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Suguru had never seen the man before, and probably wouldn’t have, if Satoru hadn’t shoved him to the front counter from where he’d been taking stock in the back room.
“Guru-guru!” he’d whispered. “Hey, come see this!” Gojo didn’t wait for his friend’s response, pulling him out of the storage room before he could protest. “This guy just came in,” he explained. “He looks just like you.”
Even when he made it to the front (relieving Kento of ringing people up- by Satoru’s request- he didn’t seem to mind), he didn’t immediately see the customer his friend tipped him off about, a long line awaiting him as the new cashier.
When Geto did see him… Okay, yeah, Gojo wasn’t lying.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t believe his friend (not completely, anyway), but he hadn’t expected to practically be looking into a mirror when the man stepped to the counter. This mirror was a bit more real, strange, made him squint and pick at his nails.
There were few differences in their appearances, few but telling; the stranger was a bit taller, and where Suguru’s hair fell right past his shoulders the other’s grew to a bit above his waist. His skin was paler, almost sickly, whereas Geto’s was sun-kissed and freckled from summers well spent. More than anything, the man had a jagged scar running across his forehead, looking almost deliberate, and the barista found himself staring a bit too long despite Shoko nudging him, subtly jogging him back to the well-mannered man he was.
Besides these disparities, they shared the rest of their features. The same curve of their noses, the same slanted monolids (as well as the color of their eyes), same supple lips. Their hair was the same shade, and if you bothered to look, even their eyebrows were the same shape, furrowed cutely the same way. They could have been twins, clones in another life, Geto wouldn’t put it past the universe to have introduced him to his doppelganger in that moment.
He tilted his head, running his eyes over him- god, they even had the same build- and foolishly, he had to catch himself, not having heard a lick of his order.
“I- I’m sorry,” he stuttered, gathering his bearings. “Could you repeat that?”
The stranger chuckled, and was Suguru imagining things? It sounded like they could even have the same voice. The taller’s was a bit more sultry, more knowing, a pretty thing that tinkled soundly like the cafe door’s chime.
“I was wondering if you were still selling hot chocolate,” the stranger reiterated. “I’m frozen solid.”
Geto’s eyes darted out the cafe’s window, and yup, it was pretty warm outside, as well as nearing mid-June. He raised a brow, but tried to smile anyway.
Geto got cold easily too. (Maybe not so much as this man, but something about finding these similarities did him good, made his chest swell).
“Yes, we’re still selling hot chocolate,” he answered, enjoying when the man mirrored him, tilting his own head- opposite sides, but endearing nonetheless.
They weren’t still selling hot chocolate, truthfully, but when Gojo heard the lie from Geto’s side he went to the back to try and find the powder for the order anyway.
Always so supportive, that’s why he kept the airhead around.
“Can I get a name for your order?”
“Ah, that’d be ‘Kenjaku’.”
Suguru tried to internalize the effort it was taking to remember the name- fake or not it was pretty, pretty like the man was- tried not to whisper ‘kenjakukenkajukenjaku’ aloud. He waited to test it on his tongue when his order was finished.
“Kenjaku,” he called, and tried not to stare too hard as he watched how he stood, righted himself, gently pushed long hair back over his shoulder as he walked over. He was elegant in everything he did, poise and charming as he stood in front of him, a soft ‘thank you’ curling his lips. “I hope you don’t mind me saying,” Suguru said, trying to fight his fingers away from where they clasped the stranger’s own, pulling back slowly as he handed the cup to the man. (His fingers were quite cold, but the chill that ran up Geto’s spine was pleasant, made his toes curl in his shoes).
“But you look… just like me…” He felt embarrassed saying it- it was weird. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all.
The man chuckled again, amused before taking a small sip of his hot chocolate.
“That’s quite the compliment,” he spoke gently. “Coming from a handsome young man such as yourself.”
Suguru would have heard Satoru sputtering around his shock if not for the blood rushing to his ears, foolish and hot- he was sure his face was the same- and as if he couldn’t get any more flustered, his knees grew weak when the man pulled a large banknote from his wallet and slipped it into the pocket of his apron, leaning in close to tap his chest, right above the bill. He pulled him closer by the pocket, lips just a touch from grazing his face, tickling breaths.
Geto was sure he’d collapse.
“This tip is for you,” he whispered. “Thank you for taking such good care of me today.” Low in his ear. “I look forward to coming again,” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the door, and with the ring of the bell, Kenjaku was gone.
///
“Doesn’t this make you a narcissist?” Satoru asked as he and Suguru took their lunch break.
“What are you even talking about?” he huffed, but knew exactly what his friend was implying.
It was the third time Kenjaku visited the shop, always ordering something warm for his palette, maybe a croissant to pair with it. Gojo was more observant than most would give him credit for, Geto knew, and also knew he hadn’t been hiding the blush high on his cheeks well- couldn’t if he wanted to, pulling his hat down over his face would have been far too obvious.
“That guy who looks like you,” Gojo elaborated as if he needed to. “You like him, huh? That totally makes you a narc-y, by the way.”
