Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Satoru was scheduled to visit his father’s new workplace in Tokyo was when he was eight.

Now, usually, the problem with Satoru would be the fact that he was almost always late. To school, to appointments, to field trips, to flights or cruises, you name it.

This time, however, he would be arriving early.

Three hours early.

With a roll of bloody tissue shoved so far up one of his nostrils that he could practically feel the pressure poking his eye.

And what made it worse was the fact that he’s in a car.

His mom’s car.

Every bump felt like the thing in his nose was drilling further into his skull. At one particular abrupt stop, he swore he saw heaven through his nose as he felt the tissue worm into his ears from the inside.

Now, don’t get him wrong…

His mom’s car was the bestest most comfortable car he's ever been in. But when she’s driving with a bit of uh… agitated anger?

Yeah, all he can do is pray to the local gods. If there even is any.

Although, the sudden stop wasn’t her fault at all. A huge poodle had run into the middle of the road and the granny that owned her walked slower than a dry, slimeless snail trying to slither on cobblestone.

Which led to nearly twenty more minutes of waiting in the middle of a highway. Preferably in silence, but unfortunately, his mother’s furry has charged her mouth up to full capacity.

So, safe to say, he won’t be living in silence for the rest of the day. And maybe even until tomorrow morning.

“Wha… thi…ing …toru! ..y …do.. ..at?”

He stared at an indefinite point through the tinted windows of the limousine, feigning to watch the buildings and people appearing and disappearing in and out of his sight as he tried— and failed —to ignore his mother’s nagging.

“I …id no… …aise ..ou …ike …is!"

Through his blurry reflection on the car window, Satoru was again reminded of the thing in his nose.

Though, that single roll of tissue was really nothing compared to how he was looking like he got mugged by a badger, all scuffed up with angry scratches on his neck and a bruise forming on his cheek, now closer to purple when it was just turning green before they left the school. His scraped knees and palms still stung, covered with digimon band-aids that his eight year old hands haphazardly applied while waiting for his mom in the dean’s office lounge.

“How …any tim… …o …ell y… to beha…”

I'll have to wash them, he kept in mind, remembering that he had not disinfected the wounds, much less washed them when the school nurse told him to.

Not even a single drop of water has touched his scrapes and no, he definitely was not some sort of coward who didn't want to feel the sting of a fresh wound being bothered.

He's a brave kid!

What's a few pebbles rubbing against torn flesh, right?

“...toru! Sato… Sa…ru!”

Now that he thought about it, he could even somewhat feel the specks of gravel and sand still stuck to the crusty blood of his scrapes.

The hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms stood up as his childishly creative mind flashed an unwanted image of grinding rocks on open wounds and— yeah.

“A… yo… li…ing?”

He has long since given up trying to filter out her overpowering scent through his nostrils so that the heavy air inside the vehicle would miraculously turn fresh when it reaches his lungs.

Yeah, nope, he has accepted that dream will remain as it is.

A dream.

“Ca… ..ay at…tion? Sat..”

Truly, his mother was a worry wart sometimes.

Natural aloe vera and fresh tea tree oil was good… in normal circumstances. And it's one of the best scents during the bestest moments. Honest to god, he loves the way his mother smells.

“Oh jus… …ou wai…"

But in times like these, he'd really rather bury his nose into a graveyard and inhale the souls clinging to the bones and corpses rotting beneath the soil than continue breathing the stale air of his mother.

“GO! JO! SA! TO! RU!”

With a start, Satoru snaps his eyes to his mother. Well, his mother’s glare through the rear-view mirror, more like.

He blinked owlishly in contrast to her seething, narrowed eyes. If Satoru’s eyes were blue, then he swears he sees his monster’s– ahem, his mother’s eyes blazing red instead of her usual calm lavender.

He wasn’t one to cower in fear. His parents taught him better than to be a doormat. But his mother is one hell of a reincarnation of a bulldozer into a woman and he’d be lying if he said that she can’t run him over until he was squashed into the crevices of the pavement.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“But kaasan! They deserved it! And I should've done more…” He mumbles out the last part.

“That doesn’t mean you should go and hang them on a tree by their underwear! And don’t think you’re so slick, I still heard that last part.”

