Archive of Our Own

The acceleration of a free-falling object under the influence of the Earth’s gravity, g, is nine point eight meters per second squared.

This would be the acceleration of Gojo Satoru’s body as he fell into Geto Suguru’s arms for the first time.

-

It's kind of cheesy. The other person catches him with uncanny reflexes when he trips, and the only thing that goes flying is the binder of teaching plans in his grasp.

“Are you alright?” The person asks him, their form easily supporting him. 

Gojo Satoru isn't a small man by any stretch of the imagination. Quite the opposite, in fact, which makes him stand out comically in most places. Yet the person in question doesn't seem to be perturbed at all.

It's weird, too, actually. Outside of committing this faux pas because he got stuck in traffic and practically sprinted out of his car once he arrived, he expected the collision to make him nurse a bruise or two in the coming days. At first, he thinks they must be one of the Amanai estate’s bodyguards, but Satoru is using a side entrance that leads to one of the more obscured wings of the inner complex. That, and they don't look anything like a bodyguard.

All of Satoru’s bodyguards had been stoic, uniform figures with bland faces. This person isn’t wearing a suit, and their expression is way too honest. There’s something calming in the way the stranger watches him with muted concern - there really shouldn’t be, because they’re not anything immediately impressive. Satoru knows gaudy and glitzy people who are obsessed with the notion of perfection and beauty, and this person in their outdated winter coat and clumsily crocheted scarf with fraying yarn is definitely not one of them.

They look mundane. Starkly out of place.

“Yeah, think so.” Satoru says, regaining his sense of spatial awareness before detangling his limbs. 

The stranger’s curious gaze lingers on him just a fraction of a second too long before letting go. Satoru is used to this, because it typically precedes something like, Oh, aren't you that extremely young renowned physicist who also happens to be the sole heir to one of the most influential families in Japan? and the usual ass-kissing that it entails. These sort of occurrences are always awkward; Satoru decides to take the initiative to get it over with.

He rights himself and tosses the stranger a pleasant smile while lowering his shades, the one he uses for photo ops. “You've saved an incredibly valuable asset, you know - this pretty face has a net worth of at least one hundred million yen.” He bats his lashes too, for extra emphasis. 

“Really? I would've only guessed one thousand yen at the most.” The stranger says coolly, bending down to pick up Satoru’s binder before handing it back to him. 

Satoru tucks it under his arm and privately questions the stranger’s underhanded comment. Clearly, this guy doesn’t know who he is, and that’s a rare occurrence nowadays. “No better than convenience store sushi? At least that's more credit than some of my students give me.” The outspoken ones like Nobara and Maki called his mien worthy of a Noh mask: frozen in nightmare-inducing cheerfulness with each passing semester.

Satoru’s binder is noticeably lighter; a decent amount of the contents became dislodged from it in a trail of paper vomit, but luckily, it only landed in the rock garden off to the side. Satoru doesn’t feel bad about promptly hopping over the low barrier made of neatly organized stones and onto the meticulously combed pebbles. The gardeners would be coming back tomorrow morning to reorganize them, anyway.

Satoru crouches down, gathering up the stray sheets of paper while trying not to get rocks in his loafers. He can only imagine the stranger is gaping at him for shamelessly destroying the garden, whether it's out of fear of being escorted off the grounds by force, or at the wonderfully loud crack his knees made resounding through the complex.

Except - Satoru hears the gentle crunch of pebbles underfoot and suddenly they’re also squatting next to him without hesitation, gathering up the scattered paper so Satoru isn’t the only one who looks like an idiot in broad daylight.

Satoru raises a brow from behind his glasses. Most people would show more decorum while on the property of one of the most prominent business families in Japan. He’s a special case, because the Gojo family has connections with the Amanai family. Plus, Riko always complains about how ugly the rock garden is and says they should get actual flowers and trees instead. For this guy, though? It’s like being knees deep in the prime minister’s koi pond. Ballsy, and possibly indicative of some kind of screw loose.

This is the kind of stuff they fine you for, with video evidence from surveillance cameras. Satoru's about to tell them as much when they offer him a stack of half-graded exams with a radiant Buddha’s smile and glimmering fox eyes with their corners turned upwards in mirth. 

Holy shit. Satoru gets the same impression from this person as he does the granny who sells buns in front of the grocery store… that is, if granny had ear gauges and a full head of hair.

Also, that was pretty fast. “You’re really good at this.” Satoru says lamely, mentally kicking himself. Who the hell compliments people on their ability to scrounge up paper? He blames it on the fact that being a university professor who routinely drowns in hastily-written theses has rewired his brain.

The stranger takes it in stride. “Hmm,” They tap their chin briefly before handing Satoru the remaining papers. “Well, sheet music tends to go similarly flying. Maybe it’s an acquired skill?”

A musician? Satoru files away that bit of knowledge for later. 

