i cannoli have eyes for you - orphan_account - 呪術廻戦 (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“Suguru,” Yaga says with much difficulty. "We would be happy to accept your thesis proposal. But there have been some…complications. Complications involving your project.”

“...Excuse me?”

“To put it bluntly, administration and I have a request of sorts for you. One that you must agree to in order to fully execute your thesis.”

“Must? Is this a threat?” Suguru asks amusedly. “Because it sure sounds like one. You really must have some good information about me if you’re talking with me like this. What is it? Illegitimate children discovered? Too much student debt piling up? Illicit on-campus activities? Plagiarism? If it isn’t impressive enough I’ll just go to NHK, I’m sure they’d love to hear about teachers coercing young minds.”

“Well, okay, not that you must but rather that we strongly encourage you to accept this. Though this isn’t so much a you thing as much of an us thing.”

Suguru blinks his confusion. “...So then how am I affected exactly?”

Yaga sighs, rubbing at his face and knocking his glasses askew. “We have—how to word it—a very influential member of the student body that necessitates certain…attentions.”

“Attentions.”

“He’s a rich, rather spoiled kid rebelling against his family. They would prefer that he goes into business but Satoru has great enthusiasm for the culinary arts.”

“Satoru? Gojo Satoru? Please, please don’t tell me it’s Gojo f*cking Satoru. Listen—I'll pay you to say any name but his.”

“You know him?” Yaga asks interestedly. “That would make things much easier—”

“I don’t know him at all, nor do I wish to,” Suguru says flatly. “I don’t care if he’s some frustrated, misunderstood guy trying to escape family obligations. Good for him; honestly, it’s the one thing he’s got going for him. But frankly, he’s gained campus-wide recognition as a supreme asshole. I’ve spent my past two years here avoiding him and I’d be elated to graduate without having ever seen his face.”

“I’m not surprised he has such a reputation, knowing Satoru." Yaga sighs heavily, seemingly exhausted. "But you’re going to have to see him. You see, Satoru had his own thesis proposal recently. His involves exploring the cultural, historical, and social contexts shaping contemporary cuisine as well as food practices and traditions—his words, not mine.”

“Awfully humanistic for a guy like Gojo.”

“You’re completely right. This is all just an elaborate excuse so that he can be allowed to eat to his heart’s content and escape his family while still technically completing another school year. His proposal would allow for his having to go abroad for his junior year around the world to actually gain this firsthand knowledge. Not that he needs it, he could write up his entire thesis in a month here in Tokyo if he really wanted to.”

“I still don’t see how this involves me in any way.”

Yaga coughs awkwardly. “Well—the thing is—see now, despite our school’s increasingly progressive policies, it will always be that any Gojo student is first a Gojo and second a student. As we have it, his family is not too pleased with the idea of their prized heir traipsing around the world to, well, eat.”

“Okay? So just keep him here. He can rot in his dorm for all I care.”

Yaga ignores him. “However, they are very amicable to the idea of their prized heir traveling the world to expand the Gojo network. But they don’t trust Satoru to be sent out alone and not just abscond off and attend to his whims, so they’re requesting that he travels with a companion to keep him on track.”

”Why me of all people?”

“Well, for starters, your proposal also involves a year-long undertaking of travel. And while on the surface, you’re a very nice, very respectable young man that the Gojo family would appreciate, you’re actually just as bad as Satoru. He wouldn’t be able to deal with someone like say Nanami for a full year in close quarters.”

Suguru’s face twists into a sneer. “I resent that comparison.”

“That bad, huh? I’d have thought that the two of you could have gotten along quite well. You’re both cut from the same exact brand of pettiness and tomfoolery.”

“I…resent that comparison even more.”

“In any case, you of course aren’t mandated to accompany Satoru. Travel on your own as you’d like. However, if you accept working with Satoru, the Gojo family will happily fund your junior trip and make generous donations for the rest of your higher education. You will also get a recommendation from a high-ranked Gojo family member as well as the support of the family backing your future career decisions.”

A full year of studying abroad costs at minimum about four million yen. They’re really damn desperate then.

“This is all awfully rude. I am a very moralistic, ethically-motivated student, you know. How dare they try to bribe me.”

“Alright then, a shame but we’ll respect your choice. I’ll inform the Gojo family of your decision—”

“No no no,” Suguru holds up a hand. “You mistake me. I’m not letting my values get in the way of free money. Who do you take me for exactly? I’m not quite so sanctimonious. All I’ve got to do is babysit Gojo, right?”

“That may or may not be the case.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s have you go talk with Satoru himself. I’m sure you two will have a lot to discuss about this arrangement.”

If Suguru had been a freshman or even an early sophom*ore when asked to be complicit to and even an accomplice for such an endeavor, he would have instantly said no, reprimanded his teacher, and subsequently raised hell all around campus and then perhaps Tokyo and hell, even the rest of Japan and maybe the entire world.

But Suguru is no longer quite so doe-eyed. If there’s anything that university life truly can claim a top-dog position for, it’s that it exposes the deepest, darkest, most disillusioning truths the world has to offer. And Suguru had a most imperfect mix of worldly awareness and gullible hope that allowed him to remain fully unequipped to deal with his new learnings.

So yeah, he’s become the sort of guy to accept bribes from a filthy rich, elitist, and probably conservative family. Sue him. But filthy acts to be done at a reasonable price and all that.

Still, it doesn’t make him feel any happier to be plodding his way through the hallways behind Yaga, on the way to see the great Prince Gojo himself.

He hadn’t exaggerated one bit, back there in Yaga’s office. From Gojo’s first day on campus, he achieved notoriety for the amazing dichotomy between his outrageously ethereal features and his utterly obnoxious attitude. Campus Prince for one hour only and from then, the Campus Hellion. Suguru himself had only become fully accustomed to the university’s gossip and social cycles a couple of months into his (and Gojo’s) first year, but even so, his first day of university life ended with a feeling of immense relief that he hadn’t run into that Gojo asshole everyone was screaming about.

He’s had to go to truly horrendous lengths to avoid this Gojo individual over the past two years. He has Shoko communicate all of Gojo’s course registrations purely to ensure they’d never share a session. He’s subscribed to Mei Mei’s “WHERE’S THE GOJO MF NOW?” service which provides frequent updates on Gojo’s campus locations and even, just sometimes, the occasional off-campus update—still very near UTokyo of course, they’re not that extreme. It’s mainly for his fangirls, but some like Suguru use it for entirely different purposes.

He does not merely actively seek out different cafeterias but also different eating hours, even with Gojo’s erratic meal times. He never goes to the west wing bathrooms of the Hongo campus just because that’s Gojo territory and he sure as hell isn’t going to chance a wave and skedaddle with the bastard in the restroom. It’s a pretty ambitious endeavor, considering how often he visits the area for free food and to visit Nanami. But isn’t it all worth it? Maybe not.

Nonetheless, even if he’s gone nearly two full years without having ever met Gojo, he knows way too much about the guy’s daily life. An unwilling reverse stalker if you will.

And now he’s here and about to meet him. Unraveling all his past efforts.

Yaga cursorily knocks twice on the door before announcing himself and entering the room.

“Satoru? It’s Yaga-sensei and with me is Geto Suguru, the student who will accompany you on your trip if you’re amenable to him.”

“Amenable? That makes it seem like I have any choice in the matter. Either I have a little playmate and a trip, or freedom and my dorm room.”

And there he is, Gojo Satoru: killer of parties, destroyer of spirits, rumored home-wrecker, confirmed brat. The man himself. He’s crammed into an undersized chair—all toothpick-thin, ungainly limbs awkwardly akimbo every which way—with his boot-clad feet resting against the rightmost manchette. Not the greatest marks of an almost aristocratic, traditionally Asian-raised kid but definitely marks of a rebelliously-minded one. All Suguru can see of his face are nicely round sunglasses. They look stupid on him.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Satoru. Suguru here is very diplomatic and is open to discussing terms with you, both his and yours.”

Since when did he say that?

“It’s nice to meet you, Gojo-kun,” Suguru says uneasily. He isn’t about to throw a rampage or admit he actually abhors the guy.

“Ehh? Fine to meet you too, I guess. Whatever. Did you bring my food?”

Wow, okay. f*ck him then.

Yaga tosses him a McDonald’s bag out of nowhere. “Four Happy Meals; the chocolate McShake; the limited Hokkaido Yubari Melon McShake; a McFlurry with extra Oreo; a marshmallow cream tart slice; and the caramel latte with an extra pump of caramel, two pumps of vanilla, three raw sugars, a tablespoon of condensed milk, chocolate powder, extra cinnamon powder, and extra whipped cream.”

“Sweet,” Gojo says dully, instantly digging through the bag and digging out the monstrosity of a concoction first. “I thought I asked for mocha drizzle and a cookie crumble on top too?”

“Mocha syrup shortage. Cookies were still in the oven.”

“Damn,” Gojo sighs, “this is enough, I guess.” He inhales a frankly alarmingly huge gulp of the drink considering its sugar content, though honestly, it seems like consuming any amount of that drink would be enough to induce a hyperglycemic attack. Or death.

“Have you been diagnosed with diabetes yet?” Suguru spits out.

Gojo stares at him, jaw slack.

Suguru stares back.

“...He has a very, very good metabolism,” Yaga says uncomfortably.

Suddenly, Gojo breaks out into high-pitched guffaws. “Hey! This guy’s actually got a sense of humor, not bad! Did you pick another hooligan, Yaga-sensei?”

“Suguru is quite the commendable individual—”

“Yeah yeah,” Gojo waves him off, “I’m sure he turns in all his homework on time and cozies up to every teacher by day and goes to student protest rallies by night.”

Both Suguru and Yaga shut up. He’s not wrong.

Gojo stands up. He’s even taller than his previously scrunched-up appendages suggested. He’s also supplied with a shock of pure white hair, flawless skin, and bright blue eyes behind his sunglasses. Ethereal indeed by conventional standards, maybe, but Suguru isn’t too impressed. He’s uglier than what Suguru’s heard around campus, in his opinion at least.

“You can go away now, Yaga-sensei. Me and Suguru-chan here will have a nice heart-to-heart—and forward the bill to whatever contact you have on records or whatever it is you do.”

“You have the materials?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t you worry.”

Yaga nods and promptly leaves. The door clicks ominously behind him.

“Well then!” Gojo claps his hands together and makes direct eye contact with Suguru. “Let’s get talking terms. Ooh, what about this: I eat whatever and you handle the luggage.”

Wait a damn minute.

“Are you saying,” Suguru says slowly, “that you’re seriously going to go around on a food tour anyways on your business trip?”

Gojo shakes his head patronizingly. “Dear Suguru, you’re mistaken, I fear. To be clear, this will be no business trip. Food tour only as you put it.”

“f*ck your food tour. No way in hell am I coming.”

“Hey but why not though? What’s the issue? Isn’t it so much more fun to go around and have fun instead of stupid business work?”

“That’s the point. I’m not spending a year with a guy who’s only f*cking around and gobbling down sh*t like this,” he gestures vaguely at the remains of the McDonalds. Gojo eats quickly, at least. “I would have tolerated a business trip or hell, even research for your thesis but clearly you’re just an incompetent man-child.”

“Watch who you’re calling incompetent,” Gojo waves his new mini cat plushie at Suguru, “I’ll have you know that I’m an internationally renowned food critic. Emphasis on international. To my parents’ great dissatisfaction.”

“A guy like you can only get renown for truly insane critiques. I bet you leave scathing reviews everywhere you go complaining that the sugar content isn’t enough.”

“Nuh-uh,” Gojo waggles a condescending finger.

“f*ck you mean ‘nuh-uh?’”

“I’m a professional, you must know. I’ll order anything on the menu regardless of my personal tastes and give objective reviews guided by my own expertise.”

“Then what’s all this?”

“This,” Gojo crams the entire cake slice into his mouth as a finisher, “is an at-home indulgence.”

“Even if this is genuine work, I’d still prefer to decline.”

“I mean I won’t push it or anything, but do you really have a good reason for why? If it’s private then keep that sh*t to yourself. I’m gonna warn you though: I don’t play nice so don’t expect any sympathies and boohoos. But you’re getting the offer of your life here.”

Well, at least he’s self-aware.

“Fine then, do your best to convince me.”

Gojo smirks at him. “Well, since you asked.”

A few minutes later, Suguru is the one seated on the couch, watching as Gojo waltzes forth to stand by his newly set up presentation.

“You made a PowerPoint? Is this the ‘material’ Yaga-sensei mentioned?”

