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"Satoru."
Suguru is so done, with everything.
"Satoru, no."
One more time, with a note of livid clarification.
In front of their shared apartment's living room couch, precisely splattered across the short table and on the comfy furry rugs, are eons of sparkling twinkling trinkety stuffs and shits. At the middle of them all, Satoru.
Squares, hexagonals, sphericals, star-ish, cylinders- have he mentioned the epileptic inducing abominations of flashing colors combinations? Shit his nerves flare up, resounding throbs pulses along his temple. He doesn't deserve this. Nor was he payed any penny for this. No. He refuses to look at whatever gratified grin, litten up face of Satoru. Twinkling orbs. Delighted. Pleased looking. No.
Said man throws his hands up in the air, Suguru wills himself to turn a blind eye on the puffs of glitters raining down like some magical bullshit pixie dust except it's not. In a milli inch. Magical. At all. Quite the contrary, cryptid actually. It's atrocious. If at all, cursed.
They're waving around, Suguru closes his eyes and kneads his forehead.
"Su- gu- ruuu!!"
Satoru calls out with the cheeriest ring he's heard over the last few weeks. And then he's practically prancing over right now.
"...no." Suguru muttered one last time, voice small and resigned.
"Yes!!" Satoru arrived, they're two mere steps away across each other now.
Suguru just got off from his shift, he's got no nothing left in his system to deal with an additional mayhem situation. Still, he deliberately chooses to ask. For damage control.
"..What," he vaguely gestures around, "Do I even want to know?" and braces himself because whatever yap coming out from Satoru promptly-
"Decorations!"
won't be making any sense.
"Decorations." He repeated dryly.
"December! Decorations!! It's soon Christmas, Suguru, Eve! You know Christmas right? Festive, festive, we gotta prepare!" Satoru has the gall to huff out, hands on his hips.
Lips twitching, he won't comment on the literal shimmering face down to those attire which are laden with color smudges and powdery sparklies.
"...since when do you even really celebrate Christmas... Nevermind. Okay," Not Okay. "But why such the mess..." Because Suguru could swear he saw strings of Tinsel Garlands strewn over the back and top on the shelf rack, not to mention litters of colorful crafts crap with papers scattered all over the perimeter of their floorings.
Satoru nods. "We're doing some DIYs as well!-"
"We?!" Suguru blanches, Satoru throws him a look.
"-And I've pinned some of the coolest stuff, here look, we can make this dragon-"
Bright screen is shoved under his nose. The phone owner scrolls down some more, Suguru has mentally checked out through any following prattle.
Some time ago, Shoko have said that hanging around Satoru has made Suguru lose even more braincells than what few he had left. Suguru nods.
"-then we can just cut snowflake patterns on asturos, oh and let's hang these bunnies and fishies-"
Do you know that manta rays can grow up to seven meters in width? There are three known species of them in the Mobula genus with the two formerly classified into genus Manta. Being chondrichthyes, their bones are cartilagenous aka, not bony fishes. Hence they (and other rays) are the closest relative to sharks, sharing a common ancestor dating to around 450 million years ago or so.
You probably 've heard about shark existing first before trees. Apparently yes, definitely true. Simply said, 'trees' are defined as more complex, woody plants. So on land at the time, there had been mosses, simpler vascular plants, and ferns the likes. In the waters, there're algaes which are also predecessor of land vegetations by the way. So sharks did have been around in the ocean longer than wooden trees have appeared on land.
Which brings him to this next point.
"The tree?"
"-stick on candies, huh?"
"Tree. We don't have the tree, Satoru."
Satoru glances back, left, and right around the bounds of their shared apartment.
"Oh."
Suguru took in a fine deep breath.
Satoru's gaze flickers back and meets his eyes. Flash of glasses lens caught the light.
"The one in the parks are public property right?" He inquires.
Suguru gives no say in response.
"We can chop whatever tree around," Satoru shrugs.