“They were throwing around a hamster!”

His mother sighed with a shake of her head as they rounded a corner, “So you decided to throw them around too? I thought I taught you better than to go around beating up kids your age.”

Satoru huffs and crosses his arm with a mumble, “Maybe I should start beating up older kids then.”

“I still heard that.” Stubbornly, Satoru pouts childishly and goes back to staring out the window and pointedly tuning out his mother’s grumbles.

He heard her sigh.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

…

…

…

…

“Okaasan?”

…

“Kaasan, can we get ice cream?”

~

The first time Satoru visited his father’s workplace was when he was eight.

He had a roll of bloody tissue shoved into his nose.

Scrapes and bruises littered his body.

He was three hours and forty-three minutes early.

And he had ice cream. Which was the most important detail, if he were being honest.

The whole elevator ride up the skyrise building was almost boring if not for the fact that the one they were in had a huge window overlooking the outside where Satoru watched as the cars and the people and the bushes became tinier than the ants they played around with in the playground.

But the building really had too many floors in Satoru’s own opinion.

It was cool, so cool, very very cool, actually. He’ll be sure to show off to his friends, despite Su-chan and Sho-chan being the biggest traitors they were.

Yes, he was sulky about what they did, but who could blame him?

Still, the building was too high and the tiny ant people were not interesting enough to hold his attention for what felt like nearly a hundred minutes– no, a hundred hours!

The elevator took so long to get them where they were supposed to go to that Satoru already finished his popsicle by the time the bell chime thingy rang and the steel doors opened to a… living room?

Confused, he tugged at his mother’s skirt twice, sticky fingers clinging to the satin fabric for a few seconds too long as he tried to peel his fingers away.

When she looked down at him, he asked, “I thought we were going to tousan’s work?”

His mom herded him out the elevator and into the apartment-like place, “We are.”

“Oh.” He looked around, taking note of the glass walls that he guessed wrapped around the entire place, serving as the four main walls of the… penthouse? Could he call it that? “Are we staying here for a while before we go see tousan?”

“This is his workplace,” he heard her reply as she walked away from him to press things on a pad embedded into the wall.

Without a moment to spare, the lights turned on and even the television began to play some sort of classical playlist that he’s heard his mom play countless of times.

“This doesn’t look like work. Otousan’s work in Hokkaido was filled with desks and people and paper. This place just looks like that one penthouse we have in Hengsha.” He casts another look around the place once more, giving the furniture the stink-eye as if they had personally lied to him.

“It is a penthouse, Satoru. Just built on the highest floor of the building. All the other floors below have all the desks, all the people, and all the papers you’re talking about.”

When his mother was satisfied with whatever she did on the pad, she walked further into the penthouse and tossed her bag onto the cream couch before making her way towards the open kitchen.

Satoru debated with himself if he should go follow her but when his eyes strayed further to the side, he spotted a pretty baby blue grand piano that seemed to have shining stars from where he stood.

Of course, his curiosity won him over.

As if in a trance, he walked towards it and when he was close enough, he noticed that the shining stars were, in fact, tiny iridescent flakes trapped in a layer of marbled resin.

Just as he was about to lift the cover, his mother’s voice called out, “Wash your hands Satoru, I didn’t raise you like a caveman.”

True to her words, when he glanced at his hands, they were still stained with the chocolate popsicle he pestered his mother to buy while they were on their way there.

Oops.

When he looked back up again, he saw his mom watching him from behind the kitchen island with her arms crossed and one eyebrow perfectly arched.

With a roll of his eyes, he dragged his feet to the kitchen, right where his mom watched him wash his hands like a hawk.

Geeze, does getting in a fight with other kids mean he also needs to be watched while washing his hands?

After he finished drying his hands with tissue papers he nabbed off the counter, he ran all the way back to the baby blue piano, his wide grin sinking the dimples on his cheeks.

Somehow, the sun rays coming from the window-wall glass thing– Satoru’s never been able to give these things a proper name, were they windows or walls? –hit the piano so perfectly that they land on the iridescent flakes on the cover before bouncing off and coloring the ceiling in flashes of colors.

