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“Satoru?”
He couldn’t help it. Not when the dazzlingly white hair caught his eye, shocked him enough to tear his eyes off the phone screen he’d unknowingly started to scroll, electrocuted him enough to yank the words out of his mouth before his brain could properly register the full situation or even analyze beforehand to think if it was an appropriate manner -
(Thank goodness he didn’t grab their wrist.)
“Huh? ‘Satoru’?”
The smaller person - no, girl - blinked; comically animated and loud blue eyes finally revealed as she removed her fashionable sunglasses up to her head, eyebrows pinched together in what could only be described as mild confusion, absolute surprise, mystified awe and tiny curiosity (her hair was so long, and so were her eyelashes, but her eyes were dazzling and her face was everything Suguru was so screwed for).
“Who’s that?”
A girl. Satoru was a girl.
And he/she had no recollections of the past.
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On any other day, towards any other person, Suguru would have advised them to never let him in.
He would’ve told them - like how he once raised Nanako and Mimiko - to never trust a man who approached you, who said he knew you yet hadn’t assumed you wouldn’t remember, but “that’s okay, because we can be friends from now on, right?”. He would’ve told them to get the hell away from there, yell the place down if they must, and run to the nearest help they could find - preferably women. Then he would march them towards the police station, and to file a report that'll ensure the creep would never, ever have the chance to show sight again. A perfect script.
He recited the exact same things - except this time, he was a walking hypocrite. Present tense.
“You’re weird,” Satoru loudly declared, but not at all fazed or scared or even cautious - which should’ve stirred a strong sense of disapprovement and protective-fury in Suguru for his carelessness because have you seen how small and fragile you are - but, if he addressed that too much, he would very much get kicked out of the fast food restaurant like how the script worked. “‘Previous life’? For real? If I were in my worst moods, I’d yell both for the police and doctors to show up.”
And, he was a hypocrite, because despite saying all that bullshit, he still wanted to stay near Satoru. Damn it all, if anybody who knew him in the past saw him now, they’d definitely call him a creep. A stalker? No, a creep.
No amount of submission and smiling would help you, the rational part of him sneered.
Suguru nervously smiled up - careful to stay low, nearly ironing his face onto the table, but maybe that was just him too muddled up in excitement and panic to properly come up with appropriate behaviours - to Satoru, who was only watching him with his, her, bright blue eyes. Slurping onto the milkshake she’d bought.
(“I’m paying! Nope! Touch your wallet and I’ll scream the place down!”)
“Uh, weird, I know.”
He couldn’t think of anything intelligent beyond that. Heart still hammering in his chest. Unsure if this was his crush going haywire that his dreams - to meet Satoru, that’s it - finally came true, or if this was his soul going ashen that Satoru remembered nothing at all - that’s it.
Satoru studied him. Slurped on her milkshake deliberately noisily, while she kept her posture of laying half-sprawled across the table; head on her hand, that was angled to 45 degrees, loose hair behind her back. She slurped again.
“Uh, I think it’s good table manners to not make sounds while you eat. Especially when drinking.”
She took her mouth away from the straw, eyes still trained on him. Suguru couldn’t help but notice - in slow motion (oh he was creepy he was starting to get frightened of himself) - how the plush glossed lips shone in the light, how that microscopic drop of milkshake flew away to oblivion.
“Oh? So you’re telling me about good table manners now when you’re that guy who randomly decides to hit me because ‘I look like somebody from his previous life’?”
Ouch. Suguru visibly winced - not an act at all, it was instinctive and on reflex; now that she’d outwardly put it like that, gods did he sound very creepy and a jackass.
“Sorry. Uh, we don’t have to be friends.”
Lies.
“But, um, you could stop the slurping.”
Worrywart.
“It’s nothing to do with me, seriously - but, uh, it could, uh, it’s not good for you.”
Good gods, how did he speak to Satoru again? He couldn’t recall how, it suddenly felt like a million lifetimes ago, but he was sure he hadn’t been so klutzy as he was now. Or maybe because Satoru had been a guy last time that it had been far easier for Suguru to upfront fight with him, fist-to-fist and everything vile, to prove his point. Dealing with a girl brought forth a whole new level of complex, and considering that Suguru was too used to his previous life’s friend’s behaviour but not gender - without the base of what they’ve built together, he might as well be juggling trays of pancakes sat on boba balls.
Satoru eyed him. Not with wariness or anything negative, not yet - the unnerving feeling of being watched by eyes whose emotions were hard to decipher all too familiar now - but with unreadable scrutiny. Staring into her eyes was like staring into the galaxy, and Suguru found himself at her mercy, stuck like that while she assessed him.
“Okay,” she answered.
He blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “I believe you.”
Suguru blinked. He had just told her about table manners alongside the previous life part. Was she referring to the former? (Which would’ve been ridiculous…then again, teen girls her age often got away with bad manners most of the time when their parents or guardians aren’t looking.)
