Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Satoru doesn’t get nervous.

Logically speaking, there’s no reason to be nervous. He’s the best there is. His characterization of the role is perfect—and that’s the best director saying so, which counts for a hell of a lot.

It’s just that Suguru’s been practicing for a while. He’s going to be flawless at the table read in the morning, there’s no doubt about that.

Satoru is almost ninety-nine percent sure that he will be too.

But the one percent—

Satoru just doesn’t want to make a dumb mistake that might potentially lead Suguru to the conclusion that he is not, in fact, the best possible option for a co-star. 

His phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Suguru says. His voice is low, and a little sleepy. Satoru can hear the smooth curve of his smile from across the line. “I was just wondering if you wanted to work on the pacing of our opening correspondence. I know it’s the kind of thing we’d normally do at the read, but I think it’d be nice if we prepared well so the rookies can see what it’s like. And then we can focus more on what they need.”

It’s a very sweet, thoughtful gesture.

It is also at least half bullshit.

Suguru probably heard all the crap inside Satoru’s head from at least half a dozen blocks away, and just—called him. Because he has this knack for knowing exactly what Satoru needs. It’s a little irritating, because Satoru can’t hope to compare, at least in that one aspect of constant, enduring, all-encompassing compassion—but Suguru has yet to hold it against him.

“You’re such a nice mentor,” he coos. “I can’t believe you’ve spent all this time playing all these grumpy, depressed action heroes. This movie is the best thing you’ve ever done for your image, you know that?”

“It’s called range,” Suguru says. “Not that you would know, just making the same animated movie ten different ways.”

Satoru laughs. “I wouldn’t expect someone with your intellectual setbacks to understand the complexities, Suguru. Don’t worry, I don’t hold it against you. That’s just the kind of charitable person I am!”

“You’re intolerable,” Suguru says—but Satoru knows what he sounds like when he’s grinning like a loon, so it’s very unserious. “So. You want to practice or what?”

“Well, if you think you need it,” Satoru says—and he can hear the dull sound of Suguru exhaling through his nose.

“Start from ‘my father is getting married again’?”

“That’s fine.” Satoru clears his throat and takes a moment to get into the headspace. Arrogant bigshot on the cusp of realizing he’s found the best thing he’s ever going to have in his life. “My father’s getting married again. For five years, he’s been married to a woman named…”

It doesn’t take them too long to get through the whole thing, tweak it a bit, and go through it again.

In the end, Satoru ends up sleeping well.

“Tall, skim caramel macchiato.”

Satoru blinks at the offered coffee. “Aww, that’s so cute, you’re on theme—wait, did you only get it for me?”

“I got one of the boxes for everyone else, so they can make their own,” Suguru says, looking away. “And I put some pastries on your card so you can tell everyone what a kind, giving director you are.”

“But I’m the only one with a caramel macchiato,” Satoru hums, satisfied. 

Maybe it’s juvenile, but he gets kind of annoyed when Suguru treats everyone the way he treats Satoru. What the hell is the point of being best friends, if everyone else is also a recipient of his kindness and attention? Get in line!

“Oh my god,” Suguru mumbles, incredulous. “Yes, you’re the only one.” He reaches for the door. “Remember. Nice director.”

“You know this isn’t my first time directing, right? There were kids in Ponyo, and we got along just fine!”

“They’ll probably come out with a memoir in twenty years about how you traumatized them for life.”

“You’re wishing trauma on a nine-year-old? What kind of low-life—”

“You’re the low-life, you—”

The door opens from the other side. Nanami stares at them both, dead-eyed. “The walls in this building are thin,” he says. “Thank you for the refreshments, Geto.”

Suguru snorts. “No problem.”

Nanami steps aside to let them both in and Satoru’s mouth curls up, unconsciously. 

Yuuji’s making a cup of coffee. He pours a ridiculous amount of both milk and sugar into it, and Satoru assumes it’s for himself, until he gives it to severely lactose-intolerant Megumi—who takes it without complaint.

Huh. He wants to be friends with Yuuji that badly. It’s cute. Satoru resolves to make fun of him for it later.

Nobara picks out three egg tarts and puts them on three separate plates. One in front of Yuuji, one in front of Megumi, and one for herself. The three of them have become fast friends. It reminds Satoru of him, Suguru, and Shoko, back in film school.

The twins are chatting with Sukuna, which is mildly worrying—but Sukuna is behaving, calmly talking basketball stats with them. Apparently, they’re fans.

