Chapter Text
April, 2005
Suguru
At twelve-twenty in the morning, Suguru was the only customer in the convenience store. There was a Miki Matsubara song playing from a tucked-away speaker, made indiscernible by the hum of refrigerators and crinkling of plastic from the shop’s singular employee restocking a shelf of onigiri. Suguru perused the aisles, with no clear direction behind his search aside from the low grumble his stomach gave every few minutes, a punishment for his half-eaten dinner several hours prior.
Coming to a stop before a display of assorted noodle cups, his eyes scanned the different fonts and cartoons plastered on the front of each product. Not particularly enticed by what was before him, his stomach gave another rumble in dissatisfaction. He removed a hand from his coat pocket and took a container from the shelf, turning it as he surveyed the ingredients before placing it back. He was never raised on instant food, much less anything overly processed and packaged, Suguru’s diet back home consisting primarily of home-cooked meals and produce freshly cultivated by his rural village’s many independent farmers. The dining hall was a close second to this familiarity, his preparatory school’s chefs churning out five-star dishes with ease. However Suguru missed the routine of cooking his meals himself, and he missed the comfort of sitting down and sharing his creations, the solitude that now accompanied his meals stripping them of their flavor and flare.
Suguru sighed, moving to a different aisle and rubbing at his tired eyes. Mealtime was only one of his many mounting concerns since moving to Tokyo for secondary school. The utter shock of entering an urban area brimming with neon lights and sparse greenspace after living in the countryside for his entire life was not at all something Suguru had come to terms with, and considering the past few days he’d had, he wasn’t sure it was something he ever would. He was only a week into the school year, and already it felt as though he was in over his head, his inability to properly navigate the metro and subsequently enter class an entire fifteen minutes late setting the tone for the remainder of the week. Despite testing into the school with flying colors, he felt behind in all of his classes, his peers performing mathematical equations and decoding philosophical literature with such ease it sent Suguru scrambling behind them. The concepts they covered for review were entirely foreign to him, the textbooks he was accustomed to appearing ancient in the face of those provided. Worst of all, each time he spoke, he worried traces of his hometown dialect might poke through and reveal where he was truly from, a worry that only strengthened when he realized nearly all of his classmates had been raised in the same metropolitan prefecture. It seemed easier, to remove himself from the social spheres forming within his class lest he out himself as “other,” made easier still by the contempt his silver-spooned prodigy roommate appeared to hold for him. Yet it resulted in Suguru without any real sense of belonging, and it left him in the middle of a FamilyMart, alone, on a Friday night when most of his peers were out enjoying each other’s company and celebrating the completion of the first week of school.
The same chime of a bell from when he’d entered sounded, and Suguru turned to watch as a girl roughly his age stepped in, pausing briefly to swipe her shoes on the store’s front mat. She tucked a few strands of her cropped brown hair behind her ear, and it was then that he could fully see her face, relief flooding through him when he recognized her as a classmate and his only true acquaintance in the area. Shoko Ieiri gave a half-hearted smile when their eyes connected, and she moved towards him.
“Yo,” she said, joining him in the aisle. He could smell the smoke that clung to her, one of the first things he’d noticed back when they first met months ago. “Not interested in the little Friday night social?”
He smiled. “Not particularly, no.” Caught from passing conversations throughout the week and confirmed by a tentative invite from the girl who sat behind him in class, Suguru had learned that one of the upperclassmen’s parents lived in the Minato Ward, owning an entire three stories of one of the many luxury residences. The first floor was reserved entirely for their son, something Suguru still could not wrap his mind around. Allegedly, invites were exclusive and meticulously curated, and it stood as one of the few instances where upper and underclassmen engaged in a casual manner. The last thing he’d wanted to do was be around a group of seemingly entitled and upper-crust adolescents who claimed their parent’s wealth as their own, so he hadn’t bothered giving much thought to showing face.