“I believe your ‘previous life’ part,” the girl rolled her eyes - before suddenly reaching out to flick Suguru very painfully between the eyes. Ow! She smiled - oh damn she smiled and it was so dazzlingly bright, accentuated by her heartfelt joy or something he dare not really conclude just yet - and it was blinding. “So if you don’t want me to announce to the whole world that you’re a looney hallucinating about previous lives or have approached me just because of that, you’d better be my lackey and be there for me whenever I need you!”
…Ohhhhh that little shit. Satoru was still a little shit, spoiled brat - princess in this lifetime perhaps? Suguru was not too far from society to not recognize the branded things here and there that the girl was wearing - and he was still out to make Suguru’s life miserable. She. Miserable, on the first try, but Suguru had never let him in the past (talk him down and he’ll punch you, that’s the language for boys.
(But this was a princess and damn Suguru if he hadn’t gotten over Satoru or all the wrong things and missed chances he had in the past.)
He totally surrendered and handed the younger girl his phone, which he was sure she used to put both of their contacts in each other’s phone, for the future “calls” she was already planning in her evil mind.
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Satoru was a princess. A spoiled princess, but apparently, Suguru was her only lackey. Either the boys around her had low tolerance towards her mannerisms despite her prettiness and left, or Suguru had been the only one to be stationed as such.
Eitherways, he didn’t really mind. He just had to be extra careful about this little girl who liked to dance on eggshells on purpose and didn’t for the love of all things safe care about how others thought about her.
(So reminiscent of Satoru before, just that the genders changed, and along that probably their very own guide book on how to deal/live/play with the rest of the world.)
“Satoko,” Suguru sighed, only ever pinching the tip of her outer shirt, making sure he wasn’t doing anything to denote him a criminal (pervert). “Please don’t dance about like that. You could bang into someone.”
She paused. Took one look at his pinching hands (which immediately left her shirt though, now that he’s finally caught her attention), then to his face. Eyebrow a little slanted as she looked at him, mildly miffed.
“But I didn’t bang into anyone.”
True. But.
“I know, which is good, but if you don’t be careful from hereon too, you could.”
Chastising, he knew, and it was a little sad that he had to sort of play half-parent to this girl, whom he wanted to be friends with - oh, had he mentioned she was a high schooler and he was a university student? A freshman and a senior, soon-to-be super senior? Seven years age difference? What a horror; he could flag down a car a mile away with his red flag.
Satoko - not Suguru, he learned on the first day heeding to her call - pouted. Not in the cute way, but in the way that told she knew how to pull the act to make a fuss out of things, and she knew that people knew, hence people would “dislike” her for that. An act to just be petty.
(Eerily similar to Satoru, who also gave no shit to anybody he couldn’t care less back then, but again so different.)
“People pleaser.”
And ouch, he had not expected that to hurt.
Then again, this was Satoko. Who loved to be petty and loved to dance on eggshells like a child testing the durability of toys by flinging them onto the floor. Who loved to be difficult because pushing a person beyond their limits and forcing them to reveal their true colours under extreme conditions were of utmost importance, especially when she had such a charm/beauty like that. She loved to challenge rules and signs, almost as if demanding the world to change them or at least reassess because, are they sure it’s sensitive? Aren’t they being too fussy? Suguru could see the possibility here - that with insistent mischief, the people would bend just to shut her up, but upon actual inspection would see that yes there was room for improvement, or she was right, or that the rule could be completely taken down, as it was outdated and useless. Suguru’s only met her for less than the fingers on his two hands, but he’s already seen the dynamics she could pull singlehandedly.
That didn’t mean the world understood this, or that she was absolutely free of irrational backlash from said people. The worst he could think of was men who hated being undermined and trying to harm her, just to unprove her point - or rather, forcefully reinstate their rightfulness by making her submissive. Physically breaking her first, in all ways possible.
Good gods will Suguru totally repeat the massacre again if any bastard dared to lay hands on Satoru, even without his curse power. Satoru. Satoko. Whatever.
“Hey!”
Satoko snapped her fingers in front of him, startling him terribly. He nearly tripped on his own feet, trying to stagger back.
Satoko narrowed her eyes at him, thoroughly unimpressed. …But, Suguru wasn’t Satoru’s best friend for nothing. He could see, beyond that mesmerizing blue, the flicker of doubt that dimmed her surety. The shade of unease that tainted the vividness (oh, nice to know he could still read her correctly, but he felt terrible to have caused that).
“It seems that my lackey isn’t strong at all,” Satoko loudly drawled, almost announcing to the entire neighbourhood - and that was defamation if anything, Suguru wasn’t dumb - “So I suppose, as the good boss who’s considerate of her lackey, I think we should go into the nearest restaurant and have a good rest before we continue, hmm?”
All on air. All for the show. Hands clasped behind her back, looking to the sides and high up to the skies, anywhere but Suguru. But two seconds later and she’s flitting her eyes to him, half-lidded, challenging and assessing. What will you do now?
