Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The concrete walls were a reflection of a blank abyss. It was mud during the loneliest days of November. All that could be heard was the footsteps of guards retreating back to station 1, where the main cells were. This box built upon bones—all scratched at the edges and littered with cobwebs that one could not ascertain whether it had been painted on in the first place—had been a home to fueled nightmares and inescapable evil. That was all this city ever was. All it could ever be. 

In this cold, grimy cell, Satoru stayed restless. Her nerves were on fire—feet itching to just kick something, to throw this bone away that people forcibly kept feeding her. She was no dog—not in the way the onlookers perceived her to be. She was sane enough to protest against being locked in this juvenile center, but was too reprehensible for her concerns to be taken seriously. No one else could ever know the gravity of what struck her that day. 

And of what was taken from her. 

Of who was taken from her. 

There was an anthill of letters sprawled out on the floor, preaching about the Gospel of the Lord and the wonders repentance could bring. But what would Satoru even ask forgiveness for? This wasn't her fault. This certainly wasn't. She kept repeating it in her head like a broken mantra. Sometimes, it sounded more like a plea. Most times, it sounded like a hopeless prayer brought forth to whatever God had existed in whatever Heaven that hung above the Earth. An echo would sliver up Satoru's spine, hitting the shell of her ear; it whispered an assurance that this wasn't her fault. Yet, it still felt all the same. The guilt was still ever present that Satoru half-believed this heretical contrition was the only thing that kept her heart beating. 

But who gave a shit, anyway? 

What else was the purpose of this wretched feeling other than to trap her down? She was already locked up in this filthy time-out cell, where not one inch of her body was touching anything inside. After kicking a correctional nurse earlier, the guards threw her in this suffocating box. The last thing she wanted to do was to let this guilt eat away at her. Satoru wouldn't let it. She wouldn't let it ruin her again. 

This fucked up juvie system that was established on Kakistocracy, if nothing better suited the debauchery of this questioning authority, would not make a puppet out of Satoru. If she couldn't find justice for herself, she'd find one for her best friend—her one and only. 

Satoru wasn't always this cracked. She didn't just wake up one normal Tuesday and thought to herself ways on how to end up in a juvenile center. This wasn't on her bucket list for Highschool at all. More so, this wasn't on her fucking Reddit or WikiHow history. 2 months ago, she was simply a normal teenage girl—well, as normal as they could get under the lapses of hormones, anyway. Satoru, Suguru (her best friend), and Ijichi (her boyfriend) were all normal people. However, after the school killings began, she started to feel loose around the edges ... 

And found herself terribly, 

terribly, 

maddeningly, in love with someone—or something—she shouldn't be. 

⟢⟢⟢⟢⟢ ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ⟢⟢⟢⟢⟢

"You're totally lesbi-gay." 

"Huh?" She whipped her head to the sound of a distressing voice—a voice Satoru had grown accustomed with but nonetheless, still managed to annoy the fuck out of her. 

Shoko Ieri was looking at her with the most unamused expression she could ever muster. Whenever the opportunity to tease Satoru about her "homoerotic" friendship with Suguru came surging up the surface, Shoko was there padding the ice with little to no care to grab a hold of it quickly. Satoru could only shrug in a childish rendition of nonchalance. "What? She's my best friend." 

And indeed she was. At the very middle of the gym, where everyone's eyes were fixated on, Suguru Geto stood baring the school flag. To say she looked gorgeous would be a sin in and of itself. It would be a terrible understatement. Suguru wore a violet pleated skirt and tight collarless long-sleeves of the same color. Her legs were on display—long and tanned and smooth. The v-cut of her shirt popped a teasing sight of her cleavage, but not so much as to reveal anything more than necessary. Satoru couldn't take her eyes off her cheerleading best friend, and neither could Suguru. Despite having all this attention to herself, Suguru only had her focus on the starry blue eyes gazing at her. When she waved at her, Satoru instantly waved back as if it was an involuntary action—a tug of the familiar. 

After the cheer routine, Suguru found Satoru by the lockers. She had her back against the grey shoe closets, books in hand, and as usual, was being hogged by her pitiful boyfriend. He wasn't that bad, per se. Ijichi was a lanky boy of medium height, quite shorter than Satoru, with black hair that was too boring to catch even the interest of Grimes. Their matching glass frames were enough for Suguru to want to puke her guts out. It was fucking cliché. Not to mention, borderline abusive to force each other to sport such a horrendous crime to fashion. 

The current time was 1 PM. Classes had been cut short due to the school rally that just took place minutes ago by the gymnasium. This meant that they had an early dismissal for the day. And, Suguru thought, if Satoru had any plans to spend the rest of the day with Ijichi, then she couldn't be any more sorry than the next bogus psychic. 

"Hey, sex eyes," Suguru purred, approaching the couple with an amount of coyness distinct to her brand of confidence. 

"What's up," Satoru smiled softly, "Coochie-sake." 

Suguru snickered, jabbing an accusing yet affectionate finger on Satoru's chest. "You are such a nerd." As a matter of fact, Satoru was the only person she knew that would make a crude nickname out of a Japanese urban legend Suguru used to get frightened about. While Suguru made a quip on how Satoru's brilliant eyes could be a hazard during sex because it damn well glowed in the fucking dark. The nicknames were insulting in hindsight. That didn't make them less humorous, though. 

"Anyway," she continued. "We are going out tonight."

Satoru tilted her head to the side in askance. Her glasses slipped down her nose a little due to the motion. "Tonight? To where, Suguru?" 

"This rave in a shrine—"

"A shrine?!" Ijichi shrieked. "Isn't that highly disrespectful?" He looked at his girlfriend for some type of reaction, preferably one that backed up his sensible concern, but was only met with blatant curiousness leaking off her smile.

Suguru rolled her eyes. She totally forgot he was here before he opened his dry lips. Turning to Ijichi—Satoru's useless boyfriend—she commented with a barely contained sneer, "When I said 'we,' I only meant Toru and I."

Ijichi scrunched his face in distaste. "That's not the point—"

"—Why do you wanna go there?" Satoru interrupted. Ijichi's protests fell on deaf ears even as he emphasized how deviant a rave held inside a shrine that was otherwise sacred would be. 

Still, Suguru's voice was sultry sweet as she coaxed Satoru to go with her to this totally ballistic rave. "Dismantle and Cleave are playing there. They're this rock band from some cool city or whatever, and the lead singer's extra salty. So, what'dya say?" 

The tip of Satoru's tongue was thick with compliance, to utter the basic syllable of "yes." However, hesitation filled her senses. She momentarily sought Ijichi's permission, to which the boy could only huff in defeat and nod meekly. At this, Satoru beamed at her boyfriend. 

"Asking your boyfriend if you can party is so 1950's," Suguru scoffed. 

Satoru frowned in what Suguru took as a gesture of remorse. "I promised Ijichi I'd hang out with him tonight." 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ijichi send a lovestruck smile to Satoru's way. His eyes were practically in the shape of hearts. Suguru didn't know why her stomach felt funny at the sight of Satoru's boyfriend looking at her as if she was his world. Her best friend deserved a committed man, didn't she? To be honest, Suguru didn't even know why the mere presence of Ijichi sent her hormones flying off rocket. One day, seriously, she was going to lose it and just punch this fucking geek. Instead of dwelling on these thoughts, Suguru shifted her attention back to Satoru while fiddling with her necklace. 