Satoru looks around. “So we’re just missing—” 

Yuta runs in, chest heaving. “Hey everyone, so sorry I’m late!” He winces. “If anyone has tips for getting over jetlag, they would be much appreciated.”

“Overcome it,” Nanami says dryly.

“It’s not that easy,” Satoru chides. “Just force yourself to stay up, that’ll fix it.”

Nanami side-eyes him. “How is that different from what I—”

“Oh, I know! You can hang out with me for the rest of today, I’ll keep you awake!”

“If you don’t have anything else going on, I might take you up on that,” Yuta says, but he’s smiling. 

Satoru’s missed him. There was a moment in time when they spent most of their time together, learning and teaching in equal measure. 

A few months ago, Yuta got a good deal directing a documentary on the wildlife in the African Savannah for National Geographic—which is great for him as a burgeoning director, and great for Satoru, because now everyone can see what a great teacher he is—but it’s been odd, going from one hundred percent quality time to zero.

“You’re sure you haven’t forgotten how to act?” He jokes as they all take their seats.

Yuta blanches. “I hope not.”

“I’m kidding!”

“It’s really not obvious when you do that,” Yuta says good-naturedly. 

“Sure it is,” Suguru says. “He’s always kidding. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time. Because he’s a fucking loser.”

“You’re so obsessed with me, Suguru,” Satoru says, clicking his tongue. “Do you think you can spare a minute to read through the script?”

Suguru shoots him a placid yet deadly glare that reads, Do not make me beat the shit out of you in front of all these kids.

“Kidding!” Satoru insists, for the second time in as many minutes. “Yeesh! Alright everyone, here’s how this is going to go. We’re going to read through the whole thing once, just to get an idea of how everything works together. I’ll probably interrupt you if I think there’s something we can change. You’re all welcome to make your own suggestions as well. Everything clear? Okay! Nanami, start us off!”

Nanami nods, clears his throat, and begins. “Amazing. This is amazing! Listen to this, the entire workforce of Okinawa had solitaire removed from computers because they hadn’t done any work in six weeks.”

Suguru drops his head on his cheek, feigning polite disinterest. “That’s so sad…”

“Do you know what this is?” It’s always funny, seeing Nanami Kento shed his reserved coat and settle into the mannerisms of a much more excitable character. “What we’re seeing here is the end of civilization as we know it!”

The table read goes well. It takes a few hours to go through the whole thing, beat-by-beat, and take account of all additions and deletions. Satoru always has everyone write down anything they’ve noticed in case they don’t feel like just saying it—going over the notes in tandem with the written script helps him make it better.

Usually, he goes over the notes by himself. Sometimes Shoko, if something’s stumping him.

But Suguru’s finally agreed to do business with him, which means Satoru is well within his rights to show up on his doorstep at nine p.m. with soup dumplings, paper copies, and an entire bucket of glitter pens, scented highlighters, sticky notes, and Suguru-themed stickers he bought off Etsy.

“What the hell is this?” Suguru asks flatly, pulling out a whole sheet of stickers. “Are you—where did you even get these? Why did you even—why would you bring—”

“I wanted to be thorough,” Satoru insists.

Suguru deftly takes the bags of dumplings from him and whacks the back of his head. It’s a small price to pay for his help, though, so Satoru takes it with minimal cursing.

They settle in at Suguru’s kitchen table, shins knocking together beneath the table. 

“Do you have to stretch your legs out all the way?”

“Why do you act like the problem is me and not your ridiculously small table?”

“If you don’t like my table you can work on the floor.”

“If you don’t like me accidentally kicking you maybe you should work on the floor.”

They both stay at the table.

“Hey,” Satoru says, flipping to the end of the script. “There’s one bit that’s annoying me—between where Sakurai is talking about the store closing and Fox shows up to his house when he’s sick. Don’t you think it’s too sudden?”

 “I get what you mean,” Suguru says, mouth turned down. “It seemed fine when I was first reading it, but when I actually heard the scenes back to back…”

They’re too different in tone, is the thing.

Sakurai’s store has just been closed, not out of his own volition, but because of Fox's unopposable mammoth of a chain bookstore. His last line in the email is “I feel as if a part of me has died and my mother has died all over again.”

And then a straight cut to Fox ringing the doorbell to Sakura’s apartment? It just doesn’t work.

