As Above (So Below)

Chapter Eleven: Pander

 Satoru dropped down to the training center floor as the tributes were called to attention yet again. He hit the ground gracefully, his body coiling like a spring before stretching upwards as he reached his arms up high, keeping himself limber. He'd been using the climbing to distract himself - the shifting handholds had made each ascent progressively harder, busying his mind and keeping it from wandering back to the earlier confrontation. God, that was the last thing he wanted to think of. He didn't know why he'd done what he'd done - why he'd stuck up for Suguru like that - and he didn't have the time to ponder it. Satoru was still in the training center, and although it wasn't backstage of the chariots, it was still a shark tank. There were no fish here - no one completely soft-bellied and innocent, not even the children.

Everything wanted to survive.

Everything had teeth.

Knife training was up next - Toji had warned him about it. Satoru knew the strategy like the back of his hand; he repeated it in his mind now, going over and over the simple steps. Of course, everything that was simple in theory was difficult in practice. Mind your skill, hone the basics, don't cause trouble, bide your time. Over and over they whirled around his mind, distracting him from the rule he'd already broken. But how could he have known just how much impulse control he lacked when it came to the stranger from Seven? How could he have predicted the way seeing him getting targeted would make him feel?

The confrontation was still white-hot and burning in his mind, etched deep inside like markings in a stone slab or scars on exposed flesh. It came in bursts, leaving embers of righteous anger simmering beneath Satoru's skin, warming him from the inside like a pot of water on the verge of boiling over. The way Jogo had confronted Suguru. The growl in his voice as he demanded the whereabouts of a knife that never belonged to him in the first place. The sound of Suguru's placations. The defensive stance he took. And then - Satoru's interference. The insults, the glares, the mounting tensions of two predators circling each other.

Satoru was glad Yuta had stepped in when he did. For the first time in many years, Satoru hadn't been sure he could restrain himself. All this over Suguru? It confused him, but he was slowly getting used to that ridiculous amount of bewilderment that tainted every moment with the other boy. Satoru wanted to peel back Suguru's layers like an orange - he wanted to find out what about the boy made him tick so bad. There was the desire to know and be known, sure, but it was mostly about the utter lack of control Satoru had around him. For someone who prided himself so much on his self-control, there was nothing more unsettling than the way Suguru made him feel.

Impulsive. Ungovernable. Unknowable.

Yuta called out for them again, pulling Satoru's attention back to the present. He stood in front of one of the HTPs, a training knife held in his small hand. He tossed it in the air, everyone's eyes watching it spin in perfect arc after arc, always ending up back securely in his palm. Yuta's eyes were flinty as he watched the crowd, clearly still wary after Jogo's outburst. Satoru couldn't blame him - Jogo was an impulsive bastard, sure, but the most wild tribute (Mahito) had yet to make his move. It even set Satoru's teeth on edge. Both he and Yuta (and anyone with enough brain cells to rub together) were waiting for the shoe to drop.

Satoru stepped forward, following the trickling flow of tributes as they gathered around the slight platform. He pointedly ignored Suguru's staring, not wanting to see the look on his face. Would it be relief? Gratitude? Some twisted form of happiness? Satoru wasn't sure he could handle seeing anything but the hateful gaze he was used to - he feared even the slightest hint of softness from the other boy would undo him, leave him vulnerable and belly-up in the cold, sterile training room. The last thing he needed was that exchange of vulnerability. Not here, not now, not ever. He wanted nothing to do with it. Or, more accurately, he wanted everything to do with it and resented that fact.