Chapter Text
“Oh, wait just a minute. I’ll go to the restroom.” Suguru sighs just so, placing the thin plastic bags - full, to the point of refusal, with weekly groceries - by the waiting hall chairs. Nanako nods in acknowledgement, not looking up from her phone - Mimiko looks at him rather warily, amber eyes big. “Shouldn’t we have… brought something? Like, chocolate. Dunno.”
Suguru blinks. Right. Hospital bedside manners.
“I’ll… see what I can find.” He forces an apologetic, awkward little smile and pats Mimiko on the head, before slinging his messenger bag more securely on his shoulder as he turns on his heel and hurries down the hall, making a beeline to the marked door at the end of the hallway.
Is he delaying the inevitable awkwardness of having to actually visit a sick acquaintance? Sure.
Does he really need to use the restroom? Yes. Yes he does.
Reaching the dark blue marble - artificial marble, that is - of the restroom sinks’ counter, Suguru sighs again, this time deeper from his lungs. His shoulders lift and sag with the motion, as he takes himself in the reflection. He looks… fine. He frowns, makes a face as he turns his head - as if checking that he can still change expressions. He can, all good.
The restroom door opens and closes, to allow a nurse to come in and up at the sink next to Suguru, looking at his own reflection - Suguru can notice the other is quite still, from the corner of his eye.
Quickly, Suguru washes his hands. He just feels the need to, feels the everyday grime cling to his skin enough to make him turn the faucet of the sink. With the hand still wet, he touches his face, then fixes the lapel of his jacket turned askew in the motions of walking, then runs a hand through his long black hair, as it goes well past his shoulders and nearly reaches his midriff. Suguru bites down on his bottom lip, frowning as he struggles to figure out how to wear it, black elastic on his wrist as his hair refuses to behave how he wants it.
Oh, right.
The nurse appears to be staring at him. Suguru turns his head, then maintains direct eye contact for several beats.
He’s got pretty eyes, this nurse. Blue. Like the sky.
White hair, too. Rather striking, must be a hassle to take care of.
“...Are you okay?” He offers, eyes big in concern as he leans a bit toward the other.
That seems to snap the nurse out of whatever reverie he was in, because he straightens his back almost imperceptibly, then steps away from the sink and reaches the restroom door in just a few steps - Suguru did notice the other was just slightly taller than him. His gaze follows the nurse without realizing, watches as he stops in the doorway, a pale, slim hand on the narrow side of the door to keep it in place for a moment.
“Wear it down,” the nurse finally speaks, nods his head a little - as if for encouragement. Though his expression remains frozen in this… unreadable look. “It suits you.”
Before Suguru can reply, the other disappears behind the closing door.
He turns to look at himself in the mirror, his reflection looking at him rather quizzed. His hand moves almost by itself, to fix a black strand on the side of his head. Yeah… it can work like this. Down.
With a slight exhale - something in the species of relief over no longer having to make a choice he’s ambivalent towards, maybe - he lowers his hand from his hair.
“Hey, dad?”
“Yes?” Suguru answers the call immediately - as he always does, holding his phone at an awkward angle between his ear and shoulder, his other hand keeping the front of his unzipped jeans up. Decency. He simply refuses to piss while answering a phone call.
“Um, Mimiko wanted me to call, in case you’ve come back and didn’t find us. We’re on the ground floor, at the vending machines. Mimi is browsing for something to bring that guy.”
“Oh, things at vending machines are way overpriced.” Suguru replies, shifting his hold on the phone. He makes a face when he feels - and hears - his stone ear gauge drag against the glass of the phone screen. “There’s usually corner stores around hospitals, maybe you two can go check? Oh, right, do you have enough money?”
“Dad, it’s just a box of candy at best…” Nanako tries to bite down a smile, probably gesturing to her sister. “Yeah, got some left in my account. We’ll go see about those shops.”
“Great,” Suguru smiles, genuine as ever when he talks to his children. “Keep me posted. Text me.”
