Chapter Text
Saturday October 10th
It’d been three days since Satoru had spoken to Suguru. Three days since he went to class. Three days since he found out that Riko and he could be evicted. Three days since he’d spotted the fight club poster. And five days since he was bitten by a radioactive spider that upended his entire life.
Currently, Satoru was pacing the floor of his bedroom. He was going to wear down a groove in it if he didn’t switch up his path. I’ll just dig myself another hole. He didn’t have a phone, so it made it easier to dodge Shoko. She rarely left campus these days, always having a lab to attend, a study session, or other commitments. Suguru was harder to avoid. He’d been by the apartment several times. Riko did her best to fend him off, but she was growing tired of it.
“Just talk to him. You can’t leave him in the dark forever.” Was her new catchphrase.
“It’s not that simple.” He tried to defend.
“No, Satoru, it is that simple, you’re just too dense to realize.” She had shouted, completely over his melodrama.
Yesterday, Suguru had stood at their door for 30 minutes. Riko wasn’t home to feed him any excuses. Satoru ignored him; he’d put noise-canceling headphones on and sat in his dark closet. Unfortunately for Satoru, his hearing was immaculate now. He could still hear the knocking over the 2000s garage band music he played. He simply did his best to ignore it, and eventually Suguru gave up.
Maybe Satoru was being dense, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Part of him knew he was being irrational. He wasn’t even sure what he was upset about. Was he really this worked up about four years of silence? It’s not like they had made any promises. None they both formally acknowledged, at least. Shoko didn’t seem upset about it, and she and Suguru had been just as close, right? Those two had known each other first; had met long before Satoru transferred to their high school.
Maybe it was what Suguru said at the science institute that stuck with him. You don’t just show up after four years of nothing and say things like that. Satoru could be angry over that. Or perhaps, it was the way Suguru said his name. Like it was a beginning and an end, soft and endearing.
If I really meant that much… then he would’ve made me a priority. He would’ve found a way to reach out. He wouldn’t have left me behind like unwanted leftovers forgotten to rot in the fridge. Satoru felt he at least had the right to be upset over Suguru beating the shit out of the Zenin guy. How could he act so recklessly? Right after, he asked me not to be careless. How the hell am I supposed to feel when he acts like that?
The four years of silence were the common denominator. It sat completely at odds with all of the numerators. None of the quotients were whole numbers. It made no sense to him. Everything Suguru had done since he returned opened an untapped well of emotions that Satoru didn’t even know he had. It pissed him off. He decided it was simply better to ignore it.
So Satoru continued to pace.
– ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ –
It was well into the evening now, and the sun had fully set by the time Satoru arrived in Tochigi, where the fight club was located. He’d told Riko that he was meeting up with some classmates for a final study session before midterms. That’s what I should be doing tonight. Instead, I’m out here being reckless and stupid… but even so… if I can make some good money tonight, it would buy Auntie just a little more time to figure everything out.
Satoru stood outside a chain-linked fence, watching people enter and exit. The fight club was housed in an abandoned multi-story parking garage. A bouncer stood at the door and was… dressed like a panda? Satoru tilted his head, trying to figure out why the hell someone would be dressed like a panda. He laughed to himself, shaking his head. Okay, I’m just stalling. I’m not going to make any money standing out here.
He leaned over to look at himself in a car’s side mirror. His features were fairly unique, and he didn’t want to stand out. He wore a frumpy blue and grey tracksuit and a black sock hat to cover his white hair. He wore an old pair of ski goggles to cover his eyes. Thank God for the enhanced sight, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see shit. Satisfied with his reflection, he headed towards the entrance.
He looked at the crudely drawn map on the back of the flyer. He supposed he was headed in the right direction. The entrance for fighters was on the other side. He spotted a warm lamp illuminating the silhouette of a door. Another bouncer, also dressed as a panda, stood in front of it. The bouncer immediately held out a paw… a hand? Seriously, what is with these guys? The panda bouncer looked Satoru up and down, “And what are you supposed to be?”
Satoru’s lip twitched, but he smoothed out his expression, "Tonight's winner.” Satoru flashed an award-winning smile.
The panda bouncer guy burst out laughing. Satoru didn’t let it get to him. “I’m serious. Where is the sign-up sheet?” He asked, trying his best to look around the panda mascot to get a glimpse inside. All Satoru could see, though, was the glow of neon lights. The panda kept laughing; he was hunched over at this point. His hands were on his knees, supporting him through his laughter. Satoru’s eye twitched, and his patience snapped. “And just what the hell are you supposed to be, then?”
The panda immediately stopped laughing, “What’s that supposed to mean?” Even through the costume, Satoru could tell the bouncer was angry.
Yeah, Gojo, piss off the mystery guy who’s probably ripped and could tear you apart on a whim. Great idea. He’ll rock my shit before I even know what’s happened to me. Satoru waved apologetically between them. “I didn’t mean anything by it!” He rushed out. Although he couldn’t see the bouncer’s face, Satoru was keenly aware of this dude’s gaze burning into him. “I w-I was just admiring your… attire? What I mean is-”
“Stop messing with him, Panda.” Someone else cut into the conversation.
“Kirara! You’re always ruining my fun. You gotta let me poke fun at the fresh meat! I should vouch that they can handle a battle of wills before they enter the ring.”
Satoru couldn’t see Kirara from where he stood, but he could hear her well enough. “You’re so silly, you know that?”
The bouncer stepped out of the way. In the doorway stood the person he presumed to be Kirara. She had quite a few facial piercings; she had a really cool punk rock aesthetic going on. She smiled and waved Satoru forward, “What’s your name?”