"Boo-hoo." Suguru swiped her finger horizontally along Satoru's forehead—a gesture to state her obvious and playful disparagement. "Let me ask for permission instead." 

Ijichi could only stand awkwardly as Suguru smirked at him. "Ijichi." she started slowly; her closed eyes adding to her charming appeal. "Can I steal your beloved girlfriend for tonight?" 

Despite the apparent sarcasm dripping from her tone, Ijichi chalked up this unusual treatment from Suguru as a miniscule development to their rocky relationship. Back when him and Satoru announced they were official, when they were first testing the waters, Suguru had been overtly supportive of them. Gradually, though, she became a bit prickly to Ijichi, albeit being considerate to him too. Perhaps that was just how girl best friends react to their friend's boyfriends. 

Ijichi sighed, but then quickly replaced the disappointment in his face with amusement. "Bring her back by 11." 

"What?!" Suguru whined. 

"Fine. 12." 

Satisfied, Suguru finally let Ijichi go. "Will do, Dad." 

"So what time's the party?" Satoru asked, timid and unnecessarily cute. The three of them were walking out the school gates now with the blue sky melting behind them.

"I'll pick you up at 8," Suguru answered.

Clouds littered across the blue expanse, smelling of a Summer's dream. An intensity of a mother's overbearing touch wrapped around everything under that scorching ball of light. At this time of the afternoon, the sun emitted a certain heat that irritated Satoru. Her skin had the tendency to turn an uncomfortable shade of red when exposed to strong UV rays; but before Suguru could offer her Baby Phat jacket, Ijichi had already pulled up an umbrella for the three of them to take shelter on. 

Well, whatever. Suguru guessed it was the boyfriend's responsibility to ensure the comfort of his girlfriend anyway. 

Then, Satoru wrapped her hand around Ijichi's arm at the kind gesture. 

There had been a time when all Suguru and Satoru had was each other. How the both of them relied on the other for experiences preceding the need for romance and teenage clichés. Now, Suguru felt something prick at her skin, just hovering above her bones, bubbling through her stream of blood. She was sure it wasn't because of the UV rays too.

Satoru's house was the closest to the school. It hadn't even been fifteen minutes of walking before they reached a traditional Japanese teitaku, famously known as the Gojo residence. The mansion reeked of exclusivity, of opulence that Suguru could not, for the life of her, ever get used to. Its high Ishigaki walls separated the leveled terrain inside from the neighborhood streets; the only thing Suguru could make out of the secluded mansion was the trees that lined up the pathway. Satoru opened the front gate, letting Ijichi pass through before turning to Suguru. For a second, she expected those glossy lips to invite her inside, to ask Suguru to get ready together. 

Except Suguru knew better than to foolishly expect Satoru to entertain her hopes. 

Satoru fluttered her white lashes, flashing Suguru an expecting smile. "See you tonight?"

Ever since Satoru got herself a boyfriend, she'd been hanging out with Suguru less and less. She was afraid the time would come when she wouldn't spare her time at all. And what was so special about Ijichi's company anyway that had Satoru so wrapped around his finger? Suguru was better at bowling than him; was better at arcade games; had all the better clothes and music taste and favorite movies. So, worried about the atrocious realization that Satoru was slowly pulling away from her, Suguru forced her to join in on everything she wanted to do. That included late-night clubbing, parties, karaoke in another city, rooftop dates, and even waxing appointments.  

"Definitely." Suguru mimicked her friend's simper. "Wear something cute, okay?"

"Okay." 

Satoru sent Suguru off with a wave of the hand, watching as her hips shook with the stride of her steps, as her figure slowly disappeared down the hill.

⟢⟢⟢⟢⟢ ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ⟢⟢⟢⟢⟢

To wear something cute meant something specific in Suguru-speak. Fashion, in her words, had very strict rules to follow and even more stricter rules to break. Satoru knew she couldn't look like an absolute loser, but she couldn't upstage Suguru either. Her stomach could be exposed, as well as her arms and thighs, but never ever, under any circumstances, her cleavage. That was Suguru's brand, Suguru's trademark.

And Satoru had no qualms regarding that.

"Don't you think those jeans are too low?" Ijichi spoke from the edge of her bed. A Yukio Mishima book laid open on his lap on page 26. 

"It's a rock show," she replied, exasperated. "This is my rock look." Her reflection on the mirror looked decent enough. Satoru chose a pair of low-rise flair jeans and a Rhinestone black belt to accentuate her curves. For the top, she layered a white collared blouse underneath a cropped graphic tee of her favorite manga. Dangling from her pale neck was the heart charm from the matching necklaces she and Suguru bought way back in elementary. 

"Well, I can see like your womb, so ..."

Satoru rolled her eyes, which proved to be a challenge while applying light mascara. "That's the point, Ijichi." 

Ijichi, in turn, just slouched further down the bed, creasing the Egyptian cotton sheets in the process. "I've never heard of Dismantle and Cleave. Which one is Geto stalking again?"

"The lead singer." 

He hummed in response, flipping another page to read the next. "She likes vocal guys, huh?" 

At the inappropriate implications of Ijichi's comment, Satoru couldn't help but snicker as she put on some lip gloss. "Don't say it like that." 

Ijichi seemed to be oblivious to the underlying meaning of what he had just said. Although Satoru couldn't be bothered to explain it to him. Checking herself one last time in the mirror, Satoru finally stood up and grabbed one of her Prada purses. "Anyway, Suguru says he's extra salty—"

"Salty?" 

Satoru swiveled from her vanity to meet Ijichi's nonplussed eyes. "It means beautiful." 

"Then, that must mean you're soy sauce, babe," he tried to tease, managing to hold his words steady, but only garnered a flat expression from Satoru. She was packing some extra tissues, a small flask of water, and a pocket book onto her purse when she suddenly paused. 

"She's here," Satoru muttered under her breath like a warning of sorts—at least Ijichi took it as one. 

A chirpy voice whistled from downstairs, rattling the bedroom chandelier in an extraordinary feat of auditory assault. Suguru always needed to let her presence pervade everyone's spaces, whether she was welcomed or not. "Satoru! You better not keep your girlfriend waiting here!" 

"Yup," Satoru giggled. "That's her."

Ijichi's face visibly fell. "Better hurry before she gets annoyed." 

Satoru slung her purse over her right shoulder and gestured for Ijichi to make his way out the hall. The boy obliged, but not before uttering another comment about Suguru—or more specifically, their friendship. 

"You always do what Geto tells you to do." Ijichi's voice was hesitant, small. 

If Satoru was irked by this comment, she didn't let it show. Her seemingly permanent smile gracing her face only grew wider. "No, I don't. I just happen to like the same things she does. That's why we're BFFs." 

