets more noticeable with each year, and it’s beginning to get scary—so scary that it doesn’t even seem like an exaggeration when she says “feels like just yesterday.” Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve actually made a good few new friends this year and they seem to pass the time a lot.
“I can’t believe it,” I smile wryly at my friend, and she merely giggles momentarily.
Before we could even notice for ourselves, the countdown hits zero, and it’s officially Christmas Day.
“Merry Christmas!” Yuki, Haibara, and I say in unison, along with slightly less enthusiastic exclamations from Suguru and Kento.
Shoko begins, “Merry Chr—”
“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Satoru exclaims, party horn materialising in his mouth mysteriously, followed by the obnoxious honking of the instrument. He’s smiling, wide, but that smile fades quickly when he turns to see Shoko, clearly very unamused at his antics and the fact that her greeting was cut off by the mischievous man in front of her.
“Could you seriously not have waited another second for me to finish?” Shoko scowls, rolling her eyes before chuckling. One unserious jibe after the other... I’m not sure I’ll ever get sick of it. It appears the twins agree, too, because they seem to find the situation awfully funny. Their soft giggles are all we can hear for a brief moment.
“My bad,” he rolls his eyes. “Can we open the presents, already? I’m getting impatient.”
“It’s thirty seconds into Christmas Day. Fuck you mean, impatient? Acting like a baby asking for titty milk,” Shoko rolls her eyes disdainfully. Without even looking at her hands, she quickly gets a head start, effortlessly skinning one package free of its wrapping. Clearly, she’s not as sentimental as others, since she’s not tried to preserve the beautiful gift paper one bit.
I can’t help but laugh at her foul-mouthed comment. Shoko has always been witty, but that one definitely has its place among the best of her snarky remarks. A small snicker leaves my mouth, but the moment I see Satoru scrutinising me, I wipe the smile off my face.
“You’re supposed to be on my side, here,” Satoru raises an eyebrow questioningly, to which my face contorts. I can’t help but grin as his look of doubt morphs into genuine joviality.
“Oh, yeah?” I smirk, “Said who? I’m always going to be loyal to my girlfriend,” I finish, playfully tugging Shoko closer to me by placing my arm around her shoulder.
“God, I don’t like gay people,” Satoru jokes, “can’t stand the pair of you.”
“Just ‘cause I get more pussy than you,” shoots back Shoko, laughing as she does so. I can’t help but laugh, too. She really does have a way with words.
“Okay, okay, enough catfights, you three,” Suguru scolds, death-staring each of us one after the other. He humbly gestures towards his daughters, and it quickly reminds us where we are. In front of young children. So, maybe, just maybe, the vulgar language doesn’t have a place here. Plus, they seem pretty ready to open their presents, clearly itching to get a move on given we’ve just interrupted everyone for a minute.
“My bad,” I say sheepishly, briefly chewing the inside of my bottom lip. Mimiko merely giggles at me, then Nanako picks up one of her presents and starts tearing it open without a moment’s hesitation.
My eyes meet Satoru’s by sheer chance. Mirth flickers in his scintillant eyes, and we shrug at each other simultaneously before getting to tearing open our own Christmas presents, too. As I tear off some beige wrapping paper, I can see Megumi admiring a new Optimus Prime collectible figure in the corner of my eye. My lips part slightly in shock; when we were in Menkind a while ago, I caught him looking at that for a little longer than he examined everything else, and made a mental note to let Satoru know of that fact. It appears he remembered that information, because it’s that very toy that his son is now wryly smiling at.
“Do you like it, Megumi?” I watch Satoru ask his son amidst the excited chatter. The boy looks up slowly, the smile still present on his small face. It widens slightly, and he mutters out a small, “Thank you. I love it.”
Satoru’s expression softens as he pauses the unwrapping of his first gift. An endeared frown crosses his face, cheekbones raising incrementally as he smiles at his son. Before I can pretend I didn’t see anything, Satoru looks up at me unhurriedly, smile lines deepening further into his face. He mouths at me, “Thank you.”
I merely beam at him in response. It’s not something I can really take the credit for—after all, it was only a coincidence that I witnessed Megumi eyeing Optimus Prime. It could just as easily have been Satoru. My involvement is only there from pure chance.
Once the beige gift paper is totally off, I lift up my present to inspect it properly. It’s a black, lacy corset, one pink bow on the front, ribbed perfectly to support its positioning on my body when I wear it. More importantly, however, it’s nearly identical to the gift I got Shoko, with the exception of the colour—mine is jet-black, hers is snow-white.
Shoko is grinning at me like a Cheshire cat, the gift I gave her, albeit unwrapped, within her grasp. “You like it?”
“Urban Outfitters, second floor?” I grin, holding it against my body. Her smile quickly fades.
“Oh, no. Do you already have it?” she asks me worriedly, eyebrows knitting as she begins to fret. I quickly put the top down and wave my arms in front of me, signalling No, then she perks up slightly, only now she’s confused. “Then?”
“Open your gift,” I say, snorting, “you’re unbelievable.”
Incredulous, she squints at me before tearing my gift’s wrapping to pieces. I don’t mind that, since it didn’t take me too long to wrap it up in the first place. The smile gradually returns to her face as the paper comes off, and she picks up the white corset I bought her, holding it up to her torso in the same way as me.
“Oh, my god,” Shoko chuckles. “We’re synced. I fuck with this, it’s so hot.”
“We’re gonna be twinning,” I giggle, putting it down and quickly closing the metre-wide gap between us to throw my arms around her tall body. She reciprocates quickly, resting her cheek on my shoulder and squeezing me tight, leaving just enough room for me to breathe.
“Merry Christmas,” Shoko says frankly, grinning as she pulls away.
“Merry Christmas, Shoko,” is all I can respond, returning her kind smile.
We return to opening the rest of our gifts, and I notice Suguru marvelling over something in dark blue wrapping. I inspect it further, realising that it’s Satoru’s gift to him; a mint-green Polaroid camera is nested within untouched packaging, with a small note attached to the outer box. Suguru melts immediately, and I can vaguely hear him say something along the lines of, “You remembered.”
“How could I not?” Satoru shrugs happily, “You’ve been saying you want to get one to take pictures of your daughters for ages.”
“That’s really sweet, dude. I love it.” Suguru is all smiles, and he engulfs his best friend in the kind of hug only they could share. They don’t seem like the type to be sappy often, but rare occasions like these make me think otherwise.
It’s honestly insane how perfect they are for each other, but it’s even more insane how similar they are to me and Yuki, I suppose. No one does soulmatism like Satoru and Suguru, even if they are just the best of friends. They’re both fathers to adopted children, both are women-magnets, both always seem to be thinking the same thing in any given situation, even if their actual life paths are wildly different. Exactly the same as me and Yuki. She and Suguru are the Humanity students of each duo, Satoru and I are the STEM students of each duo. Suguru and Yuki are both sluts, even if that’s only in name, Satoru and I seem to both have little to no experience whatsoever. Maybe Yuki and Suguru would do themselves a world of good by becoming friends. Not that they aren’t, but they just aren’t close.
Curious as to what Satoru purchased for me, I carefully place down Shoko’s gift and rip open the navy-blue-wrapped package on my pile. Inside is a sleek, black box with the famous “Ray-Ban” logo engraved on top. My jaw immediately unhinges. Satoru bought me a pair of incredibly expensive Ray-Bans for Christmas. Just how much money does he actually have lying around?
Terrified of somehow breaking something, I carefully crack open the box. Nestled inside is a pair of medium-sized, round, wire-frame glasses, and when I hold it up slightly, I realise that there’s a gentle yellow tint to the lenses. They’re blue light glasses, and quite possibly the worst (or best) part is the fact that my name is elegantly engraved on both arms of the frames.
I try them on silently as everyone else continues to chatter excitedly, and when I look up, Satoru is looking at me attentively while chewing the inside of his bottom lip softly.
“Satoru…” I frown, looking at him through the mildly tinted lenses. It’s only made the world look slightly more yellow. Satoru’s hair, instead of being pure, daisy-white, now has a slightly ivory tint to it. I can’t see his stunning eyes through his own glasses, but I’m curious as to what shade his pupils are now through these lenses.
“How much did these cost?” I ask hesitantly. I feel bad. Ray-Bans are no cheap brand, and combined with the pretty box and my name engraved in the side so beautifully, I have my doubts that these were cheap.
“Who cares?” he shrugs at me, “Do you like it? I don’t really know if blue light glasses actually help people, but I figured it’d look really good on you, regardless of whether they help with your headaches. Though I bought them with that exact intention.”
Satoru edges closer to me, moving past his best friend to see me, and the glasses, properly.
One lithe hand reaches up, and his thumb brushes against the engraving of my name with a touch so light that my glasses don’t move a millimetre. Before he pulls away, something about it seems to catch his eye, and he quickly squints, leaning in marginally to inspect it.
“Oh, my god, that’s why they asked me to write it down,” he mumbles to himself, blush-coloured lips parted slightly as he speaks. “Oh, that’s brilliant.”
“What? What’s going on?” I ask, worried. “Haven’t you seen these before?”
“I have, when I was buying them,” Satoru clarifies. “When I was in the shop, they asked me to write your name down on paper. I was wondering why, but… they engraved it in my handwriting. It’s identical to what I wrote down. If I knew, I would’ve written it a little neater,” he finishes, a sheepish blush colouring his flawless face.
I furrow my eyebrows. “You what?” Taking off my glasses, I look down and inspect the arms myself, and what do you know, it’s definitely not a font I recognise. More importantly, it bears an obvious resemblance to his handwriting.
“No, it’s perfect,” I say, unable to hold back a grin. Sure, his handwriting is just as neat as chicken scratch, but it’s so incredibly characteristic of him, such a defining feature of his, and I’m going to be wearing that as a badge of honour, however subtle, on these glasses he’s gifted me.
“I’m…” he begins, flashing his teeth briefly as he smiles at me. Deep smile lines appear around his mouth, a testament to his warm yet chaotic personality and inability to stop laughing. “I’m glad you like it.”
“We’re twinning! Well, sort of,” I shrug, considering the fact that my glasses filter light and his blocks light out entirely. Eh, close enough.
Satoru merely looks straight at me, fingers working to open up the Christmas present I got him. Just as abruptly as my happiness from Satoru’s gift appeared, panic consumes me from head to toe: how is my gift supposed to compare to something as brilliant and personal as these glasses, which have my name written on in his handwriting? My tie and ring can’t compare in both the monetary and sentimental aspects, so I quickly rush over to explain myself, feeling bad that he put so much effort in and, well, my gift just doesn’t match up.
“Oh, erm,” I stutter, “it’s, uh, I just didn’t have much time this year. It’s not that amazing, but, yeah.” I cringe internally at my poor choice of words and poorer explanation, but Satoru only continues to grin at me excitedly, except now he’s just got a slightly enthused look. For the few seconds he spends opening that wrapping, his gaze is trained on me, and it makes my face burn up, a common occurrence nowadays that arises from his habit of intense staring.
He finishes unwrapping my first gift—the one I’d purchased for Christmas—and peers down at the small, dark box with obvious interest. When he opens it up, I watch on in horror as his entire body freezes up, even the incessant blinking of his eyelids halting.
I look up to check that no one else is paying attention to this embarrassing moment, and, thank goodness, everyone but Suguru is looking away. In fact, the man is looking over Satoru’s shoulder, concerned for his friend’s sudden silence, only for the same, indiscernible shock to strike him cleanly, too.
“I’m sorry. Do you hate it? I have the gift receipt, so you can return it if—”
“How did you know?” Satoru asks me, lips parted in surprise. Hurriedly, he takes his sunglasses off, casting them aside without a care in the world, looking at the box’s contents even more carefully.
Inside is a ring, rather untraditional, but beautiful, at least I thought so. The dragon is slightly iridescent but primarily white, and it curls itself around the wearer’s finger like a loyal pet to its loving owner. Inside the dragon’s gaping mouth is a small, aegean-coloured crystal. It’s no precious stone, imitation crystal, I suppose, but the colour is a near-perfect match to Satoru’s eyes, and it’s one of the main reasons that it stood out to me while I was shopping for everyone’s gifts.
“How did I know what?” I grill him, mentally begging for him to explain this adverse reaction so I can be put out of my misery. Have I done something seriously wrong? Bought him something that struck the wrong chord? That would certainly explain Suguru’s shock, too, given those two know each other inside and out.
Satoru, with an artist’s steady hands, takes the ring out of the box and slides it on his left hand’s ring finger. He holds it up to the light, examining its intricate details, and, to my own surprise, a wry smile forms on his face.
“My— well, our,” Satoru corrects, gesturing towards his best friend, “favourite mythical creature. And… oh, look! The crystal it’s eating! It’s the same colour as my eyes!” he exclaims, the very pupils he speaks of practically glowing at this point.
“So… you don’t hate it?” I ask, puzzled.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he returns, scrunching his face up in unadulterated shock. “It’s literally perfect. How did you even find this?”
“Yeah, I wanna know, too,” Suguru frowns. “It’s beautiful.”
“Lovisa. The rings they have there are really nice, I know you’ll really like them.”
“Let me,” Suguru pauses to pull out his phone, “make a note of that.”
Satoru’s attention briefly diverts to the other gift, the one I’d originally bought for his birthday, but saved for now as per his request.
“Summer, did you seriously get me two gifts?” he questions, pointing a finger at me accusingly. I tilt my head. That’s a new name. He really is leaning into the 500 Days of Summer thing, isn’t he?
“Summer?” I raise an eyebrow, “Are you really about to make me call you Tom?”
He snorts, amused, beginning to unwrap the packaging that contains his mathsy tie. “I mean, hey, I did just call you Summer, I wouldn’t be shocked. But, honestly, the name works for you. You’ve a very sunny personality.”
“Oh, Tom, you’re too nice,” I roll my eyes, making it obvious that I’m not taking any of it seriously. After all, who in their right minds would refer to each other as the other half of a couple from a famous movie? Not us. I hope.
Satoru halts before tearing off the final chunk of wrapping paper. “Tom is not a good look on me. Let’s go back.”
I snicker, “Fuckin’ knew it.”
Satoru rolls his ocean eyes before chuckling, and at that moment, he uncovers the tie I bought for him. He carefully reads the equations embroidered onto it, smile growing with every passing moment. He mumbles to himself—or to me, I can’t really tell—, clearly effervesced by what he’s seeing.