Satoru moved forward and bowed, “Hey, I’m Go-”
Kirara laughed, “Jeez, you really are new to this. I don’t mean your full government name, grandpa, I mean your stage name.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I knew that.”
Kirara rolled her eyes, “Sure you did, well- let’s hear it then.”
Satoru glanced down at himself. He didn’t even have an idea. I guess it makes sense to want to fight under an alias… I’m not even sure if this club is legal. Gotta think of something cool like… Satoru turned to Kirara, inspiration lit like a match inside him, “Ghost.”
She gave him a small smile, “Because of your complexion?”
“Yeah, kinda. It’s just a name my friends tease me with.”
Kirara nodded in understanding. “Okay, and what’s your story?”
“My story?” Satoru asked.
“Yeah, like, your background.”
“Like, for real?”
Kirara’s nose scrunched when she smiled at him again, “You’re really funny, you know that?”
“Thanks?” Satoru wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or not.
“I think I’m going to like you. We can work on the story later, think DnD, okay?” Kirara led Satoru farther into the parking structure. “I think I have the perfect fight for you tonight,” she said, turning to grin at him.
“Oh great, yeah? I’m excited!” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet behind her.
“Yeah! We just have to go over some rules.”
“Right like, no killing, I hope. No gravely injuring another fighter, stuff like that, yeah?”
They walked through the old parking garage. Bright, buzzing neon lights hung everywhere. Their lights left Satoru blinking away spots from his eyes. Smoke clung coily in the air. He could taste it in his mouth, but he tried not to make his discomfort obvious. Kirara led him back to a make-shift office full of security cameras. “Stuff like that, exactly!” She sat down in a big spinning chair at the desk and gestured towards a seat across from her for Satoru to take.
He sat down, “I’m grateful for this opportunity.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Kirara smiled again while she shuffled through the contents of the desk. “Unfortunately, you missed the big boss; he had business to deal with elsewhere.”
“Oh, that’s okay, there’s always next time, I suppose.” Satoru’s hair on his neck stood on end. He ignored it, bringing a hand up to clasp his neck instead. It’s just nerves.
Kirara pulled something out from the desk, a photo. A really tall guy with messy black hair stood in it. A cigarette was hanging out of his mouth, and his lips had a scar running down them. This dude is huge… like beefy and buff. Kirara slid the photo towards him, “This will be your opponent, he’s our reigning champ at the moment.”
Satoru shook his head, “You can’t be serious.”
Kirara smiled again, fishing out a carton of cigarettes. She offered one out to him. Satoru shook his head. Kirara shrugged, pulling a stick, she stuck it between her lips and lit it. “Oh, I am serious, but don’t worry. I don’t expect you to win against him or anything.”
Satoru stood from his chair. “This guy could kill me! Look at him: He’s huge! He could pop my head off using only his pectoral muscles.”
Kirara laughed, “He really could, too!” She wiped her eye and said, “You misunderstand me. It wouldn’t be a real fight.”
“What?” Satoru stood there, gaping at her. “What do you mean, not a real fight?”
“It would only be a show.” She waved her hand in the air, “You’ll walk away with a few bruises, certainly. But only enough to be convincing. Then you’ll pocket 12% of the prize pool.”
“You mean I just need to stand there and let this guy wallop me? Satoru asked, tilting his head to the side to look at the photo of his opponent. I’ve seen this guy somewhere before…
“No, you’ll need to put on a convincing show. There wouldn’t be much entertainment behind just watching some kid get the shit beat out of them. Make the audience root for the underdog, then tap out.”
A show, that’s all it needed to be. He might get a little hurt, but he had superhuman healing now; what were a few black eyes and a split lip once in a while? And the money. 12% of the money pool, that’s better than a guaranteed zero.
“Why me? This seems like your prime time show of the night. Why give this slot to some random kid off the street?” The whole situation was too good to be true. Satoru had to make sure he wasn’t getting involved in something he couldn’t get out of later. He couldn’t put himself in jeopardy like that. If he got hurt, who would be there for Riko? He couldn’t just accept this at face value.
“I like you. I see something great in you that others in your shoes just lack.” Kirara gave him a warm, genuine smile.
Satoru felt a breath loosen in his chest that he didn’t even realize he was holding. Satoru thought it over. This is so reckless, so fucking stupid. I should go home. Satoru shook his head and then stuck out his hand. “20%.”
Kirara had a glint in her eye; he’d been wrong earlier. Her eyes looked like a predator… his looked like the eyes of a bunny in comparison. “17%, because I like your spunk.” She said, clasping his hand tightly. The strength behind it shocked him. Satoru wasn’t prepared, and a gasp escaped his lips.
“My what?” Satoru blinked at her.
She didn’t answer his question, just laughed and said again, “You’re so funny.” She jumped up from her seat and clapped her hands. “Okay, let’s get you down to the ring?”
Satoru took an uncertain step back, “Like, you mean right now?”
Kirara smiled and stepped out from behind the desk. She closed the distance between them, throwing an arm around his shoulders, “Ghost, we are going to have so much fun together. Just trust me to take care of you, yeah?”
A lump had formed in his throat, but Satoru nodded and allowed Kirara to escort him out of the room.
– ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ –
Satoru wasn’t given anything beyond the instructions to stay in a small, cramped room until summoned. The crowd waiting on the other side of the partition was loud and restless. Satoru’s hair stood on end again; he did his best to ignore it. He was just nervous, which was more than valid.