“It doesn’t,” Geto retorted.
(It was pointless to try and deny that he ‘liked’ him, knew that his friend knew him better than anyone else, than himself. He wouldn’t be able to keep something like that from him, especially when he was already sure that he knew the truth. It was tiring having a friend who could read your mind, sometimes).
“We’re not identical or anything,” he reasoned.
“Almost,” spoken around a muffin. “Might as well be. I think it’s cute, in like, a ‘would you fuck your clone’ sort of way,” he mused.
Geto snorted.
“Ask him out next time,” Gojo offered.
“Ugh,” he groaned. “That is so tacky.”
Icked, Suguru stole a cherry from his friend before hopping back inside. (Gojo’s lunch was all desserts and snack cakes. Again. He’d have to take him grocery shopping this weekend).
“So what are you going to do?” The white haired man trailed after him, tying his friend’s apron for him. “Wait for him to make the first move?”
“That’s if he’s even noticed I’m alive,” he answered, half flippant, half irritated at the fact that it could be true.
“Oh, he’s noticed-”
“And,” Geto cut him off. “If he is even interested in me.”
“He seems like it, I dunno.”
Sometimes Suguru hated not being the observant one.
“If you say so, Satoru.”
///
It took a week of Kenjaku not coming in and two more appearances after for Geto to start to lose his mind.
The first time he’d seen the stranger after the lonely week he’d practically breathed in new air. His co-workers saw his smile beam brighter, the tension leaving his shoulders. He was a new man whenever Kenjaku came in, they began to notice. He could clock into work frustrated by everything that moved, but let that guy who looked like him walk in and suddenly he was Mother Teresa.
Gojo watched the spiral, knowing his friend was head over heels, out of his comfort zone when he began to throw caution to the wind. Loose lips sink ships and his friend was currently on the Titanic.
“I missed you,” Geto had let slip one day.
“Did you?” Kenjaku hummed. “Flattered.” Spoken before heading for the door.
Satoru had to comfort a sobbing Suguru during that lunch break.
And worst of all, Geto knew he was going crazy. He knew he was acting stupid, that he’d never acted this way over a crush. It was weird. It didn’t make sense the way he thought about the man- the complete stranger- how he’d stare at himself in the mirror when he made it home, twisting his face up, trying to imagine the same expressions on the other man, knowing they’d be prettier on him, wanting to see it. It’d cost him sleep, the fantasies too gripping at times, too real, too tantalizing, too desperate.
Suguru was going crazy and he knew it. And with every
“You’re so handsome…” Desperate, breathed.
“So are you.” A chuckle beforehand, stated like fact.
He knew he was only going to get worse.
///
“So, uh, what do you do for a living?” Geto asked one day as Kenjaku’s order was being made. (Gojo was stalling with it, dramatic with his running around behind the counter. ‘I just can not find that cocoa powder!’ Too obvious about it, making Kenjaku laugh lightly, a sound that was gone too soon. Geto could listen to him laugh forever, beauty turned to music).
“I’m afraid my work is a bit less exciting than working in a cafe,” he answered, patient.
It was a slow day in the shop, no customers behind him. It didn’t hurt to mingle a bit, while he had the time.
“Well, work only seems exciting here when you come in,” Geto mumbled, shy, averting his eyes.
He hadn’t even expected Kenjaku to hear him, but the taller man was tilting his head again, lips stretching into a simper.
“Is that so?”
“I-” The cashier swallowed down nerves. “Yes, I always look forward to you coming in.”
And then Gojo was handing him his hot chocolate, sending his friend an apologetic look over his shoulder as he did so.
“Well-” Kenjaku read his name tag. “Suguru.” (It was the first time he’d spoken his name, made it sound beautiful, important, spoke it gently like ‘Suguru’ was glass not to be tainted or shattered. His smile grew wider as he said it. The barista was sure he could die happy). “I always look forward to coming,” he said before heading for the door.
“Oh, he’s definitely a narcissist,” Satoru said once he was gone.
///
“Not in the shop today?”
Surugu quickly stood straight, harshly wiping his face with his hands.
Kenjaku had come later than usual that day, catching the shorter on his lunch break, crouched low to the ground, curled into himself.
“Um, I-” he tried to speak, voice withered by tears.
On one hand, startled as he was, Geto was happy to see his own face staring back at him, clean and concerned, not flushed murky from crying all day. Of course Kenjaku was here, why wouldn't his only form of comfort be there when he needed him most? On the other, god, this was embarrassing. Caught sobbing by the most handsome man this side of Japan, no hat to cover his face with-
“What’s wrong, handsome?” Kenjaku asked, closing the distance in long strides. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be crying in an alley like this.” Soft.
Suguru took a deep breath, trying to dam them, but the tears were already welling again, a single one falling before being swiped away.
-no pride left, no shame.
“My parents-” he sobbed, unable to even finish the thought.