“It’s not like I really wanted to.” Gojo chews on a plastic straw, slamming a telescopic pointer stick against the projector screen. There’s a bright green cartoon hand decorating its very tip.

“It’s not like Yaga-sensei is here. Save us both the pain and shut it off. We can just talk like normal people”

“Nah, I put work into this—real effort! I’m gonna show it, and you can’t stop me. Besides, sensei has a point, I’ve gotta convince you somehow.”

“I really think any attempts you would make would be better without all this.”

“Shut up, let Gojo-sama talk.”

Gojo clicks a remote with his other hand and the screen comes to life, showcasing a very inaesthetically pleasing title card reading “why travel w gojo 2017 junior funsies uwu” in comic-sans, drop-shadowed, garishly outlined text above watermarked stickers of flames, a plane, and a pink cake. The background’s a rough gradient of neon rainbow colors. There are some sparkle gifs overlaid here and there.

It’s ugly as hell.

“Why come with me indeed?” Gojo declares, pointing dramatically at the screen, “It should firstly be noted that anyone would be honored to have the mere chance to travel with the great Gojo Satoru but for the haters and the ill-informed, here are my primary reasons.”

Gojo clicks the button again. This slide has nothing else than another oversized text box reading “travel is fun” and a horse gif.

“Firstly: traveling! Doesn’t everyone love to go around and see the sights? With Gojo, you’ll be able to see the Taj Mahal and the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty for the grand price of zero yen. Entrance fees are not included.”

“Did you read this off a top ten most touristy attractions list?” Suguru throws a french fry at him. “What if I have issues with traveling?”

“Well, then you’re lying.”

The next side appears with a supreme number of transitions: dramatic zoom-ins, the screen shattering, multiple bounces from left to right, rotations and flips, dancing text, even the stock photos of food splitting in half before merging back together. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t just plain ugly.

“Did you just discover the wonders of PowerPoint? You must have been homeschooled. Every kid learns how to make a good-looking or at least informative slideshow. Except you, so it seems.”

Gojo courteously ignores him. “If travel isn’t your schtick, second up, we have food! Who doesn’t love good food? At Gojo’s side, you can get any food and all the food at any time. Again, the low price of zero. Meaning it’s all charged to the Gojo accounts.”

Suguru does like food as much as any other regular person. Free food too? He has to stay strong.

“...I happen to have. difficulties. with eating.”

Gojo stares at him as he slowly crunches the fry Suguru threw. “So like, an eating disorder?”

Suguru remains silent.

“No.”

“That’s exactly what someone with an eating disorder would say.”

“No. Shut up. I just have…very particular preferences.”

“Meaning?”

“Dumpling wrappers have to be two millimeters thick all around, I’ll allow three in the middle. Dumplings themselves can’t be larger than two inches in diameter. Rice must have a moisture level of sixty percent to be cooked properly. Cold noodles only. All fat should be cut off meat. sh*t like this. Shall I continue?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ask Shoko. She can corroborate.”

Gojo remains deathly still, cartoon hand slackly pointed at the ground. “Nah, I get the picture.”

Suguru’s lying, of course. He’s perfectly fine with food, the rice tidbit aside; he really can’t handle dry rice. But it’s fun to run Gojo in circles like this. He’ll send Shoko some fake list the moment he gets out of here.

“Okay!” Gojo claps his hands, suddenly re-invigorated. “We’ll fix any dumplings not to your taste, you can ask for the rice to be done the way you like, you can just wait for your noodles to cool down, we’ll request extra knives to shear off excess fat. You name it, we’ll deal with it. Worst case scenario, I’ll eat anything you don’t want to—hey, actually that doesn’t sound too bad, heh.”

sh*t. He’s actually really persistent.

Suguru clears his throat. “Well, if you’re willing to accommodate my preferences, I have nothing else to say about food. But as you might expect, I don’t enjoy eating enough to be your babysitter. Got anything else?”

Gojo silently clicks to the next side. “im a poor pitiful child of 20 having my dreams thwarted…pity me…” read this slide’s text box. There’s an accompanying badly drawn, pixelated image of some poor child wailing with a blown-up broken heart emoji over the kid’s head.

“Geto Suguru,” Gojo thunders, “I am unfortunately only left with you for my choice of companion. Like it or not, if I want to travel and complete my thesis, you need to come with me. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this arrangement work.”

“That can’t really count as a reason.”

Suguru contemplates Gojo more thoughtfully as he stares into the wobbly, wet, deformed eyes on the screen. “You’d actually go through all this sh*t? Just to go travel and eat?”

Gojo grins at him. “I’ll repeat, you’re my only option, you know. I’m stuck with you and you’re stuck with me, if you’ll have me at all that is. I swear I’ll make it worth your while.”

Damn it. He really does need the funding for his own travels. This is too good of an opportunity to pass up. And despite Suguru’s immense dislike of the guy, he’s not the worst person to be around. He’s just a plain asshole, not a bad guy at heart.

“I’m sold. Let’s start talking logistics.”

It’s late at night, the city is just as alive as it was when it was bright out. Cars are whizzing across the street in lieu of the usual weekday traffic. There’s a huge sign for an open-house sighting above a parking lot entrance and overall, it’s very peaceful. The unique sense of peace of walking through a beautiful busy street at night.

“Suguru!” Gojo cheers loudly, eagerly beckoning him across the street. Not quite so peaceful anymore.

“Gojo,” Suguru responds, wheeling his suitcase behind him. “Kumachan Onsen, right? Are we having one last meal here before we leave for Delhi? You still haven’t sent me the flight info by the way. I need to know when we arrive so I can coordinate my own work.”

“Flight info?” Gojo scoffs and flaps his hand in a shooing motion. “You’re so silly, Suguru! We’re going to be in Tokyo for the next few days before India. Forget about coordinating your work,”

“You—” Suguru clenches a hand tightly. He has got to keep his sh*t together. It really would be undignified to beat the f*ck out of Gojo in the middle of Tokyo, especially with Mei Mei’s ubiquitous network; it’d be a nightmare if live footage of him and Gojo was ever to be preserved on the likes of her media, or anywhere really.

“Me?”

“Why the f*ck are we going around Tokyo? You literally live here. You’re a goddamn foodie. Haven’t you eaten everything there is to try?”

“Assumptions will be the death of you, Suguru-chan. Tokyo is a vast city of inexplorable limits and while once it was my task to gain recognition I now can explore my true passions.”

“You’re incomprehensible.”

Gojo sighs. “To put it simply, most of the places I went to were really expensive, high-end gourmet establishments. Now that I have an established reputation I can f*ck around at cuter and more interesting places. Hawker centers, night markets, and even Hokkaido hot springs-inspired hot pot.”

“Fun,” Suguru says uninterestedly, “So what am I going to do then? Am I going to have to take my bags back to my apartment? Not that I have one anymore, terminated my lease.”

“Worry not, Suguru. We’ll be going all around Tokyo for a while so we’ll be hotel-hopping!” Gojo cheers.

“Hotel-hopping,” Suguru repeats flatly. He’s already very tired of Gojo; he gets why Shoko looks the way she does.

“Gojo family member here! Gojo-typical expenditures. You’ll be used to it in no time at all.”

“I hope not.”

“Sure you don’t. But for tonight at least, we’re dining here, exploring around for some dessert, and then we’ll go to our first hotel,” Gojo smiles and walks backwards towards the restaurant, “Put your bags in the car. We’ll be here a while. The soup stock here is shaped like teddy bears and I’m very excited to watch some stuffies die tonight.”

“Hmmmmm, well, we’ll do the dashi, the soymilk, the gochujang, the katsuobushi, and the soymilk bases. Uhhhh and if you could split the soymilk half and half and keep the other one sweet that’d be great, thanks. And actually, we’ll take the seasonal base while we’re at it too—sundubu rose. And I’ll do ramen.”

The waiter stares at him despondently. “...Will those be regular portions?”

“Quite right. Does Suguru want anything?”

This guy practically ordered the entire menu. Forget wanting anything, this guy will have gotten it already.

“I’m fine with what you have, really. We’ll get the full protein sampler and I’ll take the dumplings.”

“Drinks, sirs?”

“Cream soda in a glass please, I’ll try the blue honeysuckle. Extra sugar on the side.”

“A pale ale, thanks.”

“I’ll take your orders to the kitchen.”

Suguru watches the waiter leave, turning to Gojo and raising an eyebrow. “No alcohol? They have pretty good options here.”

Gojo pouts. “Don’t like it. Food critic, not a drink critic here I can drink whatever the hell I want. More importantly, what the hell are you thinking, getting the dumplings? You didn’t even tell the guy about your proclivities.”

“Did I not? Odd that, I swore I did,” Suguru smiles at him. “Mighty shame then, you’re going to have to help me out with sorting the dumplings—I don’t have the same magic food sense you do, but I’m sure you can tell how thick the wrappers are. You can cut the excess off too if they’re too long. Surely you’re willing to put in the work, if you want me to continue traveling with you.”

Gojo’s eyebrow twitches. “What if I just lie and give you a thicker dumpling?”

Suguru stares at him, stone-faced. “I’ll vomit it up.”

“...”

Gojo’s hand seizes as he grits out his next words: “Fine. Consider it done.”

He fake-beams at Suguru, “While we wait for the food, let’s get to know each other! It’s only been travel logistics and whatnot over the past few months—let’s play twenty questions and actually learn some fun stuff while we go make the sauce. I can make the best hotpot sauce, you know.” He stands up and leaves for the sauce and spice bar without looking back.

Suguru follows him. There’s a pretty diverse range of ingredients. Lovely.

“So, first question: what’s your favorite color?”

“Uh—purple, I guess. Yours?”

Gojo hums as he swiftly dumps various condiments into his bowl. “Triangle. Do you like guys? Quick look, this is my one and only all-purpose shabu shabu dipping sauce recipe: minced garlic, oyster sauce, soy sauce, cilantro, sesame sauce, and sesame oil. Extra garlic at the end if you feel like it.”

What.

“Sure I like guys,” Suguru says easily, “Does the sauce mix well? It seems like it’d be quite clumpy.”

“What—You—Why’d you say that so underwhelmingly?” Gojo gapes at him. “And it’s a dipping sauce, dumbass, clumpiness doesn’t matter. It is pretty smooth after hard whisking, the cilantro and garlic aside but their texture is why they’re added, partially.”

“Throw in a bit of peanut sauce, would you? Did you want me to scream zealously? It’s not too interesting of a question; wouldn’t I like guys? If I couldn’t tolerate them, I’d have a pretty difficult time in school.”

Gojo stares hard and long at him as he blindly throws in a small dollop of peanut sauce. “You…what…?”

“Do I have to spell things out word for word? You really can’t be this socially incompetent,” Suguru takes Gojo’s finished sauce bowl. “If I didn’t get along with the other guys, how could I be able to do any group projects? Or clubs? Not that anyone is bad really, except for Naoya.”

“Yeah, everyone hates Naoya,” Gojo says with a peculiar fondness only attributable to being glad that there really is worse garbage out in the world than you. “But man, you really are kind of an idiot.”

“The f*ck is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Gojo drawls, “I think I’ll just stick to one sauce for tonight, but here’s another Gojo Satoru-certified dipping sauce: spicy bean paste, sweet chili sauce, minced garlic, coriander, and a bit of hoisin sauce. Mirin too, sometimes.”

“I’m oh so grateful to have a Gojo-certified dipping sauce added to my mental cookbook.”

“Aiya Suguru, don’t be like that—ooh, look! Our food’s here.”

Soon enough they’re both seated at the table, watching the various Kuma-chans die a very slow, very wet death as they simmer into naught but broth with dislocated eyes.

Their table—two tables actually, with another table having been pushed against theirs—is jam-packed with grills and pots, a cute little meat platter, and a smattering of vegetable dishes. It’s quite a lovely setting, with various giant teddy bears filling the empty seats at their table and other related decorations adorning the walls.

Gojo promptly picks up the bear-ear headband on his seat and fits it into his hair. “Take a quick picture of me and the bears before they melt, yeah? Need it for my review.”

Suguru takes an unflattering photo with a shaky hand. It comes out blurry. “Done.”

“Thanks,” Gojo pokes a chopstick at dying Kuma-chan no. 1, aka the dashi Kuma-chan. “These are kinda cute! Hope they taste as good as they look. Anyways, back to small talk. So, you know Shoko well?”

Suddenly, Suguru feels a vague sense of premonitory dread, as if he’s about to enter very dangerous, very hellish territory but also as if he won’t be able to escape if he were to try. “You could say that.”

Gojo grins wickedly. sh*t.

