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i.
When Shoko first lays eyes on him, they are seated at a bar. She’s nursing a beer, not fully listening to Utahime talk about her students, but not quite drowning her out either. He’s with a friend, face turned away from her, but she finds her attention unnaturally drawn to him as if he were an accident with flashing lights of reds and blues and she the bystander looking on.
“Shoko.”
“Hmm?” She hums back, taking a small sip of the amber liquid in hand. She begrudgingly looks away, meeting Utahime’s kind - irritated - eyes.
“I know you’re not listening to me. Which one are you looking at?”
Shoko nods her head where the man is sitting, pointing without making a spectacle of it. “The one with the face that is much too pretty for a guy,” she frowns before adding, “honestly, that face should be illegal.”
“He is,” Utahime agrees, nodding her head before they both break out into a fit of laughter.
“Do you think he’s that pretty in bed?” Shoko asks.
“He might be,” Utahime admits nonchalantly. Shoko offers a lazy smile in response, their glasses meeting. To pretty guys , she thinks, the liquid warming her insides, further hazing her thoughts.
He just might be.
ii.
Their first conversation happens in an odd, whimsical sort of way. She’s outside of her clinic building, her lungs burning in an area with clearly lit signs with the words ‘no smoking’ written across them which she pays no mind to. He’s simply on his phone, arguing with someone she’s barely made out to be “Satoru,” attention anywhere but on her.
It’s all she manages to catch before she finds herself walking a little more to the right, eyes to the sky, before his shoulder bumps into hers and the stick from her lips slips to the ground, the end still burning.
Shoko finds herself staring at the ground, eyes focused on the embers still alit, behaving like a fool who has not quite registered what’s happened until she hears a small mutter of “shit, I’ll call you back.” It isn’t until a hand is in her face, waving slightly, that Shoko decides to look away from the loss of nicotine and-
Her eyes are met with a sea of colors along the man’s arms, his sleeves covered in intricate patterns and designs filled with different hues. It takes a minute, but she eventually averts her eyes to his face where she finds another masterpiece. He’s got an eyebrow raised, lips tilted to the side, amusement flickering in what looks like purple from this angle but Shoko’s a medical professional and as a medical professional she knows the color just isn’t possible.
Doesn’t stop her from hoping it is.
His voice snaps her out of whatever musings she has, all guttural and low. “Hey, sorry about knocking into you. Didn’t see you there.”
All she can offer him is a slow blink as a response. Afterall, she saw him in her periphery and chose to get hit.
She offers a slow shrug of her shoulders instead of a verbal response, fingers already digging in her pocket for the pack of death as Utahime likes to call it, but he cuts in again.
“I know I trashed your cigarette, but smoking isn’t good for you, y’know.” This time, it’s her eyebrow that finds itself raised, looking at him as if had just told her pigs could fly.
“Excuse me?” She tilts her head, completely enamored with the stranger she’s only met twice - and the first time they didn’t even speak - that is somehow parroting the words she hears on the regular.
He gestures towards her, eyes flitting to the bud on the ground, before sweeping back up to hers. He’s smiling at her in a way a predator would, smile sharp as a knife, showing all teeth. “I realize it’s not my place to be saying this, but it’s not healthy for you. Smoking. I’m not a doctor or anything but hey, lung cancer would be wasted on a pretty little thing like you.”
Oh.
Well, that’s a new one.
The reply has air blowing through her nose before she can stop it, her lips twitching in an exasperated smile. “Huh,” is all she manages to get out before the door to the building opens and she hears her name being called. “I’ll keep that in mind, stranger,” is all she offers before turning around with a small wave of her hand.
Part of her hopes to see him again.
iii.
Their third meeting happens in a bizarre twist of fate that has her squinting to confirm that her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her, her lips twisting up. She finds him crouched in the alley on the side of the club, back against the cold brick wall, a cancer stick in the fingers of one hand, tapping furiously away on the phone in the other. When Shoko is positive the alcohol isn’t making her see things, she takes a seat next to him, fingers reaching for the stick between his.