“Fermat’s Last Theorem, oh, my god, the Collatz Conjecture! Pi’s infinite series, holy fuck, the elliptic integral in there, too? Oh, and there’s Euler’s infinite series… shit, sweetheart, how did you even get this?”
I just smile at him and shrug.
Satoru calms down slightly, returning to reality again. “You didn’t have to get me two gifts.”
“I wanted to. Just because your birthday and Christmas are close together doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be celebrated separately,” I laugh, rolling my eyes, hoping he doesn’t think I mean anything by it. It’s a weird feeling, buying presents for someone I met just three months ago, but I know Satoru’s a nice person, so it was never going to hurt me to do so.
“I know, but… this can’t have been cheap,” Satoru frowns considerately.
“You wanna talk about cheap? You bought me fucking Ray-Bans. I can’t imagine that it was just piss money.”
“Yeah, but that’s different,” replies Satoru, once again looking at the rainbow dragon wrapped around his finger.
“Oh, yeah?” I yawn, beginning to feel rather sleepy. “How so?”
“I love it when you do that. The little ‘oh, yeah?’, I mean. It’s so… you,” he says randomly, sniggering to himself.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Good thing. Why on Earth would it be bad?”
“I don’t know,” I return simply. To be honest, that’s the truth. I have absolutely no idea why it even crossed my mind that his statement would be a bad thing. Especially when Satoru is one of the few guys I’ve met in my lifetime that hasn’t just been weird. If anything, he’s been the polar opposite of that.
“Sorry to interrupt, everyone,” the kind voice of one young Haibara cuts in, and it draws everyone’s attention to him. The group falls completely silent, save for the young children playing with each other a few metres away, clearly too absorbed in their own fun to care. I don’t blame them. All kids should be as carefree as they are.
“I just wanted to know, are all of you going to the New Year’s boat party?” Haibara asks, eyes flitting from person to person in Suguru’s living room to see our responses.
I hadn’t even thought about the party. It happens every day on New Year’s Eve—the Student’s Union of Oxford and Cambridge come together, rent out a massive cruise ship, and every member of both universities is invited to attend, provided they purchase tickets, obviously. I’ve never been before—too flashy and frankly expensive, between buying an appropriate dress and getting tickets. It definitely looks fun, though; I’ll be lying if I said I didn’t get FOMO every time I saw Instagram posts on New Year’s Day of the boat party.
Given this year is probably my final year at Oxford, would it be worth going?
Suguru takes a step back from the communal table to sit down on a nearby couch, and everyone gradually follows, taking any unopened gifts with them. Suguru is on the far left end of his couch, Nanako now seated on his lap, and Shoko is to his right, Satoru on her right, with me on Satoru’s right. Yuki is next to me on the adjacent sofa, and something about this feels so incredibly comforting, so homely, that I have to hide my smile for fear of looking like an idiot. After all, why the heck would I just be smiling out of nowhere?
I leave my remaining presents on the table, making a mental note to finish opening them all later.
“I mean, it was a blast from my side when I was down at Cambs, it’ll be fun to see it from your perspective now. I’m down,” Suguru shrugs. I yawn again.
Satoru nudges me with his elbow softly, whispering, “You sleepy?”
“A little, but it’s fine. I’m having fun,” I reply quietly, for fear of drawing too much attention to us when the main conversation is still going on between the whole group. Instead, I just let my head rest on the couch, closing my eyes as I listen to everyone talk. Satoru mumbles a small “alright” before returning to the topic at hand.
“It was fun every other year, so I’m definitely going this time around. What about you three?” Satoru asks, presumably referring to Kento, Haibara, and Yuki, who are seated on another couch in front of us.
“I mean, we haven’t been before,” Haibara begins before pausing briefly, “but it seems kind of fun. That’s why I asked, if you guys were gonna go, I figured we might as well come along, too.”
I feel Shoko reach over and slap my thigh roughly, asking, “You going?”
I open my eyes only to see everyone looking at me hopefully.
“Do you… want me to?”
“Fuck yeah,” Yuki exclaims. “All seven of us. It’ll be tons of fun.”
“Okay, then. I’ll go. Ah, but, fuck, I haven’t got any nice dress to wear to it, though. I’ve seen how much effort people actually put into that party, man, I don’t know how I’m gonna find something cheap in, what, a week?”
Shoko hums in thought, and Yuki frowns, reluctantly agreeing. The former quickly perks up. “I happen to remember two certain people here winning a no-budget shopping spree from another certain someone here,” she smirks, looking back and forth between me, Yuki, and Satoru.
“Very good point,” Satoru muses. “Next Monday, we all go out to shop for an outfit. Now, that’s… the twenty-ninth, meaning we have to find a fit that day or we’re done for because of the bank holiday on the thirtieth, but we’ll be fine. Are you all free?”
“I feel bad, though,” I mutter. “That just feels wrong.”
“Fuck you mean?” Satoru rolls his eyes at me. “I’m the one that proposed that contest, anyways, you’ve nothing to feel bad about. Now, are we all free, so we can set this date?”
I hesitantly nod, and so does everyone else, having absolutely no reason to protest the suggested date.
“Well, it’s a plan,” Satoru confirms, looking around at everyone happily. Kento raises both eyebrows subtly, a sign of his acknowledgement of the idea. “We are going to show everyone the fuck up at that party.”
Chapter 11: Know what I want
Summary:
You all go shopping for outfits to wear to the New Year's boat party. Nothing crazy will happen, right?
Notes:
hi, as normal, not proofread before publishing since i find it hard to spot errors immediately after writing + i didn't want to delay publishing by a few weeks since it's already been so long ;)
come talk to me on tumblr @heythererenyaeger!!! if you ask nicely enough you might get sneak peeks at new chapters and a lot more ;)
story playlist, as usual: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6XNGqet7KuGWTBTunwN4bS?si=9b4c4fa516124ccd
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
▷▷ #doyalike - mikeeysmind; bando, sped up + reverb - bbygirl ◁◁
If you were to ask me to estimate the probability that, on any given day of the week, our group of seven—sometimes eight, when you include Choso, then eleven when you include Megumi and the Twins—made it down to London to hang out, I’d tell you that the chances are quite low, given every single one of us is a dedicated academic. That’s why the fact that we’ve visited London more than seven times since the start of Christmas break is so surprising; in fact, on this random Monday, we’re making that the eighth visit this month.
The stars aligned this holiday, I suppose, not just for me, but for everyone else. I’m lucky enough to have Somerville’s best undergraduate room for the second year running, meaning that I don’t have to pack my bags and leave for the holidays unlike most other students, save for those who actually book holiday accommodation. Yuki, Suguru, and Satoru, being postgraduate students, automatically get to keep their room for the entire holiday, then Kento’s holiday accommodation request was granted, so Haibara’s staying with him for the holiday. Of course, Choso lives in London, so we just see him whenever he feels like popping around. Long story short, it means none of us actually have to go home for the holidays. One might think that’s kind of sad, but to be honest, I don’t really care. I think I’d much rather spend this Christmas and new year with my good friends. That’s a decision my parents aren’t too happy about, but that’s a can of worms we can open another time.
Choso joined us a few minutes ago, meeting us at the train station after we got off. Since he’s a student at Imperial, we’re pretty sure he can’t come to the boat party, but decided to come along shopping regardless, wanting to hang out with all of us. He’s dressed appropriately for the weather, that is, lots of layers and one, cosy scarf. Yuki kissed his little red nose when she saw him, which made him blush furiously and look away. They’ve kind of been in their own world since, trailing behind the rest of us as we walk.
Shoko’s right arm is linked with my left, and we walk closely together, practically joined at the hip. Suguru and Satoru, the fathers of the group, hold hands with their adopted children, making sure they’re watching the path on which they walk to avoid crashing into strangers. Admittedly, Satoru’s not too good at keeping an eye on Megumi given he’s always so chatty, but the kid is pretty good at looking out for himself, which is pretty lucky for both of them.
I’m wearing my new glasses, courtesy of Satoru, though I’m beginning to consider taking them off since the night is dark and my head isn’t actually hurting that badly. However, I have been receiving a good number of compliments ever since putting them on, so maybe it won’t really hurt to keep wearing them.
Satoru, in particular, seemed particularly affected when we all met up at the train station in Oxford to get going. He did this weird thing where, first, he stopped all movement, then raised his index finger to dramatically slide his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. After giving me a satisfied smile, nod, and thumbs-up, he continued to walk, as did I, and just as quickly as it began, that wholesome little interaction was over.
Shoko pulls me out of my own head, tugging on my arm slightly as she starts a conversation. “What’re you gonna try to find? Make sure you rinse his bank account, okay?” she laughs. There’s a beguiling smile on her face, and it’s so pretty, I have to smile, too.
“I mean, I’m not sure. What kinds of dresses do they sell? Wait, what’s the name of the shop? I could look it up,” I shrug, turning to face Shoko as we walk. I see Satoru and Suguru listening in on our conversation, nothing to contribute quite yet.
“Bond Street,” Shoko answers helpfully, “and, no need. They have basically everything. Wedding dresses, obviously, ball gowns, sleek party dresses, literally everything. You’d think it’s a woman-only shop, but nah, they do some really sick suits as well. I’m guessing that’s why all of the guys agreed to come along, too,” she finishes, looking around absentmindedly at the rest of our group. Choso and Yuki are still lagging behind a little, Kento and Haibara are in front of all of us, and the tiny cluster consisting of Suguru, Satoru, and their kids remains steadily to our left.
“I think they know we’re gonna outshine them,” I giggle, elbowing Shoko playfully, and she responds with a giddy laugh.
“Big time.” She scrunches her nose and runs the tip of her tongue along the roof of her mouth, a testament to her certainty that we will, in fact, outdo all of the guys.
“So, what do you think you’re gonna buy?” I ask Shoko, “I’m gonna be so real with you, I’ve no fucking clue. I’m just gonna see what tickles my fancy when we’re there.”
“I feel like being a slut this time around, I don’t know…” she trails off, deep in thought, “I mean, get this. I pull up in the most whorish outfit humanly possible. Next day, the Student Union newspaper issue comes in, hot off the press, and the heading? ‘Oxford’s most talented Medical student stuns hundreds with revealing yet beautiful dress.’ Wouldn’t that be sick?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, most talented is a stretch,” Satoru butts in, clearly unimpressed, and I don’t have a single clue as to what he could possibly say next. Something in the way he looks at us tells me I’m about to be very surprised. “I don’t wanna hear it from you when you cheated on the BMAT.”
My jaw drops—that gut feeling wasn’t wrong whatsoever, I suppose.
“Shoko, you cheated?” I exclaim, looking at the woman in awe. She’s not happy, just rolling her eyes.
“First off, it’s the fucking BMAT. It’s practically impossible to cheat on that shit when it’s basically just an IQ test for medical applicants,” she begins, left index finger pointed up in the air to get us all to shut up. “Second of all, I was super ill that week, I had to! If I did shit on the BMAT, I would’ve gotten four out of four rejections and wouldn’t be going to universityI was not about to take a gap year just because I was ill during exam season.”
Normally, I wouldn’t condone cheating, but it’s not like she just faked having the right knowledge. For sure, she got to this place by the wrong means, but given she’s famous throughout the university for being such an insane Medic, she’s obviously not a stupid person who cheated her way to the top. Justified cheating. If that’s ever a thing. The point I’m making is, I don’t blame Shoko, since she actually has the knowledge to show for it.
“Satoru, I… don’t seem to recall you being considered the top of anything,” Shoko jabs at him, both verbally and physically. “Don’t say shit to me. We are not on the same level.” Again, it’s just a massive joke, but it really is hard to tell with those two, sometimes.
“Not the top of anything, sure, but who had a Bachelor’s dissertation so good they let me skip straight onto the first year of a doctorate? Just remember, we’re both going to graduate as doctors in the same year, we’re definitely on the same level.”
“Every word that comes out of your mouth feels like nails on a chalkboard. Please shut up, I’m begging you.”
I snicker, attempting to draw her attention back to me. “Oh, please, don’t pay attention to him. We both know the truth. Y’know, Shoko, I’m well aware that you already pull like crazy, but I think that just might throw it over the edge. I’m all for that idea. Though, that’ll definitely appeal to the female gaze more than anything,” I reply, tightening the grip of my arm constricted around hers.
“‘We both know the truth’? Low blow coming from you, sweetheart,” Satoru laughs quietly. “I’ll wait patiently for the day you side with me instead.”
“And leave my girlfriend in the dust? Are you kidding?” I raise a single eyebrow at Satoru, and he merely smiles at me, wide.
I smile in return, and it seems to make him cave slightly, because he just snickers to himself and shakes his head before returning to whatever it was he was talking about with Suguru.
“You make it sound like appealing to the female gaze is a bad thing,” she chuckles, “the last thing I want right now is a stinky man.”
“Ay-men,” I emphasise, smiling as widely as I can. Obviously, I don’t really mean that, but it catches the attention of the two fathers, who look at me, obviously tempted to say something.
“Oh, really?” Shoko asks, an amused tone in her voice as she briefly looks between me and the two guys next to us, “Actually?”
“No, no, I’m kidding. I love men. No, I don’t. I just like some men,” I snicker. Suguru chuckles to himself, too, engaging in some conversation with Satoru that I can’t quite make out due to the noise of the night and all of the chatter between the different pairs of our little travelling group.
“I’m so glad we’re friends,” Shoko grins widely, tightening her arm around me. “You and Yuki really are the perfect people to complete us.”
“Me, too,” I smile, and just as I open my mouth to continue, Satoru loudly announces that Bond Street is just one left-turn away. The topic at hand is quickly forgotten, and we all increase our walking pace in the hopes of getting there faster. Though the fitting appointment is booked for 6pm and it’s only 5:53 pm, it can’t hurt to get there early, especially since they’re supposedly going to have refreshments available for our slot.
We all file in through the door in pairs, the children and Satoru and Suguru at the front, Kento and Haibara, me and Shoko, Yuki and Choso. Satoru’s the one who booked out the fitting room in the first place so he’s the one checking us all in, and after providing them with his name and other credentials, the smartly-dressed, pretty receptionist quickly leads us up onto the second floor. She opens the door to the suite for us, and as we slowly walk in, the previously ambient chatter now dies down completely as we look around in awe.
