Chapter Text
It’s that man again. Impossibly tall, so broad that barely any moonlight from the window behind him seeps past his silhouette. His presence sucks all the air out of the room and Satoru can only hear his own labored breaths. And he’s scared.
Below the man is a person crumpled to the floor. A person he loves, a person that’s been taken from him and his heart along with it by this man.
He turns his gaze to Satoru over his shoulder, piercing and deadly, a gaze the stabs Satoru in the gut and twists the longer it’s on him and—
He wakes with a start to the sound of his alarm, breath hitched and shaky. It takes him a disoriented second for his mind to catch up. Fucking nightmare, he curses silently. If that wasn’t already an indicator of the kind of day Satoru’s about to have then the state he awakes in is enough.
His bones ache, his muscles feel like stale jello from shivering all night, his alarm grates on his ears, making him wince, and his head weighs at least a thousand tons. It takes him longer than usual to adjust to the early morning sun peaking through his thin curtains. But, all this to say he'd rather focus on the present than his nightmare, as shitty as his present is.
By an act of God he manages to turn over and grab his phone from beside the bed on the floor. The screen light nearly burns his eyes out of their sockets but he fumbles down the brightness after a minute with cold, numb fingers. His lock-screen, the wonderful Lucy Liu, isn’t even enough to fully wake him.
He checks the time. 4:27 am.
Too damn early in his opinion, not that he could do anything about it. If he wants to be at work without having to haul ass the whole mile walk there then he needs to get up.
His cafe job was one of the only places within a ‘reasonable’ walking distance that had day shifts and were also willing to hire him on short notice. It’s not terrible, not at all. His coworkers are relatively nice, the customers are friendly enough but thinking about it at the moment makes Satoru want to cry.
He sighs shakily, trying not to let the sluggishness overtake him into sleep again as he scrolls through his minimal notifications. But god forbid he admit that he’s tired, exhausted even.
He doesn’t want to get up. He doesn’t want to walk to the cafe, work for 6 hours, come home, walk his elderly neighbor's dog, walk to his second job and get home after midnight. Day in, day out, six days a week except for the one day, that one blessed day where he only has to bartender since the cafe forces him to take a break on Thursdays and Ruth only needs his help a few times a week.
The stinging at the corner of his eyes brings him back from his moping. With a defiant sniffle at his pity party, he puts his phone down and tries to slip into autopilot. He sits up, planting his hands on the bed beneath him when he sways slightly.
Sure, he’s a bit lightheaded whenever he gets up too quickly, or maybe just in general, and sure, his entire body screams in agony with every move but isn’t that his always? It’s nothing he can’t handle or hasn’t dealt with before. Today’s no different.
The mattress creaks underneath, lumping back into its uneven shape after he stumbles upright.
Only one job tomorrow, he thinks, because he’s such a terribly positive person. You get a sleep in tomorrow, Satoru, just get through today.
With that thought, Satoru works through his morning routine sluggishly. He fixes his sorry excuse of a blanket, fluffs his pillows, changes out of his sleep clothes and into his work uniform—thankfully just casual attire with an apron, which works for both his jobs—before he scrounges around his apartment for food.
As usual, there’s not much; he makes a mental reminder that he’ll inevitably forget to pick up something from the convenient store on his way home. He finds a browning apple, which he eats most of because let’s be honest, nobody actually likes the brown bits—anyone who says that they do are liars. He crosses his fingers for a muffin at the cafe; Haibara, his favorite coworker, always lets him have a ‘tester’ from whatever batch of goods he’s baking. The kid’s a whiz at anything to do with baked goods.
He double checks his backpack and makes sure he has his essentials before locking up his apartment and leaving.
As he steps out onto the sidewalk in front of his building, he mentally preps himself for a forty-five minute walk. His legs throb with every step and he knows even after this he’ll be up on his feet all day but it’s fine. Really. He’s fine.
The sun creeps up over the horizon, bathing the slowly waking streets in golden light and making his headache pound. Satoru fishes the ratty ball cap out of his backpack and pulls it low over his eyes. It mostly helps.
~~~~~~
With a gentle jingle of the door bell, he lets himself into Peaches and Crème. To everyone’s surprise, it’s peach themed.
Satoru sighs a heavy breath of relief, the yellow-orange interior greets him with a sunny disposition. He takes his cap off in the dimmer lighting and shakes his hat hair out. Turns out to not be a great idea however with his head on the brink of collapse. With a curse muttered under his breath he squeezes his eyes shut, leans against the nearest wall, and waits out the shooting pain behind his eyes. A voice deeper in the building shouts a greeting.
“Gojo! Good timing!”
Yu Haibara bounds out from the kitchen, cheery as ever and carrying a steaming tray of peach muffins that look downright mouth watering. “They’re fresh out the oven if you want one!”
“How many times, Yu? Just Satoru is fine,” he says, but manages a genuine, if tired, smile. Haibara only chuckles and sets the tray onto the potholders already laid out on the back counter.
Satoru pushes off his support wall and flips the door sign behind him from closed to open before walking over. “Ooo,” he sings as he wiggles his fingers over the tray, debating which lucky muffin will be his.
Haibara is a part timer, like him, and Satoru thanks the heavens that practically all of their shifts line up because this place would be ten times less enjoyable without the little guy. They had joined around the same time and almost immediately, Haibara had latched onto him and never looked back—not that Satoru would change anything, the boy had become a bit of a saving grace for him.
Not to mention it was just the two of them on shift today, and while that left them with a bit more work it was worthwhile.
The door bell jingles again quietly in the background while he ponders over his delicious looking choices. Without bothering to check who came in, he gingerly picks up an edge one that’s golden brown and cooked to perfection. “You’re getting better everyday,” Satoru praises, cradling the baked good in his palm.
Haibara’s grin widens. “Thanks!”