“It does seem to me like you know each other quite well, very well. You even know that she and I are, at the least, pretty good friends. And yet, I’ve never heard her mention you!”

“Maybe there’s just never been the chance for me to come up in conversation.”

“See now,” Gojo simpers at him, “Shoko’s like, my only friend. Real friend at least. So I talk a sh*t ton with her. All sorts of topics, all sorts of people. But never a Geto Suguru—why may that be? I wonder.”

“Okay, we’re not actually that close. I faked our relationship.”

“Liar. She already confirmed that you two are besties. Did you really think that she wouldn’t have said something after I said that I’d be traveling with you for a year? So again, why is it, I wonder, that she’s refrained from having mentioned you before?”

f*ck. f*ck f*ck f*ck. He’s screwed. What a traitor Shoko is.

He has to come up with something, anything. What can be worse than telling his new buddy in travel that he so abhors the very rumors of him that he’s been following a f*cking pinpointing service and has been consistently bribing their mutual bestie to not breathe a word about him?

Opposite stalking is just as bad as regular stalking, in a few ways.

“I HAD A CRUSH ON YOU,” Suguru says loudly.

f*ck.

More than a few people look their way and Gojo drops an unopened sugar packet onto Kuma-chan no. 4, aka the katuso Kuma-chan. Kuma-chan no. 5.1, aka the savory soymilk Kuma-chan, stares up at Suguru with its single eye as if disappointed in his choice of words.

“You what?” Gojo whisper screeches.

“You heard me right,” Suguru fakes nonchalance. He’s in this now, might as well commit.

“I—What? So you really do like guys? You aren’t f*cking with me?” Gojo’s hands move with a hitherto unseen clumsiness as he fishes out the sugar packet. His bungling movements fully push down Kuma-chan no. 4 and effectively kill the teddy. He’s still staring wide-eyed at Suguru.

“Again, what’s up with this liking guys nonsense? Are the only friends you have of your age group women? Don’t tell me that all the other guys feel like their masculinity is threatened by your supreme existence.”

“I have a few they/thems in my contacts. And there’s Nanami and Haibara,” Gojo sniffs, “But you’re the one deflecting. You had a crush on me? Broth’s all done for these ones, by the way, help yourself.”

Suguru shifts uneasily in his seat and drops a lotus root cutting into a random pot. “Had, yes. Got over it a long while ago. Shoko wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about it so I just asked her to not talk about me entirely. Embarrassing. Even if I still had a crush on you, it’d have been gone not a minute after talking with you. Seeing that you’re such an obnoxious asshole.”

“Woah, where’s this bitterness coming from?” Gojo delicately wraps a piece of beef tongue around his chopsticks before dunking the meat into the sweet soymilk pot. “So what was it that terminated your infatuation? Met someone new? Decided you had to move on? Knew you’d never be in the same league as the godlike Gojo Satoru? Come on now, don’t be shy. Tell me everything.”

sh*t. “You’re completely right. I realized that my hillbilly tendencies and abnormal bangs could never compare to your sophisticated manners and angel feather locks.”

“Cute but you’re lying again,” Gojo’s bear-ears wobble in the air. “Your sarcasm makes it a teensy bit hard to tell, but you’re putting too much effort into it. You’re lying, clearly.”

“Okay,” Suguru says blandly, “You caught me. Congratulations.”

“Nothing to it, I’m always right. So what’s the truth then? If you lie again, I’ll just find out eventually. Spill it all to Gojo-chan. This stuff is really good with the sauce. The broth’s kinda meh on its own.”

Suguru really, really doesn’t give a crap about the broth in his current situation. He can’t really tell the truth when Gojo’s already believing one lie. The only way out might be to tell the full truth.

“I was just f*cking with you earlier. I never had a crush on you.”

“You what? Man, why do you have to keep confusing me like this? So then why gatekeep yourself?”

“It was the opposite…I was keeping you out of my life.”

Gojo stares at him, chopsticks resting in the gochujang pot. His meat is definitely going to be overcooked. “You what?”

“Are your ears not working?" He asks flatly.

Gojo twitches his chopsticks as he glares at Suguru. “Heard you fine. But why?”

“You do know you’re campus-famous, right? Well, you’re also campus-notorious. I heard enough about you to decide that I never wanted to meet you.”

“Hah!” Gojo guffaws, “So that’s it? How silly of you—sh*t, this broth isn’t spicy at all. But anyways, what now then? How does it feel to have to know the illustrious Gojo Satoru you’ve tried so hard to avoid?”

Suguru looks down at the bubbling broth and ingredients. Gojo’s already shoved a good number of now-cooked foods onto Suguru’s plate. The dumplings are all perfectly sized to two inches. “I dunno. Part of why I avoided you might have been that it was fun in itself to avoid you. I never did know much about you, the downsides of avoiding a person to such lengths. But you’re not too bad to talk to.”

Gojo laughs again, well-humored and still somewhat cheeky. “Good to hear, at least the next year won’t be a massive pain in the ass for you. Let’s get back to twenty questions.”

Suguru watches as Gojo snaps a picture of the very cuddly-looking Kuma-chan no. 7, aka their newly bought strawberry-flavored kakigori Kuma-chan. The very last Kuma-chan of the night.

“I thought we were going to find dessert elsewhere?”

“Pssh, you keep saying these funny little things, Suguru. Dessert’s a three-course endeavor on its own. And I’m practically obliged to see what Oyasumi-dokoro has to offer while I’m here.”

“Sure you are.”

“Would it kill you to play along for once? But doesn’t this look good? Fresh strawberries, coconut syrup, peanut ice cream, soft-serve, granola, and shiratama dango. Only a couple thousand yen!”

“I’d rather have gotten the soft-serve on its own,” Suguru pokes at one of the rice-flour dumplings, “Do you seriously think I can eat these? Mochi’s a type of dumpling too. Look at how huge they are.”

They actually do look really good, but Suguru has to keep up his act.

Gojo violently seizes the mochi Suguru’s been fiddling with, eyes it fiercely, and then promptly squishes it into a compact little ball less than two inches tall and wide.

“Happy?” he says as he plops it onto Suguru’s spoon.

“You…you really are something else,” Suguru watches the mochi collapse without the pressure of Gojo’s cutlery. At this point, it really can’t be called a dumpling, so Suguru simply eats it.

“I’m very hot and absolutely amazing, yes,” Gojo’s already inhaled most of the Kuma-chan by now, despite it being big enough to feed a family of four. “Hmm. Good consistency, pillowy and fine. Clumpy in some areas but it’s fine if there’s enough syrup. Not the best strawberries I’ve had.”

Gojo smacks his lips. “All the textures go well with each other, but the ice cream isn’t blended well enough. The peanut butter agglutinates everything together—especially with the strawberry seeds and the granola, it isn’t pleasant. Good chewiness for the mochi, but the flavor isn’t strong enough. The flavors overall are nicely cohesive though and the delivery is impeccable in its own right.”

“Impressive,” Suguru actually is vaguely impressed by Gojo’s display of expertise, “So this is what you do for a living? Or at least will.”

“Yeah,” Gojo almost sounds dejected as he shoves another spoonful of strawberries and ice into his mouth, “Not as fun as you might think. I’m not at the sort of level where I can openly trash restaurants if I feel like it or otherwise offer overly negative commentary. Even the sh*t I just said now, I’d have to rephrase it.”

“Didn’t you say before when we first met that you made objective commentary? If something’s bad, it’s bad.”

“Of course, I’ll write about the negative aspects. But I really can’t be too negative or else I’ll get repudiated as just being cruel or people will blame my personal tastes.”

“The great Gojo Satoru holding his tongue back? Unimaginable.”

“Hey! You can’t say sh*t when you’ve never written a food review! Culinary politics are harsher than you’d ever know.”

“Okay then, I’ll write a review.”

“You’ll what,” Gojo flutters his eyelashes in surprise.

“I said I’ll write a review,” Suguru shows Gojo his new account.

Gojo hums as he studies Suguru’s screen. “Save your review for tomorrow’s restaurant. You’ll enjoy it more.”

“Only one meal in and you think I’ll have a better dining experience someplace else? I did quite like this place.”

“Oh no, you’re mistaken,” Gojo side-eyes him in an inexplicably derisive way as if Suguru’s a naive third-grader and Gojo’s the mean parent about to tell him about "the bad bad boogeyman in the middle of the night."

“See now, a lot of our stops will be rather reputable, high-end places. Regular places for the rich with things like a single sliver of beef on a plate garnished with a smear of sauce and a single leaf of parsley on top. I’m sure you’re the kind of guy who hates high society and all that—just look at your earrings.”

Suguru unconsciously touches his gauges. “What are you getting at exactly.”

Gojo smiles, smug and mischievous like a cat caught destroying the most expensive crockery. “We’re going to go to these places, enjoy the hoity-toity, pithy servings, and then write up sh*tty reviews.”

Oh. Oh.

“I hate to say it, but I like the way you think,” even as Suguru speaks, an unbidden smile creeps its way up his face, much like Gojo’s smile. “I think the both of us will enjoy this trip much more from now on. I look forward to being your partner in bad food criticism.”

Pegasus: Reviews

Gogo Saburo
★★☆☆☆
i ordered my steak rare but when it came it was just regular beef! not an endangered animal at all!!!!! great taste but man…i wanted unicorn….why’d you guys name urselves pegasus if you don’t sell unicorn meat? when my food came it looked just like it did in the images…..that’s so unfair i thought those were just samplers why such small portions? thanks for helping me maintain my weight :(

Gego Saburo
★★☆☆☆
God created the heavens and earth and shaped each and every animal from us humans to the rabbits in our meadows and the horses in our pastures and the salmon in our seas. He unleashed a flood upon the world and charged this Noah fellow with the task of preserving life. Our cows survived despite this all and God created the perfect vegetation for them and shepherds manifested to guide these creatures and help them thrive aplenty. And millennia later, all I get is a cat’s shank worth of veal that tastes just as might taste if it had been left to sit in the dark, thick rivers of Hell.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

“I can’t tell if I like how this place is decorated or not.”

Satoru shrugs. “Blame the British? Didn’t they colonize India or something? It’s pretty rad here though, it kinda resembles Mughal courts, or so I heard.”

They’ve just arrived at Dum Pukht. It’s absolutely gorgeous, as expected of a luxury dining establishment. Plush Persian rugs, tray ceilings with semi-modern crystal chandeliers, marble floors, scallop-edged jharokhas, elegant dark wood chairs with royal blue cushioning, embroidered ivory tablecloths, separate and nicely colored wine and water glasses, French crockery—the whole shebang.

They’ve hit their fifteen-day mark of traveling together, with the first seven being spent in Tokyo and the other few traveling and recuperating. It’s been only a short while, but spending his days twenty-four-seven with Satoru—constantly visiting each other’s rooms, sightseeing together, eating together, calling Shoko together—has brought him drastically close to the other guy. They’re practically best friends now.

Today’s professional agenda only has one restaurant, but that’s a typical aspect of their now daily life. As Suguru’s learned, most food critics who do in-depth reviews of restaurants will revisit the same place over and over again over a long period of time–six months or longer even—to fully experience the entire menu and different combos and seasonal specials, etc.

Satoru, however, orders nearly the entire menu or even everything all at once so he nicely avoids this tedious affair. This does mean that he spends a sh*t ton of money very often. They also have to spend hours picking their way through all the dishes, though Satoru’s immense speed helps things a bit.

Sometimes Suguru will leave after eating his fill and finds a nice cafe to work or read at, though now that they’re actually abroad he’ll probably spend his time exploring and doing research. But most times, he likes to sit and talk with Satoru and do his work in the restaurant.

Suguru shifts uncomfortably in his still foreign-feeling dress wear. “Didn’t you say Nawabi-inspired before or something?”

Satoru smiles odiously at him as he pulls out Suguru’s chair with a flourish. “Maybe my mouth isn’t working properly. Suguru could help with that, I think.”

“How could I ever? I’m not an oral or maxillofacial surgeon.”

“A—a mallo what?”

“Maxillofacial. Jeez, you could convince me that you spend no time with Shoko.”

Suguru sits down, flicking open a menu. “You’re actually pretty knowledgeable about pinpointing specific styles and whatnot. Like, if I were to see an oriental vase, I’d just call it oriental, but you’d be able to tell the make of it and what dynasty it came from in a matter of seconds.”

Satoru grins tightly at him, flipping through his own menu. “Consider it a valuable skill to have as a professional food critic for gourmet dining. Usually, we have to review even the decor and sh*t—never made sense to me, I’m here for the food and I don’t give a f*ck about the atmosphere.”