There’s a primarily minty tint in the room’s lighting, subtly painting the walls a gentle shade of chamomile, and it’s decorated from roof to floor with the most adorable trinkets. Some crocheted animals, some blankets, faux ivy vines, star garlands. Right opposite us, at the far end of the room which is probably a good twenty metres away, lies a rack of expensive-looking accessories like tulle gloves, patterned tights, flower crowns, and for the men, amusing ties and whimsical waistcoats. On the right wall is an entrance covered by beaded garlands to one large fitting room, and on the left well is another room in the same fashion. Both rooms have been lit up differently, one clearly dulled slightly by the presence of dark suits and the other bright from multicoloured ball gowns and dresses for any person who desires it. There are couches to the left of the men’s fitting room and the right of the women’s fitting room, with knitted blankets and stuffed animals strewn neatly atop them, and in the centre of the room is a coffee table suitable for about five people to sit down, with a tiered stand of various delicate snacks and sandwiches in its dead centre. Just around it is one kettle filled presumably with tea, and another with coffee—which is obvious given the room has that gentle scent of freshly-brewed coffee.
Just to the left of the entrance we’ve all entered through is an array of coat hangers and cubby holes to stick our various belongings. As if this was second nature to the lot of us, we quickly remove our coats, handbags, scarves, and other unnecessary accessories. The room is pleasantly warm, so the chill that previously permeated our fingertips and poor toes gently ebbs away with each second spent looking around aimlessly.
“I didn’t know boutiques this pretty existed,” Yuki says absentmindedly, clearly enthralled by the space we’ve been given for our fitting session. I completely agree with her. It’s warm, perfectly bright, smells nice, and most importantly, has an incredibly variant array of dresses available.
“How much does this even cost?” I ask, incredulous. I know that, most of the time, simply going into a shop to buy dresses doesn’t actually cost money until you make a purchase. Between the refreshments and the neat decorations, however, I’m not entirely sure that this was free, since it definitely consumed the staff’s time to set up, one way or another.
It’s Satoru’s turn to speak as he continues to survey the room. He’s the one that booked it in the first place, so, evidently, he’s the one that has the answer to my question. “There’s a deposit for these fitting rooms, they’re like for bridal occasions and stuff. It’s to pay for their time and service just in case you don’t buy anything, but when you do buy something, your deposit will go entirely towards it. We’re obviously gonna be buying stuff and there’s a lot of us, so I figured we could take our time and have a bit of fun with it.”
I wonder how the version of me from four— hell, no, one year ago would feel if she was hearing all of this. Would she be happy that I’m having so much fun nowadays, or would she be shocked? Betrayed that I’ve gone and let a bunch of new people into my life? Hanging out with the walking party that is Satoru Gojo?
“Well, what are you all waiting for?” Shoko exclaims, now smiling as she turns to face the rest of us. “It’s time to get bougie!”
“What should we try on first?” Yuki asks, still admiring our fitting suite. Good question, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to decide that myself once I get a good look at the selection available to us.
“Whatever it is that tickles your fancy, unless you’re talking about, say, matching with each other,” Satoru considers, frowning in acknowledgement. As he says it, that doesn’t even sound like a bad idea. After all, we’re not going to be wearing these clothes very much, so why not debut them at the party in style? Create an ensemble so iconic no one forgets it?
“I was thinking we could pair up. It wouldn’t be ideal since Choso can’t come to the boat party, meaning there’s an odd number of us.” Suguru’s eyebrows are furrowed in thought, cogs visibly turning in his mysterious brain. After looking around myself, I, too, have an idea, but when I see Suguru’s lips part slightly as if he’s made some kind of revelation, I pause my thoughts for a moment to allow him to speak.
“Oh, about that,” Choso chips in through his rich, chocolatey voice, “Yuki received the reply from the Student’s Union this morning. The period for students buying tickets for themselves is over, but since there’s a surplus of spaces, they’re allowing guests. We got the ticket this morning.”
Obviously, I’m happy Choso can come, but I’m definitely surprised that there were enough tickets to allow guests in the first place. Most of the time, the party is extremely popular, and students buy every cruise ship space out way before the deadline. If I remember correctly, it’s been four years since the Union last opened sales to students’ guests.
As if he read my mind, Haibara elaborates. “Oh, yeah. I heard about that. The tickets were a bit more expensive this year since they organised loads more things for the party itself, so I guess less people could justify that cost. I do feel bad, but I’m not gonna complain, since some of the things they have lined up look pretty cool.”
“So…” I scrunch my nose and count everyone present, save for the children. Obviously, they’re not coming—between the drinking adults and the Twins’ sea sickness, it’s just not an appropriate environment for children. Satoru’s parents are coming over to watch them for the night, which sounds pretty exciting. Knowing how eccentric Satoru can be, I now want to know what exactly it was about the parents that made a boy like him.
“Yep, there’s eight of us, so we definitely could pair up, if you’re all on board with the idea,” I finish. Between the group, none of us are actually dating apart from Choso and Yuki—well, not dating yet, but they’re getting there—but I think it’ll just be fun, and frankly pretty cool to be coordinated with each other.
“If any of you don’t want to, it’s really okay, just say something,” Suguru adds, “we can all do our own thing if you prefer.”
Kento and Haibara share a meaningful look. There’s a wide grin on the latter’s face, and the blond’s gaze simply softens as he agrees almost reluctantly. It’s not hesitant, at all, but more a case of Kento just not having that kind of bold expression that his best friend does. They’re a wildly differing pair, but it works incredibly well.
What surprises me, however, is the fact that Shoko wordlessly raises both eyebrows at Suguru, as if asking a question I can’t quite decipher, and after Suguru looks at the rest of us, he merely smiles knowingly and nods his head. What kind of telepathic communication was that? I know they’re good friends, given that trio have known each other for nearly six years, but half of me expected Satoru and Suguru to work together, instead. They’re just that inseparable; so to see Shoko and Suguru choosing each other is both refreshing and borderline confusing.
Satoru looks at me, eyebrows raised and smiling wryly. He looks a bit startled but surprisingly excited, as though he was asking a question with just his eyes. I wordlessly shrug and wink back at him, and that answer already more than enough.
“I… don’t know what that meaningful little look there was,” Suguru quips slyly, eyeing us both, but he quickly disregards that and turns back to everyone else. “But I think it’s about time we get fitting, we’ve been sitting around for too long already.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Satoru rolls his eyes. He pulls all of the guys into himself, arms tightly wound around their shoulders. Kento looks very unimpressed. Suguru just stares straight ahead as if he hasn’t processed that action. “Off we go, come with me.”
Satoru shoots me a wink before turning the men on their heels and steering them all towards the leftmost changing room as if they were a military troupe and he’s their leader. In a similar way, Shoko links her arm into mine, then we get to Yuki and I link my arm in hers and we dash toward the changing room excitedly. Nanako and Mimiko are already ahead of us, having snuck off a minute or two after the excitement got the better of them.
The womens’ room is larger than I’d originally thought. The main part of it, around the size of a classroom in a secondary school, is lined wall-to-wall with racks of cocktail dresses, princess dresses, party dresses, and just about anything else you could imagine. I can’t even begin to think about how many dresses they must have in the whole store—before entering, we were told that we could ask for an alternative colour of something if we can’t find it in the shade we’re looking for.
At first, we calmly rift through the sea of clothes. Before I can find something I like, Yuki hums approvingly to herself after finding one particular item she fancies more than the others, pulling it carefully off the rack and inspecting it fully. It’s a very vampirish, jet-black, off-the-shoulder mermaid dress, neatly made to curve around the wearer’s torso and subtly diverge at the knees. It seems like it’ll just go just beyond Yuki’s knees, but she’s pretty tall, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it rode up slightly from her impressive stature.
“Oh, I can already see myself wearing this,” Yuki muses, “a white pearl necklace, maybe a pair of tulle gloves, hair half-up, half-down… oh, I like this a lot.”
Noticing us watching her, Yuki turns slightly, holding the dress up by her figure to help us compare.
“Oh, yeah. That’s gonna look hot,” Shoko hisses as if she’d just eaten something piping hot and burned her tongue in the process. “Please try that on.”
“Will do,” she says happily, turning to look at us. We continue to search for something appealing ourselves so we can all try things on at the same time. It was agreed on the way here that we’d all try on one item at a time and do a dramatic reveal for fun, not only to get opinions, but also to help us look a little coordinated for the party—after all, we mutually agreed that we’d end up being the talk of New Year’s, so we’re not skipping any steps in making sure that happens.
After a while of searching, Shoko also happens to pick out an onyx dress, except it’s not so body-conforming, rather it appears to cover the torso is an intricate corset with a simple, floor-reaching skirt underneath. It’s not too puffy, neither is it flat—it’s got the perfect volume for a student party, but the best part is probably the fact that the colour and design will match the same vibe Yuki has captured perfectly.
If the other two have chosen to try black dresses, who am I to resist that? To speed up the process, I drift over to the dark side of clothes, loosely searching for a black dress to match theirs. In the end, I choose to try on dark ball gown, and it just so happens to be the perfect dress to complete our trio. Yuki, with an elegant bodycon dress, Shoko with a long, corseted dress, and I, with a puffy ball gown.
Standing up, we all hold our provisional dresses up to ourselves. A few quick shared glances confirm that this is the first round we’re going for, and in a hurry, we undress and put everything on.
Nanako and Mimiko are playing Subway Surfers on their father’s phone—since they’re going to be watched by a babysitter during the party, there’s obviously no need to get them some dresses too. He had considered letting them try dresses on for fun, but they weren’t all that interested; the dresses were too girly for them, apparently. That thought makes me giggle a little. They’ll say that now, but I’m sure they’ll be fighting to preserve their girlyness when they’re older.
[18:32] satoru >>> we’ve all got our first outfits on, we’ll wait in the main room
[18:32] satoru >>> i wnat some coffee
[18:32] shoko >>> Who gaf?
[18:32] satoru >>> die die die die die :33333
After getting our dresses on, we look at each other. Yuki looks absolutely stunning, though I’m not surprised about that whatsoever—she’s always been a stunner, and this is just one of many examples of that fact. Shoko, too, looks like an elegant siren; the gentle shimmer of the skirt ripples with her every movement, and the corset is cinched perfectly around her waist. They both look incredibly beautiful.
I do suspect that this ball gown isn’t quite for me, but it doesn’t hurt to try it on in the first place. Not that it looks bad. It’s just not… the one.
“Fucking hell, girl, your body,” Yuki exclaims, totally enraptured by Shoko’s looks. She just tends to voice whatever it is I’m thinking, and in this case, she’s captured it perfectly.
“I am absolutely not going to be able to wear this all night, it’s killing me,” Shoko frowns, palms roaming around her stomach and thighs. “Honestly, though, it’s a shame, because I look hot.”
I shrug, “Understatement.”
“I do love this look on you, don’t get me wrong,” says Yuki, observing me closely, “but I have a feeling there’s going to be another dress in here that you’ll like way more than this one.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that, too,” I frown, looking down. “Well, it’s okay, we’ve got time to figure all of this shit out.”
“Oh, my god!” Mimiko yells excitedly, nearly dropping Suguru’s phone while looking at us. They both rush over, and Nanako paws at my skirt in awe. “You all look like princesses!”
“Aren’t you girls just the sweetest?” I ask, unable to fight a smile from their innocent words any longer. I pat Nanako’s head as she smiles at me acutely.
The five of us prepare to file out, led by the Twins, followed by Yuki, Shoko, and I in that order. Without hesitating, the girls open the door and we slowly walk out, greeted by the five guys on the other side. Megumi, Kento, and Haibara are drinking tea peacefully while Satoru and Suguru take photos of each other in their suits. That’s actually a pretty decent idea—it’ll be good to compare the photos to one another when we try different dresses on, especially since human memory has a habit of altering things.
Satoru definitely glances at the others, but he immediately approaches me, eyebrows raised and arms outstretched slightly in approval. For a moment, I wonder why he’s just coming to speak to me first, but I quickly remember that, in the end, we did pair up, so it makes the most sense that Suguru and Shoko are intellectually reviewing each others’ outfits, Kento and Haibara are calmly talking about their own, and Yuki and Choso are eyeing each other slyly, holding back both their vocabulary and physical actions only because of the public setting.
“You look like some kind of erotic vampire,” Choso observes, amused, eyes obviously tracing over every curve of her pretty figure. His hands so naturally find their haven on her hips, sweetly squeezing her flesh.
“You don’t look too bad yourself, Kamo,” smiles Yuki, chewing the inside of her lip. Before anything else can transpire, she freezes.
“What?” her boyfriend asks worriedly.
“We’re not alone,” she whispers, quickly jumping back a step, embarrassed at her own lack of self-control. God knows what could have transpired had she not realised where they were.
Choso gulps. “Shit, you’re right.” He clears his throat. “Ahem. Yeah, you look. Alright.”
“Yep.”
I roll my eyes and I can practically hear everyone else doing the same as we return to our own respective conversations.
“Those freaks,” I snort, turning my attention towards Satoru. He’s chuckling to himself silently at their antics, slender fingers pulling his bottom lip to stifle the laugh a little. I add, “You know, if you had told me when we first met him that those two would work out this perfectly, I would not have believed you.”
“Oh, really?” Satoru asks, eyebrows raised in surprise. His laughing fades slowly and he just looks at me now with piercing interest. With his head tilted slightly and eyes focused, he waits for my response as if something is amiss.
To avoid letting him know that his undivided attention is mildly fazing, I continue on as normal, contradicting the fast rate at which my heart beats. “I mean, love at first sight. I never thought it could actually be real, but I guess they’re proof.”
That’s only a partial lie. What I experienced with the guy at the ice-skating rink wasn’t necessarily love at first sight, but rather love at second sight—knowing that what I was feeling wasn’t love, but it certainly could blossom into exactly that given time. Regrettably, I had no time. To be honest, it probably doesn’t apply any more. He’s out living his life, and so am I. In a kind of weird way, I guess I do have Satoru, but even that is complicated. What is he to me, in the first place?
Too many thoughts for the moment. I frown and meet his distant gaze yet again. Satoru’s eyes have glazed over slightly, as if his mind is working a million miles an hour; after our conversation on Christmas Day, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.