She hears him make a sound that resembles a protest before her eyes meet his, the response dying on his lips. He offers the small rod willingly, watching, waiting for her lips to wrap around the butt.
Only it never does.
Shoko gives him a saccharine smile as she stubs out the cigarette on the asphalt below them.
“Someone once told me these cause cancer,” she shrugs. “Thought I’d let you know.”
He stares at her with a strange fascination, smiling. “Oh yeah?”
She nods, unperturbed. “Yeah. You can trust me though. I am an actual doctor. Not some guy butting in the business of someone he doesn’t know. I actually know these things. I’ve seen the articles. Read the research.” She stands, wiping the invisible dust off her skirt, hands fluttering against her thighs, her legs, her ass. Shoko catches him staring, but keeps her mouth shut.
She didn’t mind.
“Also, wouldn’t want a pretty thing like you,” his smile widens at her echoing of words, “dying from emphysema or ruining your skin. Or getting lung cancer. A pesky disease really. Wouldn’t recommend it. Besides, it would be such a shame to lose that illegal face of yours, really.”
"Illegal?” He questions, chuckling in response to deter her from noticing the tension that forms in his body. She merely brushes it away.
“Illegal,” she confirms before walking away, heels echoing much too loud against the pavement, drowning out any word he may have said.
iv.
"Hey doc," he states, smiling at her, canines glinting. This time he's the one to find her in a coffee shop, pouring over her mess of notes for a conference she’s due to attend in a few weeks with a cup of coffee in the corner of her table.
He takes a seat across from her, sipping on something that smells sweet. The smell of cinnamon wafts against her nose, causing her to wrinkle it in disgust.
Coffee should only be served black. Anything else was a sin.
Shoko lifts up her face, meeting his sinful one, "Hey yourself." She closes her laptop, crossing her arms together along the table. His feet have already found hers, playing a childish game of footsies under the table hidden in the dimly lit corner.
"What brings you here?" She asks, fingers grasping the already-cold coffee cup. Shoko drinks it regardless of the heat. If she could have an IV of caffeine, she would, but alas this was the best the modern world could do. "Pegged you the type to stay behind dark alleyways or in crowded bars. How did you find yourself lost in this kind of scene?"
And it's true. There was this underlying darkness in the way he carried himself. Shoko couldn't quite place where it came from but it had her skin crawling, the hair on her arms standing up when she got too close.
She looks at him over the edge of her cup, drinking in his appearance as much as she drinks in the bitter flavor. Dressed in a white collared shirt that hides the patterns framing his skin and some high-end suit pants, he looks every bit of good he did the first day they crossed paths.
"I can't come see my favorite doctor?" He leans back in the chair, feet still running against hers.
"Something tells me I'm the only doctor you know which, by default, makes me your favorite."
"Even better for you." He grins, making a spectacle of sniffing the air that envelops them. "Didn't you tell me to stop smoking?"
"Shush," Shoko grumbles, "I only told you after you told me not to. After we became acquainted."
"Oh? And somehow it's okay if you smoke but it's not okay that I do? Don't you think that's a little hypocritical, doc?"
"It is. For someone like you, " she nods curtly, gesturing at all that encompasses him, "it is not okay. For someone like me, it's fine. If you can't stop immediately, try cutting back a cigarette once a week or every two. Or when you're tempted to smoke, do something else. Chew a piece of gum. Make a cup of coffee. Take a leisure walk- "
"Make out with a woman I find extremely attractive."
"Yes. Make out with a woman who you - oh."
"Oh," he echoes her, leaning forward now, close to her. Shoko takes a breath, face not betraying the heart that's picked up pace. He brushes his fingers lightly across her face, pushing stray hair behind her ear. "Think I'm craving a cig right now, doc."
"Are you?" She whispers with an eyebrow lift. Her face draws closer to his, ignoring the chattering of others around them, the clinking of silverware. His hand is warm against her cheek, hotter than the heat she feels on her face.
"Yeah," he says, a fingertip length away from her lips, "think I can start breaking the habit now?"