Ijichi let this line of conversation drop, taking the hint of his girlfriend's displeasure. Satoru hated how people perceived their friendship and assumed the worst out of her bestest friend. She had reevaluated their dynamic, of course, just like any other normal insecure teen. Despite that, she didn't let her crippling self-esteem cloud her judgment against Suguru. She was the light of her life. Her blue spring. Her one and only. Did it really matter whether she felt like a pushover for Suguru? Did it matter that all the two ever engage in only involved what Suguru wanted to do? Always? Did it matter that Satoru needed to adjust every single time to fit Suguru's needs? 

The answer was no. 

The two of them scurried down the stairs. Ijichi clearly was not too eager to have to face Suguru again. He trailed behind Satoru, leaving a significant amount of space. Suguru was leaning at the stair railing, fiddling with her necklace out of habit. She wore a mini denim skirt, thrifted Alexander McQueen knee-high boots, and a fur collared hoodie. It was a total contrast to what Satoru was wearing. At some point, the sleeves of Satoru's blouse fell down her shoulders and Suguru reached out a tentative hand to fix it. And as fast as Satoru felt that feather-light touch was as quick as it had disappeared too. 

Ijichi hadn't even landed on the wooden floor yet when Suguru announced haughtily, "Guess who's got the whip until 11?"

Satoru giggled as Suguru dangled her car keys around her finger. "A 2003 Mustang and it's all mine." 

Like an afterthought, Suguru looked behind Satoru as if she only noticed Ijichi at this very second. "Oh, hi, Ijichi," she mused and let out a scandalous gasp. "It smells like Thai food in here. Have you guys been fucking?" 

It was meant to be a tease, obviously, but Satoru felt like joking around. "Only on the balcony." 

"You're so gross!" Suguru shoved Satoru playfully, earning a chuckle from both her and Ijichi. 

Satoru shoved her back with equal force. "You're gross!"

"You're gross!" Suguru shoved again, causing Satoru to stumble onto the wall. Their chuckles erupted into full-on laughter. 

"Fuck you," Satoru spit without the magnitude necessary for her words to bite. Breathless and a bit dazed from the push, Satoru let the remaining bubbles of laughter escape her throat before following Suguru out the Genkan. 

"Let's go to the club before your little boyfriend hoards you all to himself." The cold immediately greeted Suguru as soon as she stepped onto the cobblestone pathway. She put her hands inside the pocket of her hoodie and walked faster. 

"Firstly, you are going to a shrine," Ijichi corrected. He pushed back his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Second, I don't hoard Satoru to myself."

Suguru smirked, doing a 90-degree motion with her head to look back at her friend's boyfriend. "Eat my ass, Ijichi. Don't be so Jell-O. It's pathetic." 

Satoru found herself trapped between siding with Ijichi or her best friend yet again. She had half a mind to go her own way and hit the arcade two blocks from here, but ultimately decided to test how thick her patience could get with these two.

Ijichi followed them out of the house. "I'm not jealous!" 

A black convertible was parked at the side of the road. The roof was folded, exposing the red leather cushioned seats. Satoru hopped in the passenger seat. She marveled at the interior of the sports car, unaware until now that Suguru's mom had a Mustang. Something told her that auntie didn't give permission for Suguru to use it, but it wasn't like she was going to snitch on her best friend. 

Suguru opened the door to the driver's seat. She had one foot in the car as she riled up Ijichi more. "You're totally Jell-O. Lime, green Jell-O!" 

With that final quip, Suguru went inside the car. She started the engine, letting it rev and howl onto the promising night. Ijichi watched the two friends drive off the street, turning right and disappearing into the abyss. Satoru had reassured him they'd be fine, that they'd pulled this shit before, so there was no need to worry. Regardless of what his girlfriend said, Ijichi couldn't stop his mind from concocting the worst case scenarios whenever Geto was included in the scene. 

Unlike how the typical raves go, tonight's featured multiple bands from around the area. Satoru had been to a few similar parties where the boomboxes weren't restricted to playing deafening EDM and HipHop beats. The lightshow would be the same. When she fluttered her eyes closed, she could already see the blinding neon strobe lights—the pattern of reds and greens and blues and purples, meshing into one big orb of crystalline mess. 

Suguru had one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. She was focused on the road; gaze trained up ahead. While Satoru would rather look at her than the view out the window. The blur of skyscrapers and this urban jungle faded into nothing, deplored from existence, as Satoru took in the sight of her best friend driving. This was the first time she ever did so in the presence of Satoru. 

Her ebony hair cascaded down her shoulders and fell down way past her waist. Suguru's hair always looked like silk, always looked soft to the touch. Whenever she did cheerleading routines, Suguru would tie her hair up in a bun, leaving out a few strands to frame her face at the side. Satoru couldn't pick a favorite. Though, she would admit Suguru's cheerleading hair-do complimented her face perfectly. There were a lot of things Satoru noticed over the years about Suguru's fashion quirks. To name one, she preferred to wear every clothing item as baggy except for when she decided to wear a skirt. Suguru loved tight skirts. Denim, leather, velvet. Everything. There was only one person who loved tight skirts on Suguru more than herself—and it was Satoru.

"You're staring," Suguru pointed out all of a sudden.

Satoru cleared her throat, ripping her eyes away from the girl. "You just look pretty." 

She chuckled—a sweet, melodic tune. "Tell me something new."

Albeit being another playful tease, Satoru found herself mentally listing quite a few things she loved about Suguru at the top of her head. None of which, of course, was a revolutionary discovery, a unique acclaim, because Suguru was in no way short of devoted fanatics. She had the attention of the whole student population—plus, the teens who religiously bought fashion magazines. One golden afternoon at a random mall in Tokyo, while Satoru was feeding coins to the Gachapon machine, Suguru had been scouted by a modeling agency recruiter. That's how she ended up in several Love Berry magazines. That's how she ended up getting fawned over by boys who reeked of shaving cream and testosterone. 

"You got lipgloss?" Suguru inquired, momentarily switching her gaze between Satoru and the road. 

"Duh." Satoru rummaged through her bag, prompting her chunky keychains to jingle. She fished out a cherry lip gloss and handed it to her friend. 

Suguru kept her hand on the steering wheel—and while her left hand could've easily taken the lip product and applied it herself, she leaned her face closer to Satoru without initiating eye contact. She didn't need to utter a word or two. Satoru caught the hint and carefully patted the applicator along Suguru's already plump lips, lining it over her cupid's bow and down to her lower lip. After she retracted the gloss, Suguru popped her lips and thanked Satoru in that honey-sweet tone that sounded borderline flirtatious. Almost, at least. 

The road stretched further and further until they came across a less commercialized area. There were fewer buildings; trees surrounded them instead. Dark. Sombre. Muted. Satoru would describe it further in depth if she could only make out what was outside. The tires of the Mustang screeched along the pavement and for a while, the two girls stayed silent. 

"Are we heading to a shrine or a cabin in the woods?" Satoru joked to ease the anxiety creeping up her bones. Her left hand was rubbing incessantly up her right arm. The chill brought by the vehicle's air conditioning seemed to be a bit much. 