“Ah, it's that late already?” The person mutters after they briefly fish their phone out of their pocket. They deeply bow towards him, all polite-like as if they hadn't just insulted his face and tore up a business tycoon’s garden. “Sorry for bumping into you.”

What a weird guy, Satoru thinks as he watches them disappear past the back gates. He’s going to have to give Riko a talk about letting suspicious characters into her house.

-

“Who was that?” Satoru asks from the other side of the low-standing table as Riko works her way through another practice problem.

Riko sets down her mechanical pencil. “Who?”

“The person who ran out of your house.” Satoru presses one finger behind his earlobe for emphasis. “You know - super long hair, weird bangs, Buddha ears. Ugly scarf?”

“Oh, Geto-sensei? They’re my music teacher.” Riko shrugs. 

“I thought Utahime was your music teacher.” 

“Iori-sensei is my vocal coach, which is totally different.” Riko rolls her eyes, like this should be obvious. “She can’t come anymore because something came up at her family’s shrine. It was a few months ago, I think.”

“This is the first time I’m hearing about this.” Satoru blinks, perking up like he usually does when someone in his circle has a juicy bit of gossip.

“It’s because she said you’d be annoying about it.” Riko replies without batting an eye. She idly doodles a bunny on one corner of her worksheet. “Grandpa still wants me to practice music, though. I’m picking up violin again like I did in elementary school. Geto-sensei usually teaches me on Thursday but they had to switch to Wednesday this week.”

Right. Because Wednesdays were when Satoru made the lengthy trip to the Amanai estate after teaching his morning classes, heartlessly leaving his students to fend for themselves without office hours until he returned. Some would call it cruel. Satoru calls it tough love.

A number of students and faculty speculated that he blew off his academic responsibilities to visit his secret girlfriend every week, and he knows there's even a betting pool somewhere about who he was setting time aside for. Others said that there was no way the erratic Professor Gojo could hold a lover, and that this person would have to be a special case to whip him into a sense of routine.

They're kind of right, except Riko’s more like a little sister or cousin to him than anything romantic.

When he was a kid, Satoru hated going on playdates with other children from influential families with the intent to find him a suitable partner to carry on the Gojo genes and assets. He expected meeting the young heiress of Star Plasma Vessel, Inc. to be no different. At sixteen years old, his expectations were abysmally low. He thought his parents already gave up on shoving him towards nauseatingly perfumed girls or ones who were just as miserable as him when they were in the same proximity.

Imagine his surprise at finding out Amanai Riko was not a stuck-up little brat trying to charm her way into his good graces. She was a baby, and she was way smaller than a baby ought to be.

She was sick, her grandfather, Tengen, explained. She was impossibly frail, but she was strong enough to fight her way into the world, no matter what the doctors and scheming relatives said. And it's not like Satoru didn't know people like that existed, but it was his first time seeing one in person. When she wrapped her stubby fingers around his thumb, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was so weak , and her station meant she was inevitably destined to be eaten alive by the upper echelons of society. It was something Satoru understood intimately, and something that Riko didn't deserve just mere weeks out of the womb.

Like Satoru, Riko had no other siblings. Her parents died shortly after he met her and ownership of the company was passed to another relative, effectively nullifying her right to inherit a prominent position. She was taken care of by the family maid, Kuroi, but was unable to properly enjoy her youth due to numerous hospital visits and physical therapy. 

Technically, Satoru didn't have much of a reason to visit Riko specifically, even though the Amanai clan was a close associate of the Gojo family. But he always went out of his way to find the maid awkwardly standing at the corner of joint family functions with a fussy girl in braided pigtails holding her hand. Whether it was bringing back souvenirs from trips or fending off her rotten little cousins who were bullying her, Satoru inexplicably came to care for her. 

The one thing he couldn't remedy with secondhand kung-fu moves or a box of European sweets was the fact that she couldn't go outside. Riko could hardly go to school and sorely missed her classmates in the brief times she stopped by for recitals and graduations. It was then that Satoru promised that he would help her see the world when she got old enough. In practice, this was helping her through her coursework as a tutor, aiming for the goal of getting into university so she would be able to move to the city far from the suffocating yoke of her family.

Just like now, where he’s casually explaining all of Riko’s mistakes from her latest take-home exam.

She pouts, her cheeks puffing up adorably.

“You almost had it, Riko-chan.” Satoru offers with a placating pat on the head. “Just remember to account for the wavelength in the equation next time.”

“There's so much to remember,” she sighs, flopping onto her back. “At this rate, I feel like it'd be easier to just not take university entrance exams.”

Satoru takes that as his cue for a break. He fishes a hard candy out of his coat pocket and pops it out of his mouth, the sugar refreshing his brain. He grabs another one and flicks it towards Riko from across the table so it lands on her stomach, in the soft material of her hoodie. She morosely unwraps it with glittery pink nails.