Before she left him alone, Kirara had told Satoru the name of his opponent. Fushiguro… He felt like he had heard the name before, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember. He shook out his limbs. He needed to be limber and literally roll with the punches, or he could actually get hurt. He pushed the thought away.
Satoru just needed to ground himself in the moment. He took a deep breath in through his nose and slowly released it through his mouth. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and pushed back his shoulders. No spider business, Gojo. Can’t afford a slip-up here.
He heard the announcer on the rigged-up sound system. He was droning on about the previous fights held that night. Satoru tuned out until his ear caught on to the name Butcher… Fushiguro. Wait, isn’t that the guy wh-
The partition fell away, and suddenly, Satoru was surrounded by a screaming crowd. Even through the tempered goggles, the ring was too bright. Floodlights surrounded the fighting area. He stood there, with his mouth open, staring at the crowd. There were far more people than he had anticipated. 17% of the money pool… He couldn’t even comprehend it. That could set us up for a year. Maybe longer, I can’t afford to screw this up.
Ushers wearing unique kitsune masks approached him. They waved Satoru forward and up to the rickety steps of the ring. His body moved on autopilot; he ducked under the thick, worn rope. Before he knew it, he was staring down a wanted criminal. Fushiguro stood in the opposite corner from him. He was even bigger in person. Satoru couldn’t fully grasp the disparities between them. The crowd roared in the background, obviously enticed by the prospect of violence. Satoru’s hands were slick with sweat, and he covertly wiped them off on his track pants.
Satoru planted his feet shoulder-width apart. How did it only occur to me now that I haven’t got a clue how to fight? I’ve only ever been on the receiving end of this shit. His heart thumped erratically as the rowdiness of the crowd increased. Fushiguro, across from him, cracked his neck, rolling it left to right. He smirked at Satoru, and realization finally set in. I do know this guy… it was him-
An airhorn went off, and his opponent charged him. On instinct, Satoru flipped backwards onto one of the ring’s posts. The crowd cheered for him. He smirked to himself. Did I just- He didn’t have time to think. For as quick as his reflexes were, Fushiguro easily matched pace. Satoru’s mind went fuzzy, adrenaline and the pure animalistic instinct screaming at him to get the fuck out of there were clouding every cognitive thought.
He leapt from one post to the next, but Fushiguro was faster than Satoru had anticipated. The other man grabbed him by the ankle. Thump! Satoru’s head collided with the ground. His air supply abandoned him, and the sound of the crowd grew muffled from the loud ringing in his ear. Satoru didn’t get a second to recover; instantly, Fushiguro was there, yanking him up by the collar of his tracksuit.
Satoru closed his eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit. OK. Breathe. I can do this, just- He reared his head back and threw it forward again. A cracking sound split through him. Fushiguro dropped him instantly, hands coming up to cup his nose instead. Satoru wasted no time putting distance between them. Fushiguro dropped his hands and smirked. He barely looked stunned. Satoru stared at him with wide eyes. The crowd was eating it up, their volume vying for attention over the ringing still peeling in his ears. This isn’t real, this fucking guy… I just need to last a little longer. Just need to put on a good show is all. Fushiguro’s grin stretched wide, showing all of his teeth, and stretching out his scar. I headbutt him, and this maniac is really standing there grinning like a fucking schoolgirl.
Fushiguro’s lips moved, but Satoru couldn’t make out what he was saying over the frenzy of the crowd. Satoru shook his head, “Huh?”
His opponent was still smiling. Fushiguro stepped closer. "You’re strong for a shrimp.”
Satoru blinked at him, “I’m actually a ghost.”
Fushiguro scratched his head and fixed Satoru with a blank stare, “Well, that makes this easier.”
“What?”
Fushiguro didn’t respond. He lunged forward for his next attack. Satoru dropped low to avoid him, then swept out his leg to try to trip him. Fushiguro moved back immediately, dodging his offensive tactic. He laughed, it was loud and carefree, and the crowd joined him. The sound crashed over Satoru, and he retreated to one of the posts. What is with this guy, seriously?
Satoru shook his head again, I’m just going to move in. He’s fast, but so am I. He jumped from the poster, leg out, aimed for Fushiguro’s stomach. For a moment, Satoru thought he actually managed it. He was in the air, but the next moment Fushiguro grabbed his ankle and flipped him on his back. Bang! Satoru hit hard again, this time stars burst behind his eyes.
Fushiguro was on top of him then. Straddling Satoru’s hips, hands wrapped around the porcelain smooth skin of Satoru’s neck. Satoru managed a smile and croaked, “How’d you know I like it rough?” Fushiguro smirked and applied more pressure. This is getting uncomfortably close to actually killing me. Satoru clawed at Fushiguro’s arms, but the other man wouldn’t let go. Satoru then remembered a video he’d seen on self-defence. He reached forward and sank his thumbs into Fushiguro’s eyes. Satroru couldn't even hear the crowd over the pounding of his own heart. Fushiguro let go for a split second, but that was all he needed to rock forward and tackle him.
Fushiguro, beneath him now, laughed. “They really outdid themselves this time.”
Satoru looked down at him, “What?”
Fushiguro smirked again and, in one swift motion, threw Satoru off of him. He hit one of the pillars with his back. He slumped over, tasting iron on his tongue. This fucking guy…
“You’ve been fun, but I have a job to do,” Fushiguro said, approaching Satoru slowly. The crowd still cheered on around them. He wrapped his hand around Satoru’s ankle and pulled him forward so he was lying flat on his back.