Silence, hung on about four seconds. Mounted clock wall ticks in the distance.
Suguru readjusts his overcoat and jiggles brass keys, "Let's go." Then spun on his heels.
There's a crash and bump behind, shuffling then a thud. He's not looking back.
The back of his coat is pulled.
And he's met with frantic blue eyes boring directly in sight. Suguru tunes out glitters drip around Satoru's face.
"We're, we're goin' chopping treesss?" It's high pitched at the end.
Suguru planted soft firm grips on the others shoulders, and stares back square.
"Costco."
There's one five blocks down.
"Ohh."
.
The drive was laden with lateral silence. Hum of engines are the only constant. Passing vehicles here and there. Blinking street lights crossing over. Some twiddling thumbs and fidgeting around the seatbelt from the passenger seat Suguru caught from his peripheral vision. It's a short drive though, there isn't any traffic even though it's in the late evening.
When they arrived and pulled over barren vast parking lot, Satoru looked like he was about to say something but held back. In the end they just got out, closes the doors, locked them with a beep, and head straight to the entrance. The air is less humid but felt damper. Chillier actually. Icy and sharp.
To be honest stuff just doesn't register at all in Suguru's head. Nothing feels real, like it's not happening but it is in the real time, have you ever experienced that? It's like he is on autopilot going on a side quest mission, not fully in control. Not when the bright of artificial lights hits white with ceilings so high it induces subliminality. Echoes of strollers grates against ceramics, murmurs-like sound amplified.
Also not, when he's standing, surveying, thinking, amongst verdancy. Tapered high end to a point. It's on firs and conifers. Height ranging from low to towering beyond this aisle. Brown beige card boxes behind each of them.
"Let's get the white one," said by Suguru as they stop by this particular display.
It's 2.2 meter high. Pre-lit and made frosty on the fascicles. He thinks it suits their interior scheme more.
Soon, the car is loaded by this heavy box sitting horizontally, rear seats folded to make room.
Suguru feels like reality just start to hit, like when it's still. The moment of silence on his seat. Maybe it's the loud of his own breathing. Maybe the continuous ticking car sign. Maybe it's Maybelline.
Satoru climbs in and shuts the driver's side door with a click.
They blink at each other.
.
They stop by a bakery café.
This time, there's a tinkle when they are through the glass panel. Soft jingles of background music tries to give welcoming impression. It's also warmer inside. Temperature and lighting wise.
The cinnamon caffè latte tastes rightfully mellow yet thick at the same time. Sweetness level modest just to his taste. Roasted arabica gives off earthy mix of complex bitter flavor. Suguru thinks about a certain xanthine component and classes of aromatic compounds.
Satoru is back with wrapped paperbag of bakery purchases. He sits back down and delightfully slurps on what looks like cocoa-mocca-caramel stuff topped with marshmallow and cream. Suguru thinks about diabetes mellitus.
It seems that the mascot character of this store is a Hush Puppy, now downed in Santa Claus hat. Nose big. It's eyes droopy. Somehow it doesn't look very lively.
"Looks like one of Prof Yaga's collection," Satoru points.
"They should put one around the lab, it fits the vibe," Suguru sips on his drink.
"Imagine getting the specimen case filled with Yaga's dolls instead. Won't it be kinda creepy? But in a good way!"
Suguru shakes his head, "Nah, gotta come with its own chamber instead, fully labeled each and everything."
"...Bet Prof Yaga actually has that in his place," Satoru scrunches his nose.
"Yikes, unsurprisingly very likely."
They both nods in disapproval.
.
Satoru thumbs up him when Suguru rolled over a hand trolley he asks to borrow from the concierge.
They travel up the lift.
He won't be thinking about the whole lot of manual labor needed towards unboxing and setting this thing up-
No, actually the real problem comes after that because,
Like the whole beginning of, the reason they are doing this and that and this where he here is, a victim, non-consensually admitted to the total ordeal, all plainly, debatably against his will is-
.