“Yeah, me neither,” Shoko said, folding her arms. “I heard Golden Boy is there, though. I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to spend this lovely night by his side.”
Suguru snorted, eye involuntarily twitching at the mention of his roommate. Their lack of cordiality was no secret to those around him, the stiffness that encompassed the space between them nearly tangible. “Unfortunately I had to pass. Thankfully I’ll be seeing more of him tomorrow night, I’m sure.”
“I heard he gets around a lot,” she said, “so I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Shame,” Suguru deadpanned, but something lurched in his stomach, the thought of his roommate disappearing with others—or, worse yet, bringing someone to their shared room—sitting with him uncomfortably. “So what are you doing here, anyway?”
“Grabbing a refill,” she said. When Suguru’s brow furrowed, she brought two fingers to her lips, pretending to blow smoke from her mouth. He shook his head.
“That’ll kill you one day.”
“So will the food in here. Who cares.” Shoko moved toward the counter, leaning against it. The sound of crinkling plastic stopped as the employee made their way over, looking expectantly at the two of them. Shoko pointed out the brand she preferred, pulling out a wallet from her back pocket as the employee scanned the pack and miraculously neglected to ID her. “If you’re hungry then come with me,” she said, inserting her card. She looked at him. “There’s a half-decent twenty-four-hour ramen shop pretty close by.”
Formulating a response for him, Suguru’s stomach gave a low growl. Shoko smirked, nodding her thanks to the employee.
“Come on,” she said, stepping past him to the door. “My treat.”
While not particularly notable, their first meeting took place after a grueling three-hour entrance exam for one of Tokyo’s most prestigious private schools, the exam room crammed with glassy-eyed ninth graders whose entire existence and social perception hinged on that day’s singular performance. Suguru had felt calm throughout the duration of his examination, a sense of complete and utter tranquility settling over him as moved from question to question, feeling light as he penciled in the final answer. He had never felt so sure of anything in his life, and so while the rest of the students shot straight home with fidgeting hands and reddened faces, he’d elected to go on a stroll, allowing his mind to finally drift from the academic mode it’d been forced to enter.
The testing center was situated on the outskirts of town, sprawling forests facing its backside. He’d wound up on a dirt path, wandering with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, head tilted towards the sky exposed through the overhead foliage. Though not one lacking humility, it had felt like everything in his life at that point in time had finally slipped into place, the hours spent sharpening his intellect finally coming to fruition. Suguru knew he’d aced his exam. There was no shred of doubt there, and so now he had nothing but time on his hands, the news of his admission something he’d wait for with expectancy rather than dread.
About a minute into his stroll, he’d come across a clearing with a worn wooden bench, on which sat a young girl nursing a half-finished cigarette. She’d spotted him first, waving Suguru over as he approached.
“Did you just take that exam?” she’d asked when he was a handful of steps away. Suguru had become accustomed to the smell from his chain-smoking neighbors, but the sight of someone so young with a cigarette dangling from their mouth was still rather surprising.
He had nodded. “Did you?”
“Yeah.” She took the cigarette from her mouth, tapping it behind her. “What’d you think of it?”
He’d wetted his lips and paused, not wanting to come across as overly confident. “Honestly,” he had begun, careful with his wording, “I think it was challenging, but not to the extent that I expected.”
“How so?” The cigarette was back in her mouth, and the girl gave him a leveled stare. She hadn’t quite been challenging him then, but seemed rather genuinely intrigued by his relaxed composure. Suguru had sat down.
“Well, I think I’ve been preparing for so long that by the time I got there…it was underwhelming? I’m not sure, I think I was expecting something more arduous.” His eyes had followed the smoke snaking up into the air, watching as the winding stream dissipated. “I didn’t feel anything when I was taking it. But having now finished, I can’t say that I don’t feel confident in my results.” He’d looked at her then. “How about you?”
“I’m not sure.” Stubbing the remainder of her cigarette, she’d flicked the bud onto the forest floor. “But for both of our sakes, I hope we did well enough to get out of this hellhole.”