Satoru shrugs, fidgeting with his trouser pockets. Speaking of said trousers, they’re incredible. Dark, well-ironed, perfectly long—which is probably pretty rare, given his legs are incredibly long—and tight enough to hint at the fact that Satoru works out, but not enough to actually see any muscles. I frown slightly. He says he’s an arm guy, but those quads tell me a truth more believable than his weak claim of “correct answer! Arm day!”. What a liar. Not that I care too deeply, it’s not that serious.
After what seems like a fleeting moment of deep thought, he replies, “To be honest, I’ve never believed in love at first sight, but, more like… love after a few sights.”
Is that not exactly what I was just thinking?
The hairs on my arms and thighs perk up slightly, covering me head to toe in a slightly uncomfortable prickly feeling.
“Literal chills,” I frown, “you fucking freak. Get out of my head.”
Satoru’s eyes narrow at me, face tainted with a potent mix of confusion and interest. “Hey, now, what did I do?”
“I was thinking exactly that. It’s just funny that you said it as I was thinking of it.”
“Why has this been happening so much lately?” he asks the air rhetorically, no longer looking at me. “I mean, it’s just kind of hilarious. We’re in sync.”
“Clearly, our outfits, too,” I quip, shrugging nonchalantly. I guess that’s not much of an achievement, though, given that a massive proportion of men’s suits are black. Satoru perks up slightly at my remark and we simultaneously turn to one of the mirrors on the entrance’s far wall, admiring each other’s outfits and how well they work with each other. If we set aside the fact that this definitely isn’t the outfit for me, my dress and his suit look surprisingly coordinated when next to each other. The sheer darkness of my ball gown and the inky abyss that is his blazer and waistcoat blend into each other perfectly, and for just a moment, we look like more than just two casual friends.
But that’s obviously not what’s going on, so I quickly forget that.
“I like this dress on you,” he says simply, “you’ve got a very… royal vibe.”
“I mean. I guess,” I frown, inspecting myself more closely. “I know it’s not bad, but I don’t think it’s the dress. I’m gonna try some more on when I go back in.”
“I’d be a bit surprised if you took the first dress you could find,” Satoru chuckles. “What colour are you gonna try on next? I’ll see if I can get anything that matches that.”
“So we’re actually going to fully match each other?” I ask, surprised. “I didn’t think he was one-hundred percent serious about that. Not that I mind, but it’s always good to confirm. This could end up very cute if done well.
“Well, yeah, duh. Unless you don’t… want to?” he returns, sounding doubtful.
“No, I do,” I nod, smiling wryly, “I think it’ll be iconic.”
“Oh, without a doubt,” Satoru reciprocates my nervous grin. It’s kind of weird, seeing him stripped of that eternally-smug, self-satisfied smile, and I have no idea what exactly it is that’s taken it away from him, but I think I like it. It’s endearing. Sweet.
To make sure he doesn’t realise I’m thinking about his smile, I quickly look away and stare at the wall very hard, hoping I look deep in thought. I hum. Maybe that’ll solidify my appearance of deep consideration? I really hope so.
“Let’s try… black and red next. You can’t really go wrong with that,” I suggest, raising my eyebrows in search of his approval on the idea. He seems very interested in the idea and nods enthusiastically at me, hands back in his pockets and bottom lip curled upwards slightly. He seems like he’s thinking hard.
“Black and red,” he purrs, “good shout. I like it.”
We stew in the silence between us for a moment before we turn our attention to the scene behind us at the same time. Conversations are happening and we didn’t even realise, so totally absorbed in our own business to notice. Megumi is snapping a few photos of Yuki and Choso together on the former’s phone, Suguru is scrunching his face because of something he’s eaten, and Shoko laughing at him for the same reason. The Twins are stuffing their faces full of cake, as expected.
“I’m so tempted to just take this dress and call it a day, genuinely.” Yuki frowns approvingly at herself as she inspects her body from head to toe.
“I wouldn’t fight that one bit, I’ll tell you now,” Choso grins.
“You can always just try more on for fun but buy that one,” shrugs Shoko through a mouthful of cucumber sandwich. She seems unamused but not disgusted by its taste, but her eyes are filled with excitement as she looks at our friend. Yuki really is some kind of deity among us. But, to be honest, so is Satoru, and I hate to think that he probably knows.
“You’re right,” Yuki acknowledges Shoko’s statement and gracefully makes her way back to us. Her right arm naturally links itself into my left, an even wider smile materialising on her gorgeous face.
“Have we all taken photos to compare the dresses once we’re done?” Suguru asks, putting his phone down on the coffee table, presumably after having taken his own photos.
I stand up straight, realising I’d forgotten to do so. It only takes a few seconds for me to return to the mirror, having grabbed my phone, and I raise the camera to capture me on the screen. The photos I take are all in rapid succession, only a fraction of a second in between each one, but at the fifth or sixth photo, a dark silhouette shows up behind me, image captured forever in my camera roll. Said silhouette is posing for the photo; instead of looking at the screen like I am, he looks directly at the lens, eyes wide and tongue stuck out playfully. The embodiment of a mischievous cat, I suppose.
After a few, he changes his pose, instead leaning down slightly. His hips pivot his torso downwards, and he’s now looking directly at the screen, too. Both hands are in his pockets, and he looks relaxed—a bit too relaxed for someone who’s just bombed a photo. Not that I really care. It works well, given our outfits are of similar shades and our faces are so different.
“What made you materialise all of a sudden?” I ask, smiling at him after closing my phone and letting my arm fall to my side.
Satoru shrugs sheepishly. “Felt like ticking you off, but it’s beginning to seem like I flopped at that.”
“I mean. The photos were nice, Satoru,” I return, opening my phone and flicking to the camera roll to show him. I slide past one photo then just hand him the phone so he can peruse it himself, and there’s a gentle rise in his eyebrows as he inspects them closely. His teal eyes seem to light up as he looks at them.
“Shit, I’m photogenic as fuck,” Satoru says, confounded. I’m surprised he doesn’t already know that, but I’m not going to say those words since it’ll probably sound weird.
I plainly roll my eyes, disapproving of his vanity. As I’ve said before, though, he’s one of the few people that actually have the right to be so vain. Satoru’s a good person, too, at least everything I know about him so far is good, so there’s no reason for me to go against his self-centred jibes.
“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. His face moves closer to mine, close enough for me to feel his cool, cake-scented breath fanning over my face. Ah, that sweet tooth—I should’ve known he’d gobble up all of the refreshments served in a heartbeat. Though I haven’t actually seen him do that, the subtle smell of vanilla cake invading my senses tells me he’s stuffed his stomach full. , “You know it’s true.”
Squinting at him, I frown. I hope that my expression tells him everything he needs to know—that is, there’s no response to a statement like that, as is the case with a lot of things Satoru says. However, as always, my unimpressed look quickly morphs into a smile, and as he begins to return the smile, Yuki and Shoko grab me by the arms to whisk me away and back into the changing rooms.
Once we get there, they carefully sit me down on one of the comfortable chairs but remain standing themselves. Specifically, they’re standing in front of me, eyebrows raised questioningly, hands on hips as if I’ve something to tell them, which is weird because I’m not hiding anything.
“What was all that back there?” Yuki asks, studying me with a scholar’s eye as she smirks wittingly.. What the hell is she referring to?
“Huh?” I answer dumbly, feeling my nose twitch a little. Shoko and Yuki roll their eyes simultaneously, as if they’re fed up with me.
“You. And Satoru. You’re very…” Shoko trails off. She knows exactly what words are to follow, but I don’t—she’s insinuating something I have absolutely no idea about.
I squint at them, trying to get them to spill whatever it is they’re alluding to.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, babe, what’s with all of that chemistry? It’s like we don’t even exist when you two are talking!” Yuki exclaims.
They’re both staring at me, expectant, but I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond to this information. That’s new—it only really seems like we’re just speaking to each other casually, not that anything specific or mysterious is going on. Though they’re acting like I know exactly what I’m doing, everything they’re saying is entirely news to me.
“How did you even draw that conclusion? All we were doing was speaking about you and Choso,” I begin, jutting my head in Yuki’s direction, “then thinking about what colour the next outfit we try on should be,” I say, getting slightly louder, “then taking a few silly photos! Is the chemistry in the room with us?!”
They both stare as if my words entered through one ear and swiftly exited the other end.
“What?” I ask nervously, “Can you guys say something?”
“We believe you,” Shoko smiles almost menacingly. “Really, we do.”
“See, now, that doesn’t sound convincing one bit. Why are you backing down so quickly?” I ask, intrigued at her sudden change in demeanour. Just what is she playing at?
Yuki returns to checking out dresses as if nothing has happened. Tentatively, she picks up an emerald-green ball gown and inspects the embroidery, running the tip of her index finger over the seemingly well-stitched seams. Shoko begins to change out of her current dress, too, and once she’s unzipped it properly, she dignifies my confusion with a response after what feels like forever.
“I mean, it’s not like we had an answer. We were just asking you a question. I guess we read your, uh… interactions wrong, that’s all.” Shoko winks at me—yet again, I’m inclined to believe her brain is thinking of something that doesn’t align with her innocent words.
I frown, defeated. “It really feels like you guys are in on some massive joke about me and I don’t know how to feel about it.” Though I have faith that they’re not doing anything demeaning behind my back, it’d be a lie to deny that their secretive little looks leave a lot to the imagination. I’m almost sure I haven’t done anything wrong, so why do they seem to watch my every move and comment on it telepathically?
“Wait, what?” Yuki replies, movements halting slowly. She hooks the viridian dress back onto the rack. Her face is creased with concern, eyebrows scrunched and the corners of her mouth downturned. “What makes you say that?”
It seems I’ve caught Shoko’s attention, too, because she stops undressing for a moment to listen.
“Sometimes, you guys, just… it feels like you all know something I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I trust you guys enough to not be bitching behind my back. It’s more like… I feel like I’m missing something, and you guys haven’t noticed that I’m missing it, so I just remain in the dark while all of you seem to relish in whatever it is I’m not grasping properly. Like Suguru earlier, saying something like ‘I don’t know what that look was.’ What the hell was he talking about?”
Yuki and Shoko shared a dejected look.
“Holy shit, I didn’t know we were making you feel like that,” says Yuki, approaching me to sit down on one of the adjacent comfy chairs. “No, that’s not the case, at all.”
“We should explain,” adds Shoko, now sitting down as well. “No one’s at fault, and nothing bad is going on. It’s just that… it’s kind of amusing, how well you and Satoru have clicked. Like I mentioned in the library not long ago, he doesn’t take to people that quickly because he’s just so particular about his company. Yet, here you are, a physicist rivalling him in his mathematical abilities, you get along with his son and the girls really well, and you’re just… a delight to be around. You’re joined at the hip. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but he’s going outside way more now than he was before we met you.”
“What?” I return simply, “Why?”
Shoko shrugs. “I don’t really have an answer to that. It’s not that he was refusing to go outside before you, no, he enjoys it, but it’s a case of him cooping himself up and working on his maths because it’s his lifelong passion to the point it got worrying. He never saw the problem, and I’m sure he still doesn’t, but he forgets to eat, he doesn’t sleep enough, that kind of thing. None of it’s intentional and he really reassures us nothing is actually up, but I guess we’re thinking about his long-term health. It’s not good for him. But, now you’re here, we’re eating as a group more often, or just seeing each other more often, and that has this kind of knock-on effect of getting him to eat more. Or, talking to people will tire him out, so he’ll actually sleep. Because he’s been sleeping well, his work in maths has been going even better than normal, and, well, you get my point.”
“In other words, babe, you’re what everyone has always needed in their life. You may not believe it when I tell you that, but you’d have to be real blind to deny it now that you’re impacting so many people at once,” Yuki beckons, and there’s this kind tone in her voice that makes me start to believe her. It’s still kind of weird to think that there are people out there who genuinely enjoy my presence, though.
“The… sly little looks? I guess that’s the best way to describe it,” Shoko shrugs, nonchalant, “are just us noticing how good things are right now. If I’d known we were making you feel like that, though, I’d have said something way sooner, I promise.”
I stay silent for a moment, observing them both. The looks on their faces are nothing short of genuine, and they’re both sitting on the edge of their chairs, giving me their full attention. Against my will, a smile pokes at my face. These are my friends. And I know they’re not lying to me.
“Thank you, both of you,” I grin. “Really. For being so kind.”
“How could we not?” Shoko says dryly, “You’re practically love incarnate. We have to act appropriately, am I right?”
“Amen,” Yuki high-fives Shoko, then me.
We all smile at each for a brief moment before I decide it’s appropriate to break the soft silence.
“Back to trying on dresses, shall we? The guys will end up waiting for us for too long if we dawdle around for too long.”
The tip of Shoko’s tongue pokes out through her teeth as she smiles mischievously. “Fuck yeah.”
It takes us the best of ten minutes to continue browsing, narrowing down dresses by their colour or pattern until we find one that fits out respective visions perfectly. Though Yuki still seems besotted with her first, vampire-esque dress, she still makes a genuine effort to find something she likes, and by the time she’s putting it on, I’m beginning to think that’s she’s not too sure, after all. Or maybe that’s just my inability to see her as anything less than perfect coming into play.
Shoko, however, finds something very quickly—I suspect she’d been eyeing it earlier, given her immediate attraction towards the dress in question was suspiciously unnatural. That’s not to say it was bad, no: it was perfect.
In the end, Yuki is wearing a burgundy mermaid dress which just reaches the floor, complete with a vibrant tulle train trailing behind her. She leaves her hair loose, flowing down her shoulders elegantly, and a pair of half-sleeve lace gloves cover her arms. Yuki looks like some kind of beautiful game show host.
Contrary to her last outfit, Shoko now wears an off-white slip dress, made with some material resembling satin, and hanging loosely off her arms is a snow-white fur coat. It’s thick, dramatic, and most importantly, it screams Shoko. She ruffles her hair slightly, combing messy bangs back, and, my god… she really could have anyone she wants.
