('д` ι)))ヽ(T~T;)

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2:14 AM November 4, 2017

The line connects after a long while.

Satoru had just eaten dinner by the looks of it, and Suguru had just finished cleaning up for the night. He'd been the one to call Satoru.

"Hey, Suguru," Satoru chirps from the other end of the line, and Suguru's heart aches. He wants to rip it out of his chest with his bare hands. He wants to eat it whole. The only thing he does, however, is say, "Hey, Satoru."

"How have you been?"

Has it been that long since they talked? Suguru texted him today, hasn't he? He checks his phone.

Shit. He grimaces. Damn him for forgetting to talk to Satoru of all people. "Fine, I'm doing fine."

Satoru hums noncommittally. "Why'd you call?"

Suguru's not going to take the Good Person route and be truthful about why he'd called right away. He's been planning this call for three days now, each day heavier than the last, and the script he'd conjured up in his mind is meticulous enough for him to be sure that it only has a 3.09% of it going wrong. He has formula sheets and everything. So, in lieu of a passable delay, he blurts out, "Tell me about your day." There goes the 3.09%.

"You, know, the usual," Satoru says, adjusting the screen. It falls, and Suguru hears a muffled 'Fuck!' before he gets a clear view of Satoru again. "Work. Reports. Checking in with school stuff here and there. Did you know they made me project manager of something? Do they know who I am? That project will be good, but it's going to come in late. I have a lot on me right now." Suguru chuckles. God, he misses Satoru.

He feels a dull ache again—this is the second one in as many minutes. "That's good to hear," he replies, "and if you already know you're going to be late for it, then you better make time for it more."

"They shouldn't have put me in that project. They know I'm somewhere else," Satoru pouts.

"I can handle some stuff for you if you want," Suguru says, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. That's the thing about premeditated murder, isn't it? You already know you're going to have to make a run for it for the rest of your miserable life. You do the act, quick and swift like you were born to, and then you sever yourself from everything you've ever known. Clean, fast; like a head severed from a neck at the chopping block, only it's his head that's rolling away from him now.

Satoru grins. "It's fine." He puts his elbows on the table and crosses his hands. "So, why'd you really call?"

An exhale, and then silence. Suguru could feel his heart beating so fucking fast he knows it's going to bleed out of his chest soon. Inhale, exhale. "The rent," he begins, hands fidgeting with his shirt more. He notices this and stops, putting them neatly on his lap.

Satoru withdraws from his hands and seems to fold them neatly on his lap as well. "Ah, yes. The rent."

"You didn't tell me."

Satoru dons a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. His calculating face, Suguru thinks at the back of his head—Satoru's gauging how to dodge this conversation. Well, unfortunately for this white-haired prick, Suguru knows him more than he knows himself. So he sees it coming when Satoru's answer is: "It's my house too."

"Do I not get a say then? As the other person who literally owns the house too?"

"The other person," Satoru says, putting on his glasses and ruffling through his hair, "should focus on other things, not ones that have been taken care of."

Suguru bites back a snide retort. "But you still didn't tell me."

"I don't—it's done, Suguru, what do you want? Do you want me to tell you, hey Suguru, I already know that you know I paid the rent for some reason. Sazaki-san probably told you. Still, I'm going to tell you! Wouldn't I be wasting both of our time, then?"

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