Fushiguro’s foot was on his sternum, grinding in his heel. Satoru couldn’t breathe. He lost focus. “Looks like you're just a bug now. Been a while since I had the chance to squish someone. Do you think you still bleed red?” He leaned in closer to Satoru. The scent of stale beer made his head spin more.
“Dunno, let’s find out,” Saotru wheezed. He spat at Fushiguro. Red-stained saliva landed on Fushiguro’s hands.
He laughed again. “You’re going to regret that, bug.” Fushiguro applied more force to Satoru’s sternum.
Satoru weakly clawed at Fushiguro’s calf, trying to imbalance him. Am I going to die here? Is he really going to squish me like a common house spider? Unconsciousness floated at the edges of his mind. I could just close my eyes. Maybe I’d finally get some much-needed rest.
The crowd fell away, replaced by an unprovoked memory of Riko and him from years ago. He’d only been living with her and Auntie for a few months at that point. He hadn’t been able to sleep; too many memories were waiting to drag him beneath their current. He’d been sitting on their balcony, and Riko had heard him crying. She’d come out to check on him.
“Does it get easier?” He’d asked.
“What?” She was leaning on the railing, looking down below them.
“The missing them, the guilt of being left behind?”
She turned and studied him. He knew she was weighing her words carefully. Looking back now, it was an unfair question. Though they shared similar experiences, he was the older cousin. He shouldn’t have leaned on her for support; he had a hard time regretting it, though. “The weight never gets any lighter, but you get stronger. You learn to bear it.”
You grow stronger. You learn to bear it. Satoru had grown stronger, but it still wasn’t enough to carry the weight of his past and his present at the same time. But I could be. I could be the strongest, someone who brings smiles to the faces of the people I love.
All at once, the fight came back into focus, and the roaring of the crowd returned. His body moved too quickly; Satoru couldn’t comprehend it. A second ago, his sternum was caving in from the weight of Fushiguro’s foot. Now he stood on one of the posters situated behind Fushiguro. Satoru had no idea what it looked like to the people watching, but their cheers grew louder. Fushiguro turned around in a slow circle. “How did you do that?”
“Trust me, big guy, I’m wondering the same thing myself.”
Fushiguro lunged for Satoru, but missed. Satoru smoothly leapt to the next poster. “Dude, chill, I’m just here for rent money.” His opponent leapt again, managing to ensnare Satoru’s ankle. Jesus, this guy and ankles. You’d think it’s the 16th cent- Satoru fell flat on his back. Shit. He recovered quickly, rolling forward and away from Fushiguro.
When Satoru looked back at the Butcher again, he was laughing. “They’ve finally managed it.” He ran his hands down his face, and Satoru took another step back. “This changes nothing.”
Satoru ignored him and dashed forward. Fushiguro planted his feet firmly on the ground, prepared to combat whatever Satoru had planned. He couldn’t prepare for this, though. On demand, Satoru turned invisible, ducking as Fushiguro’s arms came down to grab him. He slid on his side, using his leg to sweep Fushiguro off his feet. Corporeal again, Satoru lunged at Fushiguro. He used his legs, and he put the bigger guy in a headlock.
The audience ate it up. They cheered and whooped. A smile pulled at Satoru’s lips. It took only a few seconds for Fushiguro to recover and successfully buck Satoru off. Effortlessly, Satoru jumped back up on one of the posters. Fushiguro zeroed in on him and scratched the back of his head. “Thought you’d be another simpering brat, but it looks like Ryomen Tech really did it.”
Satoru’s spine went rigid. “What?”
Fushiguro smiled, “I have orders not to kill you, but I think I’ll do it anyway for the thrill.” Satoru blinked, and then Fushiguro had a hold of him, a small blade drawn and pressed against Satoru’s neck. Fushiguro leaned in close to Satoru; he could feel the man’s breath tickle his neck. Fushiguro smelled like stale beer and sweat. The stench was all-encompassing, filling all the space between them. His whispers sent chills running through Satoru’s body. “The longest race in the world, finally at an end. The perfect soldier. The perfect weapon.” Hysterical laughter bubbled up from Fushiguro. The crowd sat still, everyone collectively holding their breath. What the fuck is this guy talking about?
Satoru used Fushiguro’s self-distraction to his advantage. He shoved hard with his shoulder, catching him off balance. The older man let go of him, and Satoru used the opening to push him off the poster. Fushiguro crashed to the ground. He thrashed around before clambering to his feet again. The crowd cheered. I need to get out of here. I knew this was a bad idea from the beginning. This was so stupid; so fucking stupidly reckless.
Satoru stared down at the Butcher, who glared at him in turn. Move idiot. He’s going to climb back up here. He’s going to fucking kill you. Suddenly, as if on cue, the floodlights cut out, plunging the arena into darkness. Screams ripped from the crowd, but all Satoru could really focus on was the pounding of his own heart. He could still see exceptionally well, even with the power cut. Fushiguro now stood with his back facing him, looking up towards the top of the stands. Satoru could also see members of the audience climbing over each other in a panic to get out of the arena.
Shouting bounced around him. People worried that the power outage was caused by the police; others claimed that it must’ve been caused by the yakuza. Satoru turned his attention to where Fushiguro was staring off in the distance. There, he could make out Kirara standing with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked pretty pissed. She was flanked by two bouncers who were also dressed as pandas. Another person stood beside her, but Satoru didn’t recognize him.
His breathing was ragged and echoing in his ears. Sweat lay thick on him like a heavy comforter. Satoru prayed that he had a grasp on his invisibility and hopped down from the pillar. I need to get the fuck out of here… He ran for his life.
– ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ –
Satoru ran all the way to the train station, and then cursed under his breath when he realized the time. Still, he had to retrieve his backpack that he had left in one of the bathroom air ducts.
He ordered a taxi at the payphone and waited outside the station. He’d ditched the sockcap and the jacket for his tracksuit, but he was still sweating bullets. His chest still heaved as his lungs pulled in oxygen greedily. He ripped off the goggles from his face and shoved them in his bag. Immediately, the world became too bright. He tried to gulp down air again, but it was no use. He felt far too overwhelmed. He used his hands to shield his closed eyes from the world around him.
I almost died, and I don’t even have anything to show for it. Satoru hugged his knees tightly to his chest. He’d collapsed against a nearby lamp post. He felt the weight of the world crashing down on him. His heart strained under it. The only person he wanted to talk to now was Suguru. After giving Satoru an earful on how stupid and dangerously reckless this all was, Suguru would be able to look at it with a calm, level head; an objective eye. Suguru would reassure Satoru that there wasn’t anything to worry about; that they would be able to figure this out together. Satoru shook his head, dispelling the thought. It was stupid; the imaginings of a child.
His taxi pulled up, and Satoru got to his feet. Something about the cab made him nervous, but he wasn’t sure why. He was half convinced it’d be better just to wave the driver off and order another, but he was too bone-tired to wait any longer. If it turned out to be a murderer, Satoru was pretty sure he was still wired enough to take on whatever danger was waiting for him.
Satoru slid into the back of the cab. He sat right behind the driver. There was someone else sitting up front. They took a drag of their cigarette and tapped it out the window. Satoru didn’t tell the cab driver anything, but he pulled off the curb and eased into the nighttime traffic. Satoru studied the door, but there were no visible locks. I could always kick it if I really gotta bail. He leaned forward, “Hey, so I live pretty far, actually-”
“That was quite the show,” the woman with the cigarette cut in.
Satoru’s spine went rigid. His heart beat picked up again, and he struggled to keep his breathing even. He managed an uninterested tone and responded, “I don’t know what you mean.”
The woman turned back to look at him. She had pale skin and a chin-length bob cut. It appeared to be mostly white, but there was a bit in the back that seemed darker. Satoru couldn’t really tell what the color was from the lack of light in the cabin. She smiled at him, flashing all of her perfectly straight white teeth that almost seemed to give off their own glow. “There’s no sense in lying when both of us know the truth, Gojo.”
“How do you know my name?” Satoru demanded. The car hit a bump, and his head hit the low ceiling.
“Belt up. I’m not in the mood for pushing your regenerative abilities tonight.”
Satoru scoffed and didn’t put his seatbelt on. “What the hell are you yapping about, lady? It’s been a long night. I just want to go home.”
“Ah, yes. You have to get back to the apartment you share with your younger cousin.” Satoru tried not to react to her words. The woman faced forward again. A snap of her fingers had Satoru’s belt fastening itself. Fuck. Not good.
“She has a good head on her shoulders, your cousin. Good grades, active in school, and the community. She’s got the potential for a bright future.” He froze again. How did they know so much about Riko?
The woman faced him again. “I read her file,” she shrugged, answering his unvoiced question. What else do they know… better question, who the hell is this person?
“Who are you?”
“Not important right now.” The bob-woman rummaged through a bag and handed back an envelope to Satoru. He numbly took it; the envelope was yellow and stuffed to bursting. “For tonight, you ran out before collecting your prize. Oh, and take this,” she rummaged around some more before producing a brand new phone. “You’ll need it if we are to keep in touch.”
Satoru knocked the phone from her hand and tossed the envelope back at her. “I don’t need anything from you, thanks. You can drop me off here.” He jutted his chin out to indicate a random street corner. Satoru didn’t even know where they were, but he knew he couldn’t spend a moment longer in this car with this ominous stranger. God only knew where she planned to take him.
The driver ignored him. The woman continued, “Gojo, you’re going to make this far more difficult than it needs to be.”
Suguru gritted his teeth. “Do you work for that tech company the Butcher mentioned?” The woman didn’t respond. Satoru continued, voice shaky, “Are you the reason I’m…” He shook his head. Saying it out loud just makes it feel real. This isn’t real. It can’t be. “Look, I didn’t want this. It was a freak accident. I shouldn’t-”
“Everything is by design.” The woman was still looking forward. She pointed to the sidewalk. “Drop him off there.” The car stopped, and the door opened on its own.
Satoru paused. She’s just letting me go? The lady turned to face him again. Her face was void of expression. All of her features in that moment looked painted on. She appeared as still as a porcelain doll.
“Take the money, or don’t.” She held out another phone to him. “Rent will be the least of your concerns if you don’t comply.”
Is she threatening me right now? Like for real? Satoru scrambled to collect his things, fully prepared to leap out of the car and put this bizarre encounter behind him. He paused on the threshold. Riko once again appeared to him in his mind’s eye. I need the money; I need it to keep a roof over our head. I can’t risk Riko like this. Satoru understood something fundamental in that moment. Whoever these people were, they were extremely dangerous. They knew far too much about his private life. If he wanted to keep Riko safe, he would have to cooperate with them.
Satrou sighed and glanced up at the perpetually starless sky. He snatched the phone out of the mystery woman’s hand and shuffled out of the car. The door immediately slammed shut, nearly catching his backpack. The driver’s window rolled down, and out came sailing the envelope of money. It landed at Satoru’s feet, tauntingly. “Good choice. We’ll be in touch.” The window sealed shut then, and the driver merged effortlessly back into the nighttime traffic.