They’re both sitting down and talking to the Twins quietly as I get changed. It’s a dress that had caught my eye a little earlier but decided to save for the second try, hence why I picked black and red, and now that I’ve finally got it on, I’m sure that maybe, just maybe, this one is right. It’s a long, halter, hand-woven silk dress. The main body of the dress is a rich, deep red, but covering it is a sheen of black, meaning that the colour one sees depends on the way light strikes me. From a distance, one might suggest that the dress is actually wine-red, but up close, it quickly becomes clear that there are two distinct layers to the dress, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
From the accessory rack, I pick out a pair of silky sleeves which simply cover my forearms and part of the back of my hand, but my fingers are still left to the chilly air. After slapping on an expensive-looking necklace to complete the look, I walk over to my friends in search of their opinion.
“Oh… my. God.” Shoko’s jaw drops as she shoots upright. “That’s yours. Literally yours.”
“This is perfect,” Yuki says slowly, dumbfounded. Her fingertips gently pass the fabric of my dress between them, getting a good feel for it. All four girls, the Twins included, surround me quickly, inspecting every inch of me in awe. I know the dress is really pretty, but this kind of reaction is, well, entirely unforeseen.
“I’m gonna be livid if you don’t get this one,” Shoko frowns, chewing the inside of her bottom lip after relinquishing her hold on my outfit. “Like, you’d have to be mad not to get it.”
“You guys really think it looks that good?” I ask, frowning.
“If you’re unsure, go out and show the guys how brilliant it looks.”
Before I can utter one further word, I’m practically being pushed out the door by all four girls. How am I supposed to fight that kind of overpowering strength? As I scramble to keep my balance on the other side, the ambient chatter of the well-dressed men scattered around the main room dies down quickly after hearing the massive racket that is us entering the room.
Satoru, before noticing, is sitting down on a couch. One foot is planted firmly to the ground and the other resting atop it, thighs spread widely apart and taking up a bit too much space for one person. His head rests loosely on the back of the couch, clearly bored waiting for us to enter.
Once we enter, however, he looks up quickly. His previously neutral expression softens, lips parting gently in what resembles weakness. Lively eyes widen as his eyelids flutter, and the leg that was previously resting on top of the other now comes down, planting itself to the ground, too. It seems I have his full, undivided attention.
The others slowly clear off, minding their own business, thank goodness. Between Satoru’s incessant, intense staring and my friends’ unbridled approval of my outfit, I’m not sure I could handle any more compliments than I’ve already received. Not to mention how acutely Satoru is staring at me.
I smile, simulating confidence, as I approach him. When I’ve closed about half of the distance between us, he finally stands up, gaze not leaving my face for even one second. It’s only then that his outfit is totally visible to me. As expected, he’s wearing a red suit, but the trousers and blazer match perfectly. Some kind of shimmery thread is woven into the fabric all over, creating all-consuming floral patterns that seem to glow just a little when struck by photons incident on it. He’s wearing a black waistcoat underneath, with another black button-up underneath that. The outfit is complete with a matching, cherry-red tie, tucked in neatly. He’s stunning. Stellar. A work of art. Satoru really can clean up nicely when he wants to.
The awe-inspired look on his face remains persistent, and by the time I’m standing in front of him, he looks almost blank, as if something surprising has just happened.
“Cat got your tongue?” I suggest softly, playfully poking him in the chest with the tip of my index finger.
He looks down at the gloves covering my arms, and much to my shock, Satoru’s hands slot into mine. The way he holds my hands is identical to the way he held them back at the ice-skating rink, with our forefingers safely in each others’ palms and thumbs resting gently on the back of the other’s fingers. The feigned cheek I was giving him disappears in an instant and I simply look up, waiting for him to say something to me.
And say something, he does.
“I mean, of course. You look so beautiful.”
I swallow nervously. “You really think so?”
Some of the energy returns to him in an instant and he chuckles once, finally meeting my eyes. “I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t the truth, sweetheart.”
As I try to compliment him in return, he lets go of one of my hands and uses the other to raise my arm above my head. He murmurs a little “Give us a twirl,” before guiding my arm in the air and spinning me around under him. I feel my dress lift slightly from the movement, and after one full rotation, he pulls me back to him, still holding one hand as the other finds its place on my waist. It feels like his hand is supposed to be there, as if my waist is home to his wandering hands.
“You look dashing, Satoru,” I return, nodding as I look him directly in his pupils so he knows I mean it. There are a lot of times where we’re joking around casually with each other, but it’s becoming increasingly apparent that now is not one of those times.
Satoru brings us over to the mirror together. He stands behind me but remains close. Now it seems he’s back to being casual again, because he rests one arm on my shoulder as if I’m his armrest. This guy.
He looks straight at me through the mirror.
“We look good together, don’t we?” he asks me. I really hope he’s talking about our matching outfits, otherwise I’d have no idea how to respond to that.
“You weren’t lying when you said we were gonna show everyone up at the ball, to be honest,” I quip happily, “we look fucking amazing.”
“I love how we’ve just turned this shit into a competition even though it’s just a boat party to celebrate the New Year,” he laughs, then he freezes abruptly and makes the most serious expression he can muster. “I don’t regret it one bit.”
“Neither do I,” I shrug, my right shoulder experiencing some resistance from the weight of Satoru’s arm resting on it.
“You’re going to get this one, right?” Satoru asks, looking at me seriously now. “I genuinely can’t imagine us wearing something that isn’t this.”
“You like it that much, huh?” I answer his question with a question. “I’ll admit, I really, really like this one. But you think it’s good enough to be the final outfit?”
Satoru nods gently, and I’m sure this is the most sincere I’ve ever seen him. He’s beaming at me now, looking genuinely happy to be here, to be next to me. “ Fuck yes,” he replies, really emphasising the ‘f,’ “it really is gorgeous on you.”
Notes:
hello!!! i've been getting so many kind comments on this fic and i'd just like to reiterate, i'm so so so grateful. i smile SO hard when i see an email notifying me someone's commented something sweet. i'm glad you're enjoying and i hope i can continue to deliver chapters you enjoy!!
update 22/09/24: the next chapter should be out in a week or two hopefully. sorry for making you all wait three months i was so busy 😭😭🙏🏼
Chapter 12: Aurora comes in view
Summary:
It's New Year's Eve. A massive formal-ish, student-centric party on a massive ship atop the River Thames, overlooking the London skyline. What will rise through the barrage of drinks and light-hearted socialisation?
Notes:
story playlist, as usual: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6XNGqet7KuGWTBTunwN4bS?si=9b4c4fa516124ccd
attempted to proofread, but chances are i still missed smth. sorry dawgs :3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
▷▷ hotel room service - pitbull; beat it - michael jackson; i ran (so far away) - a flock of seagulls ◁◁
The night is cold. It’s dark and noisy, but the chatter of everyone on board the Sky Princess warms the air up significantly.
“Hey, gorgeous,” a voice asks from behind me. The voice is deep, but it sounds an awful lot like they’re purposely trying to make it more sultry and raspy. I place my glass of whisky down on the bar’s countertop, making sure the palm of my hand covers the glass’ rim, then I turn around to see who it is.
No one I recognise, that’s for sure. He has long, silver hair going past his chest and a slightly predatory stare. He has heterochromia, sporting deep brown in his left pupil and a vibrant blue in his right. There’s a stitch-patterned plaster stuck over his nose, and I can’t tell if he’s put that on purely for style or because there’s a real scab under there. A glass of whisky similar to mine rests in one hand while the other leans on the countertop so he can face me properly.
“Hey…?” I ask, cautious. He’s being too familiar for my liking.
“So what brings a pretty girl like you here? With looks like those, you should be somewhere else,” the guy smirks, trying to look me straight in the eye. I dodge his line of sight.
“I mean. I study here, I’m not sure what you want me to say?” I question, frowning at him, but I don’t want to stop quite there. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Ease up, sweetheart, I don’t bite.” He eyes me up and down like I’m a piece of meat. “Unless you want me to.”
I grit my teeth. Something about being called ‘sweetheart’ by this weird stranger feels foreign and kind of irritating, so I merely rotate on the chair to face away from him. Also, that “I can bite if you want” comment. What the hell is up with this weirdo?
“Is this guy bothering you?” a familiar voice calls out from behind me. Thank God. I swivel around hurriedly, and as expected, it’s Satoru, studying the silver-haired dude acutely with his iconic glasses positioned halfway down the bridge of his nose. The corners of his lips are turned downwards slightly, almost frowning.
“Nah, we’re good, little man.” Grey-Hair has a stony look on his face.
Satoru ignores his words, looking me straight in the eye for my response.
“Yeah, he is,” I say quietly. I’m not down to make any enemies tonight, but I also really don’t want to keep getting bothered by this prick.
“Go home, buddy, you think she’ll like someone like you?” Satoru laughs cynically, placing one hand in his pocket while glaring at the stranger. Luckily enough, said stranger seems displeased enough to get up, but not before making one more annoying remark.
“If you wanna get into her pants, you should just say so, instead of playing some big-headed macho man,” Grey-Hair groans. “Fucking jackasses. Didn’t even want you anyways.”
“Oh, please. You’d be lucky if she even looked at you,” replies Satoru while rolling his eyes.
Though his comment is sweet, I’m worried that this will escalate a little further, so I hiss at Satoru and pull him down by the sleeve into the chair previously occupied by Grey-Hair. Once he’s settled, he finally turns his attention back to me, taking a swig of his whisky. We’d purchased them together not even five minutes ago, and the only reason I was alone for those few moments was because he needed to speak to Suguru about something.
“Do you really mean that?” I smile, looking at him. My leg bounces restlessly against the framing of my spinning bar stool.
“Told you before, I’m not a liar,” Satoru shrugs.
A new song plays, Hotel Room Service by Pitbull, and Satoru turns to look at the speakers. They’re turned so far up that the ship’s floor vibrates with the beat, and I can literally feel the rumbling within my chest.
The bartender comes over for a brief moment to speak to us. He’s a student, just like the rest of us. I definitely recognise him, but I have no idea who he actually is.
“I hope I don’t come across as weird or anything, but you two look really, really good. I wish everyone took the boat party this seriously,” he says, and this catches Satoru’s attention. Simultaneously, we finish our drinks with a dramatic gulp and hiss before slamming the glasses back down onto the countertop.
“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself, my man,” Satoru grins. There’s a slightly cocky twinge to his voice, and it’s not surprising that Satoru’s ego is inflated to the size of a botched butt-lift—we’ve been experiencing this for the entirety of the last hour. Surprised looks, ill-concealed whispers, the works. It’s exactly what we were going for, and the obvious match in our formal attire is probably the reason. It looks fucking amazing , if I say so myself.
“Oh, this?” the bartender asks, looking down to check his outfit. It’s relatively simple, just a button-up shirt with an apron tied around his waist. He’s wearing black trousers and on his fingers are an array of beautiful silver rings. “This isn’t my actual outfit. Once I’m done with this bartending shift I’m going to get changed and join my girlfriend.” He points somewhere behind us as he says the last part, and we turn around.
“The blonde one, with the really pretty smile,” he adds, still pointing in the general direction. My eyes scan the crowd of people and settle on an average-height, blonde-haired girl wearing a royal blue party dress. There’s a slight sparkle on her skin from head to toe, and the corners of her eyes glisten with what’s presumably silver highlighter. She’s giggling very clearly at something her friend said, completely oblivious to the three of us staring.
Then I realise they’re the Engineer-Literature couple I saw in the courtyard a while ago. The ones that were sitting down on a bench, where the girl was talking about something passionately and the bartender was just looking at her lovingly.
“I’m Lucian, she’s Tina,” Lucian says when we turn back around to continue the conversation. “But enough about us, how long have you two been together? You guys are so cute. I hope this isn’t weird, but, like, you guys seem like an older version of me and Tina.”
My eyes widen and I chew the inside of my lip, turning to face Satoru. Though he’s not looking at me, I can tell there’s an almost chuffed smile on his face. Probably sensing that I’d turned to him for his input, he tosses me a cocky glance before replying.
“Oh, we’re not like that,” Satoru says, briefly turning to me and grinning. “She has a foot fetish, she’s real weird.”
Lucian looks taken aback, merely raising both eyebrows and making a little ‘o’ shape with his mouth as he listens to us drone on.
I was smiling before at Satoru’s apparent bashfulness, but that smile quickly fades. Where he’s pulled that idea from, I have literally no clue. Mindless teasing, I’m sure, but I am not going to allow this mischievous fuck to tarnish my image just like that.
“I do not!” I exclaim, hitting Satoru in his right delt. “Why are you spreading misinformation? I’m not a fucking freak like you!”
Satoru gasps, clutching the part of his blazer above his heart. “I never expected you, of all people, to say such heartbreaking things.”
“Oh, please. Acting like you weren’t an asshole to the guy who was here a minute ago.”
“Me being an asshole was of great help to you, if I remember correctly,” Satoru shoots back with a glare. He laughs it off afterwards. Just as I consider replying, he slams his glass down with enough force to create a loud noise but not enough for it to shatter. One hand quickly grabs mine and pulls me off the chair as he stands up, but before we leave the bar, he speaks to Lucian quickly so as to not be rude.
“Nice meeting you, bro. We’ll catch you and Tina on the dance floor.”
Lucian seems flabbergasted, as if his brain hasn’t even begun to process our interaction. He only smiles wryly then creases his eyebrows while looking down at the glasses. As Satoru pulls me away to the cluster of dancing people, I hear Lucian mutter, “I swear, Tina. They really are me and you from two years ago.”
Whether or not Satoru heard that comment, I have no idea, but if he did, he certainly doesn’t make it obvious. He’s always been pretty good at avoiding awkwardness when it matters the most, and given a good number of people here have assumed he and I are a couple, I suppose it’s a good thing. It’d probably get pretty uncomfortable if we had to find some kind of way to play it off every time. His lighthearted jokes have historically done a brilliant job of shifting the focus of the conversation.
In the blink of an eye, we’re in the dead centre of a sea of dancing, warm people, and both of my hands are taken securely in Satoru’s.
“Dance with me, sweetheart,” he says with an alluring smile. When he’s got that endearing, excited look in his eyes, how could I possibly say no?
It’s definitely weird. People think we’re dating and the way we’re acting certainly doesn’t do anything to combat that, but I’m not sure either of us care. Between the pregaming before arriving at the party and the glass of whisky we drank together not even a few minutes ago, it’d be weird if we weren’t dancing. And, well, if anything does become awkward, I can just pin it down to the alcohol and pretend nothing happened.