“Sure. Will do. Love you, bye.”
“Love you,” Suguru hums back, making sure the call is finished before he does his business. One secondary wash of hands later, he’s out the restroom with the same speed in his step, drying his hands on his jeans as he moves.
As he approaches, he can’t help but find everything around him… quiet. Way too quiet. A phone starts ringing incessantly somewhere in the nearby distance, and doesn’t get answered for the full minute it takes Suguru to cross the hall and reach the door-
He all but drops his bag off his shoulder, phone and all.
“What the-”
Suguru freezes in place, maybe half a step away from the wide open door.
What is unfolded before his eyes is a bloodbath.
Everyone in the room is dead. Violently so. Gushing out blood like… like slaughtered livestock.
Including the professor Suguru was supposed to visit. He does drop his bag, intentionally, as he rushes to his bedside past the pools of blood on the vinyl flooring, catching a glimpse of the elderly professor trembling like a fish on land, a large laceration cutting across his neck with perfect precision and making blood spray and pour out on his skin, clothes, on Suguru’s hands as he instinctually moves them there, in hopes of maybe helping-
“No, no, NO! Someone- SOMEONE, HELP !”
In a waiting room at the police station, Suguru’s head is lowered slightly as he sits under the soft - but still grating - buzz of the fluorescent lights fixed on the off-white ceiling. Mimiko and Nanako are on each of his sides, each with at least one bag of groceries at their feet. Suguru spared them the worst of it, having yelled at them quite harshly to not walk in and just hurry and call the cops!, but he still felt sorry they had to see the blood on his hands, literally. Even though the girls assured him it’s okay.
“…Right, sorry for the wait. Geto Suguru, correct?” A police officer (rather nondescript, of average height, with messy brown hair and brown eyes) addresses them - well, addresses him, really - as he pushes the door to an office open.
Suguru’s eyes snap to the officer as he stands abruptly, his hands still shaking. “Er- yes. That’s me.”
The other nods once, curtly, gesturing to the door. “If you will.”
The black haired steps forward to follow the officer, only to sense his daughters stand up. “Do we come in too?” The question comes from Mimiko, both of the girls looking rather apprehensive to leave their father.
Another presence makes itself known, in the form of a tall, imposing man with blonde hair and sharp eyes, wearing a beige suit as he emerges from inside the office. “It’s best if you don’t. We’ll only keep him for a moment, regardless.”
With the door shut behind them, Suguru is pointed to another seat, which he takes without comment. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can’t help but feel… shuffled through the motions.
“So, Mr. Geto,” the officer starts, seated between Suguru and the blonde man. “This is Nanami Kento, acting head of the PSIA.” He says, glancing between the two. When he doesn’t get a reaction, he adds, “…er, Public Security Intelligence Agency, that is.”
Another beat of silence. The aforementioned Nanami Kento exhales, adjusting his tinted glasses. “Thank you, officer Ino.” He says, before looking up directly at Suguru. “Not the best way this night could’ve gone, I suppose.”
Suguru breathes out, like one would chuckle at a joke that isn’t meant to be that funny. “Um… am I in trouble?”
“No.” The blonde immediately replies, holding eye contact. “CCTV was fully functioning at the time of the incident, and you are seen entering the restroom before the attack and leaving it minutes after. The only surveillance camera that captured motion in the immediate area at the time of the attack shows a nurse hurrying in and out.” He sighs, leaning with his elbows on the edge of the desk. “You’re here because you were the only witness - besides the emergency services you dialed, according to our records. Good call, Mr. Geto.”
Suguru shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “I… no, it’s nothing, don’t- don’t thank me. I just didn’t want my girls to see… the, um. Scene.” He swallows with difficulty around nothing, looking down at the dried blood on his hands. “And… for whatever- incredibly stupid reason, I thought I could somehow help someone with a literal slit throat.”