“Hmm. Should I even bother reading the menu too deeply or are you going to clear it all out again?”

“Ahahaha, you’re so FUNNY, Suguru. If you must know, I’m ordering the shahi nehari, dum pukht kakori, murg handi qorma, murgh chandi tikka, jhinga ka salan, shorba shahi pasand, mahi sarson—did I get a rice dish yet? Uhh, subz biryani, zauk-e-shahi, maash qaliya, aloo bhukhara kofta salan, seekh nilofari, arbi qaliya, and the kham khatai.”

“...So the whole menu. You really do have no shame in throwing your money around.”

“Missed a few items here and there, but call it the entire menu if you’d like. And it’s really just my parents' money—the money I earn goes to a special funds account. I’m a guy with money not a guy of money. Also the warqi paratha and the tara naan. I’ve gotten a few yogurt-based dishes already but you know what I love me some sweet lassi. You should try the salted masala one. We’ll get dessert later.”

“That you always get dessert even for lunch always drives me crazy. You’re actually so insane when it comes to food that I honestly think that you were born to eat.”

“Why thank you,” Satoru smiles cheekily before turning to their waiter and rattling off their order again.

“I won’t say you’re welcome.”

“Okay but you know—what about you?” What even is it that you do? We haven’t talked about it, despite our numerous meals together.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m a full-time student. My financial aid is great.”

Suguru beckons the waiter to come over, whispering into his ear: “For the biryani dish, make it as spicy as possible—more, even. Enough that he’d see God and be laughed at.”

The waiter looks at him oddly and nods unsurely. Not too good of a confirmation, but Suguru will see what happens later.

“No no no. What do you do? What’s your major? And isn’t travel part of your thesis or something? What sort of work are you gonna do out here? Locations weren’t really an issue either, is this a whatever place whatever do kind of thing?”

“One question at a time. Firstly, I major in education. During our travels, I’ll be visiting different schools to learn about foreign education systems and different methods of teaching.”

“Education!” Gojo guffaws, twirling his knife about his fingers, “That’s hilarious. Got some grand vision of guiding the youth and raising a new generation of hopefuls? You should raise radicals, upset the system.”

“...My motivations align more closely with being able to gleefully leave harsh comments on student papers. That and beating up the ones that disagree with me.”

Satoru looks up at him, seemingly somewhat bewildered. “You really aren’t the moralistic, respectable student Yaga thinks you are? Beating up your students? Isn’t that child abuse?”

“Not when they’re above eighteen. And I’ll get the credentials to teach an academic subject and a license for martial arts training. I’ve fought in mixed martial arts competitions since high school.”

Satoru gapes at him. “So, this means you can lift me.”

“With the way you eat? No way. But you don’t ever seem to gain weight so actually, maybe I would. Why’d I ever need to lift you though?”

Satoru grumbles from across the table as their food gets served. “Never you mind—and thank you.”

There’s no need for a second table this time; not when they reserved a full-length dining table. Suguru’s grown accustomed to the fact that they’ll never be able to go to a restaurant and order just one or two dishes.

Satoru pokes eagerly at one of their many, many dishes. “You know, a lot of these are slow-cooked in earthenware pots sealed with dough, they’re kinda steamed like in traditional bamboo baskets back home.”

“Are they? To what effect?”

Satoru garbles his answer through a mouthful of lamb—already devouring half the dish. “The food stays aromatic, and slow roasting unlocks all the flavors.”

“Would it kill you to not talk while you eat? Especially when you take such large helpings.”

“What do you want me to do? Not eat at all?” Satoru sneers, “You keep scolding me and I’ll keep repeating it: either I talk while I eat or I talk in between eating and prolong our stays by a couple more hours.”

“You’re exactly why restaurants have time limits.”

“Time limits don’t exist for the Gojos. Or anyone swimming in money like us.”

“...That’s so elitist.”

“I knew you were gonna say that,” Satoru laughs as he shoves a couple of empty plates aside and pulls another one close to him. “But anyways, you’re seriously becoming a teacher out of what, spite and schadenfreude?”

“You could say that, sure. I suppose I used to have honorable aspirations, but you know how it is. You get disillusioned and either you break down or turn away from your newly exposed horror. But I didn’t have any f*cks left to give and it’s not like I’m particularly ambitious anymore, so I just continued on.”

“That’s oddly depressing,” Satoru muses. “But good for you I guess? At least now. What got you into martial arts?”

Suguru chews over the question as he watches Satoru eviscerate a set of kebabs. “My uncle taught karate in the town I grew up in. But my grandpa taught Aikido. Both of them wanted me to master their respective art so I just ended up doing both. Only seemed natural for me to learn more styles and continue on with them.”

“Aikido? Dude, that’s so lame.”

“You don’t have the right to call any sport lame with those stick arms of yours. Any Aikido practitioner could snap you like a twig.”

“Hey!” Satoru sneers, brandishing a free skewer at him. “These stick arms may not be able to lift weights but my elbows are knobby enough to hit someone good in the throat if I’m attacked.”

“I’m not sure that’s a point of pride. But yeah, you’re the kind of guy who looks like he’d be a victim of attacks.”

“What the hell man? What is that—”

“Look at you,” Suguru throws his hands out in display, “angelic hair, dewy skin, cherubic cheeks, big baby blue eyes, dorky clothes, not an inch of muscle, f*cking circular glasses—you’re asking to get robbed.”

“Wow. Oh my gosh, Suguru, what a description of me. Be careful, I might think that you find me attractive.”

“What? But you are plenty attractive.”

Satoru’s looking at him in this really odd sort of way, all stupid gaping and dumbstruck eyes and embarrassed blushes. He reacts kinda strangely to what Suguru says, sometimes.

“You what?” Satoru hisses, flapping his hand flaccidly, “Are you for real?”

“Yes? It’s a well-known fact that you’re pretty handsome. Everyone says so. I do have eyes.”

Satoru mutters to himself incomprehensively, face vaguely red as he absently grabs the nearest dish. It’s the rice dish.

Suguru’s already laughing hysterically inwardly as he watches Suguru wolf it down. He is somewhat envious though. His lies really do get back to him sometimes; he hasn’t been able to eat as much rice as he’s used to lately.

He watches Satoru chew and then three, two, one: he starts making a dying, hawking noise; starts slamming his fist against the table, and then keels over so that his chair screeches backward and his glasses fall from where they knock against the table.

“YOU—WHAT—OH MY GOD MY FACE IS GETTING NUMB—AM I DYING—OH MY GOD—MY MOUTH IS COLLAPSING—”

Suguru’s keeled over from his side too, utterly in stitches from how hard he’s laughing.

“This is what you get for eating like your life is on the line. Did you see your life flash before your eyes? Do you need some milk?”

Satoru sneers at him in between attempts at fanning his face, useless movements. “You really take enjoyment in my pain. You are a sad*st. Oh my god. f*ck, that’s spicy.”

“Yeah, I’m an awful person.” Suguru snaps a few pictures of Satoru’s red face. He’ll send them to Shoko later. “I could have done this back in Tokyo, you know. Slathered wasabi all over your sushi, would have destroyed your sinuses.

“I can’t take this anymore.” Satoru stands up abruptly, throwing a hand up in the air in his bafflement. “I’m going to pop over to the restroom for a bit.”

“You do that,” Suguru says peacefully, nibbling on a kebab.

It’s been a really f*cking long time since Satoru left.

Not too long actually, maybe fifteen minutes, but it’s a long time with Satoru being involved. Suguru’s done eating at this point, and he’s already taken his book out, but he’s very unused to not having Satoru’s endless chatters on the food and whatever random facts he’s collected.

He’s about to go check the restrooms when his phone vibrates.

Gojo Satoru: f*ckING HELP IM STUCK IN THE BATHROOM

Gojo Satoru: SUGURU HURRY UP PLSKFADSF IJMF AGEING BEGGING

Suguru’s still laughing his ass off as he enters the restroom, much to the discontent of the other patrons and employees.

“Satoru?” he calls out between snickers, voice echoing off of the very lovely marble, tile, and glass surrounding him. “Which stall are you in?”

“Over here,” Satoru’s voice resounds pathetically from the second-to-last stall. “I tried yelling earlier but no one came into the restroom—WHAT THE f*ck MAN.”

Suguru wheezes breaths through his laughter as he listens to Satoru shriek and watches his feet paddle backward desperately; he just poked his head through the bottom of the stall.

“YOU—WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT—STOP f*ckING LAUGHING AT ME.”

“Who says I’m laughing?” Suguru laughs. “You’re just imagining things.”

“Shut up,” Satoru whines, banging on the door. “Just get me out of here, I’ve been trying long enough.”

“What, your knobby elbows weren’t able to knock holes in the door? Couldn’t pick their way through the lock? Can’t elbow your way out through the walls?”

“Shut the f*ck up,” Satoru hisses again, slamming on the door harder. “Do your karate thing or whatever and get me out.”

“It’s just a door. There’s no need to fight it. Why try to brute force it when we can just go get a staff member?” Suguru delivers a harsh kick to the door just for sh*ts and giggles, taking glee in the way Satoru squawks and scrabbles back. “Did you not think of that before? You could have just messaged me that, would have saved you from some humiliation. Or did you want me to be your knight in shining armor?”

Suguru listens to Satoru's flustered seething with amusem*nt.

“Just go and find someone with a key.”

“Alright,” Suguru can’t help but continue chortling as he saunters out. “Enjoy the last of your stay, princess.”

Satoru’s still grumbling as they leave the restaurant. “Food was good here: very nice cuts of meat, melt in your mouth kind of thing. Smoky, strongly herbal aftertastes. Excellent variety of spices, most of them pretty distinct. BUT WHY DID THEY HAVE A DISREPAIRED STALL? I’m gonna complain to management, I swear.”

“How affected of you. You really are a sniveling brat sometimes.”

“But I’m your sniveling brat. You’re stuck with me.”

“Sure, but I’ll never let you live this down, you know.”

Satoru shoves Suguru hard. It’s barely enough to budge him. “You. Just shut up. I hate you so much.”

“Nah, you love me.”

Suguru watches in faint repulsion as Satoru takes an almost unhinged bite of his masala dosa; chews curiously for a moment; and then shoves not one, not two, but three bondas whole into his mouth.

“Have you ever considered doing mukbang?”

“Mook what? Is that Korean?”

“Never mind. I don’t think I can ever get used to the way you eat. Can’t you at least eat them separately? You’re ruining the individual flavors.”

Satoru makes an ugly swallowing noise. “You’re just unappreciative. This stuff is so f*cking good man, you’re missing out.”

He holds up a momo. “Want to try one? Or are your delicate two-inch tendencies crying out no?”

Suguru peers at the dumpling. It really is very nicely wrapped. “Too many folds. Thicker than three millimeters.”

Suguru shrugs. “Your loss then.” He eats that one too.

They’re on the last week of their travels in India, now in Kochi with their past few stops having been Mumbai and Kolkata.

They exhaust Satoru’s nonrecreational responsibilities pretty quickly at each new destination, so most of their time is spent hunting for hidden gems for street food and night markets. Unfortunately for Suguru, this means having to deal with Satoru’s complaints about walking too much, the traffic, and preventing him from getting into fistfights with the locals—sometimes he asserts his food opinions a bit too strongly.

Today’s an off-day, not so dominated by food though of course, Satoru still scouted out a nice place for takeout. But it’s just a small “snack” before they start the day’s exciting adventure: riverboating. They’re planning on rowing for maybe half an hour before letting themselves drift and enjoying a picnic before heading back.

Suguru taps on Satoru’s shoulder to get his attention. “Satoru, we’ve got to start making our way down to the boats soon. Our session is in a few minutes and we need to change, get equipment, and find our instructor.”

“Yeah yeah, I hear you.” True to the point, Satoru inhales the last of his food, crumples the takeout box, and throws it toward a garbage can. It doesn’t go in.

Suguru snigg*rs at him as he walks over to properly throw away the box. “I’ll go to check in and get the stuff. There are some showers and stalls to change in over there—don’t get stuck again.”

“Go to hell,” Satoru says dismissively as he walks off, “I’ll meet you down soon.”

There were three things Suguru was sure of before he got into their boat:

1. He had the arm strength to power them through the backwaters.

2. They’d have a great time enjoying their food after a nice workout.
3. Their set time was for four hours.

Unfortunately, their particular type of boating needs strong, coordinated efforts from both people. And Satoru’s not just absolutely frail in comparison to Suguru: he’s feeble.

As such, they spend an hour desperately trying to fight the current and each other instead of having a nice, scenic glide across the coast for half an hour.

And then they f*cking capsize.