Suguru took notice of this and adjusted the temperature. She, too, joked along with Satoru. If she felt the slightest bit apprehensive of the rave's location, then Satoru had no way of knowing. "Guess the fourth Evil Dead movie is on its way."

Her attempt at finding hilarity in the situation only worsened when the two girls spotted a rusty signage at the left side of the road. It wasn't even a billboard, so it was easy to miss it had they not been on the look-out. The town's name was displayed in dull, capital letters. Probably washed out by the damage of time. Satoru found it eerily reminiscent to the signage of the fictional town of Twin Peaks. 

"Suguru, this is a bad idea." 

Suguru shook her head and placed a hand on Satoru's thigh. She felt her shiver under her palm—even with the denim between their skins—before she said, "C'mon, we're not gonna back out now that we're literally here."

"I didn't even know we'd be going to the middle of a freaking forest!" Satoru protested. "Can't we go to your usual bar instead?" 

At the absurd suggestion, Suguru groaned. "That's boring." 

"But—"

"Oh My God!" Suguru cut Satoru off with a squeal. "I almost forgot!" She retracted her hand from Satoru's thigh and reached for the glove compartment. Satoru furrowed her eyebrows as she watched Suguru bring out a mysterious box. She could hear the wide grin Suguru was flashing even while she talked. "I bought you tinted glasses!" 

Satoru looked at her with ten shades of confusion. She took the box from Suguru and opened it, revealing a pair of sunglasses. The frame was the same as the one Satoru was currently wearing; the only notable difference was the color. Suguru picked a purple frame to match the dark lenses. Much to Satoru's surprise, as soon as she put it on, she realized that the lenses supported her poor vision too. It was astonishing how her friend had the time to get prescribed lenses. "Suguru!" She gasped, excited. "When did you—I mean, is there an occasion?" 

Suguru made a motion with her shoulders. "So you don't strain your eyes from all the lights." 

"Aw," Satoru cooed. Her blue eyes resembled those of a puppy's which had just been given a treat. It's not a far-fetched comparison, if you asked Satoru. She put her normal glasses inside the purse. Leaning closer to Suguru, she pinched her cheeks affectionately and sat back down the cushioned seats—deeply satisfied and pleased.

Suguru also had a matching smile and a blush creeping up her neck that she desperately tried to fight down. The earlier complaints of Satoru were long forgotten. Looking out the window once more, both of them found the darkness to be kind of inviting. Something warm lingered in the nightly air. Perhaps it was the presence of stars now visible across the onyx blanket that enveloped the Earth in a shadow of a hug. Perhaps it was the moths dancing around the flickering post lamps. Perhaps it was just the moment in this Mustang when Satoru and Suguru were alone with each other while the rest of the city was asleep. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Suguru turned left to an empty lot. From a distance, they could make out the booming of music and the changing colors of rogue strobe lights. True enough, when Satoru hopped out of the passenger seat—almost missing a step because of her excitement—she saw a Torii a few meters away from this rocky lot. It stood on top of a flight of stairs; reinforced by stone ornamentations around it. She was about to walk over it to see the shrine come alive with the lame excuse of a party, but was promptly stopped by Suguru. 

"Wait."

Satoru looked back to see her. She was doing a gesture with her index finger, telling Satoru to come closer. Like always, she obliged and rounded the car to meet Suguru halfway. They stood face-to-face with each other; deep breaths wafting through the space between them. Without any warning, Suguru unbuttoned Satoru's white-collared blouse.

"Wha—?" Satoru almost flinched, hands darting up to stop Suguru. Well, she thought of stopping Suguru but instead found herself frozen in place. Suguru started from the bottom and trailed all the way up to the hem of her cropped graphic tee in slow, heated movements. The blouse that was poking out of the graphic shirt now left Satoru's stomach exposed. 

"There," Suguru mused, eyeing Satoru up and down. She brushed her hands on the semi-tight sleeves that went eight inches past Satoru's shoulder. "Now you look less of a nerd." 

Her simple action was enough for Satoru to render her speech useless for a while. It took about a gulp or two and Suguru fishing through the glove compartment of the car again before Satoru regained her composure and ability to speak. Slightly tripping on her words, she scoffed playfully, "You just wanna see my stomach." 

"I wanna see it shimmer too," Suguru retorted. She held up a bottle of what seemed to be body glitter.

"This is so extra," Satoru commented. Though she didn't mean for it to sound as a complain. 

Suguru rolled her eyes, making sure to emphasize how much of a thrill-kill her friend was being. "I, for one, am on a mission to seduce a hot rockstar. So if you wanna be a boring city girl and pass out on, like, the hottest gang-bang you can ever experience, then just say it." 

Her raunchy words made Satoru grimace. And if she was any more dramatic than Suguru, she would have made a show of puking. Suguru applied the glitter over her arms and legs. Of course, she was right. The girl shone more beautifully at the dead of the night because of the shimmering body lotion. 

"Whatever," Satoru huffed out, giving in to her friend's idea. "Put some on me too." 

Suguru beamed brighter. She boldly traced a line on Satoru's arm and hands. A trail of silver glitter was left on the wake of her touch. 

Satoru flashed Suguru a mischievous smirk and demanded, "Don't miss a spot." 

"Please," Suguru scoffed. "I know your body way better than your boyfriend." Then, her finger grazed the skin on Satoru's stomach. Satoru felt her breath hitch; air lodged somewhere along her throat like a stupid piece of apple. At such an innocent gesture, Satoru couldn't comprehend why her stomach felt funny all of a sudden. Or, maybe, it was the words Suguru uttered seconds ago. Either way, when Suguru lifted her finger away, marveling at how she painted Satoru's skin, she felt sort of empty. Like the remnants of an ember that had been doused off, leaving her to settle for a winter's solace. 

They didn't take long standing idly by the empty lot. After meticulously fixing Satoru's appearance and Suguru's own hair, they walked past the Torii and stone sculptures. Good thing there were lamps around for them to navigate their way easier, albeit some being covered with wild ferns. The music grew louder and louder, the singing became clearer with each step they took. Suguru abruptly latched onto Satoru's hand, to which the latter girl accepted with no reasoning stated. They climbed the stairs hand-in-hand, unafraid even as the trees whispered secrets of the wide-spread forest.

In heaps of royal red and Hinoki cypress, a grandiose shrine stood at the peak of a small hill. The few steps leading up to it had posters of the rave sprawled over. Satoru scanned the area once they made it at the top. By all means, the shrine was in no way ancient or decrepit. It stood proud with extraordinary arches and intricate detailing around the walls. She found one weird thing other than the lack of spiritual respect these partying people had for such structures: the shrine had no name. To be more specific, the gold engraving on a large piece of stone had been scratched off. She didn't dwell on it further, though, because Suguru tugged her hand toward the large, solid wooden doors. 

Satoru assumed that this was an open party, seeing as Suguru didn't need to knock or present an invitation first before the both of them were led into the shrine. Immediately, Suguru let go of Satoru's hand and kept it in the pockets of her hoodie. Satoru didn't mind as she, too, gasped at the scene unfolding right in front of her.

If the sight of the shrine's lavish exterior wasn't enough to impress Satoru, then it would've been the comical way people were partying inside. 