Her eyes feel hazy, lids dropping slightly. "As a doctor, I highly recommend the sooner, the better."
"It's a hard habit to break. It might take me a while."
"That's fine."
"Ah, well, don't mind if I do then, doc."
In a corner hidden from the view of a room full of strangers, she doesn't mind if it takes a while. Not when his lips are burning a fire on her, branding themselves against her.
v.
He walks her home.
There's no hand holding, linking of pinkies, or walking with her arm linked to his. They walk side by side with a distance between them that is comforting despite the chilly air.
The wind hits her face gently, reddening her cheeks and her nose. She watches from the corner of her eye as his hair lifts in the air as if it was being caressed.
Neither seem to really mind.
When they part ways, there's a faint 'see you later' in the air before he begins walking in the opposite direction. When he's out of sight, Shoko begins walking further, cutting corners.
They never exchanged names.
vi.
After, she runs into him again at the same coffee shop. With a small mutter of "hey doc" that seems to have lost its usual charm, he takes a seat across from her.
He smells more like smoke than she does, the scent stronger and more pungent than it had been prior to his arrival. It's as if he smokes more rather than less. Shoko makes a point of sniffing herself, lifting the jacket she always wears.
It's faint compared to him.
Instead of commenting on it, her eyes dart to the new pattern that lays upon his skin. If she squints, Shoko swears she sees tally marks. There's multiple lines mixed with the patterns that start adding up, bringing back that feeling of unease. "New ink?" She asks instead, playing with a pen between her lips.
His eyes never leave the phone his fingers have been tapping on for the past few minutes. He merely nods minutely in response to her, absorbed entirely in the world that almost seems fictitious. She wonders what has him so entranced, but goes back to the plethora of notes in front of her.
They don't talk for the rest of the time he stays.
vii.
Shoko finds herself at the bar she originally met him at after an autopsy that has her questioning her capabilities of being a doctor. She's in the middle of asking for her fifth drink of the night when his hand finds her, lifting the appendage to his mouth. He engraves his lips upon her knuckles, worshiping the skin underneath his lips.
She erupts in a fit of giggles, the feeling of warmth - from the alcohol or him, she isn't sure - tickling her insides. He gives her another shark-like smile, that twists her insides and has her heart racing.
For a moment, looking up at him and his violet eyes hidden behind long, dark lashes, he looks like more. More than human. His crooked smile that has his canines glinting, the sharp corners of his eyes, and for a moment the purple disappears, only leaving black holes to stare inside of.
Shoko finds herself a victim to those eyes, willingly drowning.
"Hey doc," he says, thumb running along her fingers. "What brings you here? Drowning in your sorrows?"
She wonders if the thoughts haunting her show on her face or if he's merely a good guesser.
"Speeding up the process," she murmurs.
His body leans into hers, his knees bumping along her legs before they cage her in. The pungent smell of sulfur and ash engulf her senses along with his frame. She feels small, miniscule, next to him. The man who sets her body aflame, sending her emotions into turmoil.
"What process?" He asks.
"Death," she answers unashamedly. It's not a lie. While she studied to save the lives of others, she's been in a life and death battle with herself for as long as she can remember.
She recalls the familiar taste of metal along her skin, the chill along its margins as she ran it across her skin. The wind welcoming her into the dark, blue sea below her feet when Shoko decided to stand on a bridge, feeling the tip of the world beneath her.
"Death," he reconfirms. Instead of pity or repulsion reflecting in his eyes, he merely smiles. Offers her a sanctuary within his arms. Despite her better judgment, Shoko finds herself accepting his comforting embrace, her arms wrapped around his middle as she sits on the edge of the bar stool.
"Want to get out of here?"
Shoko stares at him, wary, but places her hand in his. "Is this your way of getting me alone?" She stands, shaky from her heels and her nerves, but she steadies herself.
"Yeah. Then you can spill all your dirty little secrets about death and how you're slowly poisoning your body to me."