“I need a buffer,” Satoru says, chewing on a pen. “I just don’t know what. Nothing funny, but nothing sad either. Just…”

“A small conversation,” Suguru says. “Sakurai’s sick, so it’ll have to be Fox talking to someone… maybe his best friend?”

“Maybe,” Satoru says. “But it has to signify… you know, a turning point. Because from here on out, they’re friends in real life, too.”

Suguru’s eyes light up. “Bring in his father.”

“What?”

“Fox's first line in the film mentions his father. How, you know, he’s everything Fox doesn’t want to be—just remarrying constantly, allergic to real, substantial relationships. Bring in a conversation with his father. His father talking about relationships like they’re just cheap, fun distractions, and Fox is just… equal parts disgusted and bemused.” 

His cheeks flush. Just barely. Satoru still sees it. “Because he can’t imagine not loving someone the way he loves Sakurai. He can’t imagine how you can go through life, and not look for that person, and not spend every minute trying to keep them.”

Satoru stares at him, gobsmacked.

Suguru looks a little self-conscious, then. “What?”

“...This is why you’re the best actor in the world.”

“What?”

“This,” Satoru says, gesturing at nothing. At everything, at Suguru. “You just—you have this insane fucking ability to see the heart of a character and bring it to light. I didn’t even know—I wrote the film and I didn’t even see that.”

“You would have gotten there,” Suguru says, shrugging. He’s delightfully embarrassed. Suguru’s perfectly fine under biting insults, but pay him a genuine compliment and he turns the colour of an heirloom tomato.

“I really, really wouldn’t have,” Satoru says, because it’s Suguru, and he can be honest with him. “Thanks, Suguru. I mean it.”

“No problem,” Suguru says, still red. “Just write it in.”

Satoru does—they do it together, really, speaking the lines out to each other, adjusting them slightly—and by the end they have it. They have the final script.

Suguru sucks in his breath.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Suguru says. “Just thinking about what Shoko and Nishimiya are going to say when we tell them we have to cast one more character.”

He looks at Satoru, mouth struggling—and they both burst out laughing.

Shoko takes the notice with as much grace and forgiveness as she can muster.

Which is to say, absolutely none.

“Are you fucking with me?” She demands, flicking Satoru in the forehead. When Suguru laughs, she flicks him too. “What do you think we’re doing here? Nishimiya’s already moved on to another project, we’ve been done with casting for weeks now, why the hell—”

“I’m sorry,” Satoru says, gasping with laughter. “I’m sorry, believe me, we are both so sorry—”

“Don’t include me in your poor planning—”

“You were the one who suggested—”

“Do you think I have nothing better to do than just find some old-ass man who has nothing better to do with his time than be in your shitty little—”

“Hey!” Suguru says sharply. “It’s not shitty.”

Satoru side-eyes him, smiling. Then quickly looks back at Shoko, because it’s really best not to test her patience when she’s like this. “He’s only in one scene, allll the way at the end—and we won’t get around to filming that for a while, so you do have some time…”

“I hope I’m name-dropped in your suicide note,” Shoko says sullenly, storming away to her office, presumably to make some calls.

Suguru yawns. 

Fight Club is something he spends the whole week looking forward to, but after the whirlwind that constitutes the beginning of a new film, all he really wants to do is go to sleep.

They haven’t even started filming yet. It’s not a physically demanding role, at least, so at least he doesn’t need to kill himself in the gym—but he’s never been this involved in the behind-the-scenes for the movie.

He won’t mention that to Satoru, though, because he knows damn well that Satoru’s never involved any of his actors in the behind-the-scenes for the movie either. Satoru’s definitely not doing it on purpose. They both just have this natural inclination to do everything together.

 When everyone’s well on their way home, he closes up shop and waits at the back entrance, where Wasuke usually waits.

And then facepalms at the empty alleyway. Because Wasuke had told him that he’d needed today off on account of family from out of town visiting.

The agency had arranged a fill-in driver for all his official work business. But this is unofficial. Even Mei Mei doesn’t know about it. Which means that it was up to Suguru to arrange it for himself.

Honestly, finding and waiting for a vetted driver would probably take the same amount of time as walking home.

Suguru really likes walking, usually. Just not when he’s dead on his feet. 

He calls Satoru.

Satoru picks up on the first ring and Suguru almost cries from relief. 

“Are you busy right now?”

“No, why?”

“Can you come pick me up?”

