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“I don’t understand,” Satoru whines, chasing after Suguru as he flees the bedroom they shared last night.
Tightening the drawstring on his pants, he rebuffs, “I don’t understand what you don’t understand.”
“What I don’t understand is—”
“Let me rephrase,” he snaps, holding his hand over Satoru’s face. “I don’t understand why you don’t understand.”
“So I’m a little slow on the uptake, so what?” Satoru throws up his hands, “I can’t be perfect all the time. We’re here now, aren’t we?”
“We’re not,” he insists. “There were extenuating circumstances. It’s messing with your head.”
“What, so just because I didn’t have some big angst fest, I can’t be sure?”
“You’re not even into men, Satoru.”
“Why do I have to be into men? I just like you.” He hopes, “If I figure out a label for it, will that make you feel better?”
“That’s not the issue. And, yes, there is an issue.” Suguru stops and makes significant eye contact with him over his shoulder. His distractingly bare shoulder. He’s wearing an old beater; one good tug and the fraying tank top would come to pieces in his hands. “We were drunk, Satoru.”
Getting a hold of himself, he shouts, “Because somebody needed liquid courage, apparently!”
“It’s not even about—look,” he sighs, turning around to face him fully. “It doesn’t count. It doesn’t count,” he repeats simply. “Those are the rules.”
Satoru gapes. “Rules? Rules, Suguru? Are you serious?”
“Yes! That’s common sense!” He turns on his heel and continues to run away, as if Satoru could let it be so easy. “Everybody knows that drunken mistakes can’t be held against you once you’re sober.”
He gasps, “Mistakes?!”
“We were drunk, Satoru. For fuck’s sake, you’re the lightweight!”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?” And Satoru doesn’t even follow his logic because by the same rules, Suguru with his great tolerance was well in control of his facilities last night. Which means he— “Oh, fuck you!”
Reflexively, he returns, “Fuck you!”
“You could,” he admits, the gears flipping in his mind quickly enough to give even himself whiplash. “You really, really could.”
Suguru’s face turns red, the whites of his eyes on full display. “Sato—”
“Within an inch of my life,” he continues. Maybe this will get Suguru to actually hear him out. “We’re gonna take turns, but you have to go first. I had a dream about it, you know.”
The kitchen erupts in groans. Riko’s voice rises above the din to scold, “TMI, Satoru.”
“Breakfast will be done in a few,” Choso offers. He’s unfazed—he spends all his time with Tsukumo Yuki, so that’s to be expected. “If you’re hungry.”
Nanami snaps, “Where are your pants?”
Okay, so, maybe Satoru forgot that there were other people here. He invited all their friends to one of his family’s villas for a long weekend, partying like they’re all still teenagers sneaking around behind their parents’ backs. It’s been really fun—too fun, maybe, because everyone is in the kitchen looking only a step above death.
Not Nanamin, though. He’s very good about keeping a one-to-one ratio of water to alcoholic drinks. As usual, that means he’s in charge of helping the rest of them pull their lives together the morning after. Satoru usually helps since he isn’t much of a drinker, but there were… extenuating circumstances last night, to use stupid Suguru’s stupider words.
“Someone’s grouchy,” Satoru sniffs, and he’s only projecting the tiniest bit. “You got anything for that?”
Haibara passes him a glass of something thick and red. Great, so they went with that tomato juice smoothie bullshit. Satoru sighs but dutifully sips it, promptly gags, then presses the mostly full glass into Suguru’s hands. That takes care of Suguru’s “too drunk” excuse; their hangovers are now cured.
Appearing out of nowhere, Yuki slaps both of their butts. “Congrats on the boyfriend shirt, babe!”
“Thank you!” Satoru leans heavily into her side, taking the slice of watermelon from her hand before she can bite into it. He forestalls her ire by complaining, “But this guy doesn’t wanna be my boyfriend. He wants to pine like a fuckin’ loser.”
“Aww, poor kids,” Yuki consoles as predicted. She also takes the watermelon back, but it is hers, technically, and Satoru did get a bite out of it first. “Choso, baby, c’mere. My juniors are depressing me.”
He foists breakfast responsibilities onto Haibara who accepts the apron like a man being knighted. Kissing Yuki’s cheek while holding her from behind, Choso says, “You’ve been out of school for a decade. Stop calling everyone your junior.”