Suguru’s not so petty enough to actually denote it as a challenge or anything. In fact, he’s mature enough to just gracefully accept this as a chance to finally sit down.
“Sure,” he acquiesced; raising his arms full of her shopping stuff (seriously though who were her parents, to let her own the credit card like that?? Or let her walk into a salon that allowed her to always leave her mountains of shopping ‘to pick up later’? It’s not like there were any prestigious or well-famed Gojo’s in this area, and Suguru should be more or less knowledgeable about these stuff because, well, he had been on the lookout for Satoru all his living years), not in the least fazed at their weight. “I do have a lot on me.”
He politely did not tell her that this amount of shopping was nothing, feather-light in comparison, to the weights he lifted on a daily basis back at the gym he always went to.
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Satoko was smart. He knew she was different from the Satoru he knew, sure, but the mild dissimilarities often caused him migraines, the severity of them depending on the amount of disparity in the dissimilarities. He needed time to reconcile this reality with his knowledge; he could be blamed for being a slowpoke at times.
Satoko was smart, because while she flaunted their boss-lackey status in whichever neighbourhood they met up, she never once did that in front of her schoolmates. Or anybody who seemed to know her personally in her life. Which, in extension to that, prevented either side from being embarrassed by being acquaintances with each other.
That was, until today.
("Where are your sunglasses?" "I don't wear those on normal days! Sunglasses are for fashion, or didn't you know that?")
“So you’re into guys heaps older than you?”
Suguru blinked. Instantly registering that whoever this muscles-just-for-looks youngster was knew Satoko and probably had a vendetta or two with her (and Suguru was male too, he instantly recognized a male whose pride was wounded by a woman and was seeking revenge on said woman) - but Satoko’s absolute air of indifference, or rather the lack of response thereof, kept him in line. Made him blink too. Like, how was Satoko going to handle this?
She inclined her head inquisitively.
“Who’re you again?” And oh, Suguru’s mouth zigzagged while trying to suppress a smile and a laugh, and the look of said youngster was priceless. Along with the sudden snorts from his supposed friends (yes, guys tend to have the tendency to find their friend’s demise as a source of laughter, if not entertainment, no offense). “I have too many people who walk up to me and spout crap. Are you one of those nameless assholes?”
And yeah, probably Suguru should step in, because he definitely couldn’t hide the laughter that escaped him, and he couldn’t let that kind of vulgarity go past him.
“Language,” he admonished, before turning to the boys (who all comically backed up, as if his first two steps closer finally made them realize how tall he was compared to them; or if the heavens were merciful, how better built he was compared to their scrawny muscles). “I would appreciate it if you treat a lady with respect, because I sure do not appreciate how you seem to outright insult me too, even though I don’t know you.”
At least the boy recognized the invitation for a fight from a male who was competent.
“Oh, no, sorry sir, I was mistaken,” the boy apologized, already spluttering on his words as his legs backtracked themselves, his friends also already turning around to make a run for it. “I, uh, mistake. No offense to you. Sorry! You’d better remember this, bleached girl!!”
They ran. Suguru’s heart was beating 120 times per minute and blood was suddenly boiling throughout him and his brain - but Satoko’s soft voice snapped him back to sanity before he actually started running after the brats (predator after the prey).
“Stay, Suguru,” the girl commanded, her eyes never leaving the boys who were no bigger than sesame now. “I need you to carry my shopping from here on too.”
Suguru counted to ten. Because six seconds were definitely not enough to quell his anger.
One. Two. Three.
“Satoko,” he exhaled, after spending twenty seconds calming down (and Satoru surprisingly waited beside him, almost as if knowing Suguru needed the moment, almost like old times where words weren’t necessary between them for things that were serious), “Promise me that you would be careful. I would rather be your bodyguard the entire time, but since it isn’t possible, please at least promise me you won’t be alone. Stay with someone strong, who would be able to defend you if those monkeys came for you.”
Satoko snorted, almost in laughter. “So I'm schoolmates with monkeys? No wonder they spoke gibberish.”
Suguru almost blanched. “You mean you'll meet them again in school?”
“Or I really don't remember them at all and I could meet them anywhere,” Satoko rolled her eyes - and Suguru would be dumb to not recognize the heavy sarcasm - “but since they turn up less frequently like cockroaches or flies, I'll safely call them monkeys. A little bit more cute too, totally manageable.”
Monkeys. Baboons. Apes up for slicing. Suguru wished he could just black magic those kids to oblivion if he could.
A soft touch on his elbow made him jump. Satoko never touched him. Tease him with a french fry dangled in the air over his mouth, yes. Swiping a kick behind his knees to make him buckle down, yes. But not this.
“I’m alright,” Satoko reassured, smiling serenely - and damn maybe Suguru had forgotten the softest parts of Satoru, a rarity even more scarce than a blue moon - and shrugging. “Besides, they won’t be able to touch me if they wanted to. You’ll see. By next week, they won’t be bothering me anymore.”