Satoru hears a familiar existential sigh from behind him. “You’re just saying that because you can’t do it yourself.”
Haibara and him turn at the same time, Haibara gasping in joy while his is in offense.
Kento Nanami stands near the register, dressed in his pristine suit as always with his blonde hair slicked back. He is the pinnacle of professionalism and bitter annoyance, though the soft morning sunlight slightly diminishes the scary aura about him.
“Kento! Respect your elders!” he scolds, tucking his muffin to his chest and walking past Haibara to get to the back as the younger man skirts around the counter to get to Nanami.
Haibara brightens impossibly at the sight of the blonde. “Kento!”
“You’re my elder alright, you old man,” Nanami says loudly.
Satoru replies with an indignant, “I heard that!” before closing the break room door pointedly. He can hear Haibara’s laughter through the wood.
Now, in the solitude of the sacred break room and having no eyes on him, Satoru lets his head drop wearily, a sigh falling from his lips. He’s been out for not even an hour and he’s already wishing he was home. But then again thinking about his apartment makes him want to cry so perchance that isn’t really home—
Satoru quickly pulls himself out of his existential spiral by shoving a piece of absolutely heavenly muffin into his mouth and putting his backpack in his locker. No time to think if you’re busy, he repeats as he walks back out to help Haibara set up.
Thankfully, when he’s back the cafe is beginning to fill with tired, caffeine deprived people so he jumps right into working. He unfortunately has to watch Haibara and Nanami flirt painfully awkwardly but they seem happy so he keeps his teasing to a minimum. Customers filter in and out, Satoru’s on his feet almost the entire time seeing as their little cafe gets quite a bit of traffic.
“Nanamin’s here later than usual,” he comments an hour or so later, taking the small lull in the rush hour wave for what it’s worth and resting his elbows on the counter. Satoru watches the blonde check his phone again for nearly the fifth time in the past minute before he takes a stressed sip of his macchiato.
“Oh, yeah.” Haibara throws a glance over his shoulder as he caps a drink. “Kento said he had a business meeting or something here. His partner must be a bit late.”
“Or Kento’s just extremely early,” Satoru snarks as he pushes off the counter in favor of going over to the register again as he hears another customer enter.
“Hello! Welcome to Peaches and Crème,” he greets in his good but not too good customer service voice, just so he’s not spreading himself too thin for later in his shift. “What can I get for you toda—”
The person in front of him begins to list out their order rapid-fire before he’s even finished. He tries to listen, really; he’s gotten good at dealing with customers like these on autopilot but the chime of the cafe doorbell catches his attention and runs with it.
The most beautiful man Satoru Gojo has ever seen walks in—and trust, Satoru Gojo has seen a lot of beautiful people. Dressed in a dark suit that compliments his long, half done up hair paired with the kindest eyes Satoru’s ever seen. The man makes a beeline for Nanami’s table, an apologetic smile etching lines into his cheeks and his hair sways as he strides and god those legs—
“Ahem!”
Satoru nearly gives himself whiplash as he turns back to his current customer. “So sorry, could you repeat that?” he asks, quite politely might he add.
The person huffs, their eye roll is a near thing, before they start reciting their order nearly too fast for him to follow.
He types it all out, with only a few clarifications —and annoyed responses on their part—then slaps the printed label onto the to-go cup and goes to make it. Maybe he sneaks a glance or two at the man as he talks with Haibara up at the register. He swears he catches the man's eyes more than once, who he is now dubbing as Handsome Guy in his head. The distance makes them look like black holes that pull Satoru in irrevocably; they're familiar in a way he can't place, just a simply tug at the back of his mind. He can't tell if he's being delusional but he swears he can see it in the man's eyes too.
It’s during this staring, trying to catch the man’s eyes again as he walks away from the register that Satoru moves involuntarily to get a better look and spills boiling coffee over the back of his hand.
He yelps, putting the half filled cup down frantically as he flings some of the liquid off his hand.
Haibara’s by his side in an instant, guiding him to the back sinks with a firm hand on the forearm. Cold water rushes over him and he feels a bit better. In all his years here, he thinks he hasn’t burnt himself that bad. Ever. Stupid Handsome Guy making him a bumbling idiot.
“Stay here, okay?” Haibara lets go of his wrist to pull the first aid kit out from the bottom cabinets, setting out a bandage and a small tin of antibiotic ointment on the counter. “I’ll go deal with that customer and you can—”
Satoru straightens up, pulling his hand back from the chill water. Why would he let sweet sunshine Haibara deal with that dickhead? As much as he would love to switch and make Handsome Guy’s drink instead or sit down for a while, Haibara’s innocence holds more priority in his life than making moves on a gorgeous man.
“No, no I’m okay. I’ve got it.” Haibara practically pouts. Satoru must have an iron grip on his restraint because those unintentional puppy eyes don't work on him, they strengthen his resolve if anything. “Seriously, Yu. I don't have that much time left on my shift, I'll fix myself up when I get home.”
Haibara holds his gaze for a long second, long enough for Satoru to start getting antsy and the pain in his hand to crawl back in under his skin. He clenches his hand silently at his side, holding in his wince as he breaks out his own puppy eyes. Thankfully, Haibara seems to relent from the glance he throws over at their visibly unhappy customer.
With a heavy hand on the younger man’s shoulder, they trek back over to the register. Satoru gives his customer a falsely cheery smile. “Sorry about that, it’ll just be another moment,” he promises as he walks by, grabbing another plastic cup and printing another label.
He thinks he hears them wrong but he swears they say, “oh my goodness no problem you beautiful young whippersnapper you, you’re perfect in every way thank you so much for your service,” but he should also probably get his ears checked. He can practically hear their foot tapping impatiently as they cross their arms from the other side of the counter.