“Send me the address.” A little pause, and then, “...Is everything okay? Should I bring anything?”

Suguru, despite his soul-crushing exhaustion, smiles. “No, I’m just too tired to walk and Wasuke’s off today.”

“Oh. Okay! I’ll be there in fifteen. Wait, I also wanted to ask you about something…” He stays on the line chattering all the way until his car drives up. The window slides down, revealing Satoru’s shit-eating grin. Into his phone, he says: “Hey! I’m here! Do you see me?”

Suguru stares at him through the rolled-down window and unceremoniously ends the call.

Satoru pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“Thanks for picking me up,” Suguru says, climbing into the passenger seat. 

“What are you doing here anyway?” 

It’s a nondescript building. The gym is down in the basement. It really does look like Suguru’s loitering in an alleyway for a drug deal.

The thing is, Fight Club is kind of his thing. No one knows except the other people that come. He doesn’t really have a problem with his friends knowing, just the news, but it’s still nice to have some things all to himself. 

Suguru is a very private person. It’s hard to reconcile that with the complete lack of privacy afforded by his line of work. Sometimes he compensates by hiding things that don’t really need to be kept secret. 

“I’ll tell you later.” 

Satoru’s face twitches.

“It’s nothing bad,” Suguru says quickly. “It’s—literally nothing important. I just…” It’s Satoru. He can be honest. “I just like having it to myself. I’ll tell you, I promise. Just not now.”

“Okay,” Satoru says, easily enough. 

Suguru relaxes. He doesn’t give Satoru enough credit, really. His vapid personality is a bit that he thinks is the funniest thing ever—but it’s really all for show. He is good. He would keep a secret for Suguru and take it to the grave even if it ruined his life. Asking him to accept Suguru’s privacy is nothing. Of course Satoru would. He’s a good friend. The best.

“Next time don’t call me sounding dead and ask me to get you, though, I thought you were getting threatened at gunpoint.”

“If I had a gun pointed at me I wouldn’t bring you into it.”

“No, I’m saying it was me they wanted and they were using you to get to me—”

“You are one narcissistic piece of sh—wait.” And it’s Suguru’s turn on the shit-eating grin. “Were you that worried about me? Satoru, that’s so sweet, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, and studiously checks his rearview, his side mirrors, and his blind spot—and makes no other move to merge. “Well, you know… you’re so dainty, and you’re this innocent little boy from the countryside, you don’t know how vicious the city can be—”

“Oh my god,” Suguru snickers. “Well, I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s fine. I know it takes you a little longer to get to these conclusions.” Satoru sighs, long and dramatic. “Such is my plight, reduced to going through life at half the speed because my best friend both looks and thinks like a gorilla.”

Suguru would hit him for that but Satoru would crash the car just to be petty, and he’s too tired to deal with that. “You know, I have been hitting the gym more, thanks for noticing.”

“I heard on the radio that the route to your house is closed, so I’m just going straight home. Taking the long way around, that’ll take forever.”

Suguru, looking at Google Maps, sees no such thing. But Satoru’s place is closer, and he really, really wants to sleep. “Yeah, okay. You going to drive me back in the morning?”

“Is that all I am to you? Your chauffeur?”

“Well, Wasuke’s going to retire soon.”

“And that’s the day I’ll hang up my filmmaker’s hat,” Satoru says, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I’m sure there’ll be funerals worldwide, for the death of my career… all the untold stories that the world is going to miss out on. But that’s what I’m willing to do for you, Suguru. Even if you do things like make me pick you up after drug deals, and buy you pizza, and carry your lazy ass up to my apartment, and put up with my building manager telling me to be more subtle if I’m bringing home escorts—”

“Are you telling your neighbors I’m an escort.”

“Well, you’ve got long hair, and you’re always wearing those harem pants, and if you cling to me like that I don’t really know what you expect people to think—”

They bicker all the way home. 

Never let it be said that Suguru isn’t a good friend, though. He has sweet crepes express delivered to Satoru’s, and by the time they’ve parked and made it upstairs, the bag is waiting right on Satoru’s doorstep.

“From a secret admirer?” Satoru muses, carrying it inside. “Aw, they even know my favourite flavour! I bet your fans aren’t this dedicated.”

“Well, one of them is,” Suguru says. “He comes whenever I call.”

Satoru snorts. “You make him sound like a dog.”

“He does kind of look like one.”

