𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓 | 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

SHIBUYA, TOKYO 2006

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

THE SUNLIGHT STREAMS in, lazy and mellow, painting your room in hues of calm. the scent of morning tea still lingers—as you're left alone.

you're surrounded by the familiar clutter of your space, each item a fragment of yourself, and there, amidst it all, is satoru. his presence seemingly out of place in the room filled with your trinkets.

in the confines of your house, the second he stepped foot, your mother, with her keen eye and quicker heart, had welcomed him in with open arms. her approval still hangs in the air, a sweet note of triumph that it's satoru gojo, a name known and respected, and not some pretentious art school kid from the local arts school.

he bows, a dip too deep, a playful mockery of formality that has you swatting at his head with fond exasperation.

"pardon the intrusion, [surname]-san," he jests, and the corners of your mouth twitch upwards, unbidden.

"okaa-san, this is my boyfriend," you say, motioning your hands towards his frame.

"this?" he repeats, with a feign hurt to his face.

𝙟𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 [𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚] 𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙨, 「ママこれはうちの彼氏」 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙞𝙨 "𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙" 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙨 これ (𝙠𝙤𝙧𝙚) 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙤𝙗𝙟𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙨

the world outside falls away as the door shuts, the sound a gentle punctuation to your mother's departure. her presence, a fleeting memory now, leaves behind a stillness that settles over the house like a soft blanket.

there, on the floor, satoru makes himself at home, his back finding support against the side of your bed—as he lulls his head back onto the plushness of your lap.

your arms drape around him, a loose embrace—resting on the rise and fall of his chest.

"is it just you in your family?" he inquires, his voice a soft sound in the quiet room.

"i have an older brother, but you already know that." the words leave your lips, and he hums a 'yes' in response.

"satoru, are you an only child?" curiosity colors your tone, light and floating.

another hum, this one affirming, and a quiet laugh escapes you.

your gaze drifts downward, meeting his.

"i see," you whisper, as his hand ascends, fingers gently sweeping hair from your face. "i didn't know that."

"i want to know more about you, satoru."

however, your short intimate moment gets interrupted by the shrill cry of your phone.

the cover blinks to life, a digital dance spelling out 'hasegawa' in stark, unfeeling characters. satoru's head lifts, a reluctant rise from the comfort of your lap, as you shift, legs now swinging freely over the bed's edge.

"hello, it's been awhile."

"[name], are you doing well?" hasegawa's voice booms from the tiny speaker, concern laced with an undercurrent of amusement. "your manager has been crying saying he hasn't been able to get a hold of you." you can't help but laugh, a sound that feels awkward even to your own ears.