Oh. Okay. That was…alarming, on so many levels, and he really wanted to know why (was this false bravado speaking? Or was Satoru as scarily authoritative as he was in the past for such measures to take place?), but there were more pressing issues at hand, Suguru was made of better stuff, and he was always the safe-better-than-sorry kind of guy.
“Still, please, promise me you won’t be defenseless like this. A guard or two, maybe a dog or three.” Satoko was rich, surely they could get her well-trained dogs too, right? “It’s for your safety, because I can’t go after them and rid the world of them.”
Satoko raised her eyebrows at him - almost skeptical, analytical, like she was finally onto something and putting the pieces together; and part of Suguru was scared, he didn’t want Satoko to suddenly remember or recognize him as a serial killer who had a problem with humans no better than monkeys, but he was also maybe a little hopeful, out of place he may be, because what if Satoru remembered? So he coughed. Feigning nonchalance.
“Anyways. It’s worrying that people come out of the blue and ‘spout shit’ at you,” he reminded, noting how she blinked like she was just remembering that particular confession, “I’m going to assume it’s a daily basis thing, and though you’ve been safe till today,” probably because she was underaged, her only saving grace that shielded her from the majority of predators, “I don’t want to not take precaution and regret it later.”
Sakoto studied him more. Suguru realized she’d never uttered a word since she uttered reassurances to calm him down.
“Satoko?”
Had Satoru been this quiet too? The last time Suguru said something that baffled him? (No, Satoru was a loud-mouthed over-energetic animated prodigy; he would instantly guffaw and rejoice, loudly accepting the discovery, before silently mulling over the thing in his brain.)
“You’re weird,” Satoko finally said, but it contained less venom than he unconsciously anticipated. “But, thanks. It’s rare for people to say that to me.”
Suguru blinked. That sounded very fucked up.
“I mean, most of the time, they tell me to act nice and not find trouble with others!”
At that, Suguru very openly sagged both his shoulders and head.
“Well, they’re not wrong,” he finally admitted; meekly accepting the punch that flew from Satoko by the arm because, well, he sort of deserved it. Outwardly admitting the faults of a lady and embarrassing her. “You could do less of the provokings, maybe less of the challenges too.
“But then that wouldn’t be you, and I don’t want to deprive you of any possibility you might be able to pull off in the future thanks to your headstrong, stubborn, provocative streak.”
Wait, he might’ve said something he shouldn’t.
And Satoko was looking at him with those big blue eyes it was hard to figure if she was a millisecond away from exploding or just downright stumped, but Suguru had already brought forth his two arms in hopes to shield himself (he must’ve looked comical, a guy over 180cm flinching before a girl about 160cm) and squeezed his already small eyes half-shut in anticipation of an outburst.
A small huff.
“You’re insufferable.”
Suguru blinked. Looked up, from between his arms - only then realizing he’d also somehow half-crouched so low in his attempt to cower (come out submissive and unthreatening, if not just apologetic) that he was shorter than her now - and saw the mirth that danced in Satoko’s eyes. The mirth that played on her lips.
(Subtle, so subtle, it felt slightly off that Suguru felt a little strange, but he couldn’t figure out why.)
“Fine, fine, I’ll be moooore careful!” The girl drawled, flipping her hair with an arm while twirling away like a drama queen, knocking the back of her high heels (Suguru learned by now that the girl always changed a bit of her outfit first before going shopping after school) flamboyantly before whipping around. Eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.
“Soo? What are you standing over there for? Have you rooted there? Do I need to hire a gardener to dig you out and bring you home?”
That sounded wrong on so many levels, with at least a million rectifications in Suguru’s head, but they could all go into the trashpan, as far as he cared. Suguru shocked himself awake and ran up to the girl; ignoring how he might look like a fool heeding to a small girl’s demands (he’d rather look like a fool getting twisted around her finger, than a potential creep about to pounce on her, oh no), and most definitely ignoring the smug look the princess was giving him in return to the attention he was giving her.
(But Suguru also noted how she wore Satoru’s trademarked - or so he absentmindedly labelled in his head - soft but genuine, appreciating smile. And that alone made up for all the emotional roller coasters he’d been forced to put up with for the past ten minutes.)
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“Daddy noticed you.”
Suguru choked on his coffee. Satoko was studying her fingernails with unchanging indifference, lower lip prodded out, like she hadn’t dropped a nuclear bomb on Suguru but merely stated how she’d passed a test.
(Satoru never boasted about his achievements, because to him, success was normal. A completely normal expected event, like how the sun rises from the east and flowers would bloom in spring.)
“Uh,” Suguru wiped his messy mouth with a napkin, only half-cursing himself for ruining his only white T-shirt (the stains would never get off). “Is that something I have to worry about?”
“Is it?” Satoko eyed him - almost hawk-like, except her eyes were sharper than a hawk’s and much more brilliant that the winter blue skies - “You’re scared daddy will find you out?”
Suguru made a maddening replay of everything he’s done around Satoko, and how he’s behaved around her till today. The conclusion brought forth was not very helpful or reassuring in the least.
