Work Text:
“Alright, everyone. Today’s lecture is done. Don’t forget to turn in your final projects next week; the earlier the better! Office hours are held every day from 2 PM to 4 PM, so if you’re struggling with your project or need help with anything, please reach out via email so we can set up a time!”
“What a fucking drag.” Satoru thought. “Good thing I can get it done in one night, leaves more room for me to fuck around and be out.”
The final project is the last thing on Satoru’s mind. Sure, literary analysis isn’t his favorite subject; he usually doesn’t designate as much time and brain power to it as he should, but the subject matter demanded his attention due to the upcoming final project.
Still, he can do what he usually does: skim over the book, scribble down the important points, and then write an essay about how “the author uses idioms to symbolize pain,” or “how the colour blue is a metaphor for sadness,” or some shit like that.
While it should be his top priority, his brain is more fixated on the frat party that’s gonna be happening tonight.
Fuck, it’s gonna be great, it has all of his favorite things: copious amounts of alcohol that’ll inebriate you enough so that everything around you is spinning, the smell of weed and vapes that assault your nostrils so much that the empty spaces in the room get filled with fruity or skunk-like odors, and, most importantly, girls who will throw themselves at him so that they can come home with him and give him flashes of pleasure and ecstasy.
Satoru is the life of the party. He’s naturally charismatic, and he can strike up a conversation that’ll leave you charmed and wanting more. Not to mention, he is incredibly easy on the eyes: striking blue eyes that glisten even in the dimmest rooms, fluffy white hair that looks both effortless and perfectly styled, and a body that was carved with intense details from every higher power that conceived him. He could easily be scouted as a model, given his tall stature, perfectly toned body, and striking features.
He was not just handsome, he was beautiful. The way his canines show their heads when he smiles, and the small dimples he has on each corner of his mouth, made just looking at him intoxicating. You couldn’t help but stare; people almost break their necks whenever he comes into a room, and his laugh was not grating or irritating; it was synonymous with a symphonic composition. Satoru was a dream boy; he was the type that people fantasize about in their spare time, the type of boy that was only conceived in dreams.
He loved the parties. He loved the attention he got, and he loved the fact that he was sought after by girls who crossed his path. He loved getting so drunk that words turned into mere strings of letters, steps turned into fumbles, and inhibitions turned into dust. What was even more fun for him was having some random girl babbling to him on the walk over to his apartment about how she can’t wait to feel him inside of her and how he knows exactly how to please a girl.
At least, that’s what he connotated fun with. College is meant to be fun; it’s all about scratching that itch to run wild and get shit-faced before you have to take cautious steps into the “real world,” or whatever his parents call it. It was an indulgent routine that he loved living. He couldn’t have asked for a better college experience.
Or so he thought.
Despite the fast-tracked life he lived, deep down, he knew it felt monotonous. It was odd; he loved that he could pull any girl that he wanted, but he found it all so… boring. They always agreed with everything he said, and it made him feel disengaged from the idea of even entertaining the idea of making them more than a hookup.
He’s never found anyone who gave him even an inch of a rush in his heart; that feeling where you feel so drawn into someone that it entrances you, or that feeling where your face gets warm and your palms get sweaty. Sure, he found people attractive, but he never felt that tug at his heartstrings like how those overly-produced, artificial romance movies described. He never got those butterfly-like feelings or those adrenaline-like rushes when someone expressed their interest in him, and it made him feel like he was some sort of malfunctioning doll.
So, he did what he could to have fun, despite this lack of romantic experience.
I can fill that void, right? Drink, party, and fuck. That’s how I’ll do it.
✮
“Suguru, you’ve been studying for, like, 5 hours straight. Come on, the school year is about to end, at least go to one party! Hey, there’s this one that’s being held over at the frat tonight, and I know a guy who can get us in, please!”
“No.”
“Come on, please. You know I love having you as a wingman! I’ve been eyeing that one girl who's part of the music club, and she’s gonna be there. Please! We don’t even have to stay long; We just gotta go, I strike up a conversation, and then you wingman for me.”
“If I say yes, you promise we won’t be there long? I really gotta finish this final project, it’s due next week.”
“Yes, I promise, so is that a yes?”
“Fine. If you keep me there longer than two hours, I’m making you buy me lunch every day for a week.”
Droves of people who seemingly had no concept of personal space, pungent smells of artificial fruit smoke lingering in the air, and booming music that made your ears ring made Suguru want to vomit. He would much rather spend his time in his quaint dorm room, a cup of hot tea resting on the table, and some video essay on the philosophy of death and dying playing in the background. When he’s feeling extra stressed, he’ll pair all of that with a perfectly rolled blunt to melt all of the troubles away.
But, he has to admit, he hasn’t been to a party since the start of his sophomore year, so he figured that it would be to attend one more before he graduates in a month. It was some random Halloween party where he drank so much tequila that it made every movement the next day feel like the ground beneath him was about to crack and the Earth would swallow him whole.
