Wrapped around your finger (satosugu)

1. The Devil Incarnate

For each chapter I will try to suggest the songs, which will help you get into the mood (Sometimes songs may be repeated, because why not). I apologize in advance for any mistakes, but English is not my first language :D

One drop of love from him

And my heart's in ecstasy

- Akira Yamaoka I want love

Songs:

The cloud atlas sextet
Queen - I want to break free
Marilyn Manson - Snake eyes and Sissies
Inadaze - Alcohol

1995

Satoru slammed his palm against the massive TV box. The device beeped a few times, the image blurred among colorful pixels. It took a few seconds for everything to stabilize and focus enough.

Orange streaks of the setting sun streamed through the curtains, spilling over the opposite wall and onto the floor, flooding the dark room with an orange filter. Now the bluish light of the screen flashed as well.

"Is it working?" A slightly weary female voice sounded from the next room.

"It is!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, sitting down on the floor.

The girl stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"Shoko, for God's sake, how many times do I have to tell you to stop smoking in the apartment?"

"Fuck you," she muttered, taking a drag and blowing the smoke toward the white-haired boy. "Do you think I don't see or smell you smoking in here yourself sometimes, asshole?" She wanted to continue but found that Satoru wasn't listening to her at all, watching the TV with his face almost touching the screen.

"Shhh, it's starting!" he called in a whisper.

"Many of you have probably been looking forward to this moment. This evening the rising star will play for you, a real black diamond of rock! Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in our show - MIDNIGHT!''

The sound of an electric guitar echoed through the room.

The quality of the recording was terrible, the TV occasionally snowed and hummed, but Satoru recognized him perfectly. Long dark hair. Tattoos he remembered so well that at any time of the day or night, he could have drawn a map of them, describing every single line.

Satoru sat motionless on the floor right in front of the TV, his eyes devouring the whole view. He stared at the small screen, barely remembering to breathe. There was a strong pressure in his chest as if his ribs were collapsing inward, forcing all the air out of his lungs. The lump in his throat seemed to grow and grow until it became unswallowable, and he had to sink his teeth deep into his lower lip to stop what was trying so clumsily to leave his throat.

Suddenly, the image began to blur and Satoru felt something hot running down his cheeks. He looked away, clenching his teeth tight, as if even a deep breath could tear him apart right from the inside. His lips trembled as he held back sobs.

He listened to his voice, so dirty and sinful, watching the blazing day outside the window. The last breaths of the dying summer blew through the half-open window.

Summer went and came back, and yet Satoru felt a constant, burning sense of his irretrievable loss. Real summer never really came back and never will.

He stared hard at the TV screen.