Satoru leans back onto his palms, casting his gaze about the room. It's nice and open, next to an arched series of windows that lets in the afternoon sun. From here, the rock garden is visible, complete with the mess of pebbles that Satoru made earlier.

The entire wing that Riko lives in is like this: stylish and ornate and padded with the illusion of freedom. Satoru supposes the place was remodeled so that she wouldn't succumb to madness from a lack of sunlight, but it's no better than a bird cage to keep the Amanai family's shameful former heiress hidden from prying eyes. The rooms are stocked with trinkets and toys and everything Riko likes, but could it never be a substitute for the one thing she truly wanted.

“So, that violin. Are you any good at it?” Satoru cocks his head towards the lonely instrument propped on a stand in the corner of the room.

“I guess.” Riko says, pulling herself up. 

“You guess?”

“Well… I can play it, but it's not like I'm a prodigy or anything.” She shrugs.

“It's not like you have to be the next Mozart; as long as you have fun, right?”

“Yeah, but it's really boring playing by yourself.” Riko glances outside, resting her chin in her hands. “Grandpa sometimes comes over to listen to me play, but besides sensei and Kuroi, that's really it.”

“How come I’ve never heard you play for me?” Satoru practically whines.

She looks at him like he's started giving a spiel on his postgrad thesis regarding quantum mechanics. “Because you're always here for holidays and stuff? Why would I want to make you listen to that when we can go out and have fun??”

She does kind of have a point. When Satoru showed up for New Year’s, they visited a temple together and had crepes afterwards, and even though she couldn't stay out in the cold for long, she was smiling the entire time.

“Still, though. Who says that wouldn't be fun?” Satoru’s eyes gleam with sudden inspiration. “Maybe I could play with you?” 

Riko regards him with a flat look. “Do you even play an instrument? You’re not going to say it’s because you’re perfect and amazing and can do anything, are you?”

“Well - I am, and I can - but I did play violin and piano as a kid. Rich family heir, remember?” He gives her a wink.

Riko tries to maintain her incredulity, but there is a glimmer of hope that passes through her eyes. “Geto-sensei is really good.” Riko says, unable to hide her growing excitement. “Like, really good. I dunno if you'd be as good as them. You’d sound like a yowling cat in comparison.”

“You forgot who you're talking to: I'm a genius.” Satoru scoffs. Sure, he loved physics more than the mandatory music lessons from his parents, but it's not like he was terrible or anything. Even if he skipped out half the time. “Just wait, Riko. Next week, we’ll be playing together.”

“Promise?” She asks, sticking out her hand in front of his face and wiggling her pinky. Gojo Satoru is always a man of his word, and Riko knows this.

“Promise.” He says, wrapping his own around it.

-

Gojo doesn't discover it until later when he's busy sorting out the next lesson plan for Riko after exchanging emails with her teacher. It falls from his desk and onto the soft carpet of his apartment.

It is a guitar pick, something that definitely doesn't belong to him. 

Students’ junk ends up with his all the time. He could probably just throw it away because these things are just plastic, but the design on its face is unique enough to give him pause.

It's a deep obsidian color, with glittery, swirling flecks of gold across it. Like gazing at a miniature gilded Milky Way each time light reflects off it, revealing new facets of twinkling stars. At the center of it is a single character: 夏

It can be read as natsu , but it's the dead of winter right now. It could be poetic, maybe. Like finding a bastion of warmth in a desolate, frigid wasteland. 

When Satoru idly sorts through the people he’s met within the last few days while reclining on his couch, only one comes to mind. Long hair, sharp eyes, clear disrespect for high society.

Ah. This probably belongs to them, huh.

-

Even though they are separated by a scant twenty-four hours, Satoru thinks his meeting with the elusive Geto-sensei is destined to be like a tangent in the grand scheme of things: a chance collision that would never happen again, because Gojo Satoru’s life is a never-ending series of meeting high profile figures and someone as normal as that is hardly a blip on his radar.

Which is why he pushes the incident from his mind as he tutors Itadori Yuuji during his office hours.

“Thanks for the explanation, Sensei!” Itadori chirps in that refreshingly innocent way of his. He was one of the few students who didn't slander his good name in Physics 100.

One might call his office intimidating, with its many framed degrees and prizes along the walls and intricate diagrams he sketched by hand. But the only thing stressing out Itadori was the midterm study packet that they spent the last half hour working through. Satoru is no stranger to students in need of a remedial education - just last year Okkotsu Yuuta had been in the same place, diligently working through a combined bout of seasonal affective disorder and general disinclination for math. He takes pride in helping his students, even if the majority don't appreciate him in the same way.

“No problem, Yuuji-kun! Good luck on the exam next week!” Satoru waves to him from behind his desk with the same enthusiasm. Itadori wilts slightly at that, but quickly shakes himself out of it. “By the way, Megumi mentioned you were hanging out tonight?”