He barely remembered it, so he figured partying wasn’t that large of a priority for him during this integral time of his life. Plus, he has bigger things to worry about – is he going to go to graduate school? Maybe pursue the medical school route? Take a year to work and then decide what he wants to do with his degree.
Adult life and life post-college held a bag of unknowns that he didn’t dare to open right now. Cramming for exams, making sure that he devotes adequate time to his studies, and saying no to any outings that he deemed were “a waste of his time” helped him prepare for this monumental life event, but he still had that inevitable dread.
The bleak, looming cloud of dread that sprinkled droplets of uncertainty made his college experience less enjoyable than his peers. But that small part of him wishes that he had embraced the fun that college had to offer: get drunk with friends at a seedy bar and eat a greasy meal while drunk, sign up for clubs that actually struck his fancy, or even say yes to going on a date with someone who mustered up the courage to ask him out.
Yeah, maybe dating would’ve made him less strict on himself. Maybe he’d learn how to integrate fun into his self-made rigorous schedule, but, to be honest, no one really ever struck his fancy. Everyone was too plain, too… boring. He never felt that initial draw and pull of another human being, or that insatiable need to find words just so that he could keep talking to them.
He felt odd. Suguru felt as if something was wrong with him; how could he go all four years of university without that clicking, magnetic feeling towards another person? Was there really no one in that large university who managed to make him that kind of all-consuming attraction that those phony, and arguably cheesy, romance movies show?
That was until he was enrolled in the same class as Satoru Gojo.
✮
The moment he heard his own striking voice in class, he felt something stir in his chest, giving him a sensation that felt like millions of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. When Suguru raised his head from his textbook, he saw who the owner was of said enchanting voice. The man was as beautiful as he sounded; while very conventionally attractive, his unique features made Suguru feel as though he was in the presence of one of God’s angels.
Satoru bewitched him with no effort at all; his presence, voice, and thoughts were what made Suguru pull into him like a magnet. He eyed him like a fan. Suguru felt like he was one of his myriad of admirers who would drown in the sea of people. The deep ocean with cascading waves was a dark reminder of how seemingly unattainable Satoru was to him.
Suguru instinctively pocketed himself in the deepest corners of the lecture hall to avoid any possible distractions that came his way during lectures. He devoted all of his attention to skillfully scribbling any important parts of the lesson that the professor said with emphasis, but Satoru was an unintentional roadblock in this routine; the way he caught not only Suguru’s, but everyone’s, attention was something that someone had to be born with.
Charisma that came naturally. Charisma and charm that was not rehearsed or artifice; it was built in someone’s DNA, and Satoru had that.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he agreed to going to that party with Shoko in the slim hopes that Satoru would be there. This crippling, puppy-love-like crush that he had on Satoru made him feel things that he had never felt, or done things he hasn’t even conceived a single thought of doing before: a shaky voice with Satoru asked him for a pencil, the kitted brows when he saw that Satoru didn’t attend the lecture that day, and the resonance of romance poems that he had written down in his frayed, worn-down composition book.
It was one month until he graduated, and he figured that if it weren’t now, then he would never speak to Satoru in a way that permeated surface-level conversations. The typical, one-off interactions they had with each other during class, like asking for a pencil or snarky comments from Satoru about how boring this class was, didn’t satiate the foreign, unknowingly hungry crush that he had on Satoru.
He was smitten. Suguru felt like he was in the stretching, never-ending line of people who adored Satoru and got pulled into his grasp, and he figured it was now or never for him to dip his toes into the uncertainty of this sea of possibilities. Even though he thought his chances of Satoru being even remotely interested in having a conversation with him that lasted more than five minutes felt closer to zero than anything higher, he wanted to give it one shot before his university days ended, just so he could say that he tried.
He phoned Shoko once more and waited for the ringing on the end of the phone to cut off and hear Shoko’s voice.
“Hey, so, quick question…”
“Mhm, I’m listening.”
“That party we’re going to… which frat’s hosting it?”
“Oh, it’s that Gojo dude’s frat. I heard it’s gonna be huge. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, um, no reason at all. I think he’s in my literature class.”
“Oh, Suguru, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me you have a secret hard-on for him.”
“How crude. I just said he’s in my class; nothing more, nothing less.”
He hung up the phone and stared at the taunting string of messages that Shoko proceeded to send about how he had a crush on Satoru, how Suguru had probably written his name all over his notebook with little hearts with arrows around it, and how Suguru probably stalks him around campus like some creep.
Suguru pockets his phone and cracks open his laptop to do some last-minute edits on his final project for his psych research class. Some missing commas, a few grammatical errors that needed to be fixed, and some minor spelling mistakes. It took him around 5 minutes, but the project was practically done with the linguistic parts that needed fixing.
He cracks open a textbook for his psychological research class to go over Cohen’s D one more time, just so that he feels more capable and confident for the upcoming final for that class. He skimmed over the sections that talked about Cronbach’s alpha, positive and negative correlations, and how to integrate your research findings into an APA-style essay to show if they validated your hypothesis, if they can contribute to future research projects, or if there were any limitations to your experiment.