Now that we’re here, I realise one, crucial thing. I have no idea how to dance. After all, I am a notorious homebody and it’s not like I have the title of Somerville’s best student for no reason. Why would I know how to dance?
Satoru places one hand onto my waist and the other clasps my hand, holding it up at chest-height near our bodies. Thankfully, we do leave room for Jesus, but not much. I can practically feel his body heat warming me up, and that probably explains why I’m feeling so fucking hot right now.
Leaning down, Satoru levels his mouth with my ear, asking me a question in a low voice so quietly I’m surprised I could even hear.
“I can see it in your eyes. You don’t know how to dance, do you?”
I pull my head back slightly and look him in the eyes. For once, his glasses are off. I was considering wearing mine today, but I figured I didn’t want them getting in the way, and there’s a good chance I’d end up losing them at some point—with how expensive they are, that is not a risk I’m willing to take today. Instead, I just smoked in preparation. Satoru hates it, and so do I, but Shoko was adamant that paracetamol and alcohol would be a lethal mix. A serious warning from an unserious medic speaks volumes, so obviously I’m going to listen. Two cigarettes and half a pack of minty chewing gum later, I’m on the ship, alcohol coursing through my system with no migraine in sight.
“Not really, no,” I admit.
“Just move your body along with mine. You’ll find your way eventually.”
I scowl at him. How is he so sure of everything he says?
“What if I don’t?” I hiss, scrunching my nose, and in that instant, he grasps my hand even tighter.
“You will. Plus, who cares? You’re here to have fun, not worry what everyone else thinks of you,” he shrugs lightly. Easy for you to say when you’re the most charismatic guy on this planet.
I have to give Satoru some credit though, he really does put some effort in to help ease my nerves. In my head, I count a little, one, two, three, fuck it! and try my best to mimic Satoru’s movement. It’s not too hard, since he’s not doing anything particularly complex.
We begin with just shimmying back and forth. For the first few seconds, all we’re doing is staring at our feet to ensure we don’t clash and fall, but once we find our rhythm, we slowly begin to look up again. Occasionally, I accidentally step on his toe and vice versa, but it’s not a big deal since we’re moving relatively quickly. Every time we accidentally step on the other’s foot, however, it’s immediately followed by a sarky chuckle.
“See, I told you it’s not that bad,” Satoru says smugly, raising both eyebrows at me. His fingers clench around my hands a little tighter than before, but not to the point where it hurts.
It’s honestly a miracle he hasn’t stepped on my dress yet, given it basically reaches the floor. Then, I suppose, he was the one who bought it, so he probably feels responsible for it given he was the one who paid. When I got changed earlier, he was the first to inspect me—somehow beating Shoko and Yuki to it—and give me the nod of approval. Additionally, in line with Satoru’s showboating antics, he had made a point while entering to make it look like he was the one in charge of my look, with this shit-eating, ‘Yeah, I did that,’ grin on his face. It wasn’t that far off, so it wasn’t like I could get mad about the fact.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I reply while attempting to fight off a smile. Unfortunately, I’m not successful one bit.
“Oh, what’s that?” Satoru retorts, releasing one of my hands to lean in and emphasise his listening ear, “Oh, I didn’t hear that. One more time.”
“Fuck off,” you glare before rolling your eyes. He really is not short on ways to annoy you whatsoever.
“Absolutely not,” he replies while intertwining our free hands again. “I’m here to annoy you the whole night.”
You chuckle. “You’re lucky we look so good together, I’d have ditched you for Shoko long ago.”
As Beat it by Michael Jackson begins to play, Satoru tilts his head and narrows his gaze at me. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“You sound awfully sure,” I snort, “I thought you’d have more to say about that.”
“I don’t. Because I know you wouldn’t ditch me for Shoko,” he shrugs in a happy-go-lucky voice. What an annoying, lovely asshole.
In the corner of my eye, I notice a certain tall, dead-eyed faculty member eyeing the crowd with a glass of wine in his hands. His nose is on the larger side and he has a similar build to Satoru in that he’s tall and lanky, and I realise it’s one of the law professors. I’ve heard a lot about him. One of the youngest professors in Oxford history, gaining his position because of his stellar exam performance and aptitude in teaching his peers. They were practically begging to take him on as a lecturer.
Satoru, noticing the fact that I briefly zoned out, turns around to figure out what I’m looking at. With his hyper-attentive eyes, it’s no surprise that he spots the law professor almost immediately.
“What’s so interesting about Mr. Higuruma?” Satoru asks after turning back around to face me as we dance. There’s a slightly perplexed look on his rosy face.
Our movements have now shifted from simply shimmying to erratic, unorganised body movements. Though we’re not doing anything similar to the other partygoers, our movements work with each other. A little chaotic, yes, and I have no idea how we look to everyone else, but Satoru was right: does it really matter what everyone else thinks?
For a brief moment, I smile to myself. That train of thought would’ve been entirely off the table not even a year ago. How have things changed so much recently?
“I mean, it’s just crazy. He’s not actually that much older than us yet he’s a professor here. I’ve been meaning to go over and say hi for a while,” you explain, meeting Satoru’s eyes yet again. Something akin to doubt flashes across his pupils for a moment before he asks for clarification.
Clarification, I give. “Nothing in particular. I actually had my heart set on becoming a lawyer a long time ago then found out I loved physics, so I decided against it. I’m just curious as to what his life was like. Is like.”
“Another all-rounder,” Satoru smiles approvingly, “nice. I like that. I wonder just how my entire circle is filled with all-rounders.”
“You attract what you put out, I guess,” I shrug, readjusting my grip on Satoru’s hands, “I don’t think it’s that surprising that you only know people like that. It’s what you are.”
An incomprehensible expression crosses his face before he grins at me. “You’re brilliant at explaining things.”
“I’m not that brilliant at it,” I frown while scrunching my eyebrows together. It’s a nice compliment but I’m inclined to disagree—Satoru thinks too highly of me sometimes.
Letting go of one of my hands, Satoru lifts his now free hand to my face, placing his extended index finger on my lips, effectively shutting me up. I only glare at him.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” I open my mouth to disagree, but before any words can come out, his finger presses into my lips slightly harder. I give up trying to speak.
“Shh,” he smirks at me, “enough of that. You wanna go talk to Mr. Higuruma? I’ll take you there.”
“Why? Do you know him?” I ask, studying his face for an answer.
“You… could say that, yeah!” he says enthusiastically in response as he nods. “Also, I’d take you anywhere you asked.”
Taken aback, I merely smile softly. For a moment, my head races with every possible meaning of his words, after all, it’d be pretty fucking embarrassing to misinterpret when he said. The more I think, however, I can’t dredge up any other explanation for what he’s just said other than just… straight-up kindness.
One thing gnaws at my mind the whole time—is that something people say to their friends? Is that something he’s said to Suguru? Shoko? Any of the others?
A part of me hopes he hasn’t. Wouldn’t it be nice to have this kind of special attention from him, all on myself?
The other part of me hopes he does, in fact, say that to all of his friends. Things would end up getting awfully over complicated if that wasn’t the case.
Waving one lithe hand in front of my face, Satoru grabs my attention, pulling me out of my tangled little head and back into the present moment, back into him.
“You okay, Sunshine?” he asks, perceptive pupils now searching my face for any indication of an answer. This level of sincerity is quite rare from Satoru—he’s capable, for sure, but he chooses to be unserious more often than not. Which is why it’s kind of concerning that he’s asking me this out of the blue.
I just squint at him slightly as he settles both hands on my waist. We’re still moving to the beat, only our position has changed slightly. If he’s got both of his hands on me, it only makes sense that I do the same. I place a hand on both of Satoru’s sturdy shoulders, fighting the urge to squeeze the body underneath; I’m well aware from the compression shirts he’s donned before that he’s packing some muscle up there.
For a moment, it feels awkward, being this close, but it’s hard to feel awkward with Satoru for very long, especially when the glee traversing his pupils is so evident, and he’s smiling so sincerely.
“Sunshine? Is that a new nickname?” I grin, dodging his question. It’d be kind of hard to explain that it’s always his innocent comments that leave me so breathless, so fucking winded.
With an amused chuckle, he returns, “Depends, do you like it?”
“Ugh, I hate it,” I roll my eyes melodramatically. “Worst one yet, little dude.”
“Okay, that means it’s your favourite,” he chuckles in response, almost disbelieving. Though, I’m the one that should be in disbelief—it is, in fact, my favourite, I was only joking. I don’t think I made that fact all too obvious, however. “Alright.” He puts a gentle end to our synchronised movements, both hands still locked firmly on my waist. “Mr. Higuruma time, m’lady?”
“Mr. Higuruma time it is, my good sir,” I smile, raising both eyebrows as Satoru shifts his position to my side, linking his left arm in my right. We seem like some sort of posh, mediaeval couple in every way, shape, and form, and I’m pretty happy with that fact.
Weaving through the buzzing crowd of mildly tipsy students is no easy feat when you’re practically attached to another person, but Satoru makes it work. A mix of slipping through narrow gaps between people and politely excusing ourselves gets us to the other side, to Mr. Higuruma, who has just about reached the bottom of his wine glass. He spots us nearly immediately, both eyes widening a little as they settle on Satoru. It’s no shock whatsoever that he doesn’t pay attention to me, but what surprises me is the way he looks at Satoru so familiarly. As if they were bonded nearly as strongly as Satoru and Suguru, and, well, that in itself is a tough nut to crack.
“Satoru,” Higuruma acknowledges, gently tipping his wine glass in his direction.
“It’s been a while, Hiromi,” Satoru grins. “My friend here said she wanted to meet you.”
I introduce myself, telling him my name, my department, what year I’m in, you know, the standard greeting. He recognises me pretty quickly, mentioning he’s seen me around before. It’s weird to think that there are people out there who perceive me in the first place, but, hey, you learn something new every day.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of Somerville’s best student?” Mr. Higuruma asks. He looks neither enthused nor put off by my presence, which is no surprise. Every time I’ve seen him around the city, he wears the same, jaded expression on him. It’s hard to tell whether he’s even interested in the conversation right now, but I’m intent on staying here until I find out more about this guy.
“Honestly? I just wanted to ask you about your life. I wanted to be a lawyer until maybe seven or eight years ago, so looking at you kind of feels like looking at myself if I didn’t change my mind all that time ago. And, if I was older, yeah,” I reply, my eyes briefly turning away to one of the student waiters bringing around platters of champagne. I take a glass, needing something to do with my hands while speaking.
“I see,” he replies, acknowledging my words with a nod of his head. “You know, it’s funny, I think that’s a universal experience. I had that, too, probably a little younger compared to you, but I did. I actually grew up wanting to be a bin man.”
The coarse fizz of the champagne catches my throat at the wrong time, because I’m spluttering incessantly at Higuruma’s words. It’s not like there’s anything particularly weird about that, after all, who keeps the streets of ordinary people clean? Something about the fact that a man as serious-looking and unshakeable as Mr. Higuruma once shared in the childish, universal dream to be a simple creature brings me down to Earth, reminds me that, as humans, we actually do have a lot more in common with each other than one might expect.
“Why, is that shocking?” Higuruma adds, raising both eyebrows in interest.
I take a sip of my champagne to help wash down any lingering need to choke embarrassingly again, and I shake my head no, smiling. “No, not really. I guess I just didn’t see it coming from someone of your… character. I stand by it, though.”
Higuruma smiles briefly, not out of happiness, but rather to acknowledge my words. “So, how do you know Satoru?”
“We met because he was one of my lecturers this term,” I explain, taking another sip of my champagne, “we got along pretty well and his friends liked me and my best friend, so you could say we’re a kind of massive group, now.” As I finish that explanation, I take a brief glance across the bar to find said friends. Shoko, Choso, and Yuki are sitting together at a table, drinks in their hands, Kento and Haibara are nowhere to be seen, and Suguru is talking to a girl whose name I do not know. Classy.
“That’s interesting. To be honest, judging from the way you two were strutting in here together earlier, I was under the assumption there was a little more than that going on. Maybe I just judge people too quickly,” he considers to himself. It seems as though Higuruma is questioning some of his own choices, by the perplexed look on his face.
“Ah, I wouldn’t blame you,” I shrug in response, “we’ve been getting a lot of that tonight. I suppose we couldn’t really expect any less—or any more?—when we were the ones who intentionally coordinated our outfits to compliment each other.”
“Oh?” returns Higuruma, now slightly more interested, “Why’s that?”
I toss the question about in my mind like an after-dinner mint. “I don’t really know. For a laugh, I guess? It wasn’t just us, mind you, our friends coordinated their outfits, too. If I were to get really crude, a good chunk of it is probably just us seeking attention.”
“You’re an honest kid. I like that,” Higuruma replies in acknowledgement. He thugs down the rest of his wine and sets it aside, returning to me promptly.
“I try,” I say dryly, knowing that now is the time to ask him what I’ve been really interested in. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was the most… exciting part of your career?”
“Goodness, I didn’t think I was old enough to solicit that sort of question,” he chuckles, thinking deeply about my question. His expression quickly morphs from enthused to serious. “Ah, there’s one moment that definitely stands out to me, but I can’t share all of it, so I’ll share just what I can.”
“Ooh,” I muse.
“This happened about five years ago. I was defending two seventeen-year-olds who had attacked their attacker, ultimately killing him. Self-defence, obviously. The attacker had shot and killed a companion of theirs, a fifteen-year-old girl. That poor girl was a whole rabbit hole of her own. But then, he went after the two older boys, stabbed them both almost fatally, but they wounded him badly enough to get themselves and the girl’s body away. The attacker died in hospital. It was definitely an interesting case, to say the least, purely because there was just so much going on. Having to tackle the deceased’s will, his motive to murder the girl, protecting the boys’ privacy, that sort of stuff. It’s the kind of case you don’t ever forget about, I suppose.”
My mouth falls open. Most law graduates I know always talk about how most people don’t go for criminal law because it’s underpaid, oversaturated, and quite taxing on the brain: for Higuruma, I imagine the latter must have been particularly prevalent. Dealing with bodily harm on that scale must’ve been beyond intense.
“That… is awful,” I remark, “why did the guy do all of that? How are the boys doing? If you’re allowed to answer any of that, that is.”