There was a numb sensation spreading through his body. He dumbly stared after the car until it was well past his LOS. What the actual fuck is happening right now? Is this my fucking life now? Like for real? His hand was over his chest, fist balling up the fabric of his shirt. His other hand hung uselessly at his side, clutching the new phone close to shattering. His chest ached, and his lungs suddenly couldn’t draw in enough oxygen. How do I come back from this? What kind of sick fucked up plot am I caught up in? How did I go from being an honors student to a pawn in some shadow conspiracy in less than a week?
Cold, damp concrete bit into his knees; his legs had finally given out. The last of the adrenaline slipped away from his body. There was a loud noise Satoru couldn’t place. The few pedestrians walking past quickly moved to avoid him. It took Satoru a few more rapid beats of his heart to realize the noise was coming from him. He was gasping for air like a fish out of water. The phone fell to the ground next to the envelope as he hunched over, fists digging into his eyes as he tried to find any sensation to ground him in the moment. Suguru.
The other man’s steady hands on Satoru. The way his voice never failed to lighten his spirits. His laugh, the way it rings so pretty in Satoru’s ears. Suguru’s hair, the way it falls from his half-bun and tickles Satoru’s skin when their close to each other. Satoru shook his head. No. No, not Suguru. Because for every good thing there is about Suguru, there’s also the four years of silence standing there casting it in an ugly darkness. Satoru spiraled from there. Hands moving up to scrape at the skin on his neck, higher to tug at his hair.
Satoru found himself back in the ring. The Butcher loomed over him. He felt the Butcher’s hands on his throat, crushing his windpipe; Fushiguro’s heel digging into his sternum. His words bounced around Satoru’s skull, the perfect weapon; they echoed painfully over and over. Satoru was panting, hands moving to shield his ears pathetically. Satoru couldn’t think, couldn’t- he braced his hands on the sidewalk as he emptied the meager contents of his stomach.
His eyes screwed shut, and sweat covered his whole body in a thin sheen. Tears managed to escape down his cheeks, and his body was racked with shivers. I don’t- I can’t. I can’t do this. Oh my god. A sob escaped his mouth. I need to go home, but- God, I- I can’t. He tried to recall any of the breathing exercises his old therapist had taught him back when he had awful panic attacks. Satoru took a deep breath and held it, then slowly released it. It helped a little bit, but he had dissolved into a fit of hiccups.
His throat burned from the bile he had spit up. His hands pressed into the concrete, trying to ground himself. He wiggled his toes in his shoes, concentrating on how they felt. His mind cleared a little more; enough that he was able to wobbly get to his feet. He collected his scattered items from the ground and shoved them in his bag. Satoru turned the phone over in his hand; he was fairly certain that it was the latest model. Unsurprising, but still extremely alarming, the phone unlocked automatically with his face ID.
He caught his reflection in the phone screen. It shouldn’t have, but it shocked him just how disheveled he truly looked. It was no wonder pedestrians were still giving him sideway glances and avoiding stepping anywhere near him. Satoru wiped off a bit of spit and bile from the corner of his mouth. He took another deep breath and then navigated to the phone app so he could order a new cab.
– ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ –
The elevator was still out. Satoru groaned and glanced at his lockscreen. 11:50 glared back at him. He wasn’t sure if Riko would’ve gone to bed without him returning home first. He did make a detour to campus to call her from one of the payphones there to let her know he’d be on his way soon. That was about an hour ago. It took a while for another cab to show up.
He entered the stairwell and dragged himself up to the eighth floor. He was exhausted and thoroughly wrung out. All of the adrenaline had evaporated, and it left him feeling like a hollow husk. His muscles were sore, and there was still a bit of ringing in his ear. Satoru craved a hot bath. He wanted to curl up in his bed and not emerge again for the next decade. The next 24 hours would be used exclusively for sleeping. The outside world could wait for him until Monday. Midterms, ugh.
Satoru truly needed to study. The thought almost causes hysterical laughter to bubble out from his lips again. Such a mundane thought; all things considered. Still, just thinking about midterms starting next week added to his weariness. Satoru stopped in front of the door exiting to the eighth-floor hallway. He leans his forehead against it, soaking up whatever soothing the cold metal had to offer. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and passed through.
Exhaustion weighed on him so heavily that he couldn’t even be bothered with picking his gaze up off the floor. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his track pants. He could feel the drag of his body, moving noticeably slower than even his old-normal pace. Satoru felt as if he’d been dipped in honey or molasses. It took far more effort than was typical just to lift his foot off the ground, one after the other. By the time Satoru made it to his front door, he’d begun dragging his feet instead of truly walking.
The top of his head gently bumped against his apartment door. Finally. Bath, bed, maybe some food. Just a little further, Gojo, just gotta grab your keys-
“Satoru?” A cold chill runs down his spine, and his head snapped to the side, immediately detecting the owner of the voice. Satoru had whiplash; he was motion sick. If he thought he was on the tipping point of a well and full mental breakdown, he was wrong. Suguru. Here. Now. After the shittiest night ever. After wanting him all night and hating myself for it. Suguru here. I could reach out- I could- I could- “Satoru? Are you okay?” He was sitting on the ground beside the door.
Suguru looked up at Satoru in such a way that made his stomach do somersaults and his toes slightly curl in his shoes. A gaze meant only for me. Suguru’s eyes were soft and full of concern, and they looked so damned endearing. Satoru wanted to let out a frustrated shriek. Suguru’s lips were slightly parted, as if hesitant on the next thing he wanted to say. As if the other guy was some shy schoolgirl. The sight of it made Satoru’s blood boil, and his chest swelled with obnoxiously confused feelings. Satoru kicked his front door hard.