He wrote in chicken-scratch onto the thin papers of the composition notebook in a language that was only readable to him and jotted down any last-minute notes before getting up to shower and get ready for the party.
Admittedly, he had no clue how to dress or how to even mentally prepare for the possibility of starting up a conversation with Satoru, that is, if Satoru even gave him the time. He tried to pocket the possibility of rejection, tried to tell himself that it would be alright if Satoru didn’t give him the time of day to speak to him. He’ll go there, wingman for Shoko, get a couple of drinks in, and then go home.
Could he be using his time tonight more “wisely” and run through various confounding variables that could’ve affected the outcome and results of his experiment? Or maybe spend time hyperfixating on his report to make sure that his methods of collecting data made sense within the context of his research model?
Sure, he can, but he did promise Shoko, and that small voice in his brain chanted repeated mantras about how he deserved at least one night to let his inhibitions melt away. No matter if he talks to Satoru or not, he’ll have fun and use this night to commemorate his time at university.
✮
The duo stepped into the large fraternity house and marveled at how the grandiose interior had been desecrated by its residents. The scene that met their eyes was already a flurry of chaos, despite it only being 11 PM. Spilled red solo cups littered their paths, a hoard of people huddled around a guy doing a keg stand out on the back patio, and a barrage of ping-pong balls flying from all directions in a desperate attempt to land in a beer-pong cup. Flashing lights from people’s phone cameras blinded the pair’s eyes momentarily, making the little floaters in their eyes pop up.
To their right were two massive coolers filled to the brim with cheap beer cans, half-empty cheap vodka bottles, and a variety of soft drinks. It’s not the best quality, as expected, but the beauty of cheap alcohol is that it’ll get them to their desired point quicker. Ice cubes from the cooler were sprinkled onto the floor, and the Sharpie used to write down their names on their cups was already dried out and past the point of efficacy.
Clouds of smoke filled the already thick air of the house; body heat, a lack of ventilation, and the various odors of weed and vapes made the air in this house feel as if it was closing their throats. That, in combination with the party attenders who had seemingly no concept of personal space or paid any attention to the volume of their voices, made Suguru’s jaw tick and his brain spin from the overstimulation.
Their eyes scan the perimeter and take in the sheer Project X-styled activities that took place in every corner of the house: messy makeouts, people jumping off the rails of the stairs, and crazed, hopped-up partygoers who were personified megaphones. The concept of having a residence as big as this made the number of people who filled the area seem like it could be in the triple digits.
“God, Shoko. This place is huge.” Suguru muttered. Shoko’s eyes further scanned the room, both to make an estimate of how many people are here and to find the girl she had been dying to talk to, and shortly after that, nodded her head in agreement, “Mhm. So, have you found your golden boy yet?” she says while bumping her elbow into his right arm. Suguru nudged her back lightly, “Shut up, let’s go get something to drink. It’ll make it more bearable.”
She scoffs and starts to step over to the clunky foldable table where two big ice chests rest right under. “Whatever you say. Go find your dream boy, and I’ll go find the girl from the music club!” A sarcastic eye roll leaves Suguru’s face before he begins his steps to the booze.
Suguru follows in her steps and opens the coolers. If he were to drink, none of these drinks would be his drink of choice, so it was time for him to narrow his options and possibly get creative. Beer made him drowsy, vodka left his throat scathed and burning, and he didn’t want to down just a soft drink tonight. He turned his head and narrowed his eyes to try and portray a front of seriousness, “He is not my dream boy.”
In an attempt to remedy this and loosen his personal reigns, he grabs a solo cup from the plastic sleeve, a can of Coke, and chooses the lesser of two evils and opts to reach for the half-empty bottle of vodka. His routine went as follows: crack open the bottle, pour roughly one shot’s amount in there, crack open the can, and then pour more Coke than alcohol. Suguru brings the edge of the cup to his lips, throwing his head back slightly to get a taste of his half-hearted excuse for a drink.
It tasted exactly how it was expected to taste: vodka that burned your throat and smelled like nail polish remover masked with the smallest amount of Coke. He adjusted the drink to fit his taste buds, slowly dripping more amounts of Coke into his can until it became at least somewhat bearable to stomach.
Suguru turns his head around to find his plus one, unable to detect her anywhere among the boatloads of drunk partygoers.
”Hey, Shoko! Where did you-”
His panic got cut off by the same azure blue eyes that had caused his heart to be grabbed into a constricting bind. The same blue eyes that made Suguru write drabbles in his notebook about how the evening sky or deepest oceans severely lack when compared to them. The same blue eyes that, whenever Suguru glanced at them, made him feel like he had discovered the world’s rarest opalescent gem.
“Hey! You’re in my literature class! Glad you could come out,” Satoru began.
Suguru stumbled back, eyes unable to register the sight in front of him. Satoru looked especially beautiful today, even though he didn’t do anything visibly different to his appearance. Maybe it was the alcohol creating this white, angel-like glow around Satoru, but whatever it was, Satoru looked even more dream-like than all of those times that Suguru snuck glances over towards him during their shared lecture.