He swallows back a snappy remark because seriously, who gets this upset over coffee? Nevertheless, he gets right back into the thick of it. Haibara throws him a concerned glance from where he’s starting Handsome Guy’s order but Satoru ignores it, just like he ignores the growing, searing pain in his hand because it’s all Handsome Guy’s fault. He nearly bites through his tongue in an attempt to keep his face neutral and his eyes away from the front for two completely different reasons.
In a godly effort, he manages to make the damn coffee right despite it having a billion things in it. He walks it over to the section of counter that they're waiting at, placing it down and sliding it over to them.
Satoru moves to walk away and finally be rid of that hoity-toity to go take a break seeing as there’s no one lined up at the register or bother Nanami when—he must be blessed because the person blocking his view of Nanami over the orders counter is Handsome Guy. Or maybe cursed seeing as he was the one to make Satoru burn his hand in the first place. But none of that matters now because Handsome Guy is looking up and smiling. At him. Satoru feels faint.
“Hey!”
Reality comes back to him like a brick to the head and he has to break eye contact with those gorgeous eyes. Handsome Guy’s smile doesn’t drop but loses its softer edges as they both turn; he hadn’t even realized how gentle it was until now.
Satoru takes a subtle deep breath as he plasters a cheerful smile back onto his face, the picture of politeness. “Yes? Is something wrong?”
“Um, yeah,” they state, like it’s obvious. Coffee sloshes around hazardously in the cup with their angry gestures toward Satoru, like he can clearly discern the issue with a glance, a whiff. “This is way too hot!”
“But,” Satoru starts, rallying a confused look between them and the drink before continuing slowly. “You ordered a hot drink…”
“OH! I’m sorry,” the person says condescendingly. “I didn't know you guys only served boiling water here.”
Satoru watches their arm rear back, recyclable cup full of, in their own words, ‘too hot’ coffee in hand and ready to deploy right at Satoru’s face. Now, one would think in this scenario that reflexes would kick in to cower or dodge it. Not Satoru. Oh no, he sees red—like hell he’s about to get burned for a second time today. He debates a moment too long on whether or not he should jump the thin counter between them and bash his fist into their nose. In that moment, where he falsely lives out his dream and feels the phantom crunch of their cartilage beneath his knuckles, a strong hand lands on the person’s forearm and stops them in their tracks.
Handsome Guy stands behind the very aggravated customer. Satoru doesn’t even remember the man moving from his lean against the wall. “Pardon me if I’m mistaken,” he starts, voice soft and low but no less commanding; Satoru doesn’t shiver, he doesn’t. “But I’m quite sure it’s against store policy to throw things at the workers. Not to mention rude.”
There’s something dangerous in the statement—he did say it like a statement and who’s Satoru to argue? It’s tucked into the corner of the man’s kind smile, the tightening grip of his hand, in the glint of his deep eyes. Now that Satoru finally has a look of him up close, they look violet in the sunlight, a striking hue of purple that reminds him of nightshade. Those poisonous eyes turn to him. “Isn't that right?” he asks with a head tilt that makes Satoru melt. Only a little though because he has some self respect.
Satoru manages a nod, swallowing heavily.
For their part, the customer in front of him looks like they’re about to shit themselves.
“If you don’t like it,” Handsome Guy continues, leaning over their shoulder so they can shakily meet his dark eyes. “The door’s over there.” He’s even so kind as to nod towards it, in case they forgot.
The person’s jaw snaps shut audibly as they turn on their heel, face flushed with embarrassment—or fear?—as they walk back out the door, ‘too hot’ coffee in hand.
God, why can’t people just be nice to customer service people? Is it really that hard? Satoru admits he feels a bit better and perhaps a little giddy with revenge watching them scamper out of the cafe as quickly as possible.
His giddy revenge is soon replaced with pure joy when he gets another kind smile from Handsome Guy over the counter. Accompanying that smile is a simple—but no less world shattering, “Are you okay?”
Satoru manages to keep his heart in his chest and the small noise of glee in the back of his throat but that’s about it because his stupid mouth has to go and say, “Yeah, now that you’re here.”
The man’s face drops and Satoru thinks for a terrifying second that they’ll have to roll him out of this damn cafe in a casket—not that he’d mind that Handsome Guy’s face is the last thing he’d see.
Then, like the goddamn heavens have just split open the sky, an angel's choir meets his ears. Handsome Guy is giggling. Giggling in every sense of the word; eyes squinted and crinkled with joy, hair slipping over his shoulder like an oil spill, a hand covering his brilliant smile, a hint of sharp canines behind curved lips. Sure, it’s more of a chuckle but let a man dream.
“Sorry, that was terrible,” Satoru says, with a small, totally cool chuckle of his own. He drops his head to give himself a break from Handsome Guy, feeling just a touch light headed. Maybe he’s had his eyes open too long, not wanting to miss a thing of the man in front of him. “I’m not usually that bad at pick up lines.”
“Yeah,” Handsome Guy agrees, stepping up to the counter to rest a hand against it and lean across it with a smile. “That was pretty bad.”
Satoru squawks indignantly, not because he’s flustered or anything. “What? Most people swoon and quip back with a ‘oh my god you’re so right gorgeous guy I just met’.”
Handsome Guy shrugs a broad shoulder with a smirk, leaning just a smidge more over the serving counter or—no, Satoru’s the one that’s moving. He’s now several steps closer than he was a couple seconds ago.
“I’d say gorgeous is an understatement,” Handsome Guy says, eyes racking up and down Satoru. By some divine intervention, Satoru manages to keep upright though he’s quite sure his face is bright red. “But I’m not the swooning type.”
Satoru flounders for a moment, a fish out of water flopping around on someone's boat trying to gasp for air for anything that'll ease the brightness of the sun on his scales and—and yeah he’s going to stop this weird metaphor now, it’s getting too deep. Haha ‘deep’, ocean joke.