But, admitting so would just complicate already delicate matters.
(He also dimly remembered the past conversation, where he asked if she was okay at school with those monkeys still around - "Hm? Oh, them? Nah, they don't bother me anymore. Ran away to the other side of the school building the moment they saw me walking in - I told you I have it covered." - It was both a relief and terror, which he had no courage to uncover just yet.)
“Any guy would freak out if the fathers of their female friends wanted to come up to them,” so he admitted with sweaty hands. “I don’t think I’ve caused any problems, but that’s something the fathers would decide.”
“Hmm.”
Oh, he knew that look, that tone. Albeit it was a lot different sounding when this had been Satoru in their previous lives, and when he’d been from the bloodline he was born in, but Suguru detected the note all the same.
It was not something he should encourage in the currently female, too young and vulnerable Satoko.
(“Do you take martial arts class?” “What? No I don’t.”)
“It’s okay, Satoko,” so he placated, noting the tick in her eyebrow and twitch of her finger that were proof she knew he knew what she was thinking, which literally ‘ticked’ her off. “Your father has every right to ascertain his fears. I mean,” language was funny so Suguru had to wave a hand in the air to calibrate himself. “Let your dad worry about you. Let him come up to me if he wants to. He needs to be sure, so the best thing you can do as his daughter is let him do his thing and earn the peace he needs.”
Satoko was somehow dense and obstinately adamant about getting enough defense around her; the best Suguru should do was to make sure that the girl didn’t start lying or barring her parents from her life either.
(Then again, if there was any sickening chance that whichever house she’d been born in was as stuffy as the house Satoru had been born in the last lifetime, Suguru’s plan would definitely be scrapped for the trashpan and he would redirect a whole new level of life plans for the girl as he deemed fit.
(Wait, no, that was way beyond creepy.)
Satoko outright pouted now, swirling her milkshake heatedly (vanilla milkshake on regular days, he remembered, and caramel on stressed ones, Oreo on particularly celebrative ones).
“You're all worrywarts.”
And that, Suguru thought, was the biggest relief in their current life: to know that Satoko was in good hands, with how her family ‘fussed’ over her but not to the point that she’d turn venomous. He was so relieved to the point that he slumped into his chair - not realizing he’d made Satoko misunderstand that he slumped into his chair out of doom, that he feared seeing the girl’s father despite his bravado speech.
(Luckily for them - or not? - they never came across Satoko’s father or even her mother during their excursions together.)
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“I got you your milkshake,” Suguru tentatively offered, mindful to not irk the girl anymore in her volatile state (he had not seen such a stewing Satoru in forever). “Do you want to drink it here?”
She'd called him, on a weekday, specifying her usual favourite shopping street. But Suguru knew she never went shopping after school (various reasons not speculated), and the tone of her voice was void of her usual cheeriness that he instantly knew something was wrong.
He sent a thousand apology emails and rescheduling emails to his professors before rushing straight to the scene. Thanking his legs all the way.
Satoko sat in one of the benches placed in the quiet alleys that were made for situations like these. To take a break from the busy streets.
She took the milkshake he offered. He was suddenly struck with the thought to warn her about accepting open drinks from people, anybody could've drugged her - but the look on her face immediately discouraged him. It was a conversation for later; saying anything now would earn him the title of Insensitive People Pleaser.
“Aren't you going to warn me?” Satoko asked, jolting him. Her narrowed blue eyes slid away from him to her drink; she opened the lid, took a peek in. Suguru noted the way the cream still maintained its spiral, the caramel drizzle still very much visible, and the colour sprinkles a little tousled but still in place (he did make sure to not shake the thing too much though). “Hm. Safe.”
“I’m relieved to know that you at least check before you sip, but yes, apparently I still worry enough to want to warn you again.”
Satoko stuck her tongue out. Suguru let her be. Satoru got pettier when he was upset and in the midst of processing his emotional discomfort; it was healthier to let him have his way (allowed an outlet) once in a while.
The voices of the street sounded so faraway.
“You don't have to explain,” so Suguru began, choosing to rest against the wall just beside the chair rather than try to take a seat with her. “Some things are meant for you to keep alone.”
No, that'll bring her down the wrong road.
“I mean, you don't have to feel obliged to tell me, or anybody, anything, when you don't feel like it. Of course some day, if it gets too much, I'd rather you consult somebody ASAP before it gets the better of you -”
He never regretted his previous life, not one bit, sadly - his only ever regret was unnoticingly having left Satoru to his own thoughts, so pure and untainted; it was a relief to know that he’d kept Satoru far from his heinous thoughts, free of contamination. It was heartwrenching to realize Satoru still regarded him with such purity; Suguru didn't deserve such innocence (and it made him all the more guiltier to know that he had, in the end, hurt Satoru in a way no monkey or regular John sorcerer could ever accomplish - blasphemy to a sacred shrine, almost, but that was all in the past, and he had no wish to restart a cult where he had no solid final goal or total responsibility to lead).