Suguru had wordlessly leaned forward to scoop the trash from its place on the ground. He sat back, ignoring the strange look he was receiving. “A change of scenery would be nice,” he’d agreed.
“The change will be something, though. It’s hard to really wrap my mind around it.”
“That it is.”
She had materialized a fresh stick, holding a metal lighter up to one end until its small orange flame caught. Taking the first drag, she’d then offered it to Suguru. Though he’d never smoked nor felt inclined to before, there was something urging him then, moving his hand forward to brush the girl’s cool fingers and bring the cigarette to his virgin lips.
“What’s your name?” she’d asked, the smoke shooting down his throat and assaulting his esophagus as he coughed out a response. She had plucked the offending object from his trembling fingers, waiting for his coughs to subside before answering in turn, smoke crawling from her mouth and punctuating each syllable. “I’m Ieiri. Shoko.”
“Well, Ieiri,” Suguru had said, mouth brimming with the taste of smoke and the girl’s name, “I sincerely hope to see you again, after today.” It was a strange and uncharacteristically vulnerable thing for him to say, stranger still in the face of a girl he’d met only five minutes ago. But, sitting there then with tobacco on his tongue and the trajectory of his life set on a singular sheet of paper, it had felt like the most genuine thing he had to offer, without any real consequence for his candor. Suguru had made peace with the departure from his calm, rural life, and he knew, looking into Ieiri’s brown eyes through the film of smoke, that he meant it when he said that he wanted both of them out of this place and into something better, into something less suffocating than the mundanity of life they’d been born into.
And, those four months later when he caught her eye across the gymnasium at orientation, he knew that, judging from the smile she offered him then that mirrored the one she’d offered him on that wooden bench, she’d wanted the same thing for him, too.
Suguru was pleasantly surprised to learn that Shoko’s promise of the shop being “right around the corner” held true, as within minutes they’d arrived, explaining the lack of smoke on their stroll over. It was empty, and she ordered for the both of them, the two finding a seat outdoors to wait. Rubbing at his eyes once more, Suguru propped his head up with one hand, tilting it to the side.
“So, why a refill at this hour, specifically?”
Shoko crossed her arms, looking up. “I was bored. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Did your roommate go out too, then?”
“Oh.” Her head came back down to face him, a slight smile splayed across her lips. “I don’t have one.”
His eyes widened. “How?”
“Odd number of girls.” A man came and hurriedly dished out their bowls, disappearing faster than their steam could rise. Suguru’s mouth watered. “I’m just the lucky one, I guess.”
Lucky would be an understatement, he thought to himself, the image of his roommate floating to mind as he lifted his chopsticks and stabbed at the half-egg in his bowl. Seeming to sense his distress, Shoko swirled hers in her own bowl, not bothering to take a bite.
“He can’t possibly be that bad.”
“You don’t understand,” Suguru groaned, frustrations pouring in through the opened door of conversation. Though since rekindling from their first meeting, Shoko and Suguru’s interactions throughout the school day had thus far been limited, at best, most mealtimes spent apart as Shoko snuck out for smoke breaks, and the separations of dorm halls strictly monitored by an upperclassman. Still, Suguru had complained to her in his own way, shooting looks across a classroom or sharing passing sighs in the hallway. Shoko snorted around a mouthful of noodles.
“Honestly I feel a little bad for the kid,” she said after swallowing, bringing a soup spoon to her lips and blowing. “It’s like he hasn’t been properly socialized.”
“Please,” Suguru scoffed, “you should see the way he was buttering up this girl running a street vendor the other day. He knows how to talk to people, he’s just willingly an asshole.”
“Maybe,” she said, sipping from her spoon. “Or maybe he’s just been surrounded by people who enable him his whole life and he doesn’t realize how he comes across.”
Suguru’s eye twitched. “Why are you trying to humanize him? I need pity right now, not defense.”