Yuki keeps one arm around Satoru’s shoulders as she bickers with her boyfriend about their ages and the appropriate time to stop referring to underclassmen as such. Satoru ignores them.
Suguru is staring absently into space, so Satoru pokes his cheek and steals his attention. “Do I really have to pine? How long? I don’t wanna. It’s only been an hour and it already sucks. Suguru, can there be, like, a wet dream quota or something instead? Gimme a number. I’m very good at taking naps!”
He massages his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “I know you weren’t raised among real people, but even you should know that we frown upon the unprompted sharing of teenage wet dreams.”
“Who said they were teenage dreams?” If Suguru thinks a sense of shame will shut Satoru up, he’s sorely mistaken. He’s already out here in his underwear. “I was referring to last night.”
“This isn’t working.” Suguru leaves the kitchen, but the villa has a fairly open floor plan, so he can’t escape Satoru no matter how annoyedly he throws himself down onto the couch. “Someone else try reasoning with him.”
“That’s my line,” Satoru snaps. If Suguru won’t listen to him, maybe their friends can help make sense of this. “You guys see him, right? I asked Suguru what the issue is, but all he said was that it’s not that he doesn’t wanna date me.”
Choso and Yuki frown in sync. “What kinda sense does that make?”
“None!” Satoru throws up his hands, “I don’t get it!”
The blanket blob on the loveseat across from Suguru concurs, “I’m with you, Satoru. Just take the volume down a bit.”
“Shoko,” Suguru groans, “you’re better than this.”
“Am I, though?”
“Nanami?” He snorts into his glass. “Utahime,” Suguru tries next, but the woman just tucks in next to Shoko on the sofa, trying to share the blanket. “Yuki!” Bold, since she’s literally standing at Satoru’s side. “Yu-kun, come on, someone has to understand—”
“Desperate isn’t a good look on you, Suguru. Well,” Satoru stops to consider. “Not like this at least. I’m open to other versions, I think.”
“Are you listening to him?” Suguru pulls on his own hair. “You can’t all agree with him.”
“The answer is yes, on both counts. Unfortunately.” Utahime, Satoru’s greatest enemy, comes to his aid. “I don’t agree with anything he said, per se, but the main idea is spot on.”
“That being, of course,” Shoko clarifies, “that you two should fuck.”
“Oh, for sure,” Riko nods. “Been taking bets for years about how long it would take, actually.”
“Fuck and do other monogamous, couple things, too,” Haibara adds. “Pancakes are done!”
Yuki winks, “Maybe the occasional poly thing if you’re both interested.”
“She’s still drunk,” Choso rolls his eyes, “so don’t take her too seriously. I’ll make you a plate, Yuki.”
“There’s more fruit keeping cool in the fridge,” Nanami points. “We all support you, Getou and Gojo.”
“Mostly because it should be less painful for the rest of us when you finally make things official,” Utahime shrugs. She pulls Shoko up with her when she moves toward breakfast.
Haibara points a spatula between Satoru and Suguru, promising, “But also because we love you both and we want the best for you!”
“And the best for you is each other,” Shoko clarifies for Suguru’s benefit, grabbing a coffee mug.
“And not just because you’re the only people who can stand each other,” Riko snorts.
“You hear that? They said we’re made for each other,” Satoru swoons.
Suguru jumps up to his feet and yells, “It was one kiss and we were drunk!”
Satoru snaps, too, marching up to the couch. “You’re the one who spilled your guts about how you’re in love with me but I’m so painfully straight—”
“I can’t believe he remembers that. It must have been really important to him, huh, Suguru?”
“—and I told you like I’m telling you now, again, that it’s fine if it’s you!”
“That’s not the same thing, Satoru!”
“It could be!”
“I don’t want your pity,” Suguru groans. The look in his eyes implies Satoru should be grateful for the massive piece of furniture between them, and Satoru can’t imagine anything further from the truth. “You know me better than that.”
Satoru squints. Is this fear? Is Suguru afraid of—what, rejection? At this point? But he isn’t the type to be so timid, so that’s what it has to be, right?
Okay. Okay, Satoru can work with this. He’ll just be honest.