“- but you don't have to do that now. Or to me.”
There. All said. My how he's beaten around the bushes.
Satoko had been silent the entire time. Taking huge but silent gulps of her caramel milkshake.
Suguru waited patiently, counting the birds that flew over their heads.
“I'm done,” Satoko announced a few minutes later, shaking her definitely empty cup for emphasis. “Now, I wanna do something that'll get this out of my system. Eating and shopping, what do you suggest?”
Suguru blinked. Satoko had her eyes piercing him, waiting - almost offensively - for his response.
Good gods was he so reminiscent of Satoru all over again, but the mannerisms belonged to a girl, the mental whiplash (his own doing, not hers) was terrible (fondness, exasperation, vexation, surrender, familiarity, privilege, and contentment all in one shot).
“My best idea," so he smiled, taking care to not look like he was patronizing or belittling Satoko (he could never belittle his best friend, ever, even if he was a brat through and through), “for getting frustration or pent-up stress out of the system, is actually exercise.”
Satoko’s eyes widened.
“Muscle head.”
“Oy.”
The little cheek.
Said little cheek rolled her eyes with an exaggerated exhale, but the mirth was definitely there when she looked back; eyes crinkling in - what was that? Mischief? Relief? No, appreciation? Which was this? - no, if he dared to say, affection.
(Okay, he was starting to sound more and more like a creep with delirious thoughts - surely Satoko wasn't that aged to harbour such abilities.)
“Okay, let's move then! I'm pretty sure there was a bouldering center in this place…do you think we can go in even without equipment? Only one way to find out - let's go, my lackey!!”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Ah. Well.
If it kept Satoru smiling like that the whole time, Suguru couldn't bring himself to care. No, not at all.
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“Why did you say we were friends in our previous life?”
Suguru nearly choked on his daifuku. Said questioner merely raised her eyebrows at him, like a madam not impressed at a child's manners.
Which, true, Suguru did accidentally cause a mini burst of katakuriko to fly in the air when he pre-choked. But that wasn't really his fault. Trust Satoko for always choosing the worst timing…
(Then again, insufferable Satoru would do that at times too, so Suguru supposed he should rejoice that at least that little part was still intact. Despite the numerous disparities he’d discovered since their newly established friendship.)
He downed a cup of tea. Ordered another one from the waitress first. Then he sighed, resting his elbows on his knees. Satoko sat on the other side of their short table, waiting.
The voices of weekend customers seemed to drown the tension in the air. Muffled voices got absorbed into the cushions and curtains that decorated their cubicle.
“I’m not making it up,” he sighed again, smiling defeatedly because suddenly, the weight of Satoru not remembering anything had finally hit him hard enough to realize its gravity; the enlightenment finally made him realize the true casualties that took place within him. “It just is. Was. That’s why I told you. Honest. It’s…it’s not an excuse I came up with so I can just approach you.”
It hurt, but he had to say it. Hurt because now that he properly assessed their establishment, he could see her point of view. Saw how he could be like all of the monkeys or useless sorcerers who'd approached Satoru in the past, sweetening up to him because of his power, his status as the Head of Gojo clan, his fame as the notorious prodigy. Ulterior motives that were never purely friendship.
He felt ashamed to not realize that Satoko might’ve been harbouring that nugget of doubt the entire time they’d been friends together.
Wait, were they even friends now? No, lackey and boss. That was what they were. Smart. Smart of Satoko. And no wonder.
“Hmm,” Satoko was studying him again, a hand to her chin, inkling her head wayyyy sideways that it was almost ninety degrees. Suguru nearly mirrored her, out of reflex more than anything, but she soon snapped back up. Looking decided. Or rather, done with the topic. “I see.”
She sipped her houji latte. All interest seemingly evaporated.
Suguru wilted, playing with his half-eaten fruit daifuku using the kuromoji.
“Don’t expect anything from me,” she suddenly announced, startling him enough to drop the kuromoji.
Her stark blue eyes radiated a sort of power as she spoke; unwavering, firm, and final.
“I’m not whoever you knew in the past. I’m just Satoko, who’s living her life to her fullest. So don’t expect anything from me. Understood?”
It…it felt sad. Almost like a heartbreak, to be honest. But if anything, Suguru should count his blessing for even having met her in this lifetime, to finally cross paths - so he shouldn’t be testing his luck. He should be grateful they’re acquainted now, even if she was that rich princess who loved to call him even in the unholiest time of the night and crisply declared their going out tomorrow (which sometimes meant he only had three hours of sleep before taking transport to go all the way to the specified place). Even if he was some regular super senior in university and she a normal high schooler. At least he got to meet her, the heavens having answered his prayers aching with terrible loneliness and yearning.
(Good gods did he want to redo everything with Satoru, pick up the pieces he’d shattered and fix whatever he broke - but that was on him and Satoru had no responsibility towards Suguru. He deserved to live that happy, carefree life that he couldn’t before. Suguru was in absolutely no place to rob him of that.