This was where it all began—or, perhaps, this moment straight out of a teen flick already took the two friends halfway towards the rising action. Regardless, Satoru knew that the night wouldn't have anything normal about it. Once they took in the full mise-en-scène or the composition of all things surreal, Satoru and Suguru knew that this sight would be burned in their minds forever.

What they didn't know was that it would end up being in the literal sense. 

There was a dance floor right where people should've been praying to the altar Gods. And, focus switching to the altar, there was a fucking stage where a DJ was scratching remixes and beats loud enough to get their pulses shaking. This wasn't anything like the bars Suguru used to frequent at. All they had were jukeboxes and sticker toilets. 

"Oh my God," Suguru laughed. Amusement painting every facet of her expression. "I can't wait till I'm old enough to get wasted!”

"You take your chances anyway," Satoru wittily commented. 

A voice called out to Suguru by the left. She visibly snarled at the foreign intrusion, but forced a cordial smile when she faced the familiar stranger. 

"Hey, Geto. You look really hot." 

Satoru whipped her head to see which boy Suguru had in a trance again, only to be surprised to see a school-mate. 

"What's up, Migs?" Suguru couldn't sound any more bored. 

Miguel Oduol was a foreign exchange student from Africa. He was tall, dark, and handsome—in Suguru's words. She was probably attracted to him because he sported a buzzcut and had the slightest interest in fashion. Satoru's impression of Miguel was no different than her impression of typical teenage boys: they all thought they were good enough for Suguru. Satoru had to give him credit, though, because Miguel was the only one who actually managed to sleep with Suguru. 

"Wanna buy me Vodka shots?"

"Geto," Miguel clicked his tongue. Ew, Satoru thought. "Shouldn't poison yourself with that shit. Unless ya want me to arrest ya for possession." He winked at Suguru—like, an actual wink, and Satoru wanted nothing more but to dissolve into sea foam. 

"You gonna arrest me or something?" Suguru taunted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Put me in cuffs and all that freaky weeb shit?" 

Miguel groaned, voice strained and hoarse. "Don't do that. Okay? Not here."

Again, Satoru felt like puking. She was afraid she'd actually do it this time. Fortunately—a divine intervention from the disrespected Gods of this shrine, she noticed a peculiar group of 4 heading their way from her peripheral vision. Satoru tapped Suguru's shoulder, pointing towards the band's direction. "Hey, isn't that the band?" 

It was like the mere sight of them took all of Suguru's senses away. She inhaled, then exhaled in collective breaths. "Mmm. You can totally tell they're experienced." 

"Experienced with what?" Miguel asked before Satoru could. 

"That's for me and Toru to find out." Suguru waved Miguel goodbye and dragged Satoru closer to the stage. They had to struggle through the sweaty bodies of people on the dance floor to get to the other side. 

"Wait, Suguru!" Satoru was being a killjoy again. But she didn't mind as long as her best friend was safe and steady and far from the strings of regret. Suguru turned around to talk to Satoru properly. It was hard to strain their ears to listen to what the other had to say when all the speakers were in max volume and the DJs were still shitting out sick beats. 

"Let's just dance, kay?" She tried again, hoping that Suguru wouldn't drop her hand this time. 

"Don't be so pruddish, Satoru. They're just boys. Morsels, even." Suguru shrugged. And, as if to emphasize her point, her hands suddenly latched onto Satoru's boobs, squeezing them playfully. "You point these smart bombs in the right direction and they instantly get dumb. Like, Austin Powers dumb." 

Satoru laughed—a genuine, frisky one. Suguru really knew how to assure her. She let her lead them across the dance floor, stumbling momentarily upon the tangle of bodies, and then finally being on hairsbreadth with one of the members of the band. The guy was in the middle of plugging his electric guitar onto the amplifier. He was fucking tall and muscular in all the right places. His hair was odd, black with frosted pink tips that were gelled into little spikes, giving him a roguish look. Not only that, but he had tattoos all over his face and arms. Surely, this guy was like the mascot for all stereotypical rockstars. 

"Hi," Suguru said coquettishly. 

The guy looked up from his amplifier, breaking into a wide grin once met with Suguru's seductive eyes. "Hey," he called back. 

"We just wanted to meet you," she explained with unusual timidity. Satoru, who was previously standing behind Suguru, was pulled right beside her. "I'm Geto and this is my friend, Gojo." 

"Sukuna," the guy introduced himself. He held up a hand for Suguru to shake. Then, Sukuna turned back to the guys behind him who were occupied with fixing their instruments. Satoru saw a guy with mid-length straight jet black hair sitting by the drums. Albeit not being as tall as Sukuna, he was still pretty big—intimidating, almost. 

"That's my band. Dismantle and Cleave," he explained. Not like he needed to. 

"Yeah, we heard about you," Suguru giggled. Satoru noticed she was fiddling with her necklace—their matching one. 

"Good things I presume?" Sukuna smirked. 

Suguru nodded like a schoolgirl. Somehow, it irked Satoru to see her friend acting like this when she usually would shove cocky boys out of her line of sight. 

"Hey, sorry," Satoru intervened. She couldn't stand being in the band's presence for some reason. There was just this unshakable feeling coiling in her gut. "Um, why would you wanna play in a shrine—in a rave of all places? Don't you guys have better gigs to go to?" 

She intended for her words to come off as rude, to bite and bark and shoo. But Sukuna only guffawed, responding in a haughty tone, "Even the shitty areas deserve good music too. My guys and I try to connect with our fans as best as we can." 

Suguru—still lovestruck and out of her head, giggled again. "That's amazing." 

Satoru shot her an incredulous look, which failed to be acknowledged. 

"Can I—Can I buy you a drink?" Suguru knew that the moment she talked in that sweet saccharine voice, guys would have a hard time saying no to her. True enough, Sukuna urged her to buy them shots and that he'd wait for her before they start the show. 

"How are you gonna buy drinks?!" Satoru asked, concern evident in her tone. 

Suguru, as usual, was apathetic to illegal affairs such as this. "I don't know. Play Hello Titty with the bartender."

While Suguru went ahead to buy drinks, Satoru stayed near the band. She kept a fair amount of distance, busying herself with a very interesting pillar of the shrine. Parts of the tatami mats were soaked either from sweat or spilled liquor. Both of which were disgusting to think about. 

"Uraume," Sukuna called out to his smaller bandmate. "What about her?" 

Now, Satoru didn't mean to overhear their conversation. She was just finding any random thing to focus on while Suguru was gone. But as their conversation progressed, she was glad that she had eavesdropped on the suspicious band. 

"Dr. Muraki?" Uraume clarified, referring to Satoru who was definitely just minding her own business at the corner. Uraume's white hair was styled into a fuckass bob cut with a dark pink horizontal streak at the side. Satoru found the band's hairstyles to be rather weird. Though this was as normal as MTV rockstars could get nowadays. 

"No! Fuck you," Sukuna spat. "I'm talking 'bout Catwoman ov'r there who went to get drinks." Satoru assumed Sukuna was pointing towards Suguru, seeing as she was the only one who he could be referring to. 