“Suguru,” he smiles, “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with you one way or another. I decided so years ago, way before anything more was ever even on the table. I already love you.”
He shakes his head. “Not like that, no, you don’t.”
His smile collapses into a pout. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me, but at least give me half a chance to prove it before you just unilaterally decide we’d never make it!”
Suguru doesn’t have a rapidfire response to that. Hell, maybe Satoru is finally getting through to him, if even just a little bit. The room goes quiet except for their breathing, the pair searching each other’s eyes.
After the night they had, Satoru can’t understand why things are stalling now of all times. Yeah, they played a drinking game and ingested more alcohol than they should have, but Satoru remembers very clearly the press of Suguru’s mouth against his own. He remembers chasing after his lips when he pulled back, remembers his surprised laugh and eager hands. Riko collected them from the closet—their minutes were up, time to go back to the game. Spin the bottle truth or dare, that’s what they had been playing. It was a dare. It was going to be so much more. Suguru got them out of the party, told everybody they’d had enough and were going to sleep now.
The nerd meant it literally, too. The only concession he made to Satoru’s enthusiasm was that they could share the bed. And also that they could hold onto each other under one shared blanket. And also he let him wear his sweater. And also he gave him a couple of chaste goodnight kisses. But other than that, Suguru was totally unfun and proper.
Satoru assumed they’d talk (kiss) about it some more in the morning, and he woke up very excited to do so. On the other hand, Suguru woke up very excited to be a reneging asshole.
“For what it’s worth,” Riko interjects through a mouthful of food, “we agree.”
Yuki pumps her fist. “Go for it, Getou!”
“Mind your own business,” he snaps, but it’s not even half as waspish as he’s been so far.
“We would love to,” Nanami drawls, “but you came to us.”
He can’t say anything to that, so Suguru just grumbles, “Why are you all on his side?”
“Aside from the fact that we’re made for each other,” Satoru sunnily answers, “I think our friends are showing their appreciation for the lovely vacation I treated us to here in this picturesque coastal villa.”
“It’s because you talk like that that nobody likes you,” Utahime sneers.
“No thanks necessary, of course,” he continues, ignoring her. “I’m trying to bankrupt at least one of the family’s offshore accounts by the time I turn forty. We should do this again.”
“I vote that we come out here for all of you and Suguru’s anniversaries.”
“Another banger of an idea from my bestest bro, Ieiri Shoko,” Satoru praises. He turns to Suguru and asks, “On the topic of banging, do you think the soundpro—”
“Invest in it now,” Riko suggests, “just in case. Better safe than sorry.”
“Which anniversaries would you do?” Haibara wonders.
Satoru leans against the back of the couch, musing, “Definitely—”
Suguru’s hand snakes around and covers his mouth, cutting him off. “Don’t I get any say in this?”
“No.” Shoko aims a thumbs down at him, booing. “You make bad decisions.”
“You always let him get his way,” Choso shrugs. “It’s too late for either of you to fix that now.”
Satoru’s eyes light up with another great idea. He frees himself of Suguru’s hold in order to face him properly. “Let’s play gay chicken.”
“No,” he recoils. “Absolutely not.”
“Then I win,” he smirks.
“No,” Suguru repeats, but there’s uncertainty in his voice. “That feels worse.”
“Either we play gay chicken now, or you forfeit and I win the bet.”
“Bet? What bet?”
“The bet that gives me the right, as the winner, to decide that we’re dating for real now.”
“That’s bullshit,” Suguru accuses.
“Then call me on it,” Satoru shrugs. He grabs a barstool from the kitchen, collecting cushions and pillows off the couch to stack on top of it. “I’m gonna jump,” he announces, climbing his precarious structure. “If you don’t catch me, then I’ll fall on my face and that’ll be that.”
“You’re talking metaphorically, right?” It’ll be fine; Suguru did hurdles in high school and college, he can jump over the couch between them very easily. “Hey, wai—hey! Satoru! That’s dangerous, don’t—”
Suguru catches him—of course he catches him—and Satoru wraps his legs around his waist, his hands in his long hair pulling just enough to fix the angle before their mouths crash into each other. They don’t pay the rest any mind, trying not to run out of breath too quickly.
“Fuck, that kinda scared me.”