Or more accurately, Satoru was invited to the Fushiguro household on occasion for one of Tsumiki’s home-cooked dinners, but there had been a curt text from Megumi saying that he wouldn't be able to make it. And it's not like he's nosy or anything, but Megumi having a friend is kind of a big deal. He’s seen Itadori chatter his ear off without getting bitten or punched or whatever it was that landed Megumi his reputation as a delinquent in high school. 

“Geto-sensei’s giving an introductory seminar on animal behavior. Fushiguro wanted to go because it's relevant to his major.” Itadori says brightly, and Satoru swears he can see a tail wagging behind him.

Satoru could shed a tear - Megumi, inviting a friend out because he wanted to further his career as a future veterinarian instead of holing himself up in his room to play Bloodborne? Where did the rowdy little kid who routinely tried to take out his solar plexus go? “Sounds cool! Have fun, Yuuji-kun! And keep Megumi out of trouble!”

“Got it, thanks Sensei!” With a short bow, Itadori ducks out of his office.

Satoru patiently waits until the latch to his office door closes with a click.

Satoru immediately pulls up the university staff directory on his laptop, because why the hell wasn't he informed that Riko’s music teacher was at the same school? Was Geto just a common surname these days? Surely it couldn't be… 

It takes a few seconds before the search results load, and- aha, there it is.  

Geto Kenjaku, professor in the department of biological sciences. Specializes in behavioral neuroscience. Strange, but not entirely impossible. Maybe they were moonlighting as a music teacher because being a professor didn’t pay enough?

Satoru did not typically mingle with the biology department, but he would remember if someone like that caught his attention. Tsukumo Yuki wheedled all of the faculty into attending a presentation on her latest dissertation sometime last year. Maybe they hadn't been present, or maybe Satoru was just too distracted by the new research assistant she picked up. The guy had shadows under his eyes that could give Shoko a run for her money.

He's suddenly hyperaware of the piece of plastic in his pocket like it's molten gold burning a hole through the fabric of his slacks. Something compelled him to keep it on him, like if he did, he’d be able to see them again. Turns out his intuition had been right.

Well. It's not really a big deal. He owes Tsukumo a visit anyway, so he can stop by Geto’s office to return the pick and be done with it.

-

Tsukumo Yuki loves to talk. 

Satoru is reminded of this fact when he spends a good forty-five minutes listening to her wax about the new experimental models she wants to test next semester. He helps her work out any glaring flaws in her designs, occasionally skirting around the finer details; life sciences weren't his forte, but he’s gotten enough secondhand miscellany from Shoko’s medical school woes to make vague conjectures that are accurate enough for Tsukumo’s consideration. 

Besides, talking to Tsukumo is fun. She is an authority on evolutionary biology and anthropology, and could match Satoru in the number of contributions she's made to her field. Her only weakness was that she was a terrible teacher who hardly graded her students, and it was generally agreed upon that her time was better spent in the lab or conducting fieldwork. She was also one of the older professors on the staff, but some have speculated she unlocked the secret to immortality in her lab and refused to divulge it.

At the mention of Geto Kenjaku, she starts griping about them with abandon. Apparently, they had some kind of lengthy rivalry regarding hypotheses on human evolution that extended back to Geto’s undergrad days. Thankfully, the door of her office is closed, so Tsukumo’s choice words about fighting tooth and nail over research grants don't frighten the poor pack of students scurrying down the hall.

When Satoru strides down the corridor to Geto’s office, he stops in his tracks in front of the open door and stares.

It's them - same dark fox eyes, glossy hair tied up, wearing that placid monk’s smile-

“You cut your hair?” Satoru asks the second he gets breath back into his lungs, frozen in place. It definitely wasn't this short, neatly wadded into a bun without luxurious locks trailing behind them.

...And you got brain surgery?? is the second thing that nearly slips out of his mouth when he notices the row of stitches across Geto’s forehead. Upon closer inspection, it actually seems to be a tattoo, which wasn't something that Satoru would have missed the first time. Either that, or he desperately needs to get his prescription checked. 

Geto only blinks curiously from across the desk, brushing their bangs out of their eyes. It's stacked high with journals and papers, but kept tidy. There's even a little stress ball in the shape of a brain. “Did I? It's easier to put up in the lab like this. By the way, can I help you with something?”

Satoru bows slightly. “Pardon the intrusion. Are you Geto-sensei?”

“Yes, I am. Geto Kenjaku - it's a pleasure.” They smile, and it's like peering into a pool of still water. There's a calmness in their expression that's almost eerie - in theory, Geto Kenjaku is around his age, but Satoru feels like he’s in the presence of someone much older. It's jarring. “I don't believe we’ve met, but you're Gojo Satoru, correct? It seems we share many students.” 

Because those pursuing life sciences were required to take cursory physics courses, no doubt. Geto Kenjaku doesn't follow up with the usual gripe - that Satoru is brilliant in his field while being the current tyrant teaching Physics 100. 