Uraume hesitated. "Are you sure she's a—?"

"Questioning my judgment?" Sukuna sighed. Something about this line of talking made Satoru feel uneasy and vulnerable. His voice was low and hoarse when be continued. "Look, I know girls like that. I've dated chicks that love to show it off but they do not give it up." 

"So we are certain?"

"This girl is definitely a virgin—"

"Excuse me." Satoru steeled herself to confront the two. Sukuna glowered at her, but she wasn't having it. "That's my best friend you're talking about. And so what if she's a virgin? That beats sleeping with weird fucks like you!" 

Sukuna didn't spare her an ounce of remorse. He sneered, "You want praise now?"

They were probably snickering amongst themselves, making a show of how untouched their prides were. Scratch an egoistic man and an insecure one bleeds. Satoru didn't bother to look back at them as she turned on her heels to find her best friend and leave. 

God, how dare they talk about Suguru like that when she'd been kind enough to even give them an ounce of her attention? Satoru hated conceited guys. Even more so, she detested guys that wished to treat Suguru like a mere trophy to be won, a crown to be dangled. 

Fuck them. 

She stormed past the crowd and spotted Suguru making her way back to the band. The smile on her face made Satoru's unease feel all the more unbearable. She didn't want to blow her hopes up into flames, but she couldn't just let her friend fall into whatever idea those guys had about her either. Suguru halted in her steps when Satoru appeared in front of her. 

"Those guys are rank. Just forget about it." Satoru took the shots from Suguru's hands and placed them down a wooden ledge. 

"I think the singer's onto me," Suguru mused, which earned an eye-roll from her friend.

"Only because they think you're a virgin! I heard them talking."

Suguru's amused chuckle managed to outweigh the pout on Satoru's lips. "I'm not even a backdoor virgin anymore—no thanks to Miguel. You know how much that shit hurts?" 

Satoru didn't want to know and frankly, she didn't quite care. All she wanted to do was get the hell out of this party and find new ways to not let the night go to waste. But the otherworldly thread of things foreseen and foretold had another plan. Satoru wanted to call it an unfortunate interlude instead of a gig. 

"Alright, you messy fucks!" Sukuna yelled at the mic. "This is Dismantle and Cleave performing tonight." Uraume and the rest of the band went a go on their instruments. With a vexing smirk, Sukuna rasped, "So eyes up here because it'll be a massacre."

Show-offs. Contrary to Satoru's newly established irritation towards the band, Suguru was mesmerized. The audience erupted in coos and cheers as Suguru stalked closer to the stage to get a better view of Sukuna. Everything was strained under the rough strums of their guitars and the loud banging of drums. It was palpable—this tension. The shrine practically came alive with the band's music. Satoru cursed under her breath before following her friend. They stood in the middle of the crowd, about two rows away from the impromptu stage. 

One last time. She'd try to convince her friend to leave one last time. This was her resolve; Satoru wasn't always the responsible one between them, but she needed to be this moment. From any perspective someone could have on their situation, leaving would seem like the most logical decision. Yet, when Suguru tangled her fingers with Satoru's, who was cold and bony and awkward, she found her resolve crumbling down by the seconds. Satoru wasn't always the responsible one between them, and she certainly wasn't the most rational one either.  

Suguru had her eyes fixated on Sukuna. For once, Satoru minded. She minded that everything around them was a wasteland, was a tragedy. At the peak of this hill, they desecrated a shrine and Suguru didn't seem to care. She didn't care that Satoru ditched her boyfriend to be with her tonight and she didn't care that she was paying attention to the wrong guys. For an emotion this deep and nameless still, this surely was taking a bigger toll on Satoru than she had expected.

But, really, who gave a shit? 

Because those moments Satoru's fingers grazed the soft skin of Suguru's knuckles, the texture of the glitters barely being there, and those moments that Suguru rested her head on Satoru's shoulder—holy like an offering to a deity, the seconds it felt to reach a united warmth was infinite. The seconds between minutes stretched onto more milliseconds. Time froze. Reality was its own thing there, albeit being a fickle concept. 

Satoru watched Suguru watch Sukuna. The music faded, along with everything else. When Satoru turned to look at Sukuna, she only saw the motions of his mouth. She couldn't hear anything else but the pulse under her palm, of Suguru's rhythm of existence. Flashes of blue and purple blended in her vision. There was a faint hint of regret that Satoru didn't convince Suguru harder to go their own way—just like they had always done. This longing was but a prayer. No words, just the clasp of their hands.

It felt like electricity shot up her veins—electricity that, no doubt, would cause a spark underneath the glitters and gold bangles. She could feel it then. The spark slowly trickled up the wooden beams of the shrine and the decorative ropes. 

Wait. 

Satoru paused. She could see it then. 

A fire had ignited somewhere on the ceiling. Almost as if it had a mind of its own, the fire's curiosity led it to dance along the beams until it reached an electrical wiring. Termites crawled away from the burnt wood; speakers echoed the shrills of those who had noticed the ignition of the wires; instruments fell down the stage. All at once, the crowd erupted in unique blows of turmoil—like dominos falling at calculated measure. Hysteria came in loud, screeching screams. A beam happened to fall on an unfortunate couple by the back. The tatami mats caught on fire, spreading it quickly within the shrine. 

Satoru looked to the left. 

People were crying out for help in different pitches and different severity. Miguel was surrounded by a stampede a couple of meters away from the door, which were blocked by another fallen beam. People were banging on the solid, thick doors with every ounce of their strength. Coincidentally, all the other windows were locked shut. Nothing could get past the little cracks aside from the LED lights still eclipsing the shrine even as tragedy struck. 

Satoru looked to the right. 

The night was dying. Bright. Smoke rose as ashes fell. A few people had passed out on the floors. No one bothered to help them. This commotion was kind of a "save yourself or die" type of distress. 

So when Satoru felt her muscles again, could feel each twitch and shiver of her bones, she only had one person in mind to save. Her hands were still interlocked with Suguru, who was also shell-shocked. Satoru tugged her once, then twice, trying to garner some type of reaction from the girl. And when Suguru eventually met her gaze with wide, glossy eyes, Satoru dragged them off to the stage—right where the band had played. 

Another girl was trapped between broken tables. 

Someone else had a metal railing plunged onto their leg. 

A guy, seemingly in his 30's, was walking around on fire. Burning faster as he tried to escape the hug of death. 

"Let's go!" Satoru called out to Suguru behind her. The shakiness of her own voice alarmed herself. She led them to the back of the makeshift stage where a large tarpaulin had covered a small opening. It was one of those decorative circular apertures made from Shoji that usually marked the shrine's courtyard. Satoru knew this like the back of her hand. 

She teared the Shoji down easily and guided Suguru to step out of it first. 

"It's okay," Satoru whispered; voice still unsteady and dripping with fear. "I'll be behind you, okay?" 

Suguru still looked dazed. Her purple eyes were a shade closer to black and Satoru felt the hand she was holding clutch tighter to her, before pulling away and climbing out of the hole. 