“Satoru?” Suguru yells between coughs, newly resurfaced and doggy-paddling. “Can you hear me?”

Note to the uninformed: it is an incredibly harrowing experience to have capsized miles out into the ocean. Currents throwing you everywhere like a dead fish, salt making its way into your eyes and mouth, and of course the overwhelming urgency to find your damn boat.

It’s entirely worse to be Suguru right now, trying to find his boating companion who probably doesn’t know how to swim.

This is literally the worst possible scenario Suguru could have gotten himself into. Stranded so far out into the Arabian Sea that there’s no service, much less anyone to help him. Possibly with a dead billionaire on his hands. He’s so mad at Satoru that if they found them, he’d be charged with murder, no questions asked.

f*ck it, I’ll go under to look for him, Suguru resigns himself to the thought and dives under.

Sure enough, there’s Satoru. And what is the f*cker doing? Just floating there, some feet down, arms and legs curled up in a ball instead of frantically thrashing around in an attempt to, well, maybe save his sorry, miserable excuse for a life.

Maybe he is dead already. Suguru would think that he’d be more…splayed out though.

Suguru treads to him, and pokes him in the shoulder, making an “okay?” gesture with his hands as Satoru looks up. As Satoru lifts his head up from his curled-up mass, Suguru realizes that he’s not just lumped up for nothing: he’s holding on to their bags of food.

“You…I don’t even know what to say. You’re so done when we’re back at the hotel. You’re so done for.”

“Why are you bullying me? You really can’t expect me to have left our desserts to—hrrk—” Satoru’s pitiful excuses are cut off with a wheeze and Suguru tightens the arm around his neck.

“Desserts? Oh god. Don’t tell me you only got sweet sh*t. This was supposed to be a picnic for both of us. Emphasis on both. Where does your mind go? What makes you think you can keep ahold of your damn desserts when we need to recover our boat?”

Satoru grumbles some curses at him as Suguru continues to swim the two of them to where he can see the hull of their boat protruding out of the water.

“You’re lucky I’ve boated before. There’s something called the Capistrano Flip, it requires two people so we should be able to do it.”

“Suguru,” Satoru starts, deathly quiet.

“Hmm? Are you feeling okay? Water in your lungs?”

“I’m weak.”

“...”

It takes way too long to right their boat, between trying to rock the boat back and forth to empty it and having to constantly go back and make sure Satoru isn’t drowning himself, but he gets it eventually.

“Okay. Now you’ve got to pull your weight. I’ll climb into the boat first and you’re going to have to hold it and make sure it doesn’t flip again with the weight imbalance. I’ll help pull you in after.”

Satoru flubbers around. “Dude, do you think I can offset your weight? You’re sh*tting me.”

sh*t. Why did Suguru have to be paired with the single most enervated person on this side of Asia?

“Fine,” he snaps, paddling over back to Satoru. “You get in first.”

“...I’m scared of getting in.”

Suguru breathes heavily through his nostrils. He can’t kill Satoru here, even when it’d be so easy. “Firstly, f*ck you. I’m putting you on an exercise regime after this. Secondly, I need you to curl up into a ball, as tight and rigid as possible.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to throw you into the boat, dumbass. You’re going to loosen your limbs the moment you’re above the boat so that you can roll to the other side. I’ll hold the other end. You better do your half of the work properly or else you’ll end up in the water again, and this time I won’t save you from drowning.”

“...So Suguru is going to lift me?”

He sounds hopeful, excited even. This bastard has no idea how he’s destroyed their lovely boat ride and here he is, bizarrely thrilled to be manhandled back into their waterlogged boat.

“Do you want to lift yourself?”

Satoru shuts up, remaining silent from where his head rests in the crook between Suguru’s chin and shoulder. “Too much work. Rolling’s too much too.”

“If that’s too much for you, I can just kill you now. Instead of leaving your legs to slowly stop supporting you and leaving you to drown.”

“...Okay.”

It doesn’t take too long to get themselves back in the boat at least, even with Satoru’s constant fussing and squirming but they’re in. They even have their food, nice and safe.

Satoru hums an inappropriately cheery tune as he rummages through their specially bought hybrid cooler bag dry bag. Suguru on the other hand is still wringing out his hair and shirt. Satoru doesn’t seem to mind looking like a wet rat.

“These bags are really something. The containers too. Everything’s still perfectly intact: the gulab jamun, ladoos, faloodas, rasmalai, kheer, kulfi, rasgulla—”

“Since when did we have all these? Did you sneak in some orders behind my back? I can’t believe you actually, honest to goodness, only brought desserts. I thought we agreed on some pani puri at least.”

Satoru gives him a wobbly, unconvincingly apologetic look. “Oops, forgot it.”

Suguru splashes some water on him, reveling in Satoru’s caterwauling and scrabbling movements to cover the food.

“Suguru, are we still having our picnic?”

“Are you seriously asking that? You’ve got to be joking. We’re already going to be late, and we’re so far out that if we ate now, we’d come back at minimum an hour forty-five past our return time.”

Satoru sulks a bit, fiddling around with a strap. “But I was really looking forward to it.”

“No buts. We said four hours, we’ll be back in as close to four hours as we can manage.”

“Catch.”

It’s only by reflex and training that Suguru catches hold of the container that Satoru throws at him.

“It’s lychee rose, a mix of your favorite flavors. Thought you’d like it.”

Damn him, Suguru thinks, as he looks down at the beautifully pink frozen dessert, marbled through with cream swirls and embellished with rose petals. It’s awfully sweet of Satoru and not a common gesture from him. He can feel himself giving way already.

Suguru sighs. “Let’s have your picnic. Late is as late does, so we might as well enjoy the view and the food.”

Satoru cheers softly, unpacking the rest of the containers. “You’re the best, Suguru!”

“Just shut up already, eat your desserts,” he grunts, but even to his ears, he’s awfully fond.

Dum-Pukht - ITC Maurya: Reviews

Gogo Saburo
★☆☆☆☆
ABSOLUTELY ASS RESTAURANT THEY NEVER FIX THEIR BATHROOMS THIS IS A HEALTH AND SAFETY HAZARD THE SERVER TRIED TO KILL ME TOO POISONED ME

Gego Saburo

No one listen to this guy…he’s a fraud…he has hereditary beef with a Maurya employee…his grandpa killed the other guy’s grandpa so the other guy’s dad killed his dad and now he’s upset bc he’s too wimpy to kill the current generation (this is obviously not fake info trust me pls and thx). Excellent food 10/10 not a fan of the dumplings at all. Would come back for the lentils they were bomb.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

“You’re telling me that you two have already gotten chased out of three restaurants? You guys have only been in Thailand for a week, Suguru-kun.”

“You know what Satoru’s like.”

“I know perfectly what he’s like—it’s you I’m disappointed in. Not that you aren’t just like him, but you still haven’t accepted your dastardliness like he has.”

“I’m offended, really. And dastardliness? Great big words you’re using. Not very STEM-major of you, Shoko.”

“Shut up, you. Is Satoru-kun done yet? My break’s gonna end soon.”

Suguru peers over at where Satoru is unglamorously slouched over on the other couch, partially blocked off by a huge mound of bulky yarn. They’re at Big Knit Cafe in Bangkok right now, a cute little place for them to partake in more non-food related outings though of course, Satoru’s has bit by bit been ordering all of the cafe offerings.

Satoru doesn’t have any experience with knitting or crocheting, generally being a hater of anything physical. At least when he isn’t delusionally believing he can do anything necessitating even a light workout like their row boating excursion—he’s unfortunately delusional on the regular.

So of course, knitting cute sh*t like bags or a small plush didn’t seem too dire of an activity for Satoru. Unfortunately, they’re using absolutely massive yarn that utilizes their own hands as needles. And since Satoru’s a plain idiot who has some self-invented notion of a knack for being great at everything, he’s taken it upon himself to crochet a fully detailed plush of Suguru himself; a bad idea with his wimpy arms and wretched attention span.

“He’s almost done I think, can’t be that much—”

“I’m done!” Satoru trills, triumphantly flashing a double thumbs-up at Suguru from where he sits.

“Good job, Satoru-kun. Are you going to show it to the both of us or just Suguru-kun first?” Shoko calls out.

Satoru waves her off. “Suguru first, of course. Shoko’s gonna start laughing and throw off Suguru’s opinion.”

“Already so sure that your mini Suguru-kun look-alike is that laughable?”

“Nah, you’re just mean like that.”

“Stop bickering, both of you,” Suguru says with fake amicability, motioning for Satoru to come closer. “None of us are going to laugh at each other. We’re all civil, mature adults here.”

“Sure about that, Suguru-kun? I feel like you’re the meanest out of all of us. You’d be laughing first for sure.”

“No way! Suguru wouldn’t be that mean to me—” Satoru pauses, seemingly reconsidering his words. “Okay, maybe—well actually—yeah no, Shoko’s right. Suguru, you’ve got to promise you won’t laugh. Pinky promise, double-lock it.”

Suguru’s about to tell him that he’s definitely not making any promises but another look at Satoru’s earnest, hopeful, still somewhat sour expression tells him that doing anything other than a pinky promise double-locked would earn him a torrent of pillows and yarn being along with a multitude of uncreative curses.

“Fine, I promise that I won’t laugh at you. Dunno where you’re getting this double-lock nonsense from though.”

Satoru huffs. “Nothing you need to know. Okay, on the count of three, I’ll show mine.”

“As you will.”

“Three, two, one—tada! What do you think?” Satoru holds up his finished plush.

Oh.

Oh sh*t. Oh no.

Don’t f*cking laugh, Suguru thinks loudly as he struggles to keep a straight face. Act like it’s the prettiest, most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

“Suguru? Cat got your tongue? What do you think?”

“It’s very nice,” he ends up warbling, “the most beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, glorious artistic rendition I’ve ever seen of myself. Cuter than the cutest cat. Better looking than me myself, even.”

He’s screwed.

Satoru deflates. “You’re lying, you’re never that nice. You think it’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.”

“No no no,” he lies, waving his hands in a gesture of denial. “It looks just like me. Perfectly captures my very essence.”

It does look just like him, or at least it would if he had been put through a meat processor and repackaged into a seemingly humanoid shape. Mini Suguru has disproportionately small arms, as if little knots of yarn had been glued to the shoulders. The legs are just as disproportionate but they’re just comedically wide; probably meant to imitate Suguru’s preferred baggier pants, but on the plush, it just ends up looking like he’s got balloons for legs. The head is actually shaped pretty normally—nicely pointed chin, well-positioned ears—though that just makes Mini Suguru look like an anime-bodied person running around with their head being from a bad live-action.

A gnarled mess of yarn somehow miraculously attached to the head. A long blob of braided wool hanging out from the front for his bangs—it’s already loosening and unraveling. It might have been salvaged if the face was okay, but Satoru attached a bulbous excrescence of a nose, and the neat purple knots for his eyes are set against small white strips acting as the sclera. It’s all too much yarn and makes it look like his eyes have popped out from their sockets, not to mention how disturbingly humanesque they seem when compared to his stubby hands and stumpy legs. It’s the face of a man who’s seen some things.

“Okay fine, I’m lying. Caught me. But he’s still very handsome,” Suguru says placatingly as Satoru fusses, “I like…the eyes? The ponytail is a nice change of hairstyle.”

Satoru glowers at him. “That’s not a ponytail.”

sh*t. “Sorry, eyes not working properly, spent too much time reading. It looks just like when my hair’s down, great that you remembered how it looks so well—”

“IT’S IN YOUR USUAL f*ckING BUN—”

Shoko’s voice blares from the phone. “Just shut up, Suguru-kun. You keep saying just the wrong things. Give it here, I want to see.”

Suguru obligingly holds up the phone for her to see.

There’s silence for a moment and then she bursts out into nonsensical giggling.

“Oh man,” she guffaws, “Suguru-kun definitely lied to you. That’s ugly as hell, Satoru-kun, I’ve gotta say it as it is. Only a mother would—no, not even a mother would love that. You should sell it to horror movie production studios, they’d love it for props.”

Satoru rockets to his feet, Mini Suguru in hand, knocking over his leftover yarn pile to the great upset of the cafe staff.

“YOU’RE ALL SO—SO MEAN TO ME! AND YOU—YOU PINKY PROMISED!” Satoru wails, wildly pointing between Suguru and the phone, “Friendship ended with the both of you. Suguru can fend for himself, I’m traveling with little Suguru from now on.”

“If you leave without Suguru-kun, Yaga-sensei’s gonna find a way to get you back to Tokyo. Or your family will. Hell, they’ll collaborate. A first for your family I would think.”