It's not that he can't explain the concepts. It's that he flourishes better in smaller classroom environments where the students are actually dedicated to their work. If they're struggling, he's better at helping them one on one than simply tearing through a textbook at 9AM when half the class isn't even awake. Acting annoyingly chipper to wake them up is the only thing he can do, but even that has its limits.

He doesn't need to defend his honor now, though. Geto only regards him with slight bemusement as he tries to work his jaw, years of scientific debates and impromptu interview experience failing him. “I didn't know you were a professor here?”

“Where else would I find such a rich gathering of young people testing their limits of their suprachiasmatic nuclei?” Geto titters. “The research practically conducts itself.”

Satoru thinks that's a joke. Probably. “Sorry, you just look like someone I recognize. Do you have a doppelgänger, by any chance?” Satoru doesn't particularly subscribe to that brand of multiverse theory as a physicist, but he'd be inclined to change his mind if there was proof.

Surprisingly, Geto doesn't look at him like he just vaulted over their desk and jumped out the window. “Really? You might have met my twin.”

“Twin?” Satoru echoes. That was a lot more likely than his impeccable memory suddenly going down the toilet in his early thirties.

“Suguru is a musician and they occasionally make it to this side of Tokyo for work. It wouldn't be strange to run into them.”

Suguru. Geto Suguru.  

The name sounds smooth on Kenjaku’s tongue, playing through Satoru’s head with the syllables clicking together like a lock, like the sudden enlightenment of solving a complex equation. It's brand new and familiar in turn.

An irritating stuffiness lodges itself in his sternum despite the foreign sense of relief. Wait, he's not getting sick, is he? A few of his students emailed him for coursework this week, citing the annual flu as the reason for missing his titillating lectures. He can only hope they didn't pass it onto him.

In an effort to clear the phantom block of phlegm, he opens his mouth- “Do you know their number?” Satoru blurts, and- Wow, way to be subtle.

“Oh my,” Kenjaku covers their mouth with one hand, their eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Do they have a new fan? They did mention they performed at a rather unorthodox bar with wealthy patrons the other night…”

“Whoa - hang on, that's not it.” Satoru quickly shakes his head. “I was just thinking it'd be easier to schedule lessons with one of my students if anything came up. The last time I saw them they were kind of in a hurry? So if they ever want to coordinate-” 

“Hm,” Kenjaku hums, clearly disbelieving. Shrewd. Satoru is starting to understand why Tsukumo has beef with this guy. “I'm a very busy person, you know.”

It's not like Satoru is unused to dealing with difficult people. It's just kind of hard when the person in question has the face of a Buddha and mouth of a demon.

“If you're busy right now, we could go out for drinks after classes?” Satoru suggests through a tight smile.

“I’d love to, but I have a seminar to give this evening.” And, fuck - Kenjaku has that glint in their eye that all people get when they realize Satoru is a Gojo.  

He rolls his eyes. “Or, what, do you want me to fund your research grant?” 

He's only half-serious about that. The budget was quite pitifully distributed this year between the biology department. He's heard Tsukumo complain plenty about it.

Kenjaku sets aside the research paper they had been thumbing through, pleasantly clasping their hands together on their desk. When they smile, it's entirely devoid of malice - which is infinitely more frightening than if they were visibly appalled.

They raise a brow. “Gojo Satoru, are you seriously trying to bribe me for details about my sibling’s personal life?”

“Hey-!” Satoru starts, then lets out a resigned sigh, resisting the urge to clap a palm over his eyes. “I mean, it does sound kinda bad when you put it like that?”

“That was your suggestion, not mine.” Kenjaku knows full well they're the one backing Satoru into a corner but their expression remains unaffected.

This is advanced psychological warfare, Satoru is sure of it. He maintains his ground even though he can feel his hair standing on end, like a puffed up cat.

They finally shrug innocently. “I'm just kidding. Might I recommend contacting them through the music store’s website? It's less hassle that way.”

“I wasn't lying about the lesson thing.” Satoru reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pick. “And they left this in my binder. It must be important to them, right? It looks kind of expensive.”

The threads of swirling gold catch in the light again, briefly making Satoru’s blue eyes flick down towards the lone character carved in its surface.

Kenjaku laughs - a wispy, amused thing. “Is that so? I can give it back to them for you.” Kenjaku extends one hand across their desk. 

Satoru drops it into their palm without brushing their skin; somehow, he knows touching Kenjaku would be unsettlingly corpse-cold. 

Kenjaku smiles and waves him off. “I’ll pass along your regards. Have a good rest of your day, Gojo-san.”

-

Later that week, Satoru gets a call. 

This isn't unusual, because many people want to contact him for things like public endorsements or guest appearances at conferences. But they usually have to go through his family’s publicist, Suda Manami, first. It's rare that people who actually have his personal cell call him, unless Mei Mei was bribed into giving out his phone number again. 

