𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓 | 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐌

.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

TOKYO 2005/2006

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

THE AIR IS SWEET with the scent of fresh pastries as you pause in front of the bakery, suguru at your side. the window display is a colorful array of treats, but one, in particular, catches your eye.

"i think i know satoru..." your voice trails off, a mix of certainty and fond amusement in your tone. "and i think he would want that..." your hand, hesitant yet sure, points to a cake unlike any other.

it's a digimon cake, crafted with a whimsy that borders on the absurd. the icing is a array of bold colors, each character meticulously piped to life. agumon, gabumon, and the rest of the digital crew standing proudly.

your boyfriend for some reason has been showing a particular interest to the series, constantly making references to it—even simplifying the technical jargon of missions with using comparisons to it.

suguru's nod is a silent agreement, his eyes also taking in the cake's extravagant charm.

"4,000 yen," you say, the number almost as fantastical as the cake itself. laughter bubbles up between you, in disbelief of how much you're willing to spend for a cake.

"i can pay half," suguru's voice is earnest, his hand already reaching for his wallet. but you shake your head, a smile still playing on your lips.

"i don't want you to waste your money on this."

satoru's birthday is a special occasion, and you've spared no expense on the designer clothes that await him. your career has afforded you luxuries, but the hesitation lingers. is the price of a cake, even one as over-the-top as this, justified? however, it's digimon, and it's satoru, and you love satoru—so it's perfect.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋˚˚୨🦢୧⋆｡⊹˚. ♡ྀི

silver breaths escape your lips, a soft cloud dissipating into the icy air as you navigate the cobblestone heart of shibuya. the city, now a labyrinth of frosted window panes and breaths turned visible, wraps around you in a cold embrace. but the chill doesn't deter you; your mini skirt is a defiant flag against the encroaching winter.

in your hand, the cake box is a promise of sweetness, a contrast to the sharp bite of the cold. the thrum of city life is a muted background to the crunch of your steps on the frost-kissed pavement.

it's not often that you find yourself in suguru's company, the two of you orbiting in satoru's lively constellation. but today, the city's icy embrace has drawn you together.

"i wonder if he'd actually wear this..." your voice is a soft flutter, lost to the scarf-wrapped masses. curiosity blooms as you peer into the designer bag, the fabric of the gift a secret unfurling. neatly folded, the clothes are an unspoken question, a hope wrapped in fine threads.

"i'm sure he'll like them."

as suguru follows a few paces behind—his gaze occasionally flickers to you, the living enigma that satoru seems to orbit around, his admiration as vast as the sea.

to suguru, you're just another face on the billboards, another bright smile in the shopping centers, a distant star in the vast firmament of fame. he doesn't get it, not really—the gravitational pull you seem to exert on his best friend, the way satoru's eyes light up at the mere mention of your name.

when suguru first moved into the dormitory, he stumbled upon the sanctum of satoru's room, where your image hung like a sacred relic. there you were, captured in the glossy sheen of a gurave summer issue, framed with immense care. no crease marred your visage—and satoru was completely whipped.