The Intelligence agent is quiet, giving the impression that he listens carefully. Suguru supposes that’s a learned skill. “…You did the right thing.” The blonde finally says, looking Suguru in the eye. “Don’t beat yourself up. You already put yourself through witnessing a violent crime and handled it exemplarily.”
The black haired sighs, nodding as if in resignation. If the literal employee of the Intelligence doesn’t bring up contamination of evidence, neither will Suguru. “Then… what happens now?”
The blonde seems to scrutinize him for a long second, before straightening his back. “Did you encounter anyone suspicious before or after the incident? The CCTV has plenty of… blindspots.”
“Um… no, I would’ve remembered. Just the nursing staff. There weren’t even that many visitors.”
“Whew, I’m ex-hau-sted.” Nanako yawns, barely covering her mouth as she stretches, with Mimiko taking off her own shoes in the hallway next to her. “I’m totally skipping tomorrow.”
Suguru makes sure the door is locked, before walking into the kitchen to set the groceries on the table. “Fair enough,” he replies, stifling a yawn of his own as he starts sorting through the bags, slowly but with method. “Better call it a day. I’m making coffee for tomorrow and heading to bed too.”
“You’re going tomorrow?” Mimiko turns to look at him, having changed back into her house slippers. “Is that… ideal?”
“Are you, Mimi?” Suguru glances at her, the twinkle in his tired eyes knowing.
Mimiko tilts her head, “Well… yeah, I am. But… you were there. In the room. With the…”
“...Untimely deceased.” Nanako completes the sentence, shrugging when the other two pause to look at her. “What? It’s true. Maybe a bit insensitive, but true.”
Suguru shrugs, stepping over to the tiny step-in pantry to place the vegetables there. “Yeah… I’m going. I’d spiral, if I were to keep myself between four walls here.” He groans a little when he has to bend down to reach one of the lower shelves. Late twenties.
“I’m sure your professors would understand-” Nanako leans on the doorway into the kitchen, only to be cut off by Suguru raising his hand in a ‘stop’ motion.
“It’s final, girls. I’m going.” He says, looking at them. “I don’t want a break, and witnessing the murder of someone I barely knew doesn’t turn me into antique porcelain. Please.”
Silence settles between them for several moments, save for the crinkling of plastic packaging as Suguru continues to take the groceries out of the bags and put them in order. Mimiko speaks up first, though her voice is tiny.
“We’re just worried. Not… trying to coddle you, or anything.”
Suguru sighs softly, resting his hands against the kitchen table. “I know. I’m fine. Just tired. I promise.” He looks up with a weary smile, “No keeping secrets, remember? I just need to… sleep this off for a couple hours.”
“Okay,” Mimiko acquiesces, with Nanako following along as the former steps up to hug Suguru. The oldest immediately returns the embrace, a genuine, soft smile on his face as he does. On something gentler than autopilot, more aware than autopilot, his fingers massage against their scalps. They’re quite shorter than him still, but the girls still have to lower themselves a little to lay their heads on each of his shoulders.
“There you go. My sweet girls.” He murmurs, holding them close under the warm kitchen light. “I love you more than anything, my little princesses.”
“Dad, we’re both almost 22.” Nanako protests softly just for the sake of it, not really minding it at all. She doesn’t pull away from the hug, either.
“So?” Suguru chuckles, pressing quick little kisses to either of their foreheads. “You’ll be 44 and still my little princesses. Sorry, not sorry. That’s how it works.”
Nanako grumbles a little noise under her breath, but smiles despite it. Mimiko is smiling too, and she lifts her head just a little. “I, for one, don’t mind being a princess.”
*
“Morning,” Suguru whispers, sliding in one of the available seats as the lecture hall settles, their professor still setting up their course’s presentation.
“Morning to you too,” Shoko murmurs back, straightening up to reach for Suguru’s metal thermos. “Black tea?”
“Nope. Arabica. Got home past midnight last night.”