A loud crash rumbled somewhere inside. Satoru didn't know how else to help the people inside or get them to escape through this hole she made when everyone was stricken with delirium. They ran around the place with no sense of direction or even an inkling of survival instincts. Suguru was waiting on the opposite end. She was waiting for her friend. 

Thus, Satoru climbed out of the hole and dragged Suguru again towards a safer place away from the hysterical shrieks of pain and panic. They crashed onto the ground. The rocks nearly scraped Suguru's exposed knees. 

In a softer voice, Satoru mumbled, "Suguru." She lifted her hands to cup either side of Suguru's face, assessing if she was hurt somewhere. Satoru remembered she packed a flask of water in her bag—if only she could find it right now. 

Seconds passed and Suguru didn't respond, so Satoru spoke again. "Hey, Suguru." 

More seconds ticked by and Suguru only looked at her with empty eyes. Dull and lifeless. Satoru could feel herself crying. Actually, she was fairly sure ugly tears were already streaming down her face. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't what should've happened. She should be having fun with Suguru right now, dancing to their hearts' content on the dance floor. Never mind disgracing a thousand year old Kami. Never mind risking an arrest for illegal possession of alcohol. Never mind crashing the Mustang of auntie's car on the drive away. Never mind every single apprehension Satoru had for this night. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. 

Satoru managed to get the fuck out of that burning shrine, that tainted escapade with her best friend. But Suguru was barely here. She was barely anywhere. 

"Suguru, please." Satoru was sobbing now. Her cheeks, previously red from the fire, were wet with rogue tears dripping from her misty eye sockets. "Please," she begged. Satoru dropped her hands from Suguru's face to clutch onto her hands—again, cold and uninviting on her lap. 

Finally, Suguru opened her mouth. It hadn't even been a centimeter, but Satoru didn't mind. She strained her ears to hear what Suguru was about to say. 

"Satoru, I—"

"Oh, thank fuck you guys are alive!" A voice blared through Suguru's weak words. He laughed, "Was worried you small girls got crushed under the pillars."

That laugh ...

Sukuna bent down beside Suguru, placing a poor rendition of a comforting hand down her shoulder. Satoru was quick enough to slap him away, and Sukuna let her. However, he didn't let Satoru stop him from taking Suguru by the arm and leading her down the stairs. His fellow bandmates followed, discussing something amongst themselves.  

"Let her go!" Satoru yelled from behind them. She saw Sukuna hand what looked like a pill to Suguru, but she didn't see it properly. 

"Your friend's quite the pain, huh?" Sukuna tried to joke, only to be met with a bleak voice replying, "Don't talk about her like that." 

"Where are you taking us?" Satoru incessantly yelled. 

Without falter, Sukuna responded in a flippant tone. "Figured you guys need a ride. Our van's just parked down there."

"What?"

"We're all shocked, I know, and we need to get to a safer place," Sukuna explained. For some reason, Satoru was having a hard time believing anything he said. 

"Okay," Suguru voiced out after what felt like aeons of her staying nonverbal. At this, Satoru snapped and redirected her frustration towards Suguru.

"Suguru?!" 

They were down the stairs now, just ten steps away from the white van Sukuna was talking about. His three bandmates went ahead and opened the backside door. 

Suguru turned around. "Satoru, let's go see his van."

Satoru scoffed in disbelief. Apparently out of better words to say, she settled for understanding. Her voice almost cracked when she asked, "Why should we?"

"I really want to see his van."

"Why do we have to?!" Satoru was bawling. She couldn't contain these sweep of emotions anymore. She was a mess. They were a mess. "We have the fucking Mustang! Let's just get out of here!"

Suguru didn't budge from her place, didn't even bother wriggling against Sukuna's hold on her arm.

It was disgusting how wet Satoru's voice sounded. Or how grief-stricken she must've looked right now. "Please, Suguru. I'm starving."

Satoru was about to reach out a hand. She swore she was. She was going to snatch Suguru away and drive off into the moon and sleep next to her and pretend this was just a collective nightmare they both had. What happened, though, was that Suguru went into the van with Sukuna. And the feeling of dread crashed onto Satoru like a deadly wave, like one bullet fired from Chekhov's gun. She failed to stop them. Suguru looked at her one last time—purple eyes met crystal blue ones, before the door was shut directly in front of Satoru's face. 

Suguru was gone just like that. 

It wasn't new: Suguru choosing someone else. Still, still, still—Satoru cried like a fucking child as she walked to the Mustang. Her reflection on the car window was nothing short of horrid and haggard. Months of putting off getting her license came back to bite her during the most traumatizing day of her life. Panic threatened to flood her thoughts again when she remembered she needed the keys to maneuver it, but then she felt something poke at her thigh from her pocket. 

It wasn't new: Suguru caring for Satoru in ways she couldn't even place into words. Afraid that if she did, she'd put a limit to how much affection Suguru had poured onto her. As Satoru took out the sharp thing from her pocket, she was surprised to find the car keys. Suguru must've slipped it in a while ago—back at the shrine or when they were escaping through the hole or when Satoru was comforting her on the ground. 

Fuck. 

She missed her best friend. Satoru only had thoughts of Suguru as she drove home, alone and intolerably miserable with her heart up her throat. The red leather seats felt like stone. Everything felt colder. She tried to fight it, but she lingered on the prospect of keeping the flames that started the awful accident alive in her mind only so she'd feel a sliver of warmth in some way. 

⟢⟢⟢⟢⟢ ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ⟢⟢⟢⟢⟢

Had it been an hour? Two hours? Possibly, three? She didn't know how she got home in one piece. Perhaps the Kami of the shrine that had just burned down took pity on Satoru for whatever reason her human mind couldn't understand. The Mustang was parked a block away from Satoru's house in fear that if her parents came home tonight, they might question where in the world did she get a fucking car. As if that was the most unusual thing that transpired tonight. As if that should've been Satoru's utmost concern as of the moment. 

She took a step inside the gate. 

Another at the front door. 

Then, past the genkan. 

Satoru was a ghost drifting through the hallways, haunting her own bedroom. She flopped on her bed, barely registering the coil of the mattress underneath her weight. Had her parents seen her at the dead of the night sneaking in the house, she would've been met with a more horrible fate than getting stuck inside a collapsing shrine. Which, Satoru pondered, was still a mellow persecution than seeing the blankness of Suguru's eyes. How could she ever forget about the way she looked when she saw it in the moon, in the unlit lamp on her nightstand, in the glimmer of her stomach, in the gold heart charm of her BFF necklace?

What went wrong? 

Was it letting Suguru drag her to anywhere she wanted to go? Was it the ignorance of morality and conduct? Was it Satoru's inability to say no to her friend? Was it Suguru's fault for being so enamored by guys almost twice her age?

She could come up with all sorts of reasons, any excuse to fill in the void of the truth. Satoru could rack her brain inside out, turn her body from left to right, maniacally making an animated cartoon out of herself. The sheets would crinkle; the window turned blue. Despite all that twisting and turning, the needle would still point to North; the blame was still on her. 

Overwhelmed by this uncharacteristic nature of Satoru's inner debate, she took out her flip-phone and pressed the second number that appeared on her screen: Ijichi's contact. Blessedly, he answered the call before Satoru had the chance to think this through all over again. 