His first thought is that it's Riko or Tsumiki, but it's late. Plus, he doesn't recognize the number. He debates letting it ring, but -

“Oh, you picked up. I was just going to leave a voicemail. Sorry.”

“That's kind of old-fashioned, isn't it?” Satoru asks. Why couldn't this person just send a text? 

“A habit of mine, I guess.” They sheepishly reply.

“Ah, don't worry about it, then.” A pause, because Satoru doesn't know if he's making casual conversation with a nosy reporter or someone who hired another hit on his family. “Sorry, who is this?” 

“Oh, right. This is Geto Suguru.” Satoru can practically hear them bowing through the phone. “Thanks for returning my guitar pick. Kenjaku said you wanted to coordinate lessons with Riko-chan, I think? Well, if you ever need me to move around my time slot, you have my number.”

“No problem.” Satoru’s better judgment says he should hang up now and get through the rest of these papers. But for some reason, he wants to keep Suguru on the line, to memorize the sound of their voice and pick out all the ways the tone was different from Kenjaku's. It doesn’t make him feel like he’s going to be held hostage. “It's a really nice pick. Does your shop sell stuff like that?”

A small chuckle. “My daughters made it, actually. But I can help you find something similar if you ever want to stop by.”

“Sounds good.” Satoru says even though his mind comes to a screeching halt at the mention of daughters. Then again, Suguru is around his age, so having a kid or two shouldn't be unusual. In fact, Suguru might be pretty good with kids if they can handle Riko.

“Although…  you don't really strike me as the type to play?” Suguru asks with a hint of teasing, as if they already know this is partially a ploy to get their number.

“Ah, well. Not really? Not guitar, anyway - I learned violin when I was a kid.” 

“Is that so?” Suguru replies in a bland way that clearly says, of course this pretentious rich boy learned violin as a kid.

Awkward silence.

And then, before this dumpster fire of a conversation can go any further, Satoru remembers: “By the way, I was wondering if you wanted to help me do something for Riko?”

“Did you need to reschedule? I don't usually get gigs on weekday evenings, so I apologize for taking up your time the other day.” 

“It's nothing like that, don't worry.” He quickly assures them. “It might be easier to explain in person, though. Do you have any time this weekend?”

-

It’s not really Satoru’s favorite place to be, because the bright lights and strong scent of bitter coffee make his temples throb. But it's a popular place, innocuous enough that if it was actually Kenjaku who came here with the intent to shank him or something, at least there would be plenty of witnesses.

This is Satoru's foolproof plan as he sits in one unoccupied booth, tapping his way through emails on his laptop. Geto Suguru is due to show up in a few minutes, but if Satoru gets stood up, at least he can pass himself off as another grad student taking refuge in this cafe. He can't stay too long, though. Nobara sometimes works a shift here and she would kick Satoru out for loitering without mercy.

Luckily, Geto Suguru appears only five minutes and thirty-seven seconds late in a burst of frigid winter air and rattling wind chimes.

The second time Satoru meets Geto - the real Geto, instead of a demon wearing their face - the slight stutter of his heart from nearly faceplanting in front of the Amanai estate does not go away. This time, he attributes it to the massive relief that it's not Kenjaku who showed up to remove his brain for study.

They have their hair in that half-bun, long locks cascading down their back. The frumpy scarf around their neck makes them look endearing with flushed cheeks. He's probably staring too hard, but it's outright baffling that Kenjaku could wear the same mien like an uncanny mask. Suguru wears it warmly and openly, almost boyish despite the sharp angle of their jaw. Kenjaku looks like a venomous snake hidden behind a mild politician's smile. Eugh.

“Something on my face?” Suguru asks with a raised brow.

“The opposite, actually. You don't have a…?” Satoru points at his forehead - draws an imaginary zigzag across it.

Suguru pauses to huff an awkward laugh. “Right. The tattoo. Kenjaku once said that someone who met me first asked them if they got a brain transplant. We were young and stupid as kids; they found someone to give them a tattoo based off that.”

“Wow.” Satoru tries to imagine a younger and more reckless Kenjaku and fails miserably.

“It was partially my idea, too, but I guess they got sick enough of people mixing us up to actually go through with it.” Suguru shrugs off a large case slung over their shoulder, trying to find a suitable place for it under the table.

“Need help with that?” Satoru asks, closing his laptop and leaning out of his seat.

Suguru holds up a hand. “No, that's fine. I just came from a gig and didn't have time to stop by the store.” 

Their hair is slightly disheveled and Satoru feels a little bad, because this would be the second time he’s rushed Suguru out of a job. “Can I get you something? Coffee, or…?”