Satoru stares at them stolidly. “I can’t deal with this. I need a snack if I’m gonna cope with this. I’m gonna need another three pecadamialmond cakes and two more Oreo banoffee pie slices and another cherry crepe stack and five more matoom cake slices and the baked pasta again. And the kway teoh ka moo tom yum. And the coconut coffee with ten sugar cubes. This time with extra whipped cream and the twenty-twenty.”

“Is it really okay to serve him this much? He already ate so much” a server whispers to Suguru.

“Oh no, don’t worry,” he replies serenely. “This guy can eat fifteen kilograms of noodles in two minutes flat. This is nothing for him.”

“What’s the twenty-twenty?” Shoko pipes in.

“Satoru’s shorthand for twenty pumps of vanilla and twenty pumps of caramel. Be glad it’s not the twenty-twenty-twenty. Or the forty-forty.”

“Oh. Oh my god. I—”

“Don’t you dare say anything, Shoko. You’ve already made enough fun of me as it is. And why’s no one laughing at Suguru’s plushie?” Satoru stomps over to Suguru’s side, waving the server off with his order, and harshly yanks open the backpack’s zipper. “Suguru should be—” Satoru instantly shuts up.

“Heh? Why’d he stop shouting? Suguru-kun, show me yours, I want to see it too.” Suguru points hands the phone over to Satoru, who wordlessly holds the camera over Mini Satoru.

There’s silence for a bit from Shoko’s end again before she starts cackling loudly. Again.

Mini Satoru is petite but has a ginormous, cloud-like shock of white yarn spooled all over his head. The body’s one big multi-colored lump of a thing, with semi-discernable protrusions for the limbs. Great big sky-blue eyes take up most of the face; one’s bigger than the other. Little stray ends of white yarn stuck into their edges for Satoru’s beautiful eyelashes. Shocking pink little circles for blush and a pastel pink little stitch of a mouth. He’s still better-looking than Mini Suguru, at least in Suguru’s opinion.

Still, if someone were to randomly approach Satoru on the street with such a creation, he’d probably be incredibly offended, if he even recognized the doll to be him in the first place.

“SUGURU!” Shoko snigg*rs, “YOU ACTUALLY DID WORSE. OH MY GOD, I’M IN STITCHES!”

Satoru’s still silently turning the plush over and under in his hands.

“Got anything to comment, Satoru?”

“...This is not the cutie patootie I, Gojo Satoru, truly am.”

“Dude, that almost hurts. I’m wounded. You know what? I’m gonna have to order another serving of the pad thai to cope—”

“You’re making fun of me again,” Satoru huffs, hugging the plushes tightly. “Since when was it Bully Gojo Day?”

“It’s always Bully Gojo Day,” Shoko says with exasperated fondness, “I’ve gotta go now, work calls. Give the plushies some love for me—god knows they need it. Fill them in with some cotton or something, they look about ready to collapse.”

The FaceTime call ends, and Suguru is left to stare awkwardly at Satoru and their two horror children. Some staff members have been toddling around them, saying some things about noise control.

“You know,” Satoru says as he stares at his newly served food, “these aren’t too ugly. Like if you look at that from a certain angle.”

Suguru quirks an eyebrow in disbelief, making his way over to sit next to Satoru now that he doesn’t have to hide his crochetwork. “An angle from hell, maybe. Dunno how you’d find these guys cute other than if you were suffocating in purgatory.”

“The way you treat people will land you in hell,” Satoru mutters. “But no I mean like, a metaphorical angle.”

“Metaphorical?”

“Like…like a snuggle sort of angle? They’re really squishy and comfortable to hold at the very least?”

“Then you should have just said they’re cuddly instead of all this angle nonsense.” Suguru pokes a finger at the “squishy and comfortable” Mini Suguru. The yarn of the cheek depresses where Suguru pushes, and then slowly, very slowly, makes its way back to its usual place. Shoko’s right, they’re badly made. Their weaves were loose and the ends were badly tied.

“So what are we gonna do with these guys? Leave them in our rooms? I’m sure no one will steal them, they’ll think they’re for voodoo first. Maybe we should store our money in them.”

“Nuh uh, these are my beloved children now. I’m keeping them in my bags wherever we go and they’ll get seats wherever we eat.”

“Them? Your children? No Satoru plush for me?”

“He needs to be with someone who can love him full-heartedly.”

“Aww, what a loving father you make. I’m touched. What, are you gonna sing them lullabies? Tuck them in bed? Or are you gonna cuddle them while you sleep.”

“Shut up. You have no place to talk. If I can’t have the real Suguru to cuddle in bed, then I have to make do with being alone with Stuffie Suguru.” Satoru punctuates his words with an odd waggle of his fingers and an off-tempo fluttering of his eyelashes before barfing down the rest of his cake.

Suguru stares at him. “Dude. I’m not gonna leave the comfort of my room and bed to sit with you on your bed and keep you company. I need some peace and quiet after a full day with you.”

Satoru tenses his face in frustration, but it’s only superficial. “You never understand what I’m trying to say.” He throws Mini Satoru across the couch at Suguru, but he’s laughing plain-heartedly just as much as Suguru is. And they’re still laughing when they’re kicked out of the cafe.

“I don’t really feel like all of the components of the sixteen course…We’ll only get the lobster salad with the frozen red curry, the prawn carpaccio, lotus in a lotus, miang kham, massaman croquette, green curry chicken cornetto, pad krapow squid, chicken satay, soy meringue with wasabi yogurt, the duck consomme with the duck sausage and laab duck, the Iberico pork, king crab with tom kha—double the white asparagus ice cream please—the Hokkaido scallop, and the rhubarb soup—again, more of the pandan ice cream, triple it though. The street food bites and the edible bag too if they’re still available.”

“Did you already order drinks, Satoru?”

“sh*t, you’re right, I forgot earlier. We’ll take the full ‘Story of Gems Juice Pairing.’ Water for these two fine young lads here.”

“...Certainly, sir. We’ll have your food out shortly.”

Satoru nods her off as she collects the menus and leaves.

“It’s funny how they always think they can ‘get the food out shortly.’ They never do.” He leans over to fuss with Mini Suguru and Mini Satoru—now lovingly dubbed Gego and Gogo respectively—dressed up to the nines in custom-made finery. They’ve been boosted up by a stack of pillows in their chairs. Dinner for four now, as it seems.

“Well, no restaurant could ever with the way you order, lower your expectations. And what’s the lotus in a lotus? Street food bites? Edible bag?”

“Tuna tartare in a lotus, amuse bouche food stuffs, moon food bag of Thai spiced nuts—bag looks like plastic but you can eat it, no surprise,” Satoru fires off rapidly.

“Fun dishes. I’m pretty sure you butchered that pronunciation horribly, isn’t it ahh-mews-z boo-sh? Not ay-mew-zay bow-sh? What does that even mean?”

Satoru scoffs at him. “Bouche douche, bouche my ass. I know French better than you and can speak it better than you. It’s like hors d’oeuvres but bite-sized.”

“Aren’t hors d’oeuvres already bite-sized? God, rich people are so strange. No wonder you turned out so funny.”

“You certainly haven’t been complaining about me paying for everything while we’ve been traveling.”

“Dude. If I paid for any of our outings I’d be having debt collectors chasing me in a year’s time.”

“Are you saying that you’d be running from them? How illegal of you, Suguru-chan. And amuse bouche are specifically meant to whet the palate. It means to amuse the mouth.”

He pauses. “But you can amuse my mouth at any time.”

“Is this more of your nonsensical babbling? How’s it possible to amuse someone’s mouth? Or are you just saying I’m not funny?”

Satoru scowls. “Why do I even try. You’re being a bad influence on Gogo and Gego.”

“You really like this whole parenting act.”

“And you’re neglecting our pookies! Our most precious, brightest stars in the universe.” Satoru fondly ruffles Gogo’s hair. Multiple tufts of yarn fall out. “Woah…okay maybe let’s not display any more affection.”

Satoru looks over and murmurs his thanks as two cute little shot glasses of water are served. He pushes one into Suguru’s hand and grabs the other. “Here’s to our final week in Thailand, back in Bangkok at last.”

“Cheers.”

Satoru smiles at him. “We’ve been to a lot of really good places here. Khao Soi Mae Sai was so good, might have upset udon’s place in my heart even. But you really liked that Koh Kood Tree Pods place, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but my favorite was the Bannok Coffee Roasters. I liked being able to dip my feet in the water the entire time and shoving you into the river. Best part of the experience, would go again.”

Satoru grumbles at him. “I still have bruises from then, you know. I crashed into a gorgeous vintage car, two jeeps, and knocked over a stack of chairs.”

“Dude. It was like six feet at deepest. Just learn how to swim.”

“Last time I tried my instructor tried hitting on me. Actually started flirting with me in the water! Nearly drowned trying to escape. Who am I gonna learn from now? You? You’d start drowning me first.”

“You know me so well,” Suguru huffs a sarcastic laugh as a legion of waiters come with their food.

The food looks absolutely stunning, as expected of a restaurant like this. Very uniquely served and very elegantly so. They all fit on their table though, a first.

“Satoru…these portions are really f*cking small. Do you think if we went to Le Normandie or Taan or those other places on your alternatives list we would’ve gotten better servings?”

“Finally surprised? We’ve been at this for a while. And Normandie feels too European for today. Taan doesn’t allow children to dine in.”

“You know what I mean. Just look at that edible bag—what kind of bag is the same size as a nacho?”

“A doll bag?” Satoru shrugs and easily downs the entire carpaccio. He pauses. “You know though, Suguru, you actually don’t eat a lot.”

Suguru stares down at the meager shreds of crab before him and slowly looks back up at Satoru. “Don’t tell me that I should take that to mean that this kind of sh*t is my portion size.”

“No no no, I’m saying that you’ve got a small appetite. We’re at these places for hours so it isn’t too evident, but you’ll only eat a little bit at a time and take long breaks in between eating.”

Suguru contemplates Satoru quietly. He’s been working hard at demolishing another five dishes, but it still doesn't take away from his serious tone. “Nice of you to notice.”

Satoru looks at him somewhat confusedly. “Why wouldn’t I notice? It’s you.”

Suguru coughs and makes determined eye contact with Gego. Gego doesn’t stare back. “Well, yeah, I do have a small appetite. Really picky as a child and I used to throw up a lot—and I do mean a lot, like my mom was a big fan of pennywort juice and I threw it up every time sort of thing. She made it every week for a month before she read some article on the consequences of vomiting.”

“So those food quirks are actually true? I thought you said you were just f*cking with me. And wow, really glad you didn’t take the apple celery juice—you can take this drink, it’s phu*ket pineapple tartar with coconut, turmeric, Thai herbs, and rum snow. I’ll drink the passion fruit and yuzu.”

“Thanks, I guess? I mean, yeah, I was messing with you for a while but I used to be particular like that in my childhood. I’m very easy with food now, but there’s not really a lot that I like in particular and I don’t really feel the same about eating as everyone else seems to do.”

“Well, I’ve enough appetite for the both of us,” Satoru laughs. “Someday you’ll tell me everything about your tastes, and I’ll cook you the best meal you’ve ever had, yeah? You’ll be eating a full pan’s worth.”

Suguru smiles at him. “Sure Mr. Knows Everything About the Culinary Arts. I’m counting on you.”

Satoru grins in return but the grin quickly drops when he spots the rhubarb and pandan ice cream. “Oh no, oh no. My poor, poor ice cream. What have they done? Why’s it so meager? I even asked for a triple helping?”

“Maybe Gogo ate it.”

“Shut up,” Satoru says pathetically, making wobbly mooning eyes at the leaf-like shavings of ice cream. “This is so tragic, I’m actually never going to recover. This is a slight against my gastronomic tastes.”

“Cute lines, why don’t you shout them out for the entire world to hear?”

Satoru blinks at him sadly over his finished plates before inhaling deeply in preparation to scream.

They’re kicked out again for the eighth time this month.

“Do you want some?”

“...No?”

“Suit yourself then.”

Suguru watches Satoru very enthusiastically, very messily gnaw at an entire half-length of durian. Within the space of their usual fine-dining haunts, Satoru maintains professional, appropriate table etiquette if not a speed usually expected of diners like him. Out on the streets and at markets like these, Satoru does whatever he pleases.

Satoru trashes his now mostly clean durian shell. “You sure you don’t want any? This stuff’s so good man, it’s been so long since I’ve had some really good, really fresh durian.”

“I’m not the greatest fan of the taste or texture. Never got used to the odor either.”