Mesmerized, he takes a seat on the bench, lifts the equally beautiful cover, and begins playing along with the classical playlist his mom has playing on the television.

A while later, his mom watches him and thinks he’s found another thing to love.

Satoru, though, thinks he’s found his new favorite toy.

And he’ll continue playing with it until he gets tired or bored.

Chapter Text

Okay so maybe Satoru got bored of the pretty piano too quickly. His initial infatuation with it fizzled faster than a firecracker.

The initial thrill of the iridescent flakes shimmering in the sunlight had worn off as soon as it happened a second time not too long after the first.

Now, perched on the plush velvet bench, the instrument seemed less like a magical portal and more like, well, a piano. If he was being honest, now that he got tired of playing, it wasn’t any different from the other pianos he’s played with before.

He hammered out a few random notes, the sound bouncing off the glass walls with an echoing finality.

He'd heard this sound before, countless times, on countless pianos.

It was a pretty piano, yes, but still just an arrangement of keys and strings. Merely something nice to look at and okay, maybe sometimes it can be mesmerizing when the light hits at an angle, but it played the same, it sounded the same, and it looked the same if you ignored the blue color and the iridescent flakes.

The lack of uniqueness was starting to grate on him. It was like a conversation with someone who only knew a single joke; predictable and quickly tiresome.

So his final verdict?

Borning.

Normal.

Unspecial.

He told just as much to his mother when he finally wandered into the kitchen and decided to accompany her, but she simply clicked her tongue as she kneaded the bread.

“Aya~ Shirayuki… Nothing will truly be beautiful in your eyes if you ignore the things that make something special,” she poked his cheek with her flour-covered fingers. “Just like that piano.”

His face scrunched up as he swiped at her hand, but it was quick to return to her dough.

She stuck her tongue out at him and giggled at the face he made.

He groaned, “Kaasa~an.”

She only laughed at him even more as he tried to wipe the white powder from his cheeks.

“You’re so dramatic, Shirayuki.” she snickered, “You’re practically as white as flour, no one else would even notice you had something on your face.”

He whined and sent her the nastiest glare he could muster.

“Here, look–” She leaned forward, her flour-dusted hands reaching for his face once again.

Satoru tried to evade her outreached hands but alas, he was too slow. But rather than a poke, he felt his face mold into an unnatural shape as his very own mother betrayed him by pinching his cheeks instead, two of them. With her grimy hands covered in flour and dried, crusty dough, and probably some dried eggs too since he saw her use some.

Ugh, ew.

“Nuu~! Okaashahn~!”

He tried pulling her hands away but she didn’t relent, continuing to mercilessly pull and tug at his cheeks here and there.

Finally, she let him go. But not before wiping off the moisture at the corners of his eyes from the horrible abuse he was just subjected to by the person he trusted the most.

She clapped her hands to get rid of most of the flour on them before putting them at her hips. “There, see? You can see the flour now that your cheeks are pink.”

“Sho whot?” he grumbled, covering his cheeks with his hands lest they be abused again.

“So, that means you're just like everyone else now,” she shrugged. “You usually won’t be able to tell if you had any flour on your face because you’re as pale as paper. That’s what’s special about you. But if you take that special thing away, you’re just like anyone else who gets flour on their faces.”

“That doesn’t even make any se~ense!”

She chuckled and moved to pull something out of the cupboards, “You’ll make sense of it when you grow older.”

“That piano really wasn’t anything special,” he whispered to the kitchen island as if it personally asked for his opinion on the matter.

For the umpteenth time that day, Satoru heard his mother sigh. The only difference was that it was no longer accompanied by a stale scent. The smell of aloe vera and tea tree oil, he noticed quite belatedly, actually blended well with the smell of herbed butter on the island.

Must be something his mom whipped up, he thought.

As she set a pair of bread pans and a tray on the island, she shook her head lightly. “Really, Shirayuki, what am I going to do with you?”

She wasn’t exasperated like earlier. More amused than anything else, if Satoru was basing from the way his mother smells right now.

At that, an idea popped into his mind.

He perked up on his stool and shot his mom a pleading grin, “You can let me go out and explore~?”