“Ooh.” Shoko hums, taking a sip, then another. “How young-adult of you.”
Suguru sighs and rolls his eyes in a quick gesture, shrugging off his zipped hoodie, grabbing a notebook from his bag and fishing out his pen from his pocket. “Ishikawa got killed.” He mutters, expression lowered but still enough to see Shoko widen her eyes from the corner of his vision.
“Oh, shit. Loan sharks?”
“What? No.” Suguru frowns, looking at her with a judgemental glare. “What shows have you been watching? I dunno. I just saw an elderly man get gutted like a fish.” He shrugs, like he’d shrug off the memory entirely if he tried hard enough. Shoko leans forward, eyes even bigger. She’s still sipping from his thermos. “You saw it happen?!”
“Uh-huh.” Suguru squeezes his eyes shut, as if only now wrestling with the realisation. The dark circles under his eyes tell a different story - seems like he’s had enough time to ruminate on it overnight. “Fuck me for trying to visit a sick person in the hospital. The girls were with me, too.”
“Did they-”
“No, of course not.” Suguru moves his head for punctuation, shooting her a look. She replies with a look of her own, like Nanako does. Well, obviously - since Shoko’s watched over the girls whenever there’d be scheduling conflicts she could help with. “...I yelled at them to stay at the end of the hall. Thank God, Nana called out for me first when they were coming towards me.”
Shoko exhales, force of habit shaping her lips to seem like she’s exhaling smoke. “...Whew.”
They both stare forward for a prolonged moment, the professor droning about whatever the course was about this time - too bad for his audience’s retention, it was both 8 in the morning and everyone present knew the course material would get posted on their university e-mails, if it hadn’t been already.
“...D’you know who did it?”
Suguru shoots her another judgemental look, to which she shakes her head, glaring back. “What? I’m curious now. You can’t just drop that on me and not expect follow-up questions.”
“Of course I don’t. Not even the cops know. That’s where I was last night, at the station. The girls refused to go home and tagged along with me all the way.” He says, snatching back his thermos to get a sip from it before Shoko empties it out. “Nana said she’s staying home today, Mimi’s got a seminar at 11.”
Shoko fiddles with her fountain pen between her fingers, blowing a quiet raspberry. “...Man, I wish interesting shit happened to me, too.”
“Psh, of course you’d find this ‘interesting’.” Suguru deadpans with a smirk, nudging her. “Freak.”
“Low blow, dude,” she pokes him back, making a face but ultimately failing to hide her own growing smirk. “Just ‘cause I’m a licensed autopsy technician…”
Suguru shakes his head, biting down his smile as he glances at the projection put on by the professor and pretends to scribble down something. Shoko glances over his shoulder at his notebook, just to be a nuisance. “Wow. Doctor’s writing.”
“Utahime is a saint for putting up with you.”
“I like to think we’re both putting equal amounts of effort in exercising sainthood with one another.”
“Sounds really healthy.” Suguru deadpans, taking the mini croissant paper bag she’s holding out for him.
“Mm,” Shoko muffles around a croissant, glancing at him before hurrying to swallow so she’s able to speak again. “Get a relationship for longer than 3 months and then you can criticize how me and my fianceé do things.” She gesticulates, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Sometimes you do have to fight it out in a parking lot. Metaphorically.”
*
A mop of fluffy white hair moves through the door, silently stepping inside his apartment with his arms fully loaded with designer shopping bags, clad in designer clothes and smelling of high-tier perfume. The figure hums to themselves as they close the door with their heel, a glimpse of satisfaction shining across their face as the door lock clicks into place without them having to turn around and lock the door themselves.
As they step through the hallway and into the apartment proper, the figure hears a sound from the living room-slash-kitchen, so they drop the bags near their king-sized bed and follow the noise, with the smoothness of a white panther.
“...Oh. You’re here.” They pause in the middle of the living room area, one hand on their hip and the other fixing the angle of the lollipop in their mouth.