"No, Satoru. That's not the way you fold it. The triangle goes corner first like this-"
.
"Suguruu, old DVDs looks like rainbow and scales- see, see?"
.
"Satoru- fuck. Don't- "
Riiiipppssss
.
"Hey, Suguuu, do you think the red M&M or the blue one fits more?"
.
They snapped off reindeer headband for makeshift dragon's horn.
.
An entire tube of toothpaste is somehow involved in the making of stuff. Don't ask.
.
It's barely the first week of December and they have a whole ass fake tree in the living room. In the darkness. All glowing ivory and shit with flickering amber LEDs. Rainbow dragon nestled on top circling the lucent star.
"Yo, it's actually lit."
"Huh,"
Suguru blinks and despite the entirety of things it's actually,
"Not bad."
Is this is it? Is this how his life has come to be? Wait but. Not gonna lie, the room looks... aesthetic. For the lack of better word, fuck.
The main schematic tone is soft golden in contrast to inky edges of dimmed down room. Colors occupying spaces, are dispersed in bits, in shape of varying geometrics. Materials used are ones that gleam, reflecting off each other so seemingly luminescent themselves. It makes such light dances not unsimilar to the inside of a kaleidoscope, he mused.
Suguru flopped down the couch with a deep exhale. What time is it? He rest a hand on his eyes. A yawn escaped over and Suguru took a peek.
Overlights are off, scene in dim, but the unmistakeable soft white glow spilling through the blinds shows otherwise, not nocturne. It's dawn.
A satisfying crack comes from stretching his neck. Just by the side, Satoru is busy snapping pictures. He's back and forth leaning and crouching over for angles.
Suguru chuckles.
Satoru looks over.
There is this something that has bothered him for awhile. Suguru leans forward.
Satoru blinks several times, when subdued hand reach out to ruffle tuffs of white mane-
The glinting shimmers really won't come off, no matter how long Suguru pats, combs, or rubs them off.
Persistent.
He sees, Satoru's cerulean stricken-like.
Satoru is all stiff too, frozen-like. Handphone long dropped on the rugs, Suguru frowns a little because why does Satoru also looked a bit breathless. Perhaps lack of proper sleep finally gets to him as well. Not good.
Suguru is not sure the last thing he mumbled out. Something something about getting some sleep soon and it's nearly morning. Because he really is tiredly drowsy. Already drifting off, in and out several times through the night.
His head rests on the cushion, and at that moment slumber hits almost immediately.
.
Satoru sees, that Suguru is splayed on the couch, snoring softly.
His sweater and sweats very wrinkled, half up really undone, it spills like, unruly tresses. They are long.
And like, Satoru is warm all over. Filled with it. It's also gradually increasing. Has been. Like snowballing. Haphazard. That surges, not unlike it's a dam about to burst. Overflow and low tide in the essence.
Fore and ring finger twitch.
He clenches a fist. Then release. Exhales, a rather shaky breath.
Should the amber-ish ilumination do more to accentuate soft edges, soft features,
Or,
Those myriad hues amidst graphite backdrop frames more like twilight, or fireflies gathering,
.
Fuck this.
Because why is Suguru so-
Ugh.
From the depths of his heart.
It kicks in then. An adrenaline rush or some kind. Impulse. When Satoru crashes urgently on top, basically straddling. One knee digs into the gap couch junction. Spaced in between, their legs are.
His arms, caging, on either side of the unsuspecting figure. Heads level vertically, they are supposedly face-to-face.
It's a split second decision, or none decision at all, because Satoru looks, breath in, grips. And then looks again, inhales the third time,
Then dips.
.
Satoru thinks, about Bavarois and fireworks at once.
When he pulls away and slumps over, lower half sinking on the floor,
Satoru thinks about certain Norse-Celtic origin fortune and whether it would work under hanging rows of paper cranes and snowflakes instead.