A gentle tap on the shoulder saves him from coming up with a response and from his own spiral, not that he could’ve come up with a coherent one, Satoru turns. Haibara stands behind him with a silent, knowing smile before pushing a full cup into Satoru’s uninjured hand. “Good luck,” he whispers with a conspiratorial and over-exaggerated wink.
Satoru vows to wing-man him and Nanami so hard from now on as a ‘thank you’ gesture.
He catches a whiff of it as he turns back to Handsome Guy. “This yours?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. At Handsome Guy’s nod, he snorts. “I didn’t take you for a London fog guy.”
Sunlit eyes narrow. “What’s wrong with a London fog?”
Satoru holds his hand up in defense, faltering a bit when the movement pulls on his still fresh burn. “No, nothing. You just seem more of the ‘coffee as black as my soul’ type than tea.”
A hand reaches across the counter with a snort, warm, skilled fingers brush against his, and Satoru has the insane urge to hold the cup tighter—he doesn’t, to be clear.
“Maybe my soul is sweet and full of vanilla,” Handsome Guy says, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He seems anything but vanilla, Satoru thinks hysterically, because he's clearly gone mad. He takes the cup from Satoru and a half step back, eyes lingering almost a little too long—not that Satoru complaining. At all. He pulls his wallet out, thumbing through bills with dexterous fingers—that Satoru is definitely not salivating over—and pulls out two indiscernible bills.
Handsome Guy turns toward the empty register, tucking the paper into the tip jar before turning back to Satoru with a final glance of those piercing eyes. “See you around, Satoru.”
Nanami gets a small wave and a pat on the shoulder when they pass each other.
Satoru watches him walk across the cafe, opening the door and holding it for a couple coming in, smiling kindly before walking down the street out of sight.
He sighs. He thinks he could turn to jelly and puddle to the floor if Handsome Guy only asks, even implied that he liked jelly.
See you around, Satoru.
God, the way his name rolled off Handsome Guy’s tongue. Soft around the edges, practically purred and soft soft soft. Handsome Guy was totally looking at his lips right? He’s not crazy? Maybe he should rush out of the cafe and run after him like a cheesy rom com hallmark movies—wait.
“Gojo.”
He doesn’t even know the guy's name! Satoru kicks himself. He should’ve looked for one on the cup, they always write the name on the cup! He had it right there at his fingertips, literally. But no!! God, what an idiot—
“Gojo.”
He snaps out of his daze, shivering in soul deep loathing at the sound of his last name, glancing to his right. Nanami stares at him with barely concealed disgust from across the orders counter.
“How many times have I told you to call me Satoru!” he snaps automatically, because seriously he’s had to have said a billion times by now. He gets an eye roll for his trouble. This kid.
Then, as he glares at the blonde he's hit with genius.
“Nanamin!” he exclaims, slightly startling the younger man. Handsome Guy was talking to none other than the man in front of him. If anyone knows his name it’s Nanami. “Who was that guy?”
“And why should I tell you?” Nanami sasses.
“Because—” he falters, he doesn’t actually have a reasonable excuse other than ‘I found him incredibly hot and I need his number’. “Because I’m your dearest friend! Obviously!”
“That is exactly why I won't,” Nanami says simply then ignoring him for Haibara when he bounds over.
Satoru coos over Nanami, finally admitting that they’re best friends before gawking as he’s pushed to the side. Wow. Rude. He shakes his head in disappointment as he walks back over to the register because he does in fact do his job, unlike some people—cough cough Nanami and Haibara cough—but he’s not one to judge.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have another Burning Hand Incident. That’s not to say the first Burning Hand Incident isn’t still reaping its effects.
By the end of Satoru’s shift, his fingers feel stiff with pain, flaring up when a movement pulls at the skin around—which is to say all movements. He powers through anyhow; missing a shift for something so minor isn’t a blow he can take at the moment. He’ll deal with it when he gets home, if he’s not too tired which isn’t very likely but the point is—it’s fine.
As he’s grabbing his backpack from the break room lockers, Haibara comes bounding in.
“Satoru! Look!”
Satoru does as he’s told and turns around. Haibara holds the tip jar up for him, opening the top so he can rifle through.
He shifts through, not expecting much until he pauses.
“Two-hundred dollars! Can you believe it!! Who even has that kind of cash laying around! And that's not even all of it!!” Haibara exclaims.
Satoru knows. He knows exactly who.
Of course. Handsome Guy just had to be not only Handsome—yes with the capital—but rich. As tempting as it is to add Rich onto Handsome Guy’s nickname, he refrains.
Haibara takes one of the hundred dollar bills and holds it up between, along with the antibiotic cream up and a small bandage. Satoru opens his mouth to decline but Haibara shoves the items into his bag before he can speak a word, the bill into his palm.
“Satoru, take care of yourself,” he pleads. “You deserve it.”
Satoru manages to keep the stinging in his eyes at bay as he zips up his bag and pockets the bill. He nods, giving Haibara a small smile which gets returned ten times as sunny.
~~~~~~
The walk home sucks. He’s tired, dizzy, his head pounds and his cap, as usual, isn’t enough to save his eyes from the late afternoon sunlight which just makes everything worse. Somehow he makes it back in one piece.
Just as he’s finishing his trek up the stairs—he would use the elevator but it’s under repair and will be for the foreseeable future—Ruth, his sweet next door neighbor, calls out to him.
“Satoru! How lovely to see you!” she says, her crackly old lady voice like music to his ears.
He smiles wearily. “Same here, Ruth.”
She waits by his door as he digs around in his bag for his keys. “No need to walk my precious Charlotte today since Micheal’s over. He’s out with her now.”
To say Satoru is flooded with relief is a gross understatement.
“He also made some pasta, too much for just me though,” she says, giving him a little nudge with her bony elbow before turning back towards her door. “I’ll bring over a bowl for you. It’s still warm.”