(In fact, this alone felt like an apt punishment for all the chances he'd mistreated in his previous life.)
He was so glad he’d kept rigid stoicism towards Satoko. He could only blanch at the possible tragedies had he really gotten unhealthily and immorally attracted to Satoko; his heartbreak would’ve been tremendous and irrecoverable, and Satoko, who always seemed to see through Suguru’s facade, would've bolted away the instant she sensed their tactile truce unbalanced.
(She was attractive, true…but Suguru had built walls made out of diamond around his head. Kept his brains in the fortress of rationality and reasoning. He was going to keep those walls intact, no matter what the devils tried to taunt him with. He’d stuffed his ears with 1000% cotton too, to block their voices.)
“Of course,” so he said serenely, gratefully accepting the new cup of shibucha that the waitress brought before taking a hearty sip. “We’re friends of this lifetime.” Not ‘from’, not ‘in'. ‘Of'. “I wouldn’t want it anyway.”
That, at least, was his honest answer.
(He would spend the rest of his living days trying to digest his misplaced feelings until they no longer became a threat to their tentative truce.
(At least Satoko seemed satisfied enough to order another plate of an-dango, which made Suguru go against all his niceness and gentle consideration to shoot a hand out to stop her, because - milady, you've already had three desserts before this. Any more and he'll have to force himself to haul her out of the store; Satoko no longer had the Six Eyes or superpowers to use up all the sugar in her blood. It was absolutely legit of him to stop her from ingesting an obscene amount of sweets and save her from getting diabetes.)
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“Hey, Suguru!” Satoko popped up one day; startling the living days out of Suguru because it was a weekday, for crying out loud - he was on his way to university, nowhere near where they always hung out, and she was wearing her school uniform! “It’s going to be my birthday next week. Make sure you keep a day open on the weekend after that, okay?”
It took him ten whole seconds to process, analyze, and draft an answer.
“So you’re born in June?”
That was new. He supposed this too was going to be something he had to re-categorize in his head, the new information that revolved around then-Satoru-now-Satoko. They both like sweet things in both lives, but while Satoru could wear almost anything, Satoko hated anything long, pants, skirts or one-piece dresses included. Satoru loved the smell of fresh wood, Satoko loved the smell of anything reminiscent of fruits. Satoru was born in December, Satoko was born in June.
“Feel honoured I’m telling you this!” She said haughtily; smiling too teethily as she twirled a menacing finger in the air. “And you don’t have to get me that present! Because I’m going to lug you along on my birthday shopping spree anyways!”
“How many things do you intend to shop for?” he blurted, unable to help himself because within the short period (or not) since they’d known each other, Satoko has been shopping a lot that he’s pretty sure she at least owns five new pairs of shoes now. “Do you intend to own a store or something?”
Exaggerated, and highly off-shot, but he could be excused.
“No, pffft! As if one or two copies would be saleable,” she scoffed - swiftly kicking Suguru’s poor response down the drain like that without her knowing - and flipped her hair again. “Most of those are for my cousins! Next next week, however, will be my week. And you’re going to carry all of those too, do you hear me?”
Dear him, Satoko had a way with authority and it was not very nice. But, he knew this was a show, like how Satoru always loved to rub people the wrong way because that was just Satoru for you.
And, if anything, it was probably Suguru's fault for encouraging/reinforcing that wrong perception in her.
“Whatever you say, boss,” so Suguru acquiesced, shrugging in mock defeat.
He supposed he could let her off her hook for now, and probably grant her that tiny reassurance by addressing her as ‘boss’.
Satoko looked immensely satisfied. Mischievously happy.
“I’ll look forward to you putting your gorilla muscles to full use!!”
…On second thoughts, he might have to up his training menus. That was a “I’ll buy more things than usual just for the fun of it!” look if he ever saw one.
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It’s been twelve weeks since he met Satoko.
Suguru felt like he’d known her a lifetime.
Of course, even then, there were times he felt like he didn’t know her enough.
“I don’t want to sound like a creep, so I’m gonna put a lot of preface here,” he began, pretending to look like he was also focusing on the thesis before him when in reality he wasn’t; mind buzzing over the words he had to place carefully and legs jiggling in absolute nervousness. “But, just for the fun of it, if we entertain the hypothesis of being acquaintances in the previous life then later reincarnating into newer lives, not putting memory retention in the equation…”
What on earth was he gibbering about?
(Then again, they had stumbled across each other on another weekday, and since he had a thesis to write and she had homework to do, they sort of agreed to come here and have pre-dinner while doing their respective academic duties. Suguru was sort of fascinated to see her order her same flavour of milkshake and three L-sized french fries. “The salt accentuates the sweetness,” she explained. Suguru wrote that in the notebook of his mind.)
He could feel her eyes piercing through his scalp. Eyes that had been too wise - too perceptive - for her age. He was sure she no longer possessed the Six Eyes…but then again, the Six Eyes were for curse energy, not for mind-reading (sensing threats was another story). And if they were able to read minds, Satoru would’ve lived and fought very, very differently in their past lives.