Satoru is drinking a mug of hot chocolate himself; the natural lack of circulation in his fingers makes them perpetually cold and he's been periodically warming his hands on the porcelain since he first got a hold of it. He’d nudge his cup over and let Suguru wrap their hands around it like he usually does for Riko or Megumi, but Suguru is an adult, and practically a stranger.

“Coffee is fine.” Suguru says, settling into their seat.

Satoru flags down the waitress as Suguru shucks off their coat. They're wearing a suit underneath, slightly crinkled from being in the confines of their coat. It makes Satoru feel a little underdressed in his own dress shirt.

“You wanted to talk about Riko-chan? Her health hasn't gotten worse, has it?” A small frown tugs at Suguru’s features.

“No, it's pretty stable right now. Usually it's harder for her in the winter, but this year was warmer than most.” 

Kuroi privately informed him that her flare-ups were less frequent the last few months. It was the reason why he offered to take her to one of Tokyo’s more touristy shrines for New Year’s instead of the secluded one closest to her house.

“That's good to hear.” Suguru’s expression melts into something softer. “I've only been teaching her for a few months, but she seems like a sweet girl.”

“Really? She tries to take out my kneecaps half the time.” Satoru gives them a lopsided smile and leans forward on his folded arms. “Maybe you're just good with kids?”

“She is pretty feisty. The first time we met, she tried to impale me with her bow.” Suguru returns his amusement unabashedly.

Satoru can imagine it perfectly, because it wouldn't be the first time she's tried to fend off a teacher she didn't like. He also feels a little bad at that; even if Riko isn't related to him by blood, he feels like he should apologize on her behalf. 

“Not many private tutors last long around her.” Satoru tells them, immensely curious as to how they managed to tame her. It's impressive they lasted as long as they did; if Riko hated their guts, she would have definitely complained to Satoru. “It's her way of getting her family to let her go to public school.” 

Satoru doesn’t mention that it was probably his attitude as a teen that rubbed off on her. A bad influence, Utahime called him.

Suguru seems unfazed - they seem fond, even. “I have two daughters around her age, but they're away since it's their first year in high school. Seeing Riko-chan makes it feel like they never left.” 

Their lashes lower, features tender when they gaze at their own fingers laced together on the table. Their hands are calloused from years of playing, still a bit reddened from the cold. 

Suguru’s cup of coffee arrives and shakes Satoru out of the way his brain has unceremoniously derailed itself. He blinks once. Twice, before he remembers what he called Suguru here for. 

He clears his throat. “Anyway, what I wanted to talk about last night was her music lessons. Riko mentioned that she wanted to play with other people.”

Suguru drizzles a spoonful of cream into their coffee and takes an experimental sip from their cup. They shiver slightly as the warm drink settles in their stomach. “I'd invite her to the studio to play with my other students, but that might put an unnecessary strain on her.”

“That’s why I say we should be the ones to bring the orchestra to her.” Satoru proudly says, eyes lighting up at the perfect opportunity to lay out his plan.

“We?” Suguru asks, eyes widening.

“Me and you.” Satoru nods without the slightest hint of being cowed. “And Kuroi, if she wants to join, too. I think I remember she had a job as an organist for some church when she was younger.”

Suguru stares incredulously, and Satoru thinks they might shoot him down, because not everyone is a fan of his flamboyant, impromptu ideas. Instead, they rub their chin in thought, the gears turning in their head without hesitation. 

“...Not a bad idea.” They toss him a cryptic half-smile, clever lips quirking upwards. “I’m starting to see why Riko-chan talks about you so much.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Because Satoru wasn't aware Suguru existed until some few days ago, and he was under the impression he never would unless Riko mentioned them in passing when he attended one of her school recitals.

“It’s nothing.” Suguru waves their hand. “You said you play violin?”

“Yeah. I was first chair in high school,” Which was, admittedly, a while ago, but he figures the muscle memory would come back to him if he had an instrument in his hands. “Or if you need an accompaniment, I can try picking up piano again.” He can also play a mean Otamatone, if they were in truly dire straits.

“No need, I think I can find pieces for us. Two violins and a cello should suffice. If not, we can always experiment with other compositions until we find something she likes.” They pause their train of thought. “Or I can arrange a piece myself if she’s really that picky.”

Satoru grins. “That's dangerous, you know. She'll make us play Red Velvet songs if you let her have that kind of power.”

Suguru shrugs. “I wouldn't mind trying it. Kind of a challenge, don't you think?”

Satoru isn't someone who’s easily impressed, but it's rare that someone goes along with his schemes as easily as this. Usually there's more wheedling and whining and possible blackmail involved, but it seems Geto-sensei has recognized his brilliant mind. It's about time someone did.

“Did you bring your cello with you today?” Satoru peers under the table at the hefty case he's been trying not to accidentally kick.

“That’s my bass, actually. I was playing at a restaurant earlier for the lunch crowd.”