Satoru’s smile grows a little more genuine, feeling the day’s tension wash off him. “You’re too good to me Ruth.”
Ruth doesn’t respond, only grins knowingly at him over her cardigan clad shoulder before disappearing into her apartment.
A minute later, he lets her in and accepts the generous amount of steaming pasta she gives him; he knows by now that refusing any food only leads to more of it on his doorstep. Satoru practically inhales the food and he almost cries with how good it is—thank God for Micheal, Ruth raised that man right.
Ruth keeps him company, chatting to him about her peaceful and mundane life—there was a new crack in the sidewalk on the way to the convenient store that almost tripped her; she needs to get her granddaughter and her granddaughter’s girlfriend to help her build a new IKEA chair since they did such a good job on her couch last time; she found her favorite pot after she lost it for a few months. He was particularly invested in that story, he’s had many a good meals made by that pot.
The chatter calms him, slows his brain down until he doesn’t feel his usual overwhelming pressure that he’s running out of time, that this fucking snare trap he’s stuck in will never let him go and the light at the end of the tunnel was just a figment of his imagination.
Regardless. Ruth is a special light in his life, like the sparse lights in those underground tunnels that run along the sides; not the end but a light nonetheless.
After he’s done eating, he washes the dish and runs it back to Ruth’s apartment with her, giving her a huge thanks. She leaves him with a promise he’ll see her on Friday.
Now usually he wouldn’t have time for a nap or anything since he’d be tied up walking the princess herself, Charlotte. Today however, seeing as that’s been taken care of already and the way he lugs himself around his apartment, he decides on some well deserved shut eye.
He slips his phone out of his pocket, intent to set an alarm when the hundred dollars from the tip jar falls out. Right.
Before he can even begin to think about what he would want to use it on, he digs out the envelope stashed underneath his sink labeled ‘FOR MOM’—in a plastic baggie of course, he’s not an idiot—and places it with the other bills he has saved up.
With that said and done, he lets out the cautious breath he’d been holding. He’ll have enough, he’s got another three weeks. That’s enough time.
To distract himself, he gets cozy underneath his ‘blanket’, stomach full and body tired, setting an alarm for later.
Rather than falling into a nice and blissful sleep, his mind raves over his day. Specifically one part of his day; Handsome Guy.
For the next hour he tosses and turns on his mattress, plagued with visions of Handsome Guy, unable to close his eyes without the man’s visage staining the backs of his lids like ink blots on white paper, sprawling out like sweet honeyed words and—oh god look at him. He’s waxing poetry. For some guy.
Satoru sits up and digs his fingers through his hair, wincing when strands brush against his burn. Fuck, he should deal with that—not like he was going to get that nap any time soon anyway.
Slowly, because he’s allowed some leisure today, he gets up and straightens his clothes, brushes his teeth, fixes his hair—carefully this time. Violet eyes follow him without fault, lingering in his peripheral. Satoru thinks about bashing his head into the nearest wall until he’s thoughtless but that’d be messy and he’s certain his landlord would follow him to the grave to get his deposit.
Even as he’s bandaging his hand, slathering the ointment Haibara graciously gave him across the burn, Satoru thinks about what it’d be like if it weren’t his own hand. Strong and probably warm fingers, soothing him with gentle circles of his thumb against his wrist, placing the bandage down with care unlike Satoru’s quick-and-not-so-efficient.
He nearly screams in frustration when he swears he catches a glimpse of dark hair around a corner.
This… guy. This stupid handsome guy is messing up his life in the span of a few hours and Satoru’s mad because he’s not actually that mad about it.
Those dreaded thoughts continue to torment him all the way to his next job, Twisted Tap. A shit bar with even shittier patrons but it pays and that’s all Satoru needs. He sighs as he makes his way around to the employee only door, pulling his backpack a little tighter against him and bracing for another long shift.
~~~~~~
As expected, most of his shift is long and dreadfully boring as the British say. Probably.
He makes drink after drink for every asshole that weasels their way to his side of the bar, thinking they can charm a drink out of him with a few compliments. Satoru would quite like to keep his job, regardless of how much he hates it, so he refuses them all. Most give up after bombing a couple times—key word being most.
“C’mon pretty. Just a shot, t-that’s it,” says the drunk asshole to his left, practically stretching out across the bar top to get Satoru’s attention.
The guy has been pestering him over the course of his entire six hour shift. How anyone has the time for that is beyond Satoru. It’s times like these that he desperately wishes the ‘family fortune’ his mother was always rambling about had even a semblance of truth to it; that would just solve all his problems wouldn’t it?
He sighs heavily, eye twitching as the man leans closer over the counter and he’s hit full force with the man’s rancid breath. He manages to keep his face semi-neutral against his knee jerk reaction to vomit.
“No means no, dude. House rules, no free drinks,” Satoru says for the millionth time, tapping the sign clearly above his head that reads ‘NO FREE DRINKS’. He turns his back because he has more important customers to be tending to and most people know how to read these days.
Speaking of important customers—long black hair catches his attention, mainly because Satoru thinks he’s hallucinating again but he’s ecstatic to be proven wrong.
None other than Handsome Guy sits at the bar, clad in the same three piece suit that seems ridiculously out of place, and looks around grimly. The flashy bar lights paint him in technicolor; it reminds Satoru of a raven the way it shines and shifts against his jet black hair—he’s let it down since the last time Satoru’s seen him, not that he’s keeping track or anything, he’s just got a great memory. He’s most definitely not wishing he could feel whether it was as soft or silky as it seemed.
Satoru, more than a little giddy and with a fucking pep in his step, makes his way across the back of the bar.
“Are you stalking me or something?” he asks once he’s in front of Handsome Guy, loud enough to be heard over the blaring music. The man looks over, his eyes set with that same grim expression before they widen and he’s suddenly biting back a radiant smile that nearly makes Satoru falter. “I hate to tell ya but there’s a wait list.”