“He was a hitman, that’s why,” Higuruma nods, “all I think I can say is that someone had sent a hit out for the girl, and, well, he was going to be paid well for delivering her dead. As for the boys, well, thankfully, they’re doing pretty well right now. In most cases as traumatic as that, victims often end up going down very dark paths, but these two boys… they’re very special people. They made best use of the case’s outcome and turned their lives around.” As he explains that, his eyes briefly gloss over, almost zoning out as his attention drifts elsewhere for a fleeting moment. He returns to me shortly. “I guess that’s part of the reason they kept their identities hidden. They didn’t want all of it coming back to bite them in the ass even after they attempted to move on. Very mature young men.”
“Oh my god,” I remark simply, because what other response is there to a story like that? It’s always weird thinking that situations like this have happened in real life, but knowing someone so closely related to it feels beyond weird. It feels so much more real.
I follow up with another question. “Obviously, it’s an awful situation, but I can imagine you found it interesting to work on, right?” Higuruma nods, sure of himself. “So, what made you switch from being a practising barrister to, y’know, teaching?”
“The same reason most switch from being at the heart of their field to teaching,” Higuruma shrugs, “the pay. And, I know. Teachers being paid a lot? Sounds ridiculous, I’m sure, but I guess that’s why you only see it with lecturers. I know it sounds scummy, but I do enjoy the whole ‘giving back to the youth’ part, too, I really do. But the money was my initial push.”
“I don’t think it’s scummy, you’re only watching out for your own wellbeing. Take the opportunities you’re given, I suppose. It’s nice you’re enjoying it, though.”
“See, thank you. I’m not all bad, neither are the other lecturers who choose to do that, too.” Higuruma seems a little more satisfied now that I’ve agreed he seems like a nice person. He swerves the conversation around a little back to me, now instead being the one to ask questions. “What about you? What’re your plans after graduating?”
“Honestly, Mr. Higuruma, I’ve no idea. I’m considering going into research, obviously, that’s kind of the standard path that everyone on my degree takes, but I guess that can change. Honestly, if I can find myself a good job, I’m perfectly fine with just settling down and getting on with my life.”
“The leisurely route. I see,” Higuruma replies, looking somewhat interested in my words.
Out of nowhere, one hand briefly squeezes mine, and I turn to see who it is. Ah, Shoko.
She seems to be merely passing by, so by the time our eyes meet, she’s already a metre away. Her eyes practically twinkle in the vibrant club-style lighting, and with glove-clad hands, she playfully curls her fingers into claws in front of her chest, saying quite loudly, “Meee-ow.” I wink at her in response, my standard way of reciprocating her sweet, friendly little gestures.
“I’ll find you soon, yeah?” I say quickly, and she gives me a quick thumbs-up before joining Satoru and Suguru, who are now at a table by the wall and drinking calmly through a fit of laughs. Suguru occasionally eyes the same girl he was talking to earlier, now that she’s up and dancing with a friend. He looks enthralled, that beautiful slut.
“You’re friends with Shoko,” Higuruma says plainly, attention now focused on my small friend group. “And Satoru, and Suguru. Ah, they’re the group you mentioned?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” I shrug, “there’s more of us, they’re just scattered about. My friend, Yuki, and her boyfriend are… thataway, I think,” I say, pointing to the table that she and Shoko were sitting at earlier. I know Choso is with her, just where is the question. “And our other friends, Kento and Haibara, I think they’re outside. Kento doesn’t really like super loud music.”
“Oh, wow, I’ve heard about the lot of you,” Higuruma exclaims, a small smile on his face. “I find it interesting that some of Oxford’s most well-known students happen to be so close to each other.”
“I wouldn’t say well-known,” I shrug. After two years, you’d think I would become more comfortable with the kind of praise I get, but, nope, it’s just as disconcerting as the first time. “I think it’s just a coincidence.”
“I beg to differ, but, hey, agree to disagree.” Higuruma punctuates the sentence with a shrug. I replicate the gesture, chuckling. “I think they want you,” he adds, pointing in the general direction behind me. Wondering who he’s referring to, I turn around to find out, only to see Satoru approximately ten metres away, looking at me. It’s the same case with Suguru. I’m not sure what exactly it is, but something about me has drawn their attention.
My eyes meet Satoru’s, and for a brief moment, we experience some uncertainty. What is he thinking about? What does he think I’m thinking about the fact I’ve just caught him and his best friend staring? It’s not like I’m that bothered, after all, the roles could have been reversed.
I smile at him wryly in the hopes of easing the palpable tension between us. It seems to work, because he returns the smile, and with it the tautness in his shoulders seems to dissolve like sugar in warm water. Even at this distance, I can clearly see the eager mirth in his wide eyes, which are now a dark shade of azure due to the low lighting on the dance floor.
Satoru winks at me, grinning even wider momentarily before turning back around and returning his attention to his best friend. Boy, do I wish I could read lips; on the off-chance they’re talking about me, I really could do with knowing what it is that’s being said.
“They’re just being clowns, as usual,” I say while rolling my eyes and turning back to Higuruma. He laughs as if he’s familiar with their antics, which is odd, but given how sociable Satoru is, I wouldn’t be surprised if they really were familiar with each other. “I think I’m gonna go to Shoko, though, I told her I’d do a round of shots with her, so.”
“Yes, absolutely. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, I hope you see you all around at some point,” Higuruma nods, to which I smile and leave.
As promised, I head to visit Shoko. The fact that she is dancing passionately to the beat of Maneater by Nelly Furtado is no surprise, after all, she does live up to the name. That’s one of the main reasons we clicked so well, I suppose. Once she sees me, her movements slow but don’t halt completely, instead opting to take my hands in hers.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Shoko grins. “How’s the party treating you?”
“Oh, please, I saw you a few minutes ago,” I smile in return, “I got hit on by a creep but Satoru was quick to beat his ego to death, so not a bad night at all.”
Shoko perks up a little at that. “Really? What was he like?”
“The weirdo or Satoru?”
Shrugging, she replies, “Both. Give me a story time.” Her movement picks up slightly now, not wanting to sacrifice this song for a conversation, which is totally understandable. We’re both more-than-capable multitaskers. I begin to sway to the beat, too, copying her moves slightly and shuffling us around together as if we were dancing the Cha Cha Slide.
“This dude with silver-ish hair. No idea who he is. But he just plonks his ass down next to me and does the standard, y’know, creepy macho pickup lines. He’s acting way too familiar, so I just kind of ask him who he is, then Satoru comes in all big, being like, ‘Is he bothering you?’” I explain. Both of Shoko’s eyebrows rise as I say that final sentence. “So I say yeah. Then Satoru gets like. Kinda… snarky? There was this whole I’m-better-than-you and I know it kinda vibe going on.”
“Very interesting,” Shoko says, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why do you think he, y’know, got so defensive?”
“I mean… he probably just wanted to help me get rid of the silver-haired guy. Why else?”
Shoko tilts her head at me as if in thought. “No idea. I was just thinking out loud.” Her focus switches slightly, attention now concentrated on something behind me. “Speak of the devil.”
“Photo booth’s open. What do you girls say?” Satoru asks, sliding his glasses down dramatically to meet us both in our eyes.
“I think all of us are on this floor at the moment, this might be the best time for all of us to get some photos together. Not to mention there’ll be a pretty big queue soon,” Suguru clarifies, gesturing at the photo booth which is now being tidied up slightly. There’s already a few people beginning to queue up.
“Absolutely,” I agree, to which Shoko adds a little, “Yep.”
“Alright!” Satoru says enthusiastically before leading us to the photo booth. Though this floor of the Sky Princess is large, the area we’re standing in feels rather intimate—every student is talking to a friend, enjoying their drinks, and dancing to their heart’s content. The lights are dim yet vibrant, the music so loud I can feel my own heart beating to its rhythm, and the gentle hubbub of chatting students lends to a nice, subtle ambient background noise, even if it’s not very audible underneath the beat of I Ran.
Satoru leaves briefly to round up Yuki, Haibara, and Kento, and in no time, all seven of us are back together, waiting patiently in line for the photo booth. Unfortunately, there are already ten-or-so people waiting, but I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky—we could be a lot further away.
After a few minutes of chatting mindlessly about the drinks with my friends, I realise that two of the people waiting ahead of us are, in fact, Lucian and Tina, the cute couple from before. The former is no longer in his smart bartender’s outfit. Instead, he’s wearing a rather dashing navy blue suit with an azure tie to match her. They’re a good-looking couple, you have to admit. It’s hard to outdo the combination of my wine-red dress and Satoru’s floral, crimson suit, but they are still very good-looking.
It takes a short while to get there; Lucian and Tina take three photos together. The first is simple, with the two simply standing next to each other with one arm wrapped around the other’s waist. The next is pretty romantic: they opt to face each other, Tina’s arms hanging her loosely off Lucian’s neck. The final one is just plain cute, with Lucian holding her, bridal-style, both smiling widely at the camera. They truly are a very good-looking couple.
In a matter of minutes, their photoshoot is done, and it’s our massive group’s turn. Satoru seems to be in deep thought for a minute while speaking to the photo team, briefly looking at us to determine something before turning back around to confirm whatever it is he’s telling them. He quickly gets back to us.
“We’re getting nine photos,” Satoru nods, putting his wallet safely into his blazer’s inner pocket.
Suguru’s face contorts. “Nine? Why on Earth do we need nine?”
“It’ll make sense pretty quickly,” Satoru says unhelpfully before ushering us onto the black photo background. It’s just a large sheet of black card draped from high up on the wall, extending forward on the floor, but I suppose it’s a very good photo background.
“Family photo first,” Satoru says. The sentiment behind his words is sweet, but I can’t help but notice the twinge of authority to his voice, and more importantly, the way I can’t help but enjoy it.
It’s an unspoken arrangement, but the men line up behind us. At first, I consider protesting that, but it does make sense considering that they’re all taller than us. Maybe with the exception of Yuki, but she’s already crouching subtly to make up for that. The photographer takes two shots and inspects them briefly before nodding and muttering a little Wonderful.
“Just the girls next,” Satoru states, eyes meeting mine. Cheerfulness dances across his eyes, and it’s so infectious I can’t help but crack a smile.
All of the photos go by in a blur, but not for the reason I had originally expected. In my head, it was just going to be one shot for each photo, then we’d go about our day. Though that’s not entirely wrong, what I hadn’t predicted was the small crowd of fellow students gathering to watch. It’s hard to grasp what exactly is so fascinating about our little friend group’s photo shoot, but clearly something is interesting, and I’ve half a mind to go and ask someone what’s so intriguing. Only half a mind, though.
After our girl trio photo is done, there’s an all-guy photo. As expected, they make Haibara their baby, positioning the poor boy in the middle while getting him to crouch. To be fair, he’s probably used to it by now.
Next is another trio photo, except this time, it’s Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru. In that order. That’s no surprise—they kind of were the originals, the iconic trio. Everyone just kind of piled in after that.
Next is a photo of just Satoru and Suguru. Not too shocking, either. As is the case with the Kento-Haibara photo. Same with the Yuki-Choso photo. Suguru and Shoko take a photo together, which I didn’t necessarily expect at first until I remembered that their outfits match; they’re obviously going to want a photo together to commemorate that.
That realisation makes me realise quickly that the next photo is of me and Satoru.
It shouldn’t be a big deal. It isn’t. That’s what I tell myself when he places his hand on the small of my back, fingers splayed out, to coax me forward onto the dark background. Not a big deal, I chant mentally as I let him determine my position, hands on my shoulders and hips to rotate me, shuffle me around. Nothing important, I remind myself as I notice my breath hitch at Satoru casually slinging his arm around me.
Maybe there is no longer any confusion as to why our friend group seems to be such a spectacle. Satoru and I have been denying any kind of involvement together for ages. Not that that fact has changed, but I can only imagine how we look to outside observers. My back pressed up against Satoru’s right side, arms crossed with a sassy smile as he rests his chin atop my head, right arm securely slung over my shoulder.
We look like the very thing we’ve been denying for ages.
Then it occurs to me: why have we been fighting it so adamantly?
My every interaction with Satoru plays over in my head. Never once has he ever explicitly denied anything going on. Every time, he plays it off smoothly, using a smart joke as a segue to a different topic or poking fun at me to shift the focus of the conversation. He has never been adamant that, no, we’re not together, I don’t see her like that. Not once.
Flash. The photo’s over, and Satoru slowly releases me, residual warmth searing my skin. His touch lingers almost imperceptibly, but, in the blink of an eye, we’re standing aside to get a look at all of the shots and get them printed.
They’re great. There’s not much more to say—they’re nothing short of amazing. Satoru decides to get all of the copies posted to his place, since carrying around an envelope of delicate pictures isn’t a good idea when we’re all buzzing with alcohol.
In the corner of my eye, I catch Lucian and Tina looking at us amidst the small group of observers. Lucian is saying something to his girlfriend passionately, almost manically trying to tell her something of great urgency. Tina, hearing his unintelligible words, raises her eyebrows and frowns in acknowledgement, eventually agreeing with her boyfriend. I wonder what has them so intrigued.
Once the photos are finalised, we leave the photo area, opting to dance again. The drinks have slowly begun to dull our senses slightly, the combination of pregaming and the drinks from earlier enough to ease us into a more erratic, unaware state. Though we’re not completely drunk, barely even noticeably drunk, it’s enough for us to dance amidst the crowd like there’s no tomorrow. The dancing is frantic—I’m tossed between my friends. I twirl underneath Shoko’s arm, get whisked into Yuki’s grasp, link arms with Suguru, the works. Not a person in our group will go the entire night without dancing with me. That’s the same for everyone else—though we tend to split off into pairs or trios whenever we hang out, everyone truly is mingling tonight.
The lights are bright, the music is deafening, and the air sweetens with the scent of drunk-happy students. Some continue to take photos off at the booth, some are still at the bar, but most of us are here, now, dancing the night away. A sheen of sweat coats everyone’s skin, and it’s unclear whether it’s from the sheer heat of the dance floor or from the gradual physical exhaustion, but the heat increases, higher, higher, higher… so high, it almost becomes too much.
Just before I begin to lose myself entirely within the crowd, Satoru finds me, which is no surprise. He plants two hands firmly on my shoulders and steers me away from the dance floor, away from the music, far, far away. He helps me up the stairs, the colder air enough to sharpen my senses slightly, and by the time we’re at the top floor of the Sky Princess, it almost feels like nothing happened.