Suguru got to his feet in one smooth motion, his hair fanning out briefly. Satoru started to dig through his backpack for his keys, trying to ignore the other man entirely. Which ,of course, Suguru was going to make impossible. Suguru crammed himself into the space between Satoru and the door. Which was completely out of character, but so was ignoring Satoru for four years, and beating up random strangers for no fucking reason. So maybe invading personal space is just another new quirk of his.
Looking directly in Suguru’s eyes, Satoru sighed. And then immediately regretted it when his stomach swooped again at the sight of Suguru’s face. He’d always been beautiful to Satoru, but fuck. With his hair slightly in disarray and all of the intense emotions crossing Suguru’s face, he looked ethereal. Like he’d been hewn from marble or some shit. Satoru looked away. “Suguru, I really don’t have time for this-”
“Satoru, listen.” Suguru reached for his hand, but he recoiled from his touch. He was going to be sick again; bile was already rising. His eyes squinted shut. Today had already just been too much. He couldn’t deal with this now. When Suguru spoke again, his tone sounded slightly wounded. “Look, Toru, I think we just need to sit down and talk.”
He shook his head rapidly. Fuck no. Talking will literally only make this worse. Satoru slipped his backpack off his shoulders so he could have an easier time looking for his keys. His hands grasped the caribeaner, and he pulled his keys out. “Don’t fucking call me that.” Satoru wanted to curl into himself. It’s not Suguru’s fault I’m all fucked up in the head. Satoru shakes his head again. It didn’t matter who was at fault. Satoru felt that if he had to endure a second longer of this encounter that he would explode for real.
When he caught a glance at Suguru’s expression, hurt replaced concern. He no longer seemed timid, but somehow, for the first time, Suguru looked small to Satoru. Which was crazy to think since Suguru had always been a little taller and way broader than Satoru. He shook his head once again, dispelling the thoughts. He tried to gulp in a deep breath. He was so tired, and at this point, he was ready to skip food and shower if that meant he’d get to his bed sooner. He sighed, “Look, I have had a shit day. I can’t deal with whatever this is between us right now. I have other things I need to focus on.”
Satoru could see Suguru nod slowly in his peripheral. An eternity of silence stretched out between them. An infinite amount of time that then seemed to snap and narrow down to four years. Suguru showed no sign that he would move out of the way. Satoru was prepared to shoulder his way past the man when he cleared his throat. Against his will and better judgment, Satoru looked over at Suguru; he caught his eye for just a second. Too much. His hand rose to fist at his chest again.
His eyesight narrowed; his lungs tried to drag in oxygen but couldn’t. Thick tears rolled down his cheeks. He could feel them so acutely, smell the salt in them so vividly, he felt as if he were drowning in them. Suguru’s hands were reaching for him. A firm hand wrapped around Satoru’s bicep and squeezed it gently. In any other moment, the gesture might’ve calmed Satoru; might’ve soothed him to his core. Now, however, it did not. His anger clawed up his throat. He did his best to stamp it down.
He stepped back, and Suguru’s hands fell to his sides. “How about we just go inside and have some tea? You can tell me about your day. I want to hear about it. I want to be here for you in whatever capacity you want me.” Suguru was staring at him. Satoru didn’t need to look up to know this. He could feel the other’s eyes on him; he knew he’d likely have a heart attack if he met Suguru’s gaze again. In a small, broken voice, Suguru says, “Just don’t push me away… Please, Satoru…”
It would be preferable to do what Suguru has suggested. Satoru closed his eyes, let his mind explore the what-if. Satoru would just nod his head, Suguru would softly smile to himself, maybe tuck a stray strand of hair sheepishly behind his ear. Satoru would invite him in, and Suguru would go straight to the cupboard to pull down the kettle and two matching mugs for them. Satoru would sit and watch while lounging on one of the barstools. He’d then tell Suguru everything: The bite, the webs, the crazy super strength he had now.
He’d tell him about the looming threat of losing the apartment. How he’s sorry for making him worry about him the other night. Satoru would tell him how much he’d missed this, and how much he missed Suguru. He’d maybe mention the fight club, and if he spiraled into another panic attack at the thought of the butcher, Suguru would close the distance between them to cup Satoru’s face in his hands. He’d wipe away the tears that escaped and then pull Satoru flush against him.
Satoru let himself imagine that he even had a chance of saying yes to the request. The issue was, Satoru didn’t know how. How could he possibly say yes? He couldn’t tell Suguru anything. It could put him in danger; him being here now was putting Suguru at risk. Anger, white-hot and pulsing, tore through him, but he cowed it again. Finally, he answered. “No. I’m tired. I smell like a homeless person. I want to shower and then go to bed.”
Suguru was still blocking Satoru’s path to the door. He felt the other’s eyes travel over him again. “I thought you were supposed to be studying… You look like you’ve been dragged through the mud.” He reached out to brush away a stray white hair from Satoru’s face. Satoru stopped it mid-motion; it remained suspended in the air a beat too long. Suguru just stared at him. His eyes were begging for some kind of explanation. Suguru studied him like he could pry all the secrets out of him with a few serene flutters of his onyx eyelashes.
Satoru's voice broke, “You can’t-” He heaved down a gulp of air. “Suguru, you can’t do that!” His broken words were at odds with the anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. He was on the verge of tears again, and that only served to piss him off more.