Handsome Guy laughs, his eyes crinkling with amusement in the low bar lighting. Satoru’s heart does not skip a beat, if anything it does more of a sick backflip.
“Can’t I skip ahead?” Satoru almost throws himself across the bar at the man’s pout–and ironically or not, a pout is a pout. All problems slip to the back of his mind, his headache gone at a few bats of dark eyelashes. “Or does saving you from a hostile customer not count for anything?”
Handsome Guy sets his elbow on the bar-top, chin resting on his palm as he watches Satoru flounder once again for a response. Before Satoru can tell him that he is in fact the list and that he can absolutely stalk Satoru whenever he wants, Drunk Asshole hollers for him again entirely too loud.
“Hey Blondie! Over ‘ere!”
Satoru sighs. He’s not even fucking blonde but he supposes it’s subjective, especially when everything starts to blur at the level of drunk the man is.
Handsome Guy’s eyebrows furrow adorably as he flicks his gaze between Drunk Asshole and Satoru. “Is he talking to you?”
“Yup,” Satoru says, popping the ‘p’. He manages to keep his second heavier sigh internal, squeezing his eyes shut quickly to try and banish the reinvigorated headache banging around behind his sockets, wishing it to go away just for a bit. When he opens them, to no surprise, his headache feels ten times worse. “I’ll be right back,” he promises with a tight lipped smile.
Handsome Guy doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the other man as he methodically taps his fingers against the wood grain, pinky to pointer, over and over.
Satoru walks around one of his coworkers, who shoots him a pitiful look. He just smiles, always smiling, and braces himself with another deep breath. Instead he tries to focus on the dull throbbing pain in his hand; he really should change the bandage soon. Wasn’t he supposed to stop by the store for groceries? Maybe he should pick up some band-aids or whatever, and he really needs some more—
“How ‘bout that free drink now?” Drunk Asshole slurs, a sneering grin blaring his yellowed teeth for all to see. His stale breath wafts across the bar top but Satoru has enough mind now to lean slightly back when the guy talks so it mostly passes by him.
He sighs, again, because this legitimately has to be the fifteenth time the dude has asked. With a hand on the bar-top, he leans in so he doesn’t have to shout—and so he can make sure his glare is properly received. “You’re gonna have to try another bar or get better with the ladies if you ever wanna get that free drink because it’s not happening with me.”
Drunk Asshole clenches his jaw and Satoru really thinks he’s about to get punched for the second time today—which he is so ready for—before the man pushes off the bar-top with an annoyed huff. “Whatever,” he mutters, stumbling away towards his hoard of other drunk assholes.
Satoru stands there a moment, debating whether he should go take his break now or later. A glance at Handsome Guy, who’s already staring at him unabashedly, makes the decision for him. He’s back over to the man’s section of the bar in the blink of an eye, giddiness bubbling up in his chest over the growing smile on Handsome Guy’s lips.
“So you’re not always a damsel in distress,” Handsome guy drawls, violent eyes shining with interest and trailing over Satoru in a way that makes him shiver.
Satoru smirks, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head as he holds Handsome Guy’s golden gaze. “Who said I was in distress the first time?”
To save Handsome Guy the response—because he’s absolutely speechless from Satoru’s amazing come back—he asks, “What can I get you?”
“Oh, no but thank you.” Handsome Guy gives a small wave of dismissal, having another scan of the bar. Perhaps he’s waiting for someone. Satoru tries not to dwell, seeing as the possibility is a little disheartening. “I don’t drink on the job.” Or not. Put him back in coach.
“What kind of job has you in a bar like this?” Sure, maybe he’s grasping at straws and yeah it wasn’t his best line but he’s actually on his knees for any scrap of information on the man.
To keep himself busy—and to also keep his bitchy shift manager, Becky, off his back—he starts to tidy up the area in front of him, stacking used cups, folding towels, anything that’ll keep him there for just a bit longer.
“The shitty kind,” Handsome Guy replies extremely unhelpfully with a sardonic smile. Satoru huffs a laugh anyway, pulled infinitely closer by whatever the fuck the man has going on; maybe it’s the mystery or something messed up in his brain that makes him so appealing. Maybe it’s something dumb like fate. A cruel, evil twist of the divine to place such a gorgeous, untouchable man in front of him.
Handsome Guy opens his mouth to say more, to hopefully elaborate, when his wandering eyes snag on something across the room. Satoru tries to follow his line of sight but Handsome Guy is already standing and pushing his bar-stool back in place.
“It seems I have to get back to my shitty job,” he sighs, redoing the buttons on his blazer and smoothing it out. With a half step back, Satoru is hit with another soothingly kind closed lip smile that dents his cheeks. “Until next time, Satoru.”
Satoru barely has time to stutter out a, “I hope so,” to which he gets another smile thrown over Handsome Guy’s shoulder as he walks into the sea of people and out of sight once more.
He doesn't realize how long he's been standing there, staring at the man's afterimage until one of his coworkers taps him on the shoulder.
“Do you wanna take your break now or…?”
Satoru blinks the after images of the man out of his vision before he turns to them. “I’m fine, maybe in a bit.”
Work returns to its dreadfully slow pace, his mind takes its sweet time catching up after life had paused for those few moments. Satoru feels the need to bash his head into a wall again—he’s less inclined to stop himself this time seeing as he doesn’t give a fuck about his manager or the bar.
As the night is winding down, patrons trickling out as the clock crawls closer to the end of his shift, Satoru then realizes he forgot to ask for Handsome Guy’s name again. He’s getting real sick of using ‘Handsome Guy’.
He beats himself up over it for a bit until he checks the time and realizes he’s finally off. With sluggish excitement, he grabs his bag and clocks out.