"Oh. Bold of you to assume they're dirty" she says, "but okay. Take me away from here, stranger." He simply smiles at her again, sending her nerves in disarray. She realizes as they're walking out that she still doesn't know his name and maybe, maybe, maybe, her secrets aren't the only thing to be spilled tonight.
viii.
She finds out that he is just as pretty in bed despite the sweat.
Shoko finds not knowing his name does nothing to ruin the sex. It only makes it hotter she finds when she's screaming out incoherent thoughts, calling him everything under the sun but his name.
"What's your name?" She manages to strangle out after some effort, feeling his tongue between her thighs, hands heavy on her hips.
He merely lifts his head up, causing her to look down and thread her fingers through his hair. When she lifts her hips up to bring him back, he merely pushes them back. "My name?"
Shoko nods eagerly. "Yeah. Your name. I've told you all the dirty little things about me yet I know almost nothing about you. Not even your name."
She wasn't really complaining but this? This felt like something more. She wanted more than random run-ins at a coffee shop or bar. More than his tongue down her throat, sweeping across her teeth, all while playing footsies under the table.
"Suguru," he answers before lowering his head back down, mouth meeting the skin of her thighs.
"Just Suguru?" Shoko confirms, leaning up on her arms to look down at him. She likes this angle, being able to watch every flick of his tongue. He nods, humming against the skin of her thighs, hair tickling her.
"Alright just Suguru. I'm just Shoko." Her fingers curl in his hair tighter, bringing his face back to where she likes. She hears a low murmur of "Shoko" as if he’s tasting her name on his tongue before his mouth resumes its exploration between her legs. His mouth is hot, wet, and lights a fire within her, tongue probing inside of her, tasting every inch.
By the end, she sees stars and decides Suguru may deserve to be called God after all.
ix.
He meets Utahime next, though it was largely unplanned. Shoko is already outside of the bedroom, waiting for the coffee machine to pour out the magic she needs in the morning. She's sitting there, dazed, not yet awake and only the sound of Utahime walking in momentarily wakes her from her light slumber.
"Morning," she says, pulling out another mug from the cupboard before digging for some tea. Utahime doesn't like coffee, saying the taste is bland. Shoko thinks she's bland but she never says.
"Morning," she mumbles in response, blinking wearily at the other girl. It only takes a second after Utahime sits for her to turn her head to the bathroom where the sound of the shower is going off before she turns back at Shoko.
"If you're sitting here then who's..?"
Shoko merely smiles back in response, standing from her seat when the coffee machine finally beeps. "Shoko!" The girl whispers behind her, afraid to be too loud. "Who did you bring home?!"
"Just Suguru," she answers. Technically, she did not lie. Before the girl can ask her more, the door swings open. Shoko barely manages to finish pouring two cups of coffee before he's begun making his way over to them.
Suguru's hair is still damp, lowered from its typical bun. It clings to his body, water trickling down his bare chest as he only chose to wear a towel around his waist.
"Hey," he says, nodding at Utahime before grabbing the cup of coffee. He places a wet kiss on her cheek before walking to her bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Shoko leans against the counter, sipping the hot coffee. She waits for the storm, finding peace in the silence that won't last long.
"Did you bring the pretty boy from the bar from a few weeks ago into our home?"
"I did."
"... and?"
She grins, triumphant. "Just as pretty."
"You lucky bitch."
They share no more words.
x.
She finds her back against the same alleyway wall where she saw him smoking, legs wrapped around his waist. It digs into her skin, reddening the areas it touches.
"We shouldn't do this here," she manages to gasp out, feeling his hand crawling under her shirt.
"We shouldn't," Suguru agrees, teeth nipping along her neckline before his lips find hers, devouring her breaths. A second later and his hand finds her nipple, tweaking the bud between his fingers.
Shoko finds herself helpless beneath him, arching into his body. Her fingers dig into the skin of his shoulder, breaths mingling together.
"Someone is - is going to - catch us," she breathes out after separating their lips.
"Ignore them," he rasps out, voice husky and low, demanding she listen to him without say. It doesn't take much more convincing when his other hand travels beneath her skin, fingers hooking on her panties.