“What? I- I mean, I didn’t mean to-” Suguru broke off stammering. His cheeks heated, and Satoru stared absently past him at the doorknob. He tried to think of anything else. Willed his mind to take him somewhere that wasn’t here. I just can’t do this. I can’t. I want him to leave. I need him to leave. Even trapped inside his head, the words rang false. Suguru collected himself. His shoulders were back, and he stood up straighter. Satoru couldn’t decipher the emotion in the other man’s eyes. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Didn’t mean anything by it. Satoru clamped his hand harshly around his keys. He felt blood well up immediately from the bite of the metal. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to keep the coursing anger rising inside him at bay. “I think maybe that’s the point, yeah?” Satoru shoved Suguru aside and jammed his key into the lock. “You mean nothing by it, so it’s just me with the seismic aftermath of how your actions make me feel!” The lock clicked, and Satoru shoved open the door.
“Wait! Toru- I mean. Fuck. Satoru, that wasn’t what I meant.” Suguru called after him as he rushed to shove the door shut. Sugru tried to push his way in, causing Satoru’s final restraint on his emotions to snap. Suguru managed to wedge his shoulder into the doorway just as Satoru slammed it. The other hissed in pain. Satoru didn’t care. He put his full weight against the door. “Satoru! Stop! Please, we need to talk about this!”
“We just did. You didn’t mean anything by it.” Satoru said flatly and shoved against the door.
“What’s going on?” Asked a tired voice again behind him. He turned to see his cousin standing outside her bedroom door. The distraction was exactly what Suguru needed to finally slip inside. He stood close to Satoru, too close. They stood in the small square of the entryway reserved for taking off shoes.
“Nothing, he was just leaving,” Satoru explained curtly.
Suguru sent a pleading look toward Riko, who chewed on the inside of her cheek. She was nervous, Satoru could tell by the way she shifted her weight between her feet. She seemed torn between doing what she assumed was best for him or simply siding with him. “Satoru, I think…” She paused, looking uncomfortable to be caught between whatever this was. A lovers' spat? An ending? Satoru didn’t know either. She took great care with what she said next, taking a deep breath before saying: "I think it’s time you two sat down and really talked.”
Satoru was shocked. He stared at his cousin. He heard something wet dripping on the floor and looked down. Blood was falling from his clenched fist. He looked back up at Riko, still recoiling from the betrayal. Surely, he’d misheard his cousin. Hurt and anger warred inside him. Time slowed down as reality shattered through his paper-thin defenses. The anger finally spilled over the sides of him. He couldn’t put the stopper back on. “Fine!” He shouted. He immediately moved toward the door, and Suguru stumbled past him, tripping on the step up. “If you guys want to talk so bad, then talk!” Satoru pulled the door open again and ran out into the hallway.
Suguru was right behind him, hand landing on his shoulder. “Toru, wait! Come back inside, you’re exhausted and bleeding, please stop!”
Satoru shook him off and sprinted straight to the stairwell. He moved much faster than Suguru. He was already on the fourth-floor landing when he heard the stairwell door close again. Suguru wouldn’t find him, though; Satoru had already turned invisible. He didn’t look back, just kept running until he burst through the lobby door and into the brisk night air. He’d run himself into the ground before returning. If they know what’s best for me, they can talk amongst themselves about it. They clearly don’t think I’m capable of making decisions on my own.
– ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ – ~~ –
Satoru didn’t know where to go. He considered going to Shoko’s, but decided against it quickly. She’d just side with the rest of them. Satoru knew that he was being petulant and that neither Riko nor Suguru deserved this, but he couldn’t stop himself. Once the anger was out, there was no shoving it back inside. There just wasn’t enough space.
He roamed around a park for a few hours. He looked at the time on his phone, 4:27 am. Satoru slumped over on a bench. So much for a warm bath. As if to add insult to injury, his stomach growled. Satoru pulled out the new phone and navigated to the maps app. He looked for the closest 24/7 internet cafe.
Luckily, there was one nearby. Satoru walked there quickly. A bell rang above the door when he entered, and a middle-aged man appeared from behind a curtain in the back. He paid for a cup of instant ramen and an hour of computer time.
After collecting his noodles, he sat down at his designated computer. There was only one other person in the internet cafe. She sat several computers away from Satoru and seemed to be completely engrossed in whatever she was doing. Probably a cram-school student. God, I don’t miss that shit. While his cup of ramen cooled, he clicked on the search engine and typed in Ryomen Tech. He’d heard of it before, of course. It was the biggest tech company in Japan, and of course, he’d heard a little bit about it from Suguru since his dad worked for them.
Ryomen Tech was known globally and had a lot of military weapon programs running in the States. The reason Suguru moved in the first place. He clicked through a few sites detailing fiscal year breakdowns and other boring information. Nothing useful came up at all. What the fuck does any of this have to do with me? Absolutely nothing. It’s nothing, just a dead end.
Frustrated, Satoru closed the current article he was reading about green energy initiatives in Kyoto and Tokyo. He navigated to the search engine and typed Ryomen Tech + Biological Engineering. He browsed through quite a few articles. His eyes started to droop closed, adrenaline truly leaving his system for real this time. He clicked page 8 of the search site and clicked on the third article down. They always say you gotta dig deep when researching.
His eyes scanned over the first few lines, and his spine went rigid. He switched off the screen and scooted away from the desk. No… No this isn’t right. His heart hammered out of his chest. He felt like crying; he felt like laughing. Satoru ran his hands through his hair. NO. He snatched his bag off the ground and ran out of the cafe. Warm ramen untouched and left behind.