We walk in silence across the ship’s deck. The night is dark, the sky twinkles with the light of distant stars several Parsecs away, and my ears slowly adjust to the lack of noise. There are still speakers atop the deck, but the music they play is nowhere near as loud; instead of causing a frantic thump thump thump in my chest, they merely provide gentle background noise, almost harmonious with the chatter of the students on board. Conversations are relatively quiet, save from the occasional chuckle, and the drinks are being consumed a lot more slowly on the top floor. Maybe this is a better place to stay, after all.
I’m not sure how long we spend walking around in silence. It’s nice, but I’m glad Satoru decided to break it.
“You’ve seriously never gone to the boat party before?” Satoru asks, sounding genuinely surprised. A waiter walks by, carrying a tray of narrow, filled champagne glasses, and Satoru smoothly picks two off, winking at the waiter. He passes one to me, and I take a sip before replying.
“Nope.” I smile. “I’m beginning to forget why.”
Satoru snorts. “I’m glad.”
The music begins to fade out, which draws the attention of the two of us and everyone else atop the deck. We turn to the ship’s forecastle only to see a few people setting up a few microphone stands. Some guy taps the centre mic a couple times to check it’s working. It definitely is, because a few dull thumps can be heard through the speakers.
I look at Satoru, asking him a question with just a look. He returns a knowing smile.
As if on cue, people slowly begin to file in from the second level stairs to the deck, some out of breath, others holding their drinks, carrying a gentle chatter with them. They all seem to know what’s going on, so I suspect this is something they do yearly that I’ve just missed out on. I nudge Satoru in the shoulder and ask, “Why’s everyone coming up?”
“It’s one of the highlights of the night. People come outside and random people go up and sing for everyone. It’s kinda like the regular dancing below, but it varies a lot song-to-song. Some slowdances happen, everyone raps to other songs, and everyone screams their hearts out to the classics.”
“That sounds… really, really cool, actually,” I frown in thought. “I’m excited.”
“You should be,” Satoru smiles. “Because we’re going to go up.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “No. No we’re not.”
“Trust me. It doesn’t matter if you’re a bad singer—though I’d be surprised if that were the case, with a voice as nice as yours—everyone’s here for the vibe. We’ve had some less-than-stellar singers up here before but you don’t really notice that when everyone’s just enjoying the company and the fresh air. It’ll be fun, I’m serious.”
I don’t respond, electing to finish my champagne. I stare out at the river and the beautiful skyline of London. “I don’t know about that one, Satoru.”
“Look. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to, but I’m so serious when I say you’ll have a blast. It’s probably your final year here, why not make the most of it?”
Satoru’s champagne glass is long gone, and he extends out to me the same hand he used to chug it down. There‘a a tentative, encouraging smile on his face, pupils glistening from the reflection of lights in his diamond eyes as he raises his eyebrows, his final plea to me. When he’s looking at me with such patience, such faith, how could I let him down by saying no?
I take his hand slowly, my left encased in his right. Satoru’s smile widens significantly when I do, a look of triumph crossing his face. Of course, the sweet farce was temporary. Of course he’s gone back to being the mischievous guy I’ve come to know over the past few months.
A waiter passes by yet again, so I place my glass carefully back on his tray, following it up with a little “Thank you.” I turn back to Satoru and point a finger at him with my now free hand, saying, “I swear, you better not make me look a fool.”
“That’s a hard job, even for me,” Satoru winks. I’m about to question what that means, but before I can get the words out of my mouth, he drags me by the hand to the forecastle. Oh, I think, he means now. Of course he did!
“Satoru!” I quickly exclaim, planting my feet to the ground to prevent us moving any closer. “We haven’t even decided what we’re duetting.”
“Very, very good point,” Satoru frowns, squinting off into the night sky. “What do you think?”
“I… have no idea. Something we both know, obviously.”
Satoru continues to think as he furrows his eyebrows. After a few moments of dull thinking, some lightbulb seems to go off in his head, and his face noticeably brightens. “I’ve got it.”
He tugs my hand again, resuming our short journey to the podium. I lightly slap his forearm, exclaiming, “Care to elaborate?!”
“I can guarantee you’ll know this one. Trust me.”
I’m already putting a lot of trust in you, bastard, I think, you’re asking too much of one girl.
My heart is practically pounding by the time we’re up there. The voice of my younger self is screaming at me, confused, warning me against my own actions, trying to pull me away from this situation, remove myself permanently. For some reason, however, I can’t bring myself to listen. I can’t hold myself back, no matter how hard I try, because for once, this is what I want. It doesn’t matter what others must be thinking, it doesn’t matter what I might think of myself, I just want this. I want to try something new.
It’s insane, what a few months experiencing life through a new lens can do to a person.
Satoru subtly shows the girl managing the speakers something on his phone and she nods attentively.
“We’re set,” Satoru smiles.
I shoot him a suspicious look before turning to the microphone stands.
“There’s only one microphone. They have multiple stands, but they have one microphone. What kind of…” I frown, unsure of him to finish the sentence. He’ll get the gist.
The girl Satoru was talking to a minute ago chips in. “The sound team are only just hooking it up to the rest of the sound system. Good thing you got here early, people usually want to be the first, but we haven’t been able to get the other mics yet, if that’s fine. Otherwise you’ll just have to wait a little longer.”
Satoru has been putting me in interesting situations all night, so I hit him with one in return. Not that it’s anything too dramatic, but, hey, I’m not bold enough to do anything too dramatic yet.
“That won’t be a problem,” I wink at the sound girl. “We’ll manage with one mic… somehow.”
Satoru smiles at me, looking pleasantly surprised. “You’re getting into it. I like that.”
“Gotta play the cards you’ve been dealt?” I say, sounding more unsure of myself than I’d originally intended.
“Atta girl.” Satoru winks. “Alright. Come on.”
I follow Satoru onto the short podium. We find ourselves at the centre mic, and he adjusts its height so it’s just slightly above the level of my lips and just below his. It’s a decent compromise—having one of us obviously struggle to reach the microphone would be embarrassing. He taps it a few times, and each time it’s followed by a dull thump through the speakers. That’s enough for us, so we give the sound girl a little thumbs up, and she gently turns the music’s volume down until it’s fully dead. The attention of everyone on the deck turns to us pretty quickly, and if my heart wasn’t racing before, oh, it definitely is now.
“Hello, hello, everyone,” Satoru says into the microphone confidently. It’s almost startling, how loudly his words are amplified through the speakers. “I’m Satoru Gojo, a doctoral student at Somerville in the department of maths. I recognise a few of you… yep, I do.” He squints as he studies the faces in the audience, which are now becoming increasingly visible as the few lights are adjusted to give everyone a better view.
Satoru shrugs at me, which is my signal to introduce myself. “Hey, everyone. I’m a fourth-year Somerville physicist.” I smile at everyone I can see. Maybe this isn’t so bad. Though nothing can calm the incessant beating of my heart, it sure as hell feels good to see such a large number of people paying attention to me, genuinely interested in what I—we—have to say.
“Sorry to everyone that we managed to beat in coming up here,” Satoru apologises, not actually sounding very sorry. “Hey, Lucian, my man. How’s it going?”
“Great!” Lucian replies loudly to ensure he can be heard over the ambient hubbub of the audience.
“Good, good.” Satoru pauses for a moment. “Well. My wonderful friend and I came up here because we wanted to open the, uh… singing part of the night. She’s never actually been to one of these boat parties, and, obviously, she’s a fourth-year, so I wanted her to be able to experience the night to its fullest. So, if we could give her a little round of applause for, uh, letting me drag her up here, that’d be great.”
For a moment, I panic, thinking it’s going to be dead silent, but no, people are actually clapping. They’re participating. Whether or not they’re clapping for me specifically doesn’t matter at the moment. The crowd is alive.
“Ah, how nice of you all,” I smile before turning to Satoru. Still speaking into the mic, I tilt my head up to Satoru and ask, “so, are you going to tell me what we’re singing to everyone tonight?”
“No, of course not. Why would I?” Satoru laughs cynically. He turns back to the watching students. “I’m surprising her, if you will. I know she knows the song.”
“But what if I don’t? Then what are you going to do?”
“Okay,” Satoru rolls his eyes and shoves me in the shoulder playfully. “Cue the music!”
A nod. A shuffle. A click. One heartbeat later, and the unmistakable tune of There’s A Light That Never Goes Out begins to play through the speakers.
My jaw unhinges slightly, lips parting as I meet Satoru’s eyes. “You didn’t.”
Satoru smiles. “You know I did.” He winks at me before beginning to sing the opening. Take me out, tonight, where there’s music and there’s people and they’re young and alive!
I catch my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to bite back a smile. Honestly, I can’t imagine him picking a better song.
After a moment of smiling to myself out of shock, I join in with him. I’m not surprised that Satoru’s a good singer, after all, what can’t he do? But hearing my own voice harmonising with his so perfectly does wonders to widen my smile and calm my nerves.
It seems that everyone else notices, too. It’s not long before a few phones and camcorders are out to film us, and it’s not long before people begin to sing along. Soon, it’s not just us singing—others are joining in through sips of their drinks, and a few couples have taken to dancing together a few metres in front of us. Amongst the group of dancing students are Lucian and Tina, plus Yuki and Choso, which is unsurprising, since both pairs seem beyond infatuated with each other.
That’s not the only thing I notice, though. The fact that we’re sharing one microphone means we’re standing impossibly close together, faces only inches apart to ensure we can both be heard. It feels a little awkward—the lack of movement, not the proximity—but it doesn’t seem like anyone else necessarily shares that sentiment, so I brush it aside and continue.
For a fleeting moment, my soul practically leaves my body as Satoru takes my right hand in his left. His free hand quickly unhinges the mic from the stand and he takes it to sing it himself, now moving us both. It’s reminiscent of the way we were dancing with each other earlier, except there isn’t a massive, suffocating crowd of people at every turn. I watch almost passively as Satoru now looks me in the eye while singing, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die. We dance like there’s no tomorrow, like there’s no one watching, like we’re two untrained ballroom dancers moving for their own amusement. We step away from each other, still joined by our one, intertwined pair of hands, and step back into each other, and he twirls me under his arm, still singing, still looking at me, still smiling.
I can’t let him steal the spotlight by being the only one to sing, so I snatch the mic once he’s done with a line and continue it myself.
Satoru, looking a little surprised at the fact I’ve just suddenly taken charge, raises an eyebrow and smiles at me. Now that we’re standing opposite each other, he takes my right hand in his left and pulls me towards him, twirling me once when I’m close and not letting go. Because of him, my right arm is almost draped across and around my stomach, my back flush against his front, and his other hand settles on my waist. We settle on a gentle sway side to side as I continue to sing, and he sings every other line with me. I’m warm, uncomfortably so, but the situation itself is not bad at all. Dare I say exciting.
In the corner of my eye, I can see Shoko smiling at us both, wide and proud, head tilted slightly to the side. It’s an unusual change from her usual sassy, energised demeanour—at this moment, I can tell the look she’s giving us is the most sincere look she could muster.
We continue our languid swaying for a while, now admiring the crowd and singing entirely in unison. I chuckle through my words when I see Suguru taking Shoko’s hand to join in. Their dancing is slightly awkward but not bad at all, which isn’t shocking given they know each other pretty well.
This feels like a dream. There’s no other rational explanation for it—this is a dream. In what world am I part of the centre of attention? In what world am I bold enough to go up and perform for a bunch of strangers with a dangerously charismatic man who feels so painfully familiar that it hurts my chest? In what world am I indulging in the pleasures this world has to offer me?
In this world. In this moment. I’m no spawn of the devil, I deserve to be happy once in a while.
As the song’s final words leave our mouths gently, Satoru places the mic back onto the stand with one hand before returning it to my waist. I can’t imagine his hands in any other place.
The music begins to trail out softly. My breathing hitches as I feel Satoru’s warm breath tickling my ear.
“You know…” he begins. Though I can’t see his face because of the continued swaying to the music, I can tell he’s looking directly at me. “Did I ever tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?”
My heart pounds in my chest. “No. No, you didn’t.”
“My, my.” He tuts. It sounds kind of funny. “You look fucking beautiful. I’m so glad you went with this dress, y’know. It’s perfect.”
His sudden confession is startling, given how we’ve been acting all night. The gentle flirting and passive remarks aren’t anything new, this has been going on for… for… wait. How long?
A comfortable silence overtakes the both of us as I think about it. No matter how hard I wrack my brain, I can’t pinpoint the exact moment we shifted into… this. When did we go from casual academic acquaintances to calling each other fucking beautiful?
“You flatter me,” I breathe, because what other response is there to words like that?
“Not flattery when it’s true.” I feel him shrug around me as the song finishes.
A round of applause begins slowly before ascending to an almost thunder-like wall of noise. It’s overwhelming, but I can’t help but feel at least a little bit proud. The flashlights of recording cameras and phones slowly die away as we step off the podium, the cheering gently fading out with it. Satoru’s touch, too, lingers slightly, but we separate after a few seconds. It almost feels like the last four minutes and five seconds of my life were a fever dream.
For a brief moment, I turn around and look at Satoru. A charmingly rosy blush dusts his cheeks, probably from the alcohol and the physical effort of simultaneously dancing and singing. An even more charming smile is directed at me for some reason, and, in that moment, I begin to realise that immersing myself in schoolwork won’t make up for that itching feeling that something’s missing. Maybe, just maybe, I now know what will.
Notes:
hi my loves!!! i’m updating this end note on the 7th january 2025. i haven’t abandoned this fic, neither do i plan to. i’ve been so swamped, it’s very tough to write this. that said, i believe firmly that the next chapter will come out around thr 1st of july 2025. which is a very, very, long time. but i’ll be busy for a while. i hope you’ve enjoyed this thus far, and i hope to see you all soon?
come talk to me on tumblr, @heythererenyaeger !!! or leave comments, i'd love to hear your thoughts about literally anything ever. i absolutely love interacting with and receiving feedback from my readers. your kind words are one of the main reasons i like writing (aside from the fact that it's just a hobby of mine).
i really feel like there was more to say but i forgot, big time. will edit this if i remember :3
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