She gave him a critical eye, “And why would I do that?”

“Because!” he threw his hands in the air, “This penthouse doesn't have anything interesting, and it’s getting boring just staying in here! And it's going to be forever until Otousan gets here!”

He watched as she began to portion the dough. “You’ll just terrorize the employees again like you did in Sendai.”

He pouted, “They called you a gold-digger.”

His mom snorted, “You don’t even know what that means.”

Offensive.

He was affronted, offended, very something-fended! Did his own mother not have faith in his education?

“I so know what it means!”

At his mother’s silent judgment and raised eyebrow, he spoke again.

“It’s only liking someone because they have money!”

“How do–” She paused mid-stuffing the dough into a pan, stealing a glance at him before returning to her task with a click of her tongue. "This is exactly why I told your father it was a bad idea to get you that tablet so young."

Satoru sheepishly averted his gaze and scratched his cheek, “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know what it meant back then. I just assumed that it was something bad.”

His mom chuckled. “It really doesn’t, Shirayuki. But alright, alright,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "How about this? You can explore, but only on one condition."

He perked up, hope rekindled. "What condition?"

"You stay on the same floor," she said, pointing a flour-dusted finger at him. "No wandering off to other floors where you can get lost or cause trouble. Deal?"

He cocked his head to the side, confused frown dragging his eyebrows to wrinkle. “But the elevator opened directly to the living room?”

She pointed to a huge pair of doors at the wall opposite to the elevator. “There are meeting rooms and studios behind those doors. Your otousan’s probably in one of them with his old business mentor and his friends.”

“Oh.”

“So?” Satoru looked at his mom questioningly.

“Huh?” She crossed her arms.

“I told you, you can’t wander off to the floors below. Deal, or no deal?”

He shot her a thumbs-up, practically vibrating with excitement. "Deal!"

He hopped off the stool and darted for the door, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

"And Satoru!" His mother called after him, "Don't touch anything you might break!"

He paused in his steps and turned to shoot his mother a wide grin.

"Okay!" he yelled, then disappeared into the hallway, leaving his mother to shake her head and continue preparing the bread.

The hallway outside the penthouse stretched on, a long, sterile white corridor lined with identical doors. Each door, Satoru noticed with disappointment, had a small panel on top with a light that glowed red.

He clicked his tongue.

Locked.

Every single one.

He kicked the wall lightly, feeling his frustration rise, and glared at the light dusting of footprint that he left.

This was even more boring than the piano!

Just as he contemplated disobeying his mother and exploring further, a faint sound caught his ear. A rhythmic chorus of keys, almost musical in its pattern.

Curious, he followed the sound, his short legs padding silently on the plush carpet.

The tapping led him to a slightly different door at the end of the hallway.

Unlike the others, this one didn't have a red light.

A small metal sign hung above the door, etched with a single word: "Studio."

The rhythm quickened, building towards a crescendo that had Satoru bouncing on his toes. He couldn't resist any longer. With a silent promise to himself to stay put and just peek, he reached for the doorknob. It turned easily, revealing a scene far different from what he'd expected.

Sunlight streamed through a massive window, illuminating a room with a grand piano unlike any he'd ever seen. Its polished black surface gleamed, untouched by the sterile feel of the rest of the building.

Okay so maybe he lied.

He’s seen many pianos like this one.

But it was the sound that truly stole his breath. The tapping rhythm had transformed into a melody, a powerful piece that resonated through the room, vibrating in Satoru's chest.

And at the piano, his tiny fingers dancing across the keys with incredible speed and passion, sat a boy who looked younger than him.

The boy had bright pink hair, a messy shock that defied gravity, and his face was contorted in a fierce concentration. Despite the intensity, there was a joyful glint in his eyes that mirrored the melody he was coaxing from the piano.

Satoru couldn't help himself. He pushed the door open a crack wider, mesmerized by the sight and sound.

The boy at the piano glanced up, his eyes widening in surprise.

The music faltered for a second before he stopped completely, a hesitant smile spreading across his face.

"Uh... hi?" the boy said, his voice high and chirpy. "You shouldn't be in here."