“Hi, yeah. I came here because my friend heard that the girl she’s been eyeing would attend. Didn’t think you’d remember me,” Suguru said while scratching the back of his neck. The alcohol was settling into Suguru’s bones and making him a bit more blunt than usual. He would never shell out such a self-pitying statement like that, but the alcohol had a mind of its own.
He registered how dumb he must’ve sounded when saying that and started to overthink. Even when tipsy, his brain managed to jump-start itself into diving into ruminations over the smallest interactions. But the small glimmer of light when he saw Satoru’s humorous, fake-offended face managed to overshine said thoughts.
The expression that’s painted onto Satoru’s face was one of amusement and offense,
“Why wouldn’t I! You’re the one who always sits in the back with me when I’m running late to class. You know, the guy who always answered all of the questions correctly when our brain-dead professor asked some long-winded question about whether there was any deeper meaning to why the author chose to specify that the sky was blue, or some shit,” Satoru began.
“Your name’s Suguru, right? I’m Satoru! So sorry I didn’t introduce myself during class, I kinda missed ice-breaker week… but I remembered your name because of the times the professor would call on you to answer a question!”
Suguru blinked once to make sure this interaction wasn’t just a figment of his imagination; the person whom he secretly dedicates all of his small poems in an iambic pentameter style that are scribbled in his notebook remembers him? Satoru actually acknowledged his intelligence and took note of how well he executed his answers. Suguru replayed all of the 5 times he answered a question in front of the class in an attempt to try and refer back to how smart he actually sounded during those drabbles.
Play cool, Suguru. Play cool.
A small chuckle escapes Suguru’s lips, one only audible enough so that he and Satoru could hear. “Nice to know your name now, Satoru,” he began.
“That class sucks. But, to be honest, the small comments you make about him make me laugh. Definitely makes the class go on a lot faster,” Suguru says. A loud laugh that clearly formed from Satoru’s stomach erupted from his mouth, “Oh, dude. You gotta admit, that guy’s braindead. It feels like we learn the same things every single time.”
Suguru raised his eyebrow, genuinely dumbfounded by Satoru’s statement, “What do you mean?”
Satoru’s humorous expression quickly turned into one of matched confusion, “What do you mean? Like, every lecture we analyze the same collection of passages, and he expects us to write a quick entry about what stuck out about it. I mean, how much can we really point out if it’s the same passages every time?” Satoru ranted.
Suguru could smell the alcohol on Satoru’s breath, the scent of it mixing with the mint gum pocketed between Satoru’s cheek and teeth. His cologne mixed with that intoxicating scent made him more alluring. He shook his head and breathed out another small chuckle before opening his mouth once more,
“That’s the point. If you read the same things over and over again, it forces you to find different things that you might’ve skipped past the first time. It’s like when you listen to a song repeatedly. You start to hear the drums more, the strings in the back become more pronounced, and maybe you’ll even start to hear the harmonies from the background vocals,” he explained.
This analogy caused the cogs in Satoru’s brain to start turning. “Oh, that actually makes a lot of sense!” Satoru was visibly drunk, but he still had the brainpower to analyze and pick apart what Suguru said about their literary assignments. He brings a finger to his chin and points his eyes towards the ceiling, “Or like when you watch a movie for the first time, and then when you watch it a second time, you start to notice things you didn’t see the first time?”
Suguru let out a pleased nod, “Yep. Exactly like that. Now, I don’t want to hold you for long. I know there are some people… waiting for you over there.” His eyes darted to the crowd of girls squealing and doting over Satoru right behind him. They parroted his name and waved their hands so that he could come over to do shots with them.
Satoru watched him leave, a small pang of sadness hitting his heart as he walked over to the shrieking mob of girls repeating his name like some irritating chant. But Suguru knew he couldn’t keep him forever, so he excused himself and stepped out onto the back patio to grab a smoke. He situated himself on a bench right under a large tree with spider-like branches and grabbed a cigarette and his lighter from his back pants pocket.
Light, inhale, then exhale. The effects of the nicotine took off some of the remaining edge that frayed his nerves and lessened the overstimulation that flooded his body when he stepped into the crowded house. Suguru pulls out his phone to check on Shoko’s location, a giggle leaving his lips when he sees that she’s at the dormitory that houses all of the members of the music club.
“Ah, at least she accomplished her mission,” he thought to himself. It was probably time for him to head home, but he wanted to enjoy the ambient sounds of the wind passing through the hanging leaves of the trees and the soft cooing of owls that echoed throughout the sky.
To come from an environment that frazzled every one of his five senses made basking in the nighttime atmosphere feel even more rewarding. He raised his cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply before his ears caught wind of a familiar voice calling out for him.
“Suguru! You’re still here!”
Suguru’s head turns and follows the direction of the voice. His eyes met with a slender, toned body running towards him, and a sweaty, red-faced Satoru calling his name like Suguru’s name was a pejorative term, “Thank god you’re still here. Can I sit here with you for a bit?” Satoru slurred out.