“You don’t think that’s what he thinks gay chicken is, do you?”
“I think they’re going to give us indigestion.”
Suguru does something absolutely genius with his tongue and it steals all the air from Satoru’s lungs. Looks like he hasn’t had enough make out sessions to keep up yet. Suguru is this amazing on autopilot; it’ll be a sight to see what he’s like when he’s being intentional about taking Satoru apart and putting him back together again.
Delighted, he pulls back to laugh. “This is my best idea ever!”
As soon as he regains his wits, Suguru throws Satoru onto the couch so harshly that he bounces. His momentum nearly takes him to the floor, yet Suguru doesn’t help him. He crosses his arms and accuses, “You are incredibly persistent.”
“When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound like a compliment.” Not one to be deterred, Satoru climbs up onto his knees and leans against the back cushions, smiling up at Suguru. “Luckily, I already know you like everything about me, even the fact that I’m ‘emotionally inept’ and annoying.”
“Don’t put that in air quotes, it’s accurate. You’re also reckless,” he points over his shoulder at the remnants of Satoru’s high chair stunt, “and selfish,” he gestures between them, “and—”
“Suguru.” This is the last card in Satoru’s hand. “Break up with me.”
“What?” Suguru looks worriedly over his person, “Did you hit your head too hard? God, did I rattle your brain? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You don’t wanna date me,” he says, struggling not to slip into a dejected pout, “so break up with me.”
“We’re not even together,” he sputters. “I can’t—”
“If you don’t wanna date me,” he repeats, “then you have to break up with me.” Suguru stares. Satoru meets his gaze head on. “I’m not gonna break up with you, so you have to break up with me.”
“What are you—?”
“Just say it,” he sighs. “Say that you’re breaking up with me, if that’s really what you want.”
“Stop,” Suguru commands. “Stop saying that.”
His voice is absolutely glacial, but Satoru won’t let that distract him. “Then do it. Choose. It shouldn’t be too hard. I mean—”
“Satoru,” Suguru starts.
“—you’ve been fighting me all day. If you don’t wanna date me, then break up with—”
“Satoru!”
He yells right back, “Suguru!”
Neither of them say anything else for a long moment, glaring at each other.
Suguru is the worst. He’s the only person who could ever get Satoru to feel this way, to act like this. And what does he do? Nothing! Satoru loses the ability to keep his face neutral and expressionless, his lips pursed in a tight line.
Excessive selflessness is a sin in and of itself. Suguru doesn’t ever just say what he wants. It’s not that I don’t want to date you. That tongue twister doesn’t mean a damn thing! Satoru wants to know what he wants—no, he wants to be what Suguru wants. He wants him to admit that he already is. He wants him to take what is willingly offered. He wants—
“You don’t take anything seriously,” Suguru charges softly. “I can’t do this if it’s just another one of your games, Satoru.”
His breath catches in his throat, daring to hope. “It’s not. It’s not a game. I love you.”
After a moment filled with bated breath, Suguru begins to shuffle closer. “If we’re doing this—”
He smiles so wide, his face hurts. “We’re doing this.”
“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
Satoru doesn’t really get what he means, but he agrees, “Of course! Have I ever done you wrong?”
Suguru rolls his eyes, pivoting slightly on his feet as if to—fail to—hide the pink in his cheeks. “You,” he stops and frowns. “Where’d everybody go?”
Reluctantly, Satoru widens his field of vision to include the rest of the room around them. Huh. No one’s here. There’s still food out for them and the dishwasher is running a cycle, but no one else is here. Probably they should have noticed when their friends left but—
“Who cares?” Satoru tugs Suguru closer by his shirt and, for the first time today, that stubborn bastard gives in without any further fight. “Kiss me again.”
“Bossy,” he says, only offering a singular chaste, teasing kiss. Too brief. It’s mean.
Satoru holds him still, pressed nose to nose. “I’m teaching you how to take what you want. We’ll work on using your words later.”
“How kind of you.” Suguru scoffs, but his eyes are bright and his lips can’t help but twitch into a smile.
“In exchange, you gotta teach me everything you like.”
Suguru’s eyes soften, tracing the lines of Satoru’s face with his hands. “That’ll take a while, you know.”
A lifetime, if Satoru’s lucky. “I’m betting on it.”