“It’s not an odor! It’s just how it smells. I can’t believe you’re one of those people. How could I ever be friends with a durian hater?”

“This durian hater has been taking care of your precious children,” Suguru motions over his shoulder at the plushies squashed in his backpack, heads bulging out. “You’re becoming a neglector.”

“Food is my first love and love comes before children.”

“You don’t love your children.”

“I said they’re loveable, not that I love them.” Satoru blows a few smooches over at his “children” anyways.

“Whatever, as long as you don’t try reserving seats for them on our next flight or some other dumb sh*t.”

“That’s such a good idea though! You’re smart sometimes, Suguru. The pad thai looks good over here, want some?”

“I take offense to the implications of that statement. Dude, we literally just had pad thai fifteen minutes ago. And som tam and moo yang and nam tok moo and tom saap and yam woon sen—good lord.”

“Never a bad time for pad thai,” Satoru singsongs, but he doesn’t linger at the noodle stall and instead starts making goo goo gaga eyes at another selling mango sticky rice.

“Suguru, you know that mango is the sweetest fruit in the world? Carabo mango, at least. But mango in general is so sweet, my favorite fruit for real. Three servings, please. Extra coconut milk on the side.”

“You’re always going ‘Suguru, do you know this,’ and ‘Suguru, do you know that’ but you know what’s funny? I never know. And lychee is superior.”

“You live a really sad life, Suguru. Lychee? Come on.” Satoru darts over to another stand, leaving Suguru to balance a heaping plate of dessert and a cup of coconut milk.

He soon returns with a sealed tin can and a few plastic market bags. “Suguru, quick, open the can up.”

“I don’t have cutting wheels for fingers,” Suguru says absentmindedly as turns the can over in his hands. “And neither of us has pocket knives on us right now.”

Satoru gawps at him. “I…dude, what. You can’t be serious. Let me go find someone with a knife or a can opener—”

“No, wait a bit. Let me show you a fun demonstration,” Suguru starts rubbing the can hard on the ground, capped end against the road. “I don’t think you could ever be able to do this with your hands being as weak as they are, so this might be the closest you get to experiencing it yourself.”

Satoru watches him attentively as he starts gripping the can with an increasingly tight grip. “Do your part and bring over the rice—this is for the rice, yeah?”

“Mhm, condensed milk to drizzle on top. That and brown sugar and some roasted sesame seeds are my favorite toppings for this.”

“Okay, three, two—”

He and Suguru watch with not a small amount of astonished horror as the can bursts and the entire fourteen ounces worth of condensed milk spill over onto the rice.

“...It’s still nothing I can eat.” Satoru promptly dumps a third of a cups worth on top of the milk, the entire bag of sesame, grabs a massive handful of his concoction, shoves it in his mouth, and almost immediately chokes.

Suguru whacks him on the back. Serves him right for eating like it’s his last meal all the time. “I know your blood sugar can handle it, but that’s way too thick for your esophagus to tolerate. Look at you now.”

Satoru whaps a feeble hand against Suguru’s chest, trying to gesticulate—well, something at least—when suddenly there are a crap ton more people around them and the various, multicolored parasols start snapping shut.

“Aww hell, let’s get you out of here.” Suguru tries dragging Satoru out of the road but Satoru remains firmly rooted in place—an astonishing feat. “Dude, we’ve got to move.” Satoru continues to remain entrenched in the gravel, shaking his head in confusion and making a questioning turn of the head as he chews rapidly.

“MOVE YOUR ASS, COME ON, THIS IS A RAILWAY MARKET. YOU’VE LITERALLY BEEN STANDING ON THE TRACKS. Didn’t you remember anything I told you about this place? You literally researched this place too—no wait, your brain only stuck on the food. f*ck me for forgetting, I guess.”

At this, Satoru finally relaxes into Suguru’s grip and allows himself to be drawn into the swarming masses of people clustered around the stalls. They’re all packed like f*cking sardines, so Suguru has to squish Satoru against him, the sticky rice cocooned between them.

Suguru watches the train whooshes past and turns to Satoru only to see him staring directly at Suguru.

“...You got a problem? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

In a flash, Satoru whips his arms out and wraps them around Suguru’s neck, swooning into his embrace when Suguru impulsively throws out his arms. The stick rice crashes to the floor and gets all over their sneakers and those of the nearby crowd, to the upset of many tourists.

What the f*ck.

“Haha, oh my god, wow looks like we're stuck again, TOGETHER THIS TIME—nothing like that ugly little bathroom. Oh my gosh, wow, it's so crowded in here, you know, and so hot too, golly gee I just have no space at all to move my limbs—what if I just wrapped my arms around you gosh there's no space in here—”

Suguru eyes him with baffled amusem*nt, shifting to accommodate Satoru’s dead weight and throwing out apologies to the equally disturbed crowd that’s shifting away from the weird spectacle.

“I know you don’t do well with crowds and lots of noise like this, but you’re getting real close and personal, Satoru. The crowd’s ebbing away now though, it’s okay.”

For some reason, Satoru takes offense for the umpteenth time and frowns sullenly at him. “You’re so bad at this. How do you expect me to move with all this rice on me? All the coconut? The mango? My shoes and pants are completely, utterly ruined. Suguru has to carry me over to a clothes stand or else we’re stuck here forever.”

He makes goo goo gaga eyes again, this time directly at Suguru. “Suguru wouldn’t mind being ensconced here permanently forever with me though, yeah?”

Suguru stares at him stonily. “So you’d rather die a painful death by train?”

“...I’ll change my shoes.”

(Suguru ends up buying him new shoes and pants anyways. And a new helping of mango sticky rice topped with condensed milk, brown sugar, and roasted sesame.)

Sra Bua by Kiin Kiin: Reviews

Gogo Saburo
★★☆☆☆
i fear something dark lurks behind this place. the institution is everywhere. the waitstaff treated me like a deranged laboratory rat…watched my every bite and hovered around my table like they were gonna pounce on any morsel that dare escape my fork (they’re the real rats i fear, does that make me a mouse or a piece of cheese?). ice cream portions fit for rats too. despite being “children-friendly,” this place had NO CHICKEN TENDERS. i repeat: NO CHICKEN TENDERS!!!! i fear that they seek to deny nourishment to our loved ones in some sort of sick social experiment. no f*cking chicken tenders man. two stars only bc the kids got alcohol

Gego Sugoiru
★☆☆☆☆
I believe this restaurant is a front for a conspiracy group. The waitstaff seemed to have developed their own secret language, communicating through elaborate hand gestures and discreet nods. It was as if they were part of a secret society, bound by their devotion to peculiar gastronomic experiences. Complete and utter creeps. It felt like I was part of a circus or worse, a reality cooking show. I couldn't help but wonder if they were secretly recording my every move to inspire their theatrics…I cannot shake the feeling that I am merely a pawn in some deranged gastronomic study. The uncanny descriptions and elaborate backstories of each dish only heighten my paranoia. It is as if you are attempting to manipulate my perceptions, blurring the lines between reality and culinary delusion. What purpose does this serve? Why call it financier when it isn’t financing anything? It’s a cake?? Is it a mere game to observe how far you can push my senses? Or are you truly convinced that your culinary creations possess the power to alter my very perception of the world????? I miraculously managed to leave…stay safe out there, this could happen to you too.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Suguru stares dimly at the monochromatic walls and compartments. There’s some nasty odd bits of streaking on the mirrors. There’s stray bits of toilet paper on the ground. Ugly, ugly bathroom.

He yanks on the handle again, knocks firmly five times, listens, and stops. The door still has yet to yield. It’s terribly silent apart from the humming of the plane’s engines. There’s barely enough room for him to stretch out his arms.

He takes out his phone and stares at the darkened, inactivated screen for a good minute. He lights it up. There’s a picture of him and Satoru making double peace signs with Shoko’s FaceTime window in the corner; she’s also making a peace sign.

He doesn’t want to message Satoru, but he has no other choice.

Geto Suguru: I need you to come.

Gojo Satoru: omg?? is suguru asking me to sneak over? how shameless~ (ง ื▿ ื)ว

Geto Suguru: What are you talking about? I need you to get a staff member to open the bathroom. It’s stuck.

Gojo Satoru: OMGLMFAOFJLKASJDFLKAJSKLDFJKLAJSLKD LMFAO GET f*ckED KARMA IS SUCH A BITCH ISNT IT

Five minutes later, there’s still no new messages from Satoru. Neither has anyone come to help him open the damn door. He taps his phone impatiently in a quick rat-a-tat pattern before calling Satoru.

The call picks up and Satoru’s voice blares to life, tinny and just as annoying as ever. “This food isn’t too bad—don’t get me wrong, it is completely mid. But I dunno, I guess I was expecting like—you know, actual Vietnamese food? I guess they don’t customize by location. Bummer. This meal set has supposedly ‘tender and fresh’ shrimp but sometimes you can just taste that it’s been kept frozen, though the sauce makes it kinda okay. But it’s like adding fruit preserves to frozen yogurt—nothing can save ever redeem it. Horrible salad, the dried fruit didn’t help at all…maybe fruit in all non-fresh forms should be banned from flight cuisine. The bread’s as hard as a rock! No butter could save this loaf. The red bean and coconut milk jelly was not sweet at all like, man, what the f*ck even—”

“Why the f*ck are you eating?” Suguru sneers. “Didn’t I literally just tell you that I needed help? What’s got your ass still seated? The ‘completely mid’ food?”

“You didn’t let me finish talking about the wonderful probiotics pork rolled with port wine apple, goose liver, and truffle,” Satoru says derisively. “The meat is as light as a feather. Top quality stuff, in a junk food sort of way.”

“I don’t care if your food is sh*t or if it’s the stuff of the heavens. Get me out of here.”

“Did you try breaking down the door? Use your big, strong muscly arms and legs. Give it a go.”

“What is up with you? I’m not breaking down the goddamn door, this is an—f*ck—”

Satoru laughs hysterically from the other end of the phone as Suguru rubs at his head where he hit it against a protruding light.

“STOP f*ckING LAUGHING. Is it really so fun for you for me to be in this situation? I’m sorry for making fun of you when you got stuck and whatever, okay? Literally, just get me out.”

“Oh, but I really, really don’t know if I can help you. I mean like, I might be laughing myself silly when I come in. I might even slip up and I dunno, kick your stall door? Should I elbow the door open—or am I too much of a fragile creature to be able to do so in the first place? No wait—there’s only the one door in, one cubicle only. Ooh, guess that means we’d be cuddled up real nice in that tiny little thing of a bathroom. Wouldn’t you—”

“If you don’t come help me, the moment I’m out I’m turning this plane into a murder scene. Specifically in that you’re going to be tossed out of the emergency exit. Got it?”

Suguru listens to the faraway screeching scrape of cutlery followed by obnoxiously loud chewing. This rotten bastard.

“You’d never dare. See now, you love me too much to even consider trying.”

“I would.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would—okay, you know what? I’m done. I’m so done. I’m done talking to you. You can get someone to help me—hell, you can even laugh your ass off. But I can and will find a way to leave you stranded in Vietnam.”

Satoru laughs. “Fine, fine fine fine. I was only kidding! Your Highness will be able to leave his locked-up chambers shortly.”

Soon enough, the door clicks and finally opens only to show Satoru’s smirking, horribly bemused face. “How was your time in the lavatory? Enlightening? An eye-opening experience? Traumatizing? Excruciating? Tell Gojo-sensei, he’ll record everything down.”

Suguru glowers at him, shoving his way past Satoru in a full-body check and then promptly shoving him into the restroom behind him.

“HEY—NO WAIT WHAT ARE YOU—”

“Bye,” Suguru says peacefully as he listens to Satoru’s muffled shouts, “have fun with your time in the lavatory.”

“This kind of restaurant isn’t exactly new, I believe it started in Zurich? Anyways, this is Vietnamese-Dutch owned and it was just founded three years ago. Dining in complete darkness, so all of your other senses are heightened and your perception of food is pretty altered, so I hear. Almost feels like a must-have experience for someone of my profession.” Satoru flips over the triangular block in his hands.

They’re at Noir, a restaurant specializing in dining in the dark with blind or otherwise visually-impaired employees that just guided them through a cute little blindfolded game. Suguru did fairly well, but Satoru was an absolute menace with how terrifyingly fast he started fitting the blocks through their respective pegs at record speed.

Suguru hums in acknowledgment, examining the menu. “But won’t your hyper-sensitive vision affect how much of an influence the darkness has? I mean, even with the blindfold now, you weren’t really thrown off too much.”

“Yeah well, I’m gonna ask for a blackout blindfold, nothing like the one just now.”