Shoko shrugged. “I don’t really care, honestly. You’re the one living with him, not me.” She tilted her head, essentially spelling out the rest for him. Nothing can be done; might as well understand the way he works. Suguru sighed.
“Well,” he said, placing a generous amount of noodles and assorted toppings on his broth-filled spoon, “the guy won’t even speak to me, much less throw a glance my way. Hopefully it’ll stay that way and I can graduate to a single dorm in peace.”
She hummed in assent, tilting her chin up with a swallow. “Anyway,” she began, rerouting the conversation, “how’d your first week go?”
To this Suguru could hardly mask a grimace, lacking the motivation to put on a front before Shoko. “Honestly…”
A raised brow. “That bad, huh?”
“I just feel behind,” he explained, busying himself with the remaining noodles in his bowl to avoid making eye contact, his face flushing from the heat of his meal. “In everything. And when I speak in class it’s like everything I say is unintelligible.”
“You sound pretty competent to me.” His eyes met hers briefly. Shoko pushed her bowl away, two forlorn noodles resting at its bottom. “Remember that all of these people probably had private tutors since they came out of the womb. I think, if anything, it speaks pretty highly of your intelligence that you still managed to end up in the same place as them.”
Suguru jerked his shoulder in a half-shrug, the words partially reassuring. “Maybe,” he said, pushing his own unfinished bowl forward. “Probably just imposture syndrome, then. I’m sure it’ll pass.”
“It will,” she answered, more confident than blindly reassuring, voice as monotone as the first time they’d spoken. Peeling open her newly purchased pack, she waved it suggestively. “Wanna go for a walk? I’m not quite ready to go home, yet.”
Though his eyes housed the heaviness of sleep, he agreed, the two of them standing and walking forward without any real sense of direction. Shoko lit her cigarette, eyeing Suguru then in a silent ask. He waved her off, offering a soft, thanks, anyway.
It was brisk out, the sort of nipping cold that only came once the moon had surfaced and a rush of wind brushed past, the air straddling the space between Spring and Summer temperatures, unsure of which to favor. Tonight, it was the former, calls from the previous winter season sounding with every passing gust, causing Suguru to burrow his nose under the zipped-up collar of his coat. Beside him, Shoko didn’t seem to mind, the hoodie she had donned hanging loose from her thin frame, her right hand exposed as she brought the cigarette to and fro her lips. They were silent for most of their walk, yet it strayed from awkwardness, and Suguru instead found solace within it, glad that, for once this week, his mind could be put to ease.
In all honesty, the more he ruminated over the fact, the more he realized that, frankly, the first week could have been much worse than it in reality was. While he felt behind, he hadn’t yet received any marks to indicate such a thing, and was thus more or less operating on an assumption of his lack of proficiency, rather than tangible proof of it. The rest of his classmates seemed tolerable, though largely unrelatable and out of touch, and he’d managed to skirt most of their attention save for a few lingering stares he’d noticed from some of the girls in the hallways. Truly, things could be worse, and he could have been plopped into an environment devoid of a familiar face, surrounded by ridiculing peers and malevolent lecturers, miles and miles away from home. Instead, the only real gripe he had was that, for twelve hours a day, he had to share a space with the most intolerable and elitist prick at school and most likely within a ten-mile radius.
The two stopped at a crosswalk, moving once the outline of a green man flashed overhead. Still silent, Suguru inhaled the smoke spouting from Shoko like a chimney, finding a sense of calm within the scent that strangely reminded him of home. Rentering the sidewalk, the pair turned a corner, and Suguru glanced at his reflection on a passing window, noting the slight bags that hung from his eyes.