“Yes, I am. Where have you been?” Their handler walks into view, setting down on the counter the bottle he’d fished out of the mini fridge. “Catch.”
The white-haired extends their hand and catches the object with ease, bringing it to eye level. A beige envelope, quite bulky. They open the unglued side, to confirm the presence of at least five thick stacks of cash. “A bonus?”
“Mhm. They’re really happy with your work.” The other is rather dismissive, as he leans against the counter. “So, Satoru. Again. Where’ve you been?”
“Re-lax,” Satoru drawls the last syllable, tilting his head at a dramatic angle. “I was out shopping. If that’s so wrong.” He scoffs, turning on his heel and letting himself fall on the brown leather sofa. Tilting his head, he gesticulates with his lollipop. “Who pissed in your cereal? The job’s done, you should be happy. If they’re happy with me, they’re happy with you, too. No?”
His handler shoots him a deadpan look, walking forward to block Satoru’s view of the TV on the extended-width fireplace mantle that morphs into a high table. “We agreed on something, Satoru.”
The white haired rolls his eyes like his soul just left his body from the sheer boredom factor of what the other just said. “Here we go.”
“We agreed that the Morioka job would be meant to look like suicide.”
“It didn’t?” Satoru tilts his head, propping it in his palm as he moves to lay on his side.
“So he slit his own throat?”
Satoru shrugs, poker-faced. “It happens.”
“And killed four more people?” His handler raises an eyebrow, arms crossed to his chest.
“Slip of the hand?” Satoru offers helpfully, adjusting his chin in his own palm.
The other makes a noise, gripping the bridge of his nose - half a grunt, half a sigh.
Satoru sits up on the sofa, huffing. “Look- what’s done is done, right? Just… give me another job. They want quiet? Then I’ll do this one quiet, I promise.”
“No.” His handler cuts him short, with finality. “You’re taking a break.”
Satoru narrows his eyes, quickly standing up. “No, I’m not. Give me a different job. I’ll do it textbook.”
“I want you to get evaluated again.” The other says instead, turning to walk to the door. “Next week. It’s arranged.”
“Ugh- are you kidding?! Come on!” Satoru shouts after him, having since discarded the lollipop as he quickly walks down the hall to catch up on the other. “Sukuna!”
The other turns around, keeping a literal arm’s length between them, his palm flat on Satoru’s chest. “It’s for your own benefit. Like it or not, when you fuck up, they get antsy. You get evaluated, they calm down again. They calm down again, you’re assigned another job. Clear?”
Satoru frowns, obviously irritated. “Bullshit! How did I even fuck up? The guy’s dead. Just because I also got the nurs-”
Sukuna bites down on the inside of his own cheek, like a beast of prey considering whether or not to strike. “You left a witness behind.” He replies, voice lowered. A warning.
“Huh? No, I didn’t.” Satoru’s eyes widen, because he knows he didn’t. And Sukuna wouldn’t joke about it. Not like this, not right now. “That’s what this whole thing is about. I killed four more people because they were witnesses-”
“You missed one.” Sukuna grits out, procuring a folded, color photocopy of a student ID from one of his coat pockets. He unfolds it without care for the copy ripping or tearing, then holds it up to Satoru’s eye level. “Him. Familiar?”
Satoru almost steps back at Sukuna’s gesture, the handler’s hand coming so close to his face. Almost, because he doesn’t. Instead, he all but stares holes into the photo of the purple-eyed, black-long-haired man held up to him.
Shit.
“No. I didn’t see him.” He says, shifting his gaze as he speaks to hold eye contact with Sukuna.
The handler scoffs, lowering his hand before folding the paper and shoving it back in his pocket, not moving his eyes from Satoru’s. “Well, he saw you.”
Satoru shrugs, making a face. “Okay, so? I’ll just kill him. Done. He’s no longer a witness.”