“Ugh,” Suguru put his pen down and sat back. Suddenly feeling ridiculous walking in circles. Walking on eggshells. “I just want to know a simple question: Are you happy now?”
Because if he had asked that right out of the blue, even if it did not freak Miss Iron Lady Satoko here, he would definitely freak out every human being who were within hearing rage. That or risk inviting eavesdropping gossipers to their conversation.
(He might stab their ears with his plastic fork on instinct.)
Satoko frowned. Uh oh.
But she didn’t outright call him out. She did cross her arms over her chest, however, and study him again once more. It made him jittery, eyes flicking from his paper to her, indecisive on where to keep his gaze.
After a long, suffering silence only filled with the sound of talks around them and the conversations between the cashier and other customers, Satoko finally opened her mouth.
“I think I’m very happy! I have a good life! A good dad with a loving mom! I have a pittie too, who I love with my heart! And a great samoyed who loves me fiercely too!!”
The confidence. The unwavering surety. Her loud declaration that betrayed no signs of dissatisfaction or despair. Icy blue eyes piercing right into his own purple ones and probably his heart (his soul).
He couldn't help it. He felt his face break into the damndest, brightest smile of all in his entire life, out of its own accord.
“That’s great!”
He couldn’t quite bring himself to look back at her, fearing she’d see the tears in his eyes, the amount of worry and guilt he'd hidden within, so he hurriedly dabbed the moistness away with his fingertips. Feeling, for once, at ease that she was in good hands.
(Satoru also had infinite access to fortune in the past, despite the other darker aspects of his house. Suguru needed to be sure.
(He was glad the heavens had blessed Satoru with a better life this time.)
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It was the aforementioned weekend. Satoko's birthday outing. They had convened at Satoko's mentioned address, except this time, it was less of a shopping spree and more of going through experiences; something Satoko couldn’t do on her own and hence needed somebody to accompany her.
(“Do you have friends, Satoko?” “Yes, I do, but do you think it’s good of me to bring them to a boutique store they cannot afford to buy while I shop like I always do? Or go to my favourite tea store and they have to order the cheapest tea yet suffer a lot while I order what I want? You’re my lackey, the standards and requirements are totally different!”
(Suguru often found Satoru's sense of correctness both insensitive yet logical back then too.)
“Since I have a very bad feeling about this, may I at least know what you’re planning to do today?” he asked, feeling suddenly very boldly defensive, like there was a curse behind him (he actually shivered once). “Like, I did come with sport shoes and my winter gloves like you asked, but whatever do we need winter gloves for in June?”
“Welllll, Suguruuu,” Satoko drawled, hooking an arm around his own, making him leap out of his skin, “Because you have been such a good lackey and body guard for the past three months, I'm going to reward you by actually telling you my plans for today -”
And that was as far as she got, because suddenly, a very loud voice (no, was it the loudness? The rage? It was something, something primal - threatening in a sense - that shocked Suguru terribly; but in aftermath of said shock, and because it had something to do with a sense of something he'd declared as case closed suddenly kicked violently awake and open, he couldn't quite place a finger on it) boomed from behind them - and Suguru felt strong hands, very strong hands that could only be male, manhandle him from behind. Grabbing the back of his collar, arm snaking around his neck. Yanking him violently away from Satoko - and Suguru saw; the flash of stumped surprise in the innocent, daredevil, carefree princess - that it made him mad. Made his patience and good manners snap, made him mad to the core of his primal instincts that he almost snarled; spinning around with his teeth bared (if not eyes blazing with protective fury) and arms flying out, ready to deliver a decisive blow to this fucker for trying to tear him away from Satoko and leave her vulnerable like that -
Until a second of god-like speed grappling with the unexpectedly skilled assaulter later, Suguru’s red-tinged view finally caught sight of the shocking white hair that almost rivalled - or surpassed - Satoko's own white hair. Took in the sight of that fluffy short cut, the taller head, well-sculptured nose and cheeks and chin and maybe the mouth too - microscopic details all rushing to him in a terrifying manner - that did nothing to accentuate nor tone down the man's snarling features; the unbelievably smooth skin that should not belong to anybody above their twenties, and the stupefyingly surreal eyes that revealed themselves from behind the thick sunglasses (that'd slid out of place due to the scuffle).
Blue eyes, so blue they were frostier than winter skies yet as majestic as the Antarctic oceans, clashed with Suguru’s own big violet ones.
A second of both parties in a stalemate, grabbing each other's hands to restrain the other. Stupefied blinking from both sides.
(His brain barely made out a voice calling "Bro!" from the back.)
The assaulter finally frowned; disbelief marring his features with perfectly calculated balance and beauty.
“Suguru?”
Suguru took in the full view; the painstakingly familiar difference in height, the achingly recognizable body language, the unmistakable preferences for super expensive clothes even in times like these, and the face whose physical structures and expressions screamed HOME like no other.
He probably gawked like a monkey.
“You're Satoru!?”