Satoru pushes his way out the employee only door, staring down at his phone as he types out a quick list of things he needs to get from the store tomorrow. Band-aids for sure, probably some dry cereal since it doesn’t go stale very fast, definitely some—oh, ow. Brick wasn’t on his list.
Drunk Asshole stands over him, fists clenched and chest heaving, lit only by a distant street lamp. It takes Satoru far too long to properly compute what happened, all he knows is he was walking, now he’s on the ground and his hand is strangely empty and also throbbing?—
“—but no! Then I had to go back to the guys and of course they fuckin’ laughed because you had to humiliate me,” he stutters, stepping closer and bumping their shoes. Satoru blinks hard to try and clear his vision while he desperately scrambles back, scraping his palms on the rough concrete beneath him and his backpack nearly getting caught under him.
Drunk Asshole’s hand snaps out lightning fast, twisting into the collar of Satoru’s shirt. His head swims as Drunk Asshole pulls him in close, the pounding behind his eyes only made worse when the man’s rancid breath washes over his face. “Because you had to go an’ be a prissy little bitch who wouldn’t j’st give me a free dr’nk!”
In a fit of hysteria, Satoru’s brain helpfully suggests ‘third times the charm’ as Drunk Asshole’s arm reels back, fist clenched and ready to strike. He’s not quite as excited or prepared for a fight like he was back at the cafe this morning or even an hour ago—if that wasn’t already obvious.
The employee only door opens silently a few feet behind him, spilling the dull bar light out onto the alley floor.
Satoru thinks about screaming for help but he can feel the bile waiting anxiously at the back of his throat from being tossed around and he’d rather not throw up on his work shirt. Instead he hopes desperately that whoever just walked out will step in, seeing as Drunk Asshole still hasn’t noticed it yet and Satoru prepares himself for a few punches. He’ll be fine.
His ears ring with the tense silence, filled only by Drunk Asshole’s labored breathing and his own hopeful heart beats until the door slowly creaks closed with a finality that makes Satoru’s stomach sink.
Fuck. Maybe not.
He starts to pull hard against Drunk Asshole’s hold, the edge of his shirt digging into his neck. Drunk Asshole grunts in frustration at his flailing—because that’s really all he can bring himself to do, any movement sends a small shock of pain from his head down to his toes—and tightens his grip.
“This will be a lot easier for you if you just—”
Somebody clears their throat from just behind Drunk Asshole.
The man whips around, a nasty snarl on his lips, only to be met with a fist flat against his teeth.
The hold on Satoru’s collar goes slack, his shirt falling stiffly from lax fingers and down to meet his shaky breaths. Drunk Asshole groans in pain, about to turn around fully but is instead pulled up and thrown deeper into the alley before he can take another breath. He’s practically swallowed by the darkness as a silhouette steps in front of him.
Satoru knows that this is the moment where everybody’s screaming at the TV for the main character to run—because he is the main character—and that logically he should be getting out while he has the chance but he feels strangely settled by this mystery person, so he stays put. He doesn’t think his jellied legs could carry him very far anyway.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to pick fights you can't win. Really, you should’ve—”
Satoru stops listening at this part because he’s absolutely certain that it’s Handsome Guy a few feet away from him, beating the ever living shit out of Drunk Asshole. The wet crunch of cartilage nearly sends him into a gagging fit but it’s buried by the feeling of delirious flattery. He can’t make anything out from here, the alley too dark and him too willing to look the other way.
Maybe Handsome Guy just happened to be using the employee only door? It’s not like he was actually stalking Satoru or anything right? Don’t get him wrong, he can be a narcissist at times—see the paragraph above—but he’s not psycho enough to want a man to follow him around. Oh god, what if he kills Drunk Asshole? He’s going to be an accessory to murder and then The Zenin will—
“Are you okay?”
Satoru blinks a couple times, trying desperately to get his eyes to work and he thanks god when they do. Handsome Guy crouches in front of him, three piece suit sans his blazer, his eyebrows creasing with worry as he checks Satoru for visible injuries.
“Yeah,” he says with a small chuckle—seriously he’s the funniest person alive. “Now that you’re here.”
Handsome Guy’s violet gaze flicks up to his, blank stare boring into him that makes his breath stutter. The man suddenly drops his head, shoulders shaking as his quiet laughter bounces off the brick alley walls.
Satoru beams as wide as his splitting headache and exhaustion allows. “Admit it! Call backs are iconic.” Slowly, he pushes himself upright, wincing when his scraped palms drag across the asphalt—he’s very certain if he doesn’t sit up as soon as possible that he’ll end up in a happy puddle on the ground.
His arm nearly buckles under his weight but a hand reaches out to cup his shoulder, steadying him—an incredibly warm hand that makes Satoru nearly melt like chocolate left out in the sun. He looks up to find Handsome Guy smiling kindly, as radiant and soft as the stars above their heads. Oh god he’s waxing poetry again.
“And when I said ‘next time’ I didn’t mean ‘in an hour’,” he says, pulling his hand back and Satoru almost begs for him to keep it there a little longer to stave off the chilly evening air. He doesn’t, because he has some dignity and instead leans back on the wall against his backpack with a minute shiver.
Satoru’s about to reply with something incredibly witty that would’ve had Handsome Guy cackling or asking for his number or—he doesn’t actually know and his head’s still a little fuzzy but he knows it would’ve been good. Instead, Handsome Guy stands and walks further back into the alley, pulling his sleeves up to his elbows.
He thinks for a real moment that this was it, that’s all he gets and he thinks he’s honestly okay with that. Handsome Guy reemerges from the shadows not a second later, this time with his blazer in hand, shaking it out carefully. The gentle clack of his footsteps come all the way up until he’s in front of Satoru once again.