“No. Do not kill him.” Sukuna emphasizes, all but towering over Satoru. “Lay. Low. Wait until after the evaluation. I’ll get you a job once you’re cleared, okay? I will. Just… ugh, think of it as days off or something, will you? Go shopping, go clubbing, whatever it is you do.”
“Wh-”
“Do not go back to Morioka.” Sukuna warns Satoru, narrowing his eyes when Satoru dodges the handler’s hand reaching for his shoulder. “Leave the guy alone. He’s not on their lists.”
“All the better. He’s a nobody.” Satoru insists too, frowning. “Why-”
“Satoru.” Sukuna reaches his wit’s end, because his voice goes up in volume and down in tone. “He has children. He has friends. He’s the only remaining witness of a mass murder. Japanese Intelligence talked to him, the night of. People will look for him. And if you keep being this sloppy, they’ll discard you like a used up rag.”
*
With the dim, soft, warm light of the fancy little bedside lamp on his nightstand to his left, Satoru is in a loose shirt and boxers, lying on his back in the soft bedding, blankets - plural - and duvet of his bed. His laptop is open in his lap, open on a tab of the secure browser him and his coworkers use for… reconnaissance. The folded paper he’d fished out of Sukuna’s pocket as he insisted to hug him goodbye, along with a postcard from Berlin, are laid out next to him on the silk duvet.
Iwate Prefectural University
Miyako Junior College
Morioka, Iwate, Japan
Geto Suguru
Department of Business Management and Information Sciences
STUDENT ID
“...Nice hair,” Satoru murmurs to himself, a certain someone’s @getonako77 Instagram account open on his screen. He’s zoomed in on one particular photo posted a couple months earlier, captioned “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BEST SISTER EVER!!!!! @getomiko77” with an additional array of repeated emojis. The image had been taken with the timer setting, showing four figures - three women and a man - celebrating, as the caption truthfully put it, a birthday party.
The man?
Suguru Geto, of course. Tanned skin, toned frame, foxy purple eyes, black hair going well past his shoulders, earlobes stretched about a centimeter or two in diameter - that’s him. Satoru moves the zoom over to the woman with a hand on his shoulder, taking in her features. Brown hair, brown eyes, dark circles under said brown eyes. Plain blue jeans and a gray turtleneck. Simple, but cute. Whatever was beginning to form in his chest is quickly dissipated as he takes a proper look at her nails (and sees the delicate silver ring on her finger, quickly swiping over to confirm the lack of a matching ring on Suguru’s own finger).
Yeah, she’s alright. Moving on.
Sliding the zoomed-in section to the side, the other girls in frame are younger than the woman. One of them has light brown hair and is wearing gyaru-esque white leg warmers over black leggings and a loose sweater-dress, along with a cute pink manicure to match. Satoru likes her. She’s cute and has good taste. The other girl is lifted in Suguru’s arms, cheering along with the others - her hair is darker, but Satoru can see the similarity between her and her sister. She’s in a light blue short-sleeve and a deeper blue knitted cardigan to match along with an off-white long skirt and what appears to be fluffy pink house slippers, both of her hands forming peace signs.
They’re all so cheerful, so bright and happy. Satoru surprises himself smiling at the photo.
He tries checking the likes on the post (only to be confronted with a seemingly endless array of aesthetic, cutesy, faceless accounts with kaomojis and the like in their name), scrolling through @getonako77’s followers and following lists, anything to find something to connect even closer to this Suguru Geto. Unfortunately for his efforts, @getomiko77’s account is private, making her own - significantly shorter - list of followers inaccessible. But the cat set as her profile picture is adorable. Her sister might as well have her social security number and address in her bio - Satoru tsks. These aspiring influencers…
“You’re my age.” Satoru murmurs to himself, tapping away at his laptop’s keyboard. “So why are you so… non-present online…?” He huffs almost silently, bookmarking the birthday post before exiting out the desktop browser interface of Instagram.
He huffs out a breath, grabbing the paper and holding it up in the air. “I’ll find you.”