Perhaps he was too harsh in his judgment; it wasn’t exactly as if the two had exchanged any words aside from initial greetings. Even still, it was this that had initially set Suguru off, from the disinterested and stiff hello he’d been given when he first introduced himself, to the lack of acknowledgment that followed, it had been made more than crystal clear what little regard was held for Suguru, clearer still that friendship or even pleasant acquaintanceship would not be sought, ever. It wasn’t the lack of kindness or warmth that irked Suguru so, but rather the complete absence of respect, as if his presence was more of an inconvenience than anything else, his existence something to stockpile onto the already stressful nature of secondary school. And Suguru resented it, truly, the way he hadn’t even had a chance to establish himself, that without so much as a word past his name, he’d already been assessed, judged, and categorized as something less than.
Still, as much as he refused to admit it, there was something there, drawing Suguru in. Something that kept him from brushing off his roommate’s disregard, making the frigidity he was offered something to be taken more personally than he knew it rationally should. And it was this tug in the face of disrespect that sat with Suguru the most, coiling tight and sharp in his gut each time they wordlessly brushed past each other, tighter still when Suguru thought about the lack of coherency these feelings held.
Eventually, they reached a metro station, coming to a slow stop as Shoko finished the remainder of her cigarette and tossed it in the small trashcan meant for plastic umbrella bags. She turned to him, and Suguru was struck with the awareness that he’d been so steeped in thought that he had missed the fact that they were already back at the foot of their school.
“You calling it a night?” she asked.
Suguru stifled a yawn. “Probably. You?”
“I dunno. I might drop by the function for a bit, see if it’s still going on.” She hugged her torso as a breeze swept past, tousling her short hair. “Honestly, I could go for a drink right now.”
Without thinking, Suguru laughed. “I’m sorry—what?”
She eyed him for a moment, face blank. “The kid hosting is, like, loaded. There’ll definitely be free liquor there—”
“No, I mean—it’s one in the morning. Aren’t you tired?”
“A little. But I’m also in the mood for a drink, so it can wait.” She raised a brow. “Don’t feel obligated to chaperone me, I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not—I wasn’t suggesting that.”
“Okay. So.” She narrowed her eyes, then. “You wanna come? It might be good for you.”
“I don’t think there are any qualities to alcohol that can be classified as good.”
“Oh my god, this is what I mean,” Shoko groaned. “You know what, I’m making the decision for you. You’re coming with.”
Suguru’s mouth flopped open. “For someone who keeps to themselves, you sure are pushy.”
“Fine, stay in.” Shoko tucked her hair back behind her ears, amending the wind’s earlier damage. “Your decision.”
“That wasn’t a no,” he hastily added despite himself. There was no real reason for him to go, and if the weight atop his eyelids were anything to go by, he knew sleep would best suit him. But he also knew that, given the state he’d been in for the duration of their walk, time spent alone in his dorm with nothing but his thoughts as company was the last thing he needed. “I’ll go. There are worse things to be done.”
Shoko surveyed him for a moment. Then she smirked.
Walking through the front door, he was floored by the realization that he had truly entered a realm that was entirely beyond his element. Midnight get-togethers along river bends and vacant parks with a dozen or so off-brand beer cans held nothing to what was before him then, the luxury residence’s ground floor littered with bodies and bottles, music and conversation intertwining and pulsing through the air. Shoko moved before him, unfazed by the overwhelming atmosphere, navigating the two seamlessly into the kitchen and over to the main stores of liquor. Suguru felt as though his head was on a swivel, his eyes darting as he took everything in, making no attempts at concealing his inexperience with the scene.
Shoko came to a stop at the kitchen island, humming to herself as she fingered each bottle before settling on one. Suguru slid beside her, releasing a huff at her choice. She turned to him, expression flat. “Problem?”
“No, none,” he mumbled, stepping back to lean against a counter. He watched as she rinsed two abandoned glasses, pouring a sizeable amount of whiskey into each before handing one off to him. Taking it, he brought the glass to his nose and sharply recoiled from the assault on his nostrils. “My god—”
In an act that could only be described as stone-cold, Shoko downed hers in one go. Suguru blanched.