Suguru nods and pats the space right next to him to cue Satoru to sit down. Satoru plops down, spreads his legs, and props his elbows onto his knees, “Thanks so much. Ugh, I was just getting so sick of those girls following me around. I needed an exit.”
Suguru let out a sarcastic laugh, “Oh? So I’m just an exit?” he questioned sarcastically. He feigned offense and held his heart dramatically.
Satoru frantically tried to backtrack his statement, “No! No, as in like- fuck, how do I word this?” he stuttered. He caught his breath and found the words before opening his mouth, “Like, I would much rather talk to you rather than them. You’re actually interesting.”
Suguru felt like Cupid shot him with another arrow. That small bit of praise that he got from Satoru bolstered the already iron-cladded, slightly pathetic crush he had on him. His eyes slightly widened with shock, his brain scrambling together to formulate an adequate-enough sentence to properly thank him.
“I-uh… thank you, really. You can sit here as long as you want. You smoke?” Suguru asks while motioning his head to the cigarette resting between his index and middle fingers. Satoru shakes his head, “No, I don’t. I don’t mind if others do, but for me, I hate how the smell sticks on my clothes,” he explained.
Suguru nods and brings the cigarette back to his lips to inhale. They stayed in silence for a bit while Satoru’s body tried to compose itself and not spill the contents in his stomach onto the freshly-mowed grass beneath his feet. “You alright?” Suguru asked.
With bloodshot eyes, Satoru turned his head and squinted his eyes to alleviate the double-vision that ailed his eyes. “Yeah, a lot better now, actually.” They sat in silence once more before Satoru sat his upper body back up and leaned against the backrest of the bench. “So… did your friend end up finding that girl you were telling me about?”
Suguru chuckled, “Yes. She’s actually at her dorm right now, look.” He shows Satoru the glowing blue circle situated on top of the map, clearly showing that she’s at the music club dormitories.
“Holy shit! Wait! So she just left you here?” Satoru asked.
Suguru let out an exasperated sigh and a weak nod, “Yeah, but I mean, I knew it was coming because we talked about it before. I’m not mad at all, I’m just glad she dragged me out of my apartment.”
Satoru’s mouth turned downwards, his lower lip poking out slightly, “Aw fuck, okay, are you planning on going home? Let me at least walk you back,” he offers.
Suguru frantically shakes his head, “No, no, it’s okay! Please, I don’t want to cut your night short, or anything!” Satoru let out a deep belly laugh, “You aren’t cutting my night short,” he began.
Satoru leaned into Suguru’s ear and cupped it with his right hand, “Besides. I’m getting kinda wiped. I don’t know why, but tonight’s party just seems so…. bleh.” Suguru raised his eyebrow at this statement; he always viewed Satoru as this super-human force of excitement, so the reminder that Satoru has a limited social battery caught him a bit off guard.
He chose not to prod further because he noticed that the blush on his face burned like a rapidly spreading wildfire. His shabby attempt at nonchalance crumbled in an instant as soon as Satoru tickled his ear with his lips when whispering to him. He, once again, felt that familiar clench in his heart, the same one that he felt when he first laid eyes on Satoru.
“Alright, let’s go. Thanks for walking me home. Anyone you need to say bye to before we head out?” Suguru asks while ashing his cigarette with the bottom of his shoe.
Satoru shook his head rapidly, “Nope. Everyone’s too drunk to notice if someone leaves, so I’ll just Irish goodbye!”
✮
The duo sneaks out from the back patio and makes their way towards Suguru’s apartment. “So, you live near here? I mean, since you said you’ll walk me home, I’m assuming that you live close,” Satoru thought out loud.
Suguru nodded in acknowledgement, “Yeah. I work at the research lab on campus, and I get my housing paid for by the school,” he began. Their steps moved in tandem with each other, but Satoru’s steps started to metamorphose into stumbles. Suguru catches Satoru by the waist to steady him, “You okay?” he asks.
Satoru nods weakly as he tries to steady himself and not let the cumbersome side effects of alcohol impair his ability to walk, “Yeah, no, I’m good,” he slurred. They take slow, cautious steps on the sidewalk, Suguru’s hand still resting on his hip. He makes sure to keep a steady pace and a sturdy hand on Satoru’s body, almost handling him like he was a work of art that dared not be desecrated or damaged.
His brain multitasked, flipping from prioritizing getting back to his apartment to reveling in the euphoric high that he got from his and Satoru’s interactions tonight. He marched earnestly and balanced both his weight and Satoru’s until arriving at his apartment. Suguru grabs his keys from his belt loop, unbuckles the carabiner, and skilfully unlocks the door with one hand.
“Go ahead and sit on the couch. Let me get you some water at the very least before you head off,” Suguru says while grabbing a mug from his cupboard. Satoru nodded, plopped down onto Suguru’s comfy couch, let his body sink into the plush pillows situated on the backrest, and then closed his eyes. After a moment, Suguru taps on him and hands him a glass of water, “Here, drink up. How are you feeling?” he asks.