They don't get caught.
xi.
One night, she opens up to him more than she has with anyone else.
She spills herself onto him. Lays herself bare. She confesses all her sins as if they're in a confessional; him the pastor, her the sinner. She tells him about the stealing she did as a teenager. How she cheated her way into university and medical school. How her foster parents used to beat her daily until she was black and blue but only on the parts they could cover up.
It never mattered what home the system sent her to. They all ended up the same.
She briefly wonders if he already knew that. There's no surprise on his face. He's not horrified by what she's told him. He barely reacts besides holding her closer, pressing kisses into her hair, telling her it would take more than a few broken pieces of her past to push him away.
Before she can dwell too much on him knowing her before they met, he shakes the thought away. He makes sure she forgets everything that night except the way he molds himself inside her.
xii.
"Suguru," she shrieks, surprise washing over her when his cold hands wrap themselves around her waist.
He buries his face in her shoulder from behind, breathing softly against her neck. "I woke up and you were gone."
"Couldn't sleep," she supplies, taking another drag of her cigarette. She was out on the hotel balcony, watching the world continue to exist below them despite it being the dead of night. She could hear the honking of cars, airplanes flying overhead, voices shouting from far off.
It was peaceful in an ironic way. Even in the dead of night the city never sleeps.
"Come back to bed," he murmurs against her ear, teeth playing with the skin. She watches, amused, as he takes the cigarette from her hands before putting it out on the ashtray beside them. "Let me fill your addiction tonight, doc."
His hands are already traversing her body, playing above his t-shirt she threw on. She leans her back into his chest, offering herself wholly and freely.
It doesn't take long until he's above he; tall, heavy, and much larger than her, which she welcomes. He's thrusting in and out at a pace which she can't keep up, her legs over his shoulders. He's whispering in her ear, telling her how tight she is, how good she feels, how she keeps pulling him back for more.
It doesn't take long until the kisses along with the heat between them has her screaming.
xiii.
Shoko is lonely.
Suguru slips out of her sheets more often now, excuses spilling from his lips each time. He tries to make up for it, but sometimes she grows tired of apologies like she grows tired of the increasing smell of smoke that has settled upon his being.
He's never smoked in front of her since that day.
Utahime is busy with work, barely replying. She tells her how a teacher she worked with went missing - Yu Haibara. The school suspects the case is linked to a number of missing people in the area, but they're keeping quiet for now. Shoko only knows because Utahime asked her if she's seen anyone in the morgue fitting his description, but she hadn't. Despite all the missing persons, there's been no unusual deaths.
Without those two, Shoko has no one else left in her life. She cut ties with her families years ago after each foster home beat her down until she was black and blue.
She's tried talking to her patients but they never answer back. They remain cold, lifeless, still on her table. There's only so many patients Shoko can autopsy before she starts feeling death weigh down upon her.
So Shoko finds herself waiting, thinking of her life and what its come to be. She finds she can't think of what her life was like before she met Suguru. He's taken over a large spot in her heart that threatens to leave her empty if he should ever abandon her.
To her, Suguru is the sun and she a mere planet caught in his orbit, unable to let go. He's learned every inch of her, laying her bare to read like an open book.
It's been months but Shoko finds she knows almost nothing about him.
xiv.
"Shoko!"
"Utahime, hey. What's up?"
"Are you okay? Are you eating? I barely see you at the apartment anymore. I know you're happy but… I'm worried."
"I'm fine, don't worry about me. I'm eating. I'm sleeping. I've even cut my smoking down. Enough about me, what's new with you?"
"... I started seeing someone."
"And you didn't tell me sooner?! Tell me about him!"
"He's actually a detective. We met when he was investigating the school. His name is Satoru Gojo."
"Satoru Gojo? The one all over the news? A famous investigator or some shit? That one?"
"Yeah. Don't ever say that to his face please. The man already has a big enough head."
"Yeah, sounds like your type. So he's looking into all the missing people?"