Satoru, momentarily tongue-tied, could only stammer, "It... it sounded amazing." The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

The boy's smile widened, genuine and infectious. "Really? You think so?" He gestured at the piano with a tilt of his head. "Wanna try?"

“Yeah, it sounded so good! Ah, but no thanks,” he made a face. “I’ve been stuck playing the piano for nearly an hour now and I just got permission from my mom to run around.”

The kid giggled at him, honey eyes closing momentarily with a flutter of his pink lashes.

"You played piano for an hour? Gross!" His high-pitched voice, surprisingly childish for his age, carried a playful punch.

"Gross? But you were playing just now!" Satoru's jaw remained slack for a moment, processing the boy's blunt honesty. The word stung a little, but the boy's infectious laughter softened the blow. He couldn't help but crack a small smile himself.

The boy let out another giggle, the sound tinkling like wind chimes. "Yeah, but I like playing. You sound like you had to."

"Okay, yeah, maybe a little," Satorue admitted, scratching the back of his head. "When I first began to play, my mom thought it'd be special and that I found my passion, but it just felt... boring afterwards."

The kid patted the stool next to him and sent a cute smile Satoru’s way. "Come on, at least sit for a second. What's your name?"

For some unfathomable reason, he felt his cheeks heating up, but he chalked it up to his mother’s pinking and pulling from earlier.

Hesitantly, he walked closer to the kid and sat down.

He almost felt shy just sitting beside him. Key word: almost. He never got shy, not even in front of strangers or his family’s business partners.

So ha! He is not shy. Not right now, not ever. Definitely not.

A tiny hand invaded his line of sight. “My name’s Yuuji! Itadori Yuuji.”

“Uh… Satoru. Gojo Satoru.”

Slowly, Satoru raised his hand to shake Yuuji’s. The kid shook it with surprising strength for someone so small. With the both of them sitting down, Yuuji only reached up until Satoru’s shoulder, or maybe even his chest.

As soon as his family name settled in, Yuuji’s eyes began to sparkle and shimmer and glitter and become all things twinkly as he looked up at Satoru.

“Wah~! That’s so cool, you own this place?”

Satoru glanced down at his hands, suddenly self-conscious about sitting beside this whirlwind of pink hair and enthusiasm.

“Nah, it’s my dad’s.”

The other boy's smile, however, only widened. “Woah! So cool! It’s so tall and big and it has so many instruments!”

Satoru snorted. “You tell me. I haven’t gone to the other floors yet, just this one. But so far, I’ve seen two grand pianos in the span of a few minutes. Two doesn’t sound much, but it’s two more than the usual offices.”

Yuuji perked up. “Oh! I’ve been to some of the other floors. Most of the studios have some type of piano or keyboard.”

Sensing his own boredom rearing its viper head about the topic of pianos, Satoru huffed. “I don’t want to talk about pianos. They’re boring anyway.”

"Boring, huh?" Yuuji said, his voice tilting with curiosity. "Pianos can be anything but boring! They can be loud and exciting, or soft and quiet. It all depends on what you want them to say."

Satoru raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms at the bow. “Oh yeah? Says who?”

"Me, Itadori Yuuji," the kid announced, his chest puffing out a little. He gestured to himself with a flourish. "And I'm the best darn piano player in this whole building, maybe even the whole city!"

Satoru's eyebrows shot up as he held in his laughter. It was almost comical how Yuuji tried his best to appear bigger and greater with how miniature he is. He’s like the size of a doll! Still, this kid definitely had a way with words, even if those words were a little outlandish.

"The best? Really?"

Yuuji bounced on the piano stool, his pink hair bobbing along with him. "Absolutely! Wanna see?"

He whipped his hands towards the piano keys, his fingers poised like a sprinter at the starting line. "I can play anything! Happy songs, sad songs, even songs that sound like robots fighting!"

His eyes sparkled with a challenge, daring Satoru to take him up on his offer.

Satoru hesitated for a moment.

Maybe an hour with the piano hadn't completely squashed his interest. He might as well see what this "best darn piano player" could do. Besides, robots fighting did sound kind of cool.

"Alright," he conceded, a grin spreading across his face. "Show me what you've got, Yuu-chan."