Satoru very calmly finishes plating the crepes, locks one long arm around Suguru’s neck, and wrestles him to the floor until Suguru’s tearing up from laughing so hard.

They go to sleep not long after. Satoru takes pity on him after Suguru chokes on his crepe because he can’t stop yawning.

Suguru’s already drifting off while Satoru scrolls through his phone beside him.

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Hm… not really…?”

“I wanted to check out a filming location tomorrow, plan a few things. We can get lunch after, make a day out of it?”

Suguru makes a vaguely affirmative noise that Satoru must correctly interpret, because he starts talking about how he decided on the place, and nearby restaurants, and a mochi donut store that just opened up.

It lulls Suguru to sleep nicely.

“This is the set?” Suguru asks, a little gobsmacked.

Satoru looks like the cat that got the cream. “You like it?”

“Do I—”

It’s Suguru’s favourite bookstore in Tokyo. He and Satoru had discovered it all the way back in their first year of film school, when they’d had a free day to explore the city. It’s nestled on a side street—close enough to the main street where it gets a lot of foot traffic, but just far enough to make it feel intimate and personal, like a hideaway from the constant hustle and bustle of downtown.

The rest of the street has similarly sweet vibes—a small cafe, a stationary store, a pottery studio, a low-lit restaurant.

The store itself is the perfect size—large enough for a few shelves, a browsing room, and various reading nooks. The owner has two cats that enjoy basking in the front window, but often abandon that perch to walk amongst customers, lounge by the cashier, or curl up on the laps of particularly still customers in the middle of a book.

“You’re joking,” Suguru mumbles, staring at it. “Do you have the permit and everything?”

“It’s all taken care of,” Satoru says, beaming. “It’s perfect, huh?”

“You said you were just going to check out a set,” Suguru accuses. “You didn’t tell me—”

“Are you upset?” Satoru asks, looking a little worried. “I mean, it’s going to be closed down while we’re filming but you can—I mean, you’ll be here all the time, and you can act like a regular customer between scenes—”

“No, no, I’m not upset,” Suguru says quickly. “This is just… I mean. I didn’t think. When you said that you wanted to film at an actual bookstore and not just build a set, I didn’t think you’d—” He turns to Satoru, looks at him properly so that Satoru can see that he’s not bullshitting. “I can’t believe you got this place to be part of the set. You’re insane.”

Satoru looks embarrassed. He takes compliments like a fish to water most of the time, but every so often he gets all weird, like Suguru’s embarrassing him by saying thank you for a gesture that is, objectively, sweet as hell.

“It also fit my vision, it’s not all about you, relax. I was thinking—okay, picture this shot. Fox and Sakurai walking out of their respective apartments, on the same sidewalk but they don’t see each other—and we’ll cut it so the department store looks like it’s just around the corner. And it’ll be a continuous shot all the way until Sakurai makes it to the front of the store—where I’ll have Uchida waiting to be let in. Like a regular commute, you know? We see their whole walk to work, and the neighbourhood, all the other people…”

His blue eyes are glittering as he throws up his hands, walks up and down the sidewalk, painting out the shot. Suguru can see the vision. Satoru, he knows, can see the whole thing, down to the most infinitely small detail.

“I can’t believe you see all that already,” he says quietly. “You’re incredible.”

Satoru misses a step, and his foot comes down a little hard on the sidewalk. “You’re such a flatterer, Suguru,” he says, but he doesn’t look at him. “But do you get it?”

“I get it,” Suguru assures him. “It’ll be perfect.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

For a moment, they just stand there, staring at the busy bookstore in silence. In a few weeks, it’ll be transformed.

Suguru thinks of the two of them, freshly eighteen and coming across this store for the first time. How could they have known they’d be back fifteen years later, closer than anyone could have even conceived, for the most unfathomable reason?

“They’d be so damn excited,” Satoru says, laughing a little. “I mean, we always knew we’d make it. But this is next level, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Suguru agrees. 

To have made it into the industry is one thing. To be so successful that they get to choose who they cast, the roles they take—Suguru never would have let himself dream of that.

“Is the department store here nearby, too? I want to see it.”

“Yeah, it’s not far! It’s not anything special, though, so don’t expect anything huge.”

Suguru snorts. “Too late, you’ve already set my standards too high. You can only go down from here.”

“Agh, I know! I should have put this last, now you won’t properly appreciate anything else. At least try, I spent a lot of time on this!”