Satoru’s eyes open and shift over to Suguru’s face. He grabs the cold glass with nimble fingers; the icy surface and condensation of the glass brought him back to Earth and centered him momentarily.
At least, that’s what he thought. He stared at Suguru’s face for a bit longer than intended; he noticed the eye bags under Suguru’s eyes and how they made him look a bit adorable, his beautiful hair with one singular bang that framed his face, and his beautiful yet sharp features. It might’ve been the alcohol, but at this moment, Suguru looked absolutely otherworldly to Satoru.
He brought the glass to his lips and took small sips of water before turning his head to face Suguru’s once more, “A lot better. I don’t want to impose, but do you mind if I hang out a little longer? Unless you have something to attend to, I can head out.”
Suguru’s internal processes conflict with each other like a pair of cymbals crashing in an empty room. He does have a final to study for, but he also has the unquenchable need for Satoru’s company. He nods, a warm smile on his face, “Stay as long as you want to. I’m just gonna work on my final project, so make yourself comfy.”
Come to think of it, I can do both, right?
✮
He can’t do both. He cracked open his textbook, his laptop, and his very used notebook and plopped down onto the space right next to Satoru and decided to work on his research project for his psychological research class. Suguru fretted over whether his rationales and reasonings behind why he chose this specific topic to study, and if his use of word choice might’ve made him sound pretentious.
Suguru never usually studied with other people, the only exception being Shoko, but they usually just sat in silence and worked on their respective assignments.
But this? This was treading into different territory. He felt bad that Satoru was sitting there and probably bored out of his mind, but just Satoru’s presence alone made him second-guess every word he typed, every single scribble he wrote, and every thought he conceived.
He was distracting, but not in a way that made Satoru a nuisance of any kind. He was the kind of distraction that made your mind forget how to do any basic tasks or made you lose focus on your goals. The kind of distraction that made it so that every thought Suguru had about his project contorted into gleeful images of Satoru. Or, the kind of distraction that made Suguru have to use every fiber in his body not to turn his head and stare at Satoru like he was admiring a meticulous sculpture.
To his surprise, he didn’t hear the expected tapping of fingers on a phone screen or an exaggerated yawn spawned from boredom, but instead heard Satoru’s soft breaths right by his ear. Suguru turns his head quickly and finds his face mere centimeters in front of Satoru’s. He jumps back in surprise, “Hey! Everything alright? I didn’t see you there.”
Satoru chuckled softly, the hints of alcohol still lingering in his breath, “Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. So, what are you working on? You seem to be working hard over there.” Suguru smiles at the curiosity, happy that someone finds genuine interest in his otherwise tedious and mind-dulling project, “Oh, it’s my final for my research class. I have to make a report on a topic of my choice that I chose to research. Boring stuff.”
Satoru’s face lit up and channeled the energy of a thousand suns, “No way! So, are you a psych major? I thought about being one, but I gravitated to astrophysics instead. So, what are you writing about? Can I know?” Suguru chuckled at the animated nature that Satoru had. Satoru asked questions like his life depended on knowing the information, and it charmed Suguru more than he ever thought he could be.
“Yeah, so I’m writing about whether there’s a negative correlation between social media usage and negative body image. So, for my report, I came up with the hypothesis that increased use of social media can contribute to lower self-image for people who use it more avidly,” Suguru began.
“I’m just trying to write the discussion portion of the report where I talk about how these findings and information can help with furthering future research in the future. Like, maybe this can help parents educate their children more on the dangers of social media and the recent rise of artificial intelligence for photo altering. Or maybe even something like….” Suguru explained.
Suguru continued to unintentionally info-dump onto Satoru for the next 30 minutes. He never got the opportunity to talk to anyone about his project in such depth, and it made his mouth have a mind of its own. His face lit up with inspiration and excitement, and it was clear as day that he prided himself on his work ethic and intelligence. But, unknown to Suguru, in the middle of his ramblings was the moment that Satoru found himself feeling that fairy tale-like puppy love feeling he yearned for.
✮
Satoru listened to Suguru explain his findings and results with intense passion. He watched the way Suguru’s eyes lit up when he talked about how his hypothesis was validated by his findings, and how much fun it was for him to survey 120 people on campus to collect the data.
Satoru listened to Suguru’s exasperated sigh when he talked about how he spent a few days computing the data and running it through multiple instruments of measurement, or how Suguru gravitated toward this specific major because he wanted to see a more accepting, beautiful world full of people who have good morals. Suguru seemed not to notice that it was almost 1 am, but time was the last thing on Satoru’s mind.
He found himself listening to Suguru’s rants and ramblings like they were synonymous with readings from a church congregation. He actively took in each detail – how Suguru’s voice went a bit higher-pitched when he talked about a particular section he enjoyed writing about, or how Suguru’s eyes curled at the corners when he smiled.