“That’s—”
She refilled her glass. “What?”
In an attempt to hold on to his dignity, he drained his in response. It felt like liquid fire on its way down, and he concentrated all of his efforts on schooling his face into a look of nonchalance, wincing only slightly with a swallow. Shoko stared at him, silent, before tipping the bottle towards him.
“Another?”
It was unclear how long they’d been there, but by the time he and Shoko stumbled out, Suguru’s vision felt like it had shifted on its axis, his chest alight from the burn of laughter and liquor. A wall of fresh air greeted them, and Suguru swayed, tilting his head towards the sky as the voices around him congealed and clouded his mind.
Within minutes of their arrival, he and Shoko had found themselves in the midst of a drinking game, unsure of the rules but hell-bent on victory. It had felt like second nature, throwing jabs and jests at his peers, loud with the bravado that only drunkenness could draw forth. One drink led to two, two led to four, and four led to Suguru without a coat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and his forehead damp with sweat and loose tendrils of hair. At one point someone had draped themselves across him, at another there was someone latched to his side, and at no point throughout the night had he gone without near-constant touches to his exposed arms and shoulders. The crowd in the living room swelled around him, alive and so completely unlike the composed statures upheld in the classroom. Suguru found that when he smiled, people smiled back and that laughter was not terribly difficult to come by in such a space.
But, most importantly of all, Suguru found a genuine sense of enjoyment in it all, something he hadn’t unearthed in quite some time. He was raised on pleasantries and charm, and his classmates confirmed this, flocking to him like moths to a light, drawn into the confidence he exuded all thanks to Shoko’s heavy hand.
When they exited, the sweat that had accumulated on his brow and neck cooled, eliciting goosebumps along his exposed flesh. A handful of the partygoers had elected to exit with him and Shoko, and he teetered on uneven feet as he attempted to orient himself.
“Hey, Shoko,” he said, voice unregulated in its volume, “where are we…”
He trailed off, realizing a hushed silence had befallen the group. Straightening himself, he blinked his vision back into focus, taking note of everyone’s angled heads and following their line of sight. Then, his own breath caught.
Walking from the home’s side entrance, alone, was his roommate. The ample moonlight illuminated his hair into perfect tufts of white, cascading its silver light along the lean frame his black trousers and jacket clung to. Seeming to sense everyone’s watchful gaze, he paused, tilting his head back with a long, suffering stare. Impossibly blue eyes framed by snow-white lashes gleamed under the imposing night sky, and it alarmed Suguru as much as it beguiled him when those very eyes met his.
The pit that had been swimming in his stomach yawned, consuming whatever drunkenness still resided within him. Suguru felt stupidly sobered by the sight, by the reverence it seemed to impose among the rest of them. It was as if time had slowed, spread thin from the passing nanoseconds of eye contact—the most that had been shared between them since first meeting.
Then those eyes tore from his, and the boy continued onwards, his gait wide and posture laced with a sort of confidence that could have only been instilled since birth. A collective exhale was heard, Suguru himself dispelling the air he’d kept trapped in his lungs. Shoko appeared beside him, her eyes narrowed. There was something unintelligible within her expression, and it sat uncomfortably within Suguru as he hardened his face.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said. A clear lie.
Suguru averted his gaze. “I told you I don’t like him.”
“Mhm.” His eyes flicked back to her as she pulled out a cigarette, already preparing for a light. “Well, Gojo Satoru doesn’t seem to think all that highly of you, either. So at least the feeling’s mutual.”
He clenched his jaw. Without meaning to, his eyes moved back to the retreating figure, now just an outline of black cloth and white hair. At least the feeling’s mutual. It should instill a sense of satisfaction within him, or at the very least indifference. But the fact was that it did not, and instead, he harbored resentment that felt misplaced, and an overwhelming urge to pick apart these feelings until nothing but bones remained.
He hated Gojo for it, but more acutely, he hated himself for it, as well.