“Huh,” Satoru briefly wonders if those gigs pay well. He's attended enough parties to know musicians probably don't get paid enough to put up with the shit drunk rich people pull. “I should compensate you for teaching me, too, right? What are your rates?"

Suguru shifts uncomfortably in their seat. “Riko-chan’s family already paid for her lessons, and they were quite generous, so…”

“Are you sure?” And it's not like Satoru can't understand that Suguru has their own pride, but they're really going out on a limb to help him out.

“I’ll take this coffee and the company as payment.” They smoothly reply, hiding behind another sip.

Suguru is definitely someone who won over fussing aunties with expertly delivered platitudes, but Satoru isn't one to give up so easily. The Gojo reputation for hospitality was one of the few things he was intent on upholding.

“Actually - I, uh, don't have a violin with me anymore.” And it's not a complete lie; the one he used years ago was still in his room at the Gojo estate before he moved out. Satoru reasons that if he buys one from Suguru’s store, they'd probably get a cut of the commission. “Can I get one from your shop?”

Suguru definitely knows he's bullshitting, but they graciously wait for him after starting to gather their belongings together. “Sure. I was on my way back, anyway.”

-

“In the winter, wooden instruments tend to suffer the most. Dry winters are especially bad, causing the wood to contract and possibly crack if they undergo a change in temperature and humidity too quickly. You can prevent this by keeping them in a temperature-controlled area, but you can also use one of these,” Suguru says while removing something from a metal hanging rack and tossing Satoru a plastic package, “-if you’re not confident about the amount of moisture in the air. It’s especially helpful in places like concert hall lockers, where it's often too large to regulate the environment consistently…”

“It looks like a rubber snake,” Satoru squints at the flimsy green tube sitting on top of his armful of paraphernalia. He's currently balancing a box of rosin, a few warm-up books, and a fancy tuner, because the ones one phone apps were shittier than real ones due to the microphones not being manufactured for the same purpose, Suguru pointedly explained.

The store is empty this late in the afternoon, so it's been just the two of them this entire time. Satoru managed to learn a few things about Suguru on the trip here, finally managing to solidify an image of Riko’s music teacher in his head. 

Suguru was from the countryside, which explained their bizarrely polite way of speech despite their sharp tongue. They had two daughters away at boarding school, and it was the first time Suguru would be on their own since adopting them. They hadn't initially pursued music, and ended up here after a drastic career change. They're also a fan of wuxia, if the movie posters hanging around their studio are anything to go by. 

The newly varnished violin that Satoru picked out sits on the counter, gleaming under the store lights. It's one made for beginners to easily handle, but has a decent enough quality that it could create a sound to rival more advanced players in the right hands.

While holding a violin during his childhood didn't evoke any special sort of sentiment other than vague resentment at his parents, he feels a sense of accomplishment finding his way back to it. His lithe fingers naturally remembered each position, and the rich, full sound of his bow gliding across the strings was unexpectedly nostalgic. Suguru seemed pleasantly surprised that it wasn't simply a tactic to further annoy them - Satoru could actually play.

Suguru rolls their eyes at Satoru's inane comment, but not unkindly. “It's a humidifier, which you slip into the interior of the instrument. This year's winter wasn't cold, but it's still pretty dry. If I were you, I'd keep it fresh until spring.”

Their voice is so nice - Satoru could listen to them explain the intricacies of instrument care forever.

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. This is the usual spiel I give little kids’ parents when they pick out their first instrument.” Suguru says while ringing him up at the cash register. 

Satoru readily hands them a credit card, uncaring of the number of significant figures that pops up on the screen. He's already mentally carving out pockets of time where he could play his new instrument without disturbing the neighbors in his apartment. Maybe he should invest in some soundproofing, too? He's been trying to avoid incorporating serial killer vibes into his semi-barren space, but...

Suguru passes him the instrument and plastic bag full of items. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Gojo Satoru. I'll admit, was skeptical at first, but I'm looking forward to playing with you this week. Get some practice in before then, won't you?”

Part of Satoru thinks he should be miffed because his parents had been right, in an awful, roundabout way: playing violin for the sake of appearing cultured somehow landed him here, with the most interesting person he's met in a while.

Satoru bows, trying not to drop his instrument in the process. “I really appreciate you doing this for Riko. See you on Thursday?”

Suguru smiles - it's a tired, lax thing that spreads indulgently across their lips. “Of course. Take care and stay warm, Gojo-san.”

-

If Satoru works through the numerous emails complaining about his class with a little more vigor than usual, his students aren't around to point it out.

Later that night, after adequately re-acclimating to his instrument, Satoru records himself playing an excerpt from Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

He sends the video to Riko, who begrudgingly allows that he, shockingly, doesn't sound like a dying animal.

Tsumiki says he sounds great. Megumi heartlessly leaves him on read.

Suguru says they're impressed that Satoru can read music at an elementary school level.

Satoru laughs. Thursday can't come soon enough.