How Suguru’s shoulders bounced when he laughed at an embarrassing memory he had about a student who tried to ask him out when being administered the survey. This unknown itch to want someone to elaborate and go into depth about a topic they’re clearly invested in, or even the storm of butterflies and racing heartbeat that he felt in this very moment, made him realize that this is what liking someone felt like.
Satoru couldn’t believe that someone could make him feel these things, let alone be the guy who sat next to him and had to bear with his snide remarks about their professor. And, on top of that, he never thought it would be a guy to make him feel these things. It scared him – he’s trying to make sense of this feeling of falling in love with someone so quickly, but Suguru managed to put him in a dizzying spell.
Satoru stared and listened to Suguru’s professions like they were gospel until his gawking session was cut off.
“Hey? You okay, Satoru?” Suguru says while waving his hand in front of Satoru’s eyes.
Satoru shakes his head and realigns his body, “Yeah! No, I’m good. I was just so into what you’re talking about, it’s so interesting.” His face was plastered with an expression that one would have when they get caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing, like staring at Suguru and listening to him was some sort of unlawful act that he got caught in.
Suguru chuckled, brushing aside the frantic panic on Satoru’s face, "I’m glad you’re willing to listen. I’ll be right back, I’m gonna use the restroom."
Suguru lifts himself and makes his way towards the bathroom. Satoru watches him walk off into the hallway and peeks at Suguru’s laptop screen. Long, articulate sentences written with prestige, clearly written with the utmost attention, flooded his eyes. “Wow, Suguru is smart,” Satoru thought to himself. He wanted to poke and prod his beautiful brain, yearning to learn what other knowledge or hidden talents Suguru has tucked in his head.
His eyes shifted to Suguru’s notebook, which was open to a page that had a small poem. His curiosity got the better of him, and he skimmed the page and read its contents. “Man, and he can write poetry, too? I think I just felt my heart skip,” Satoru thought to himself once more.
The poem was short, but it clearly was written by someone who doted over if the words flowed perfectly. It went as follows:
Irises that rivalled azure skies, hair that looked like snow on top of a mountain
Tall as a tree, a foreboding but comforting force
Symphonies conducted by skillful orchestras, beautiful without a conductor
To be in the presence of such beauty and grace, I must devote myself.
View it in a daeist lens, appreciate the universe for making me exist, and bask in its light.
Satoru reads it over and over, trying to make sense of what this could be about. “Hmmm… Irises that rivalled azure skies… this person clearly has blue eyes,” he thought. He thought about who this could be about, if anyone at all. It could just be an artistic figment of his imagination, a metaphor for a bigger force, or a partner Satoru had no thought about.
His heart skipped a beat once again as he thought about how perfect Suguru was. Intelligent, artistic, and, not to mention, beautiful. This was the most that Satoru looked at Suguru, and he felt thankful that he had left that god-awful party and spent time with Suguru. He was shocked that he didn’t get this opportunity before, but he’s glad he got it now.
Suguru walks back out of the bathroom and sits back onto the couch, and resumes his studying. Satoru sat there with his hands between his thighs until he chose to break the silence.
✮
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to snoop! Please, forgive me!” Satoru babbled out. Suguru raised his eyebrow, shocked at the sudden confession from Satoru, “Uh… what do you mean?”
Satoru’s face had this guilty, panicked expression that can only be replicated by a child who lied to their parents about something, “I- uh, I saw the notebook on the coffee table and I sort’ve might’ve read the poem that you have open. I know, I know! Total privacy invasion, but I saw it and just kept reading it!” He was tattling on himself, scared that Suguru would tell him to get out right now and not come back, but to his surprise, Suguru did nothing but chuckle.
“Oh! Um, it’s okay, really,” Suguru assured. He found Satoru’s profuse apologies adorable, but he was also shy due to the circumstances and their content. “So, can I know what it’s about? It’s honestly a really good poem; it made my heart do those little flips,” Satoru questioned.
Suguru swears his body went into ultimate shock internally. His sympathetic system kicked into overdrive, deciding whether fight or flight was the best option. His internal panic gets cut off by Satoru’s sweet voice cutting into the block of silence, “I mean, if it is dedicated to someone, they’re fucking lucky. Again, I don’t know if it's dedicated to anyone at all, or if it’s even meant to be about a person, but when I saw the portion about blue eyes, I immediately thought of a person.”
Suguru’s body feels like millions of electric shocks are being shot into his body. His hands started to become numb, his chest started to rise rapidly, and his eyes were unable to focus. The devil and angels on his shoulder were arguing like seasoned lawyers, weighing the options of being truthful and telling Satoru that the poem was about him, or pocketing the truth and letting Satoru never know the truth.
They had one month before they graduated, and possibly lost contact. They had one month before they wouldn’t see each other every Tuesday afternoon, and they had one month before they branched off onto different avenues of life that would possibly not intertwine.
Fuck it, I’m just gonna tell him.
“...Promise not to get freaked out?” Suguru whispered. Satoru leaned in close to hear Suguru and nodded his head, “Yeah, why would I get freaked out?”
Suguru started to fiddle with his hands, and his right heel started to tap rapidly onto the carpet below their feet, “Okay, so… um… it’s… It’s about you.”