“Oh, Suguru,” Kenjaku cooed. ‘Oh,’ like he knew exactly what Geto meant, what he needed. ‘Oh,’ gentle, like he understood the pain that the younger was harboring, like this was simply fate. ‘Oh,’ like it’d all be okay. “You’re alright,” he said, wrapping his arms around him.
Suguru was really crazy, he’d really gone insane, because as soon as he was within Kenjaku’s embrace he sobbed freely into his chest, babbling and grief-stricken, as though this was normal, meant to be, as if they’d done this already a million times. And when he finished, cried out thoroughly, he only squeezed Kenjaku tighter, latched like a bolted lock.
And the man rubbed his back, kept him there like this was routine. Like they knew one another’s last names, like they were two halves of the same entity that’d meld back together if they held one another long enough, like they were supposed to.
Kenjaku drew back first, not too far, a somewhat pitying smile on his lips. He reached for his scarf, wrapped it around Geto’s neck.
“You’re alright,” he repeated.
It was far too hot outside for a scarf, especially after all that crying, but something about it; the green and gold pattern, the way Kenjaku seemed to handle it- like him- with such care, the thought that he must look like him while wearing it, pretty and mature, elegant but conspicuous in the warm weather. It made wearing it worth it. Seeing the way Kenjaku’s lips curl, eyes appraising before curling with them, shining and proud, it made the extra heat, extra weight so, so worth it.
Suguru was really crazy, he’d really gone insane, because once the tension melted away, he leaned up and kissed Kenjaku, right there against the brick wall of the cafe.
///
Thank God.
“Fucking finally!” Gojo was saying.
“Shut up, Satoru.”
Thank God, the day that Geto kissed Kenjaku, the latter fucking finally asked the former out on a date. It was three days after the incident, and Geto could have sworn he felt his sanity returning to him, no more crying during lunch breaks (though, he supposed that is what brought him this opportunity in the first place. Thanks, mental illness), no more pining after a complete stranger, he was normal again.
They’d be going out that night, and Gojo was helping his friend get ready for it, if ‘helping’ is what you’d call doing not shit, teasing Geto and critiquing every outfit he tried on.
It didn’t matter anyway.
Gojo was not the one he was trying to impress.
///
Suguru Geto was not a whore. He didn’t consider himself promiscuous or ‘easy’.
It was, however, only inevitable that the two of them would fall into one another by the end of the night.
Suguru wondered how he looked, sprawled out on a stranger’s sheets, hoped he looked something like Kenjaku, awestruck in the throes of pleasure. He hoped Kenjaku thought he looked as pretty as he did him, hoped that the pit in his gut twisted every time his name fell from lips that resembled his own so closely, ones that even tasted similar, that sought his own every chance they could get.
A part of Geto, deep in his chest, knew they’d end up like this. Something told him that they were meant to tangle into one another, knew this was fated the moment he’d laid his identical eyes upon him. Wanted it, practically manifested it with the way he thought about this man, day and night.
He knew that they shared more than appearance, that they’d both been drawn to the other for the same reasons, the same bizarre curiosity that came from staring in a mirror of human flesh. It was simply Suguru’s destiny to be above this man, sore so good- all over- hips bruised and bitten, gripped tight. They were connected beyond looks now, slotted together and one, as they always should have been.
He knew he was gorgeous in Kenjaku’s eyes, watched them run over his body, stared right back into them as they fixated on the constellations in his own eyes, where they blew prettily over his cheeks, over the back of his thighs. The night sky traced with Kenjaku’s blunt fingernails, stars kissed by his soft lips. The thought made him high, desperate to finish, because Kenjaku was no less than perfect in his eyes too- identical thoughts, two separate beings made for one another. Intoxicating.
Kenjaku may as well have stolen Geto’s body for himself the way he knew exactly what to say to bring Suguru to the peak, how to bring him back down, where to touch to send pleasure electric up his spine, knew exactly how to caress him to make him feel loved. Must’ve lived in it himself the way practically read Suguru’s mind, drove him crazy beyond repair.
And just when he thought he’d begun to get better.
“I love you,” exhausted, breathed, desperate.
“And I,” also breathed. “Love you, my dove.” Sincere.
Kenjaku held Suguru when they were finished and clean and satisfied, and the only thing left between their bodies was euphoria as they fell asleep in one another’s arms.
///
‘Fate was so kind sometimes.’
It was a thought that had begun to flit around his mind more often, always when he was reminded Kenjaku existed, that he was here with him, that he wasn’t crazy.
His presence was like closure in the form of himself, yet it was a whole other person, a notion inconceivable, and yet Kenjaku existed, was tangible. He was able to call Kenjaku on the phone, hold his hand, and when they were alone much more. Fate was so kind, and Suguru was grateful.
“Hey, hey!” Gojo cut into his thoughts from his side of the booth.
Something about a double date- his hadn’t shown up. Poor guy.
“You should say thank you to me, you know!” he barked. “If it wasn’t for me, you two wouldn’t have even met!”
His friend raised a brow, Kenjaku pulling him closer against his hip.
Suguru scoffed, playful, grateful, satisfied. He smiled.
“As if.”