"I'm choosing to ignore that comment. Yeah. That's kind of why I called. He said they're suspected to be dead. Murdered. The unit thinks there might be a serial killer in the area. I just… needed you to know. I couldn't sit here with the information and not tell you. Be careful, okay?"
"Yeah, of course. Always. Thanks for the heads up. I'll see you soon?"
"See you soon!"
xv.
Some nights he comes home covered in wounds, looking like a bigger guy got the best of him. Despite looking beaten, battered, and bruised, he still manages to give her a smile. The smell of smoke only gets stronger on these nights. He smells like charred flesh, she notes, but never finds any burns on him.
"Hey doc."
"Hey yourself, criminal. What kind of mischief did you get into tonight?" It's a routine of theirs even though he never answers and she never pushes for more. She always stitches him up afterward without any further prodding.
She only starts questioning when she notices the tally marks increasing, wrapping entirely around his arm. She bites her tongue, drawing blood, thinking it's best not to ask what they symbolize.
Tally marks could mean anything, she reasons. He could have them to count days of sobriety, days out of jail, days without someone meaningful to him.
Her reasoning does nothing to quell the fear creeping up her back.
xvi.
One night he takes her from behind, pulling at her hair. He has a finger on her clit, squeezing, pinching, twisting, but never for too long.
He's rough with her, handling her as if she were a toy and not a living, breathing human being. He ruts into her as if she were his last meal, devouring her for all she'd give. Willing or not.
The pain mixes with the pleasure. She can feel the bruises he seers into her skin, creating a mosaic of color against porcelain white; smells the familiar stench of iron in the air as his teeth dig into her; hears the pounding in her chest that only increases into tempo with every thrust of his hips.
She reaches an arm back, hitting him with as much strength as she can muster. It’s not much and he pays no mind to it, continuing with an uneven pace, digging inside of her. He keeps up the pace until she’s sobbing, begging for him to stop. She can barely catch her breath when he pulls out, tears wetting her face. He’s murmuring apologies in her ear but Shoko can’t hear him over the buzzing in her ears.
The smell of blood only gets stronger when he leaves her.
xvii.
Shoko could hear the shower from the other room, making out the soft pitter patter as the water hit the tile. He had left her to clean up himself, muttering something about feeling dirty after they spent the last few hours in bed.
He was trying again. Trying to make up for the time they got intimate and he was desperately holding onto something that wasn’t her. They never discussed that night further, both unwilling to topple the foundation they had set.
Bored with her phone, Shoko turned on the television. The screen flickered to life, the news flashing before her eyes. The name ‘Satoru Gojo’ played on the screen in bright white letters, catching her attention. She leaned back into the pillows, hand still on the remote, watching as words flashed on the screen.
Suspected killer possibly found.
Cabin found with remnants linked to multiple missing persons. Nothing confirmed.
If you see this man, do not engage. Instead call the number you see on the screen.
Lead investigator warns the killer is still out on the loose and to stay vigilant.
Suguru Getou.
Suguru Getou.
Suguru.
Shoko could feel nothing - not the cushions behind her, not the hot mug in her hands that threatened to slip through her fingers, not the fear shooting through her veins. Nothing. Her body was numb as she read every word on the screen, attempting to register what the words entailed.
His face was plastered there with a familiar smile, listed as a person of interest. His full name was flashing in front of her eyes, unveiling the man from just a name.
All Shoko felt was horror.
His voice cut through her thoughts. “Ah, fuck. I knew you’d find out eventually but figured I still had some time.” She was motionless beyond a twitch of her head in his direction. She hadn’t even heard him get out of the shower, entirely engulfed in what she was seeing. He was smiling a familiar knife-like smile and Shoko realizes he’s been hiding in plain sight all along, showing off his fangs from the beginning.
Shoko always had a bad habit of choosing addictions that could kill her. She had never expected a man to be a part of it.
Neither move until her phone lights up, Utahime’s name flashing on the screen. Both sets of eyes shoot to the device, tension thick. Shoko can feel her hand twitch, itching to answer the call. Her eyes meet his and oh, oh - she wonders how she missed it.
She doesn’t pick up.