Satoru sat there with his mouth open in shock. His eyebrows raised and revealed the space above his eye. His face deepened into a burning, stop sign-like red, and he felt his eyes start to form with tears. “It… it is?”
Suguru silently pleaded to every higher being to strike him down and kill him on the spot so that he could avoid the possibility of Satoru making him out to be a creep, “Yeah, it is. I, uh, I’m so sorry. If you want to leave now, you can. I’m sorry for-”
“No! Please! I actually love it. I can’t believe you see me in that light. Let alone, think that my eyes rivalled azure skies,” he said with innocence. Suguru chuckled at the reference, relief flooding his body and causing his parasympathetic system to regulate his anxiety, “So, you don’t think I’m weird or anything? I’m surprised.”
Satoru nodded in earnest, “Yes, no, I promise. This is beautiful. My heart feels so full. I can’t even explain how I’m feeling right now, I just know it feels good, like I’m on cloud nine,” he assured. Suguru had to pinch himself lightly to make sure that this entire interaction wasn’t a fictitious scenario that he’s playing in his brain. No, it was definitely real – Satoru was here, in his apartment, complimenting and gushing over his project and poems.
He looked at Satoru with warm eyes, and Satoru reciprocated. They both held a warmth in their eyes – not a fiery blaze that burns everything in its path, but something synonymous with a steady candlelight lighting up a dark room. The air transformed from a palpable mutual panic to a steady fog of comfort. The duo didn’t dare to shift their eyes elsewhere, as if looking away was a cardinal sin they needed to repent for.
Their bodies were itching for movement; just one inch closer, or one motion in the direction of the other. It was like they were in a contest to see who could break first, and Suguru won. He shifted his eyes from Satoru’s eyes down to his glossy, plump lips and pressed his lips against Satoru’s. In no right mind would Suguru do this, but the circumstances made it justifiable.
To his surprise, Satoru didn’t pull away. Instead, he deepened the kiss and leaned himself to feel more of his mouth. It wasn’t a kiss conceived from unbridled and insatiable lust, but one that was born from an all-encompassing feeling of attraction, adoration, and glee. While Satoru has never kissed a guy, let alone ever thought about it, this felt better than any late-night hookups or meaningless pecks he gave to girls. It felt genuine, soft, and right.
Their heads maneuvered and turned so that their mouths could get into the best positions to deepen the kiss. Suguru cups the side of Satoru’s face and licks his bottom lip, his tongue begging for an entrance to his mouth. A small moan left Satoru’s lips as he felt the pleasurable sensation, which gave an easy in for Suguru to explore his mouth. Their tongues danced in perfect rhythms, and their mouths matched their pace.
Suguru swallowed the small moans and whines that left Satoru’s lips, deciding to pull him in closer and deepen his kiss. All of the attraction he had for Satoru was poured into this kiss; it was intimate but not sensual, demanding but not lustful. He carded his hands through Satoru’s hair and tasted each empty corner of Satoru’s mouth. His body couldn’t stop – his inhibitions melted away and fell through the cracks of his mind.
Satoru reciprocated this energy and produced saccharine, pleading whines to signal Suguru to keep going. His face burned, his mouth became puffy from the small bites on his lower lip, and his brain started to grow hazy. He has never felt attraction or want as strong as this, but he couldn’t stop. His body demanded that it be fed with sufficient nutrients and materials it craved to supply the pleasure centers in his brain, and that sustenance came in the form of Geto Suguru.
They break away and push their foreheads together, a shiny string of saliva connecting their lips. Their breath tickled each other’s cheeks and fanned the other’s face. Their lungs expanded to catch globs of air, and their hearts raced like they had just run a marathon. They admired each other’s faces: the small mole right under Suguru’s eye, the tiny dimple on the side of Satoru’s left cheek, the amber brown hue of Suguru’s irises, and the small patch of freckles splattered along Satoru’s nose bridge.
They giggled at each other before lifting their bodies back up to continue catching their breath. “So… I think you like me,” Satoru chuckled. Suguru feigned annoyance and playfully rolled his eyes, “I think I should say that about you,” he joked. They both let out child-like giggles before checking the time.
Satoru stood up from the couch and straightened out his pants before heading to the door to grab his shoes. “I do. I wanna see you again,” he admitted. Suguru nodded in affirmation, “I feel the same. Mind if I take you out on a proper date?” he asks. Satoru nodded, “Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll text you when I’m back home. Thanks for letting me come over.”
Suguru walked over and helped him with his shoes before giving him a small peck on the lips. He felt Satoru’s smile while kissing him, and it made his heart nearly jump out of his chest. Satoru makes his exit and walks back to the frat house, Suguru watching him with adoration as he steps away from his field of vision. He thought to himself again about confounding variables; even if they have the possibility of influencing the results of a study, it doesn’t discount its value. The circumstances and events of tonight were full of said confounding variables, but his results came to fruition in a way that was eons better than any positive outcome his brain could’ve conceived.