Satoru’s heart practically falls out of his chest as Handsome Guy bends down to place the jacket snugly around his shoulders. It doesn’t fit all too well over his backpack and Satoru notices the man’s split knuckles, shining wetly and vibrantly red in the dull light but none of it matters because the blazer is infinitely warm, sitting loose against his collarbones and covering his arms to shield him from the chill night air. Handsome Guy’s cologne—clean, slightly minty, like a whisper of spring air—and the faintest hint of smoke clings to the fabric and envelops him in a wave. He almost passes out.
In the middle of his gay crisis, Handsome Guy offers a bloodstained hand and Satoru takes it without a thought—there’s probably some symbolism or whatever to that but he’s always hated English class. Instead, he relishes in the strong fingers that wrap around his and he holds the jacket closed over his chest with his free hand.
Satoru's pulled to his feet with ease, a ‘thank you’ on the tip of his tongue but his vision starts to black out once he’s upright. Satoru’s afraid to say he passes out for real this time—only for a little though, he swears, just a second.
“—toru. Satoru!”
“Sorry,” he mumbles instinctively, squeezing his closed eyes—when had they shut?—before cracking them open.
Handsome Guy is close, the ‘Satoru only has to lean forward an inch or two and their noses would touch’ kind of close, so close that Satoru could probably count the number of concerned lines creased into the man’s forehead. If he hadn’t just passed out, he’d be blushing. Of course, his stupid probably concussed mind thinks it’s a great idea to open his mouth.
“Well, it looks like one of us is swooning after all.” He even manages a wink—which may have actually been a blink but Handsome Guy smiles incredulously anyway so he counts it as a win.
“You are unbelievable,” he breathes with a small shake of his head.
“Yeah I am,” Satoru replies, complete with an eyebrow wiggle. Handsome Guy gets a glint in his nightshade eyes, something…warm, tender, and definitely not a thing Satoru can deal with right now so he instead tries to straighten himself by planting his hands on the man’s forearms and pushing back.
It’s only then that he realizes the hands on his waist, scorching hot through the fabric of his shirt, and that the tan skin beneath his palms is littered with tattoos, starkly dark against his own pale skin and yeah, that’ll be branded in his brain for the next year. It’s right there, the man’s kind eyes still raving over him in concern, and yet it’s so far.
Satoru clears his throat, glaring down at his shoes and then back up over Handsome Guy’s shoulder because if he looks in those eyes again he’ll fall deeper than he’s willing to go. Sure, their day of cute flirty banter was nice, fun, good, great even but he refuses to drag anyone into his shit, not if he can help it. So. He’ll cut it off; it's the end of the line for them.
“Uh, thank you,” he starts, flitting his eyes back down when Handsome Guy ducks his head to try and catch his gaze. The man’s polished dress shoes look out of place next to his beat up converse. “For, y’know, saving me. Again. Twice in one day, huh? How crazy is that?” He chuckles, trying to keep the pathetic excuse of a grin on his face.
“You’d be surprised,” Handsome Guy says, the smile in his voice evident but Satoru doesn’t raise his head to check. “You never answered my question. Are you alright?”
Satoru nods, wincing just a teeny bit when it rattles his vision.
Handsome Guy stares him down for a long moment before seemingly making up his mind, taking one of his hands off Satoru’s waist—yeah he’s totally still freaking out over that—to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.
“Let me call you a cab,” he says. Satoru goes to protest heavily, regardless of how nice it sounds not to walk home, but the look he gets makes his mouth snap shut audibly.
Carefully, Handsome Guy leans him up against the brick wall, burning hand falling from Satoru’s waist as he steps back to type away on his phone—he’s only mildly disappointed.
He gives his address when asked, which in hindsight is probably a dumb idea but he's hurting too much to care about someone breaking into his apartment. Not like there's anything to take.
As Handsome Guy does whatever on his phone Satoru soaks him in, seeing as he's quite sure this is the last time they’ll meet. The distant yellow light of the streetlamp lights his profile just enough for his features to be discernible; slanted, kind eyes, strong jawline, only slightly pouty lips as he glares down at his screen. The tattoos on his forearms, indiscernible in the dim lighting, rising up and disappearing beneath his shirt. He wonders if the man had more, what the ones he can see even are, what they mean, if they hold any meaning or—Satoru catches a glint of something on his ears.
Piercings. Earrings. Gauges more specifically, black obsidian gauges that blend into the man’s hair and look so effortlessly right on him despite his professional get up. Satoru wonders if he has any others; he doesn’t spot any more ear ones, none on his face that he can see, maybe Handsome Guy’s got a tongue pierc—woah he is not in the right headspace for that line of thinking right now and he’s slowly becoming convinced that this guy is a some sort of criminal.
Handsome Guy leads him out of the alley way and out onto the street, hand ever present on the small of Satoru’s back, slithered between him and his backpack. Satoru feels shaky, unstable and off balance in a way he hasn’t felt in years. All because of a man. He’s slightly disappointed in himself.
A yellow taxi rounds the corner and slows to a stop in front of them. Handsome Guy opens the door for him, helping Satoru in with a bloody hand. He makes sure Satoru’s buckled-in, seatbelt sitting snug over his borrowed jacket, before closing the door gently.
Satoru doesn’t know what compels him to but he lowers the window immediately after, fingers fumbling with the button desperately. “Goodnight,” he says quickly as the driver shifts in their seat, clearly ready to get on. He catches a glint of Handsome Guy’s smile, softened by the moonlight.
“Goodnight Blue.”
Satoru’s eyebrows pinch in confusion—Blue?—but the driver is pulling away from the curb before he can respond so he closes the window once more to have something to distract him from his flushed cheeks.
He hates to admit that something painful twists in his chest as he watches Handsome Guy get further and further away and eventually fade from view. He presses his forehead against the chill window, trying his hardest to ignore the pounding in his head and his heart.
It’s for the best, he tells himself. For both their sakes.