"Hey, Satoru?" Ijichi's voice sounded half-asleep. 

There were a lot of things Satoru wanted to spill out, to confess, but she didn't have the resolve necessary to enunciate them. Everything was a blur. No word in the Japanese lexicon could warp the whole night into something palatable for Ijichi to understand. Satoru wanted to be able to confide to Ijichi about how fucked up the party had been, but all that escaped from her trembling lips was a simple and short "Hi."

Ijichi sensed immediately her reluctance to talk. Though, he didn't know the reason behind it. "What's wrong?" 

Satoru let out a deep exhale to prepare herself for whatever was about to come out of her mouth with an uncontrollable shake. It was stressful enough to live through it. What more to recount the happenings to someone? "It's just—Suguru's gone. She left with this band and—and the shrine burned down and—"

"Wait," Ijichi gasped, total shock apparent on the edges of his tone, "It burned down?!" 

Satoru could understand that from an outsider's perspective, her story seemed like a lazy plot drive for a Shonen manga. "Yeah." 

The next words following her response would've been: "There was a stampede and all the people that fainted got run over, and you could hear their bones breaking, and the people on fire smelled like pig intestines being roasted." Ultimately, however, Satoru was too much of a coward to get herself to talk. She called for a distraction, not an intervention. 

"Are you okay?"

The concern dripping from each syllable that came out of his mouth produced another lodge down Satoru's throat. One that she couldn't quite swallow. Suguru's empty eyes flashed again in her mind like some cruel reminder of what was taken from her. Of who was taken from her. Never mind if Satoru got home safe and sound, the priority at hand should be Suguru. "Ijichi, Suguru is still out there. The band took her... They have her in a van!"

Satoru heard shuffling from the other line before Ijichi's voice rang through. "Did you get the model?"

Deeply frustrated with herself, she bit. "How should I know? An '89 rapist?!"

"Look," another sigh, before, "Forget Geto and that douche band and just focus on yourself, hm? People just burned to death, Satoru." 

Satoru wanted to shout. She knew that. Of fucking course, she knew that. She smelled their crisp skin and heard their loud wails. Ijichi wasn't being of any help. In his defense, Satoru couldn't place what she needed right now too. It wasn't like she was asking for comfort. No one could ever console her panic how Suguru did. And that sickening realization brought back the sobs Satoru wanted to spit out of her mouth. This had been a big mistake. All of it. Silence followed silence as no one bothered to intercede it, until it became too pronounced. 

Until the silence sounded like a rock being thrown at Satoru's window. 

Slowly, she turned her head towards the left to make sure she hadn't gone full schizophrenic. It must've been just her imagination, right? Except straight away, as if it sensed Satoru's doubts, a rock had been thrown for the second time. Caught off-guard, Satoru must've inhaled a sharp, frightened gasp because Ijichi asked her what was wrong again. "Someone's here," she whispered, slightly incoherent. 

"What? Who?" Rang from the other line. 

"I don't know! They're under my window, Ijichi." 

"Okay." Satoru could feel how frantic the boy was from his tone alone. "Okay, stay on the line. Do you need me to come over?" 

Satoru stalked closer to her window. The moonlight cast shadows of the trees in her garden, making them seem like ominous creatures out to get her. 

"Satoru?"

"Fuck," she mumbled. Once she got to her window, she saw nothing. Satoru didn't know what was worse: to be able to see someone or nothing at all. Fear replaced anguish that replaced numbness. 

"Satoru?" Ijichi called out again. This time, more demanding. 

"No one's here. I'm gonna call you later." With that final admonition, Satoru hung up the call. She swore she saw a rock hit her window. And if anything she could be mistaken about, it would be about the rock probably being just an eraser or something. No one really sought Satoru's attention by throwing something into her bedroom window aside from Suguru. 

And, a wicked joke from the universe, the floorboards creaked inside Satoru's bathroom. 

She stayed unmoving. Her room was eerily still. Even when the bathroom door suddenly burst open, Satoru didn't make any sign of moving. 

And here came the punchline of the universe's little joke. 

"Suguru," she breathed out. Her best friend's name rolled of her tongue like a sacred orison. 

"Suguru," Satoru whispered again. Tentative and perturbed. She was crying now. Not through her eyes—no. But she felt her heart split into two. If she could cry, she would be bled dry. "Suguru, what happened?"

Her best friend was covered in blood. Suguru's ghastly body, which looked beaten and bruised all over, jumped out of the bathroom door. Nothing about her appearance eased the worry that skulked around Satoru's chest. More than anything, the ache she felt only grew tenfolds until her body mistook it for the air she failed to breathe. In lethargic, small steps, Suguru walked forward; away from the bathroom and closer to Satoru. A predator to its prey. A slow waltz to die. 

Without meaning to, Satoru stumbled backward when Suguru didn't stop a few feet away from her. Her feet moved quicker than Satoru's eyes. It was almost like she planned to crash onto Satoru. There was blood all over her, painting her disheveled hair, her nails, her beloved jacket, her knees, her exposed leg, her teeth. She looked like she had been stabbed over and over again. 

Suguru opened her mouth, grinning maniacally. "Are you scared?" 

The voice that came out was broken, hoarse. Satoru was sure now. She was sure whoever was in front of her wasn't her best friend. This wasn't her Suguru. Their faces were inches apart and Satoru could see a stranger swimming underneath Suguru's pale skin. Everything about the girl was wrong. Her lips curled upwards in an uncanny smile devoid of mirth and emotion; her skin was utterly pale and the veins were black; her jacket had been ripped at the middle. Worse of all, Suguru's eyes were lifeless and dull. She wasn't anything familiar. It hurt. 

Satoru couldn't recognize her best friend. She couldn't inquire any form of understanding from Suguru. Not when the girl came back to her broken and Satoru didn't have the hands meant to repair. She quietly grieved, standing still and hoping this would all go away like a bad nightmare. Suguru's stomach growled—and it was the most inhumane thing Satoru ever heard. It was a wild beast that roared from the depths of a ravine. It demanded. She turned sour and evil as she just stared at Satoru with hunger that almost made Satoru crumble onto herself. Then, she pried her lips open. 

Something bubbled within her guts, 

coiling around her throat,

before it burst out without control. 

It spilled everywhere; smelled acidic and rotten. Carnage shadowed by black plasma pricked Satoru's skin. Suguru kept puking it out uncontrollably, messing the carpeted floors and the cotton sheet on her bed. Satoru watched as Suguru's eyes rolled backwards. The whites of which were downright ominous. She made a choked sound—one that resounded like thunder across a deserted forest. After a minute, after Suguru emptied her guts out on the floor, she laughed again. She flashed Satoru a venomous smile before she went out onto the hallway.  

There were no sounds as she perhaps ran down the stairs and escaped through the front door. There were no other signs Suguru gave Satoru that she was safe and alive. There were no other explanations as to what had just transpired other than the noxious substance coating Satoru's bedroom floor. It was just Satoru and the agony Suguru left on her wake. It was the dread that crept up her spine, settling on her heavy shoulders. 

Had she done this to Suguru?