“Hmm, good idea. Maybe I should too.”

“Why would Suguru need one?”

“I—you know what, I won’t tell. It’ll ruin the fun.”

“What? Suguru, you’ve gotta—” Satoru is cut off by a staff member approaching him to take their orders. “Okay, fine. Have your secrets, I’ll find out later. We’ll have the tom kha gai, the dashi cream soup, the prawns, the mussels, the chicken, the duck consomme, the loofah consomme, the lotus salad, the jackfruit salad, the honey grilled chicken roulade, the cashew nut soup, the quinoa, the prawn spring rolls, the sea bass, and all of the sweet delights offerings—extra syrups, please. And as for the other menu, we’ll take the pho dac biet with extra bean sprouts, extra fried shallots, and lime, hoisin, chili peppers, and sriracha on the side if they aren’t included already. Extra sugar on the side too, please. Uhhh, mien ga for my friend here with extra bean sprouts and fried shallots and lime. Thit heo quay, com tam suon bi cha, bun cha gio chay, banh khot, goi cuon, sup yen sao, thit kho tau, oc buou nhoi thit, and rau mong xao toi.”

“No extra desesrt this time, Satoru?”

“We’re heading to another restaurant directly after this—though actually, let’s do some thach la dua and che bap. Did we do drinks already? I’ll take sua dau nanh and he’ll take nuoc mia. And for the dining, I’d appreciate a full blackout blindfold, my eyes will acclimate too easily otherwise.”

“And for your companion?”

“He’s fine.”

Suguru stares at Satoru as their waiter leaves with their order. “Awful lot of toppings on your pho. Not that I’m surprised, but the sugar? Really?”

Satoru sniffs disdainfully at him. “People do add sugar to their pho, in Southern cuisine in particular. I’m just…going a little bit over the norm.”

“Right, I’m sure. And where exactly are we going after this?”

“This is Noir, right? Well, get this—we’re going to Blanc.”

“...You’re sh*tting me?”

“I sh*t you not. It’s literally right next door and run by the same owners. Creative naming sense. It’s run by deaf and hearing-impaired staff, but there’s no way for guests’ hearing to be limited. You do have to use sign language though.”

“Sign language? Are your fingers even dexterous enough for that? You were fumbling real hard at Big Knit.”

“f*ck you, I could sign better than you any—”

“Sirs, your table is ready.”

They both sit up, Satoru leveling a mean glare at Suguru and making a rude gesture. “This conversation is not over.”

Suguru watches in quiet bemusem*nt as Satoru delicately, elegantly supplies himself with a spoon of nothing and smoothly serves it right into his cheek. He tries again, and manages to get the soup, but moves the spoon with much too jerky movements towards his face and promptly splashes it all over his face before the staff can stop him.

He didn’t mention it to Satoru just for sh*ts and giggles, but Suguru has excellent night vision. His eyes don’t take the usual five to eight minutes to adjust, much less the needed forty minutes for maximum adjustment; in maybe a couple of minutes, he has a wonderfully focused perception of his surroundings, if not in color. Only in total darkness, where really only someone like Satoru would be able to see something with his hypersensitive rod cells, he can’t see anything. Lucky for him though, there are minute traces of light.

Suguru covers up a snort with a cough before setting his own spoon down. “You okay, Satoru? It almost sounded like you hit yourself with a spoon, be careful not to spill soup on yourself. It’s very unsightly, mind you.”

“Mind your own business,” Satoru grumbles loudly. The staff immediately titter at him to lower his voice even as Satoru flinches, auditory senses are heightened in the absence of vision after all.

“I don’t think I will, actually. You’ve really been my only business, these past few months. Couldn’t avoid you if I tried.”

“Your thesis advisor is crying somewhere out there in the world.”

“World? It’s literally just Todai. Just say Todai.”

“I don’t think I will, actually,” Satoru sneers, flashing out a hand in another attempt at pawing at Suguru even if he’s fully across the table. He ends up knocking over two dishes and his soy milk.

Satoru profusely apologizes while the waiters bustle around—if there’s anything good to say about his social manners, at the very least, he treats all staff members well. Off the record and in reviews otherwise.

“Look at what you made me do,” he seethes in a more muted whisper, “that was some good f*cking soymilk.”

A waitress mutters for him to stop cursing. They ignore her.

“Are you blaming me for moving your hand? Gosh, I’m afraid of how dire your accusations are. Don’t take me to court—my attorney wouldn’t be able to handle being in the same room with you, I fear.”

“You…you think you’re so god damn funny—”

“Yes, yes I do, actually. You know who isn’t funny? You aren’t. You really just aren’t, and I think it’s high time that you face the facts. It isn’t in good manners to keep saying I’m unfunny—you’re hurting my feelings, you must know. I’d even say that—”

Satoru thrusts out a hand in a halting gesture, this time not knocking over anything, luckily. “Excuse me, but I’d like to have the extra-immersive experience.”

The what now?

The staff murmurs their agreement before setting fresh cutlery on the table—and oddly enough, rearranging their…dishes? They then retreat back to their regular positions.

“Mind telling me what this is all about?”

Satoru aims a crooked smirk a few centimeters left to Suguru, probably as an unconscious movement. “For an even more intimate, sensory dining experience, we’re gonna feed each other!”

Suguru feels a creeping feeling of dread and apprehension. He flickers his gaze down at Satoru’s soup bowl right in front of him. He looks at his own bowl, now in front of Satoru.

Crap.

“...Feeding each other?”

“You heard right. The staff will stop you if you try feeding yourself and they’ll do the same for me. We’ve still got a few dishes to finish off so best hurry up.”

Suguru blinks carefully as he watches Satoru fumble a spring roll with his chopsticks and maneuvers it to about two inches away from Suguru’s own face.

He has to put on his best act. “Am I starting or are you starting? And how are we supposed to know when to like, open our mouths or whatever?”

“SAY AHH,” Satoru booms before the staff can step in, earning him another wave of shushes.

“Okay, jeez fine, I get the message.” He takes a bite of the spring roll.

“Hey! You got it! Okay, finish that off and then it’s my turn. I want the chicken roulade.”

“As you wish.” Suguru promptly thrusts a piece of the roulade directly onto Satoru’s face.

“OWW, HEY, WATCH IT.” Satoru earns a third round of admonishments.

“What the f—what the bedonkers? Your spatial perception is still so poor after sitting here for so long?”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” Suguru says monotonously. “Forgive my clumsiness. I’m really just so awful at gauging distances. You must forgive me, truly.”

Satoru hems and haws in mildly suppressed exasperation. “Says the professional teacher-to-be martial artist.”

“That’s just a fluke, I lied to you.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You definitely lied just now.” Satoru tries to shove a spoonful of rice into Suguru’s face in retaliation but he neatly shifts his head so that he catches the spoon easily.

“...What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb, you dumbass. You weren’t supposed to have gotten that.”

“Is this you admitting to malicious behavior? Gosh, how things have worked out in my favor. Look who’s dying in court now.”

“Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up. You can see, can’t you.”

“Oh but no, I just think you have stupendous aim, your special senses and all. Even with sketchy intentions, you can’t help but make well-directed movements.”

Satoru makes a suspicious sort of face at him, even with his eyes covered. “I don’t believe you, but sure. And it’s my turn to eat.”

Suguru nicks a large portion of salad, slowly approaches Satoru’s face, and then promptly shoves the food onto Satoru’s face again.

“Oops,” he says dully again as he rights the chopsticks and Satoru vengefully chews on the salad. “Please pardon me again, my fault.”

Suguru watches Satoru seethe. “You—wait until we’re out of here, I swear. Excuse me, but I think we’d like to return back to the regular experience.”

“I can’t believe you were f*cking with me the entire time.”

“Can you really not? Think about it.”

Satoru glares at him. “You are kind of an asshole, I guess. But your eyes are actually that good at seeing in the night? Damn, no wonder we always have to put up those blackout curtains.”

“Those curtains were for you originally, but yeah they benefit me too.”

Suguru nudges Satoru’s shoulder, pointing at an approaching waiter. “Ten-second alert, hope you’re ready.”

Satoru cringes, looking back down at the Ho Chi Minh Sign Language diagrams on the menu. “I really can’t do this.”

“No no no, you agreed to this, remember? Fully sign your order without pointing to any of the dishes, and I’ll fulfill a single, unconditional request for you. Most any request will work.”

“Anything? Huh,” Satoru muses. “So, I can take you out on a date?”

“A date? Why something so boring? We literally go out all the time.”

“You know what, never mind. I’ll explain things properly when I get that request.”

“Whatever you want,” Suguru says as the waiter requests their order.

“Uh, f*ck.” Satoru peers down at the menu and makes wobbly, vaguely uncoordinated signs for the canh bau tom.

He gets through a few more dishes with excruciating slowness and multiple flubbed signs before he wails and dramatically falls over onto the sofa.

Suguru makes a gesture at the waiter to show that Satoru’s okay, just as Satoru pries his eyes open.

“What the f*ck man? You just signed that so fluently!”

“Remember how I’ve been doing my own thesis work? I’ve been learning sign language in case I have students that are deaf in the future. It was easy enough to check this city’s dialect.”

Satoru groans, slumping down further from the couch. “Do you just want to see me suffer? Is that it? I can’t take this, I really can’t.”

“Your problem, not mine.”

Satoru sits himself up properly again, flapping a menu. “Okay, you do this round of ordering—guess I won’t get that request, but whatever. Tell them we want the kohlrabi soup, the smoked goose breast, the nem nuong, the pho spring rolls, the than suon bo, the breadfruit, the nam dong co sot tieu, the mi y sot rau cu, the palm heart soup, the dau hu bo xoi sot trung muoi, the lau miso, the combo ca ri, the buon thit nuong, the bo luc lac, and the mozzarella salad. And for dessert, just do all the menus available.”

As they’re escorted to their tables, Suguru watches as Satoru turns his glasses over and over in his hands. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing my ass. Spill.”

Satoru makes a face at him as they sit down. “Maybe your face just annoys me.”

“Wouldn’t be anything new. Spill.”

“I’m not obligated to say anything to you.”

“Spill.”

“Okay fine, just shut up with the parroting. I was just…thinking about that request.”

“Still thinking about that?” Suguru asked, bemused. “Was there really something you wanted so badly out of me? Did you want to embarrass me or something—have a field day with Shoko?”

“I literally said it—a date?”

Suguru studies Satoru carefully. He really doesn’t look any different from usual, with the same casual posture and vaguely smug countenance. “Are you f*cking with me again? What’s so interesting about a date? We go on them, me and Shoko went on dates all the time, they’re not too extraordinary or anything.”

Satoru actually claws at the tablecloth at this. “You just never understand. Ugh, I can’t deal with this any longer. I need to talk with Shoko.”

“Shoko? What does Shoko have to do with this? What do you mean talk with her? It’s literally always the three of us together on our daily calls.”

“I talk to Shoko when you’re not there.”

“What? Since when? Why? Satoru, all you had to do was tell me.”

“We rage about you together. I’m sure you couldn’t relate.”

“Is this an open invitation to talk sh*t about you one-on-one with Shoko? I’m sure she’d be down for it.”

“Wait—no—damn, food’s here. Let’s talk later after we eat.”

“Get on.”

“No.”

“Get. On.”

“No.”

“You really have no other choice.”

“No.”

“Satoru, we really have to go soon. We’re wasting daylight.”

“I’m not getting on that death contraption.”

Suguru sighs and kills the engine. He looks at up Satoru, who’s still perched on the sidewalk, clutching at Gogo and Gego as he levels a death glare at the motorcycle.

“Look, the bus routes are still being repaired and it’ll take us two hours to walk. The motorcycle’s our only option.”

“I’d rather trek through the desert for an entire twenty-four hours if it meant I didn’t have to get on that—that thing.”

“Satoru, we’ve been in Vietnam for what, two weeks now? It’s surprising that we haven’t rode on a motorcycle at this point. Haven’t you seen how many of them there are? They’re everywhere. You can’t escape it.”

“Watch me,” Satoru says pettily, “I’ll get a regular, non-threatening bike.”

“It’ll still take you an hour something. Where are you gonna get a bike even?”

“Watch me.”

“Do you even know how to ride a bike?”

“...”

“Look, if there are people who are driving in Ho Chi Minh with ten people on a single motorcycle, you can survive here in Da Nang. You even have helmets and gloves and pads.”

“...Can we just go back to Sapa? f*ck Da Nang.”

“That’s not a very positive attitude. Just get on, we’ll never get anywhere otherwise. Haven’t you been looking forward to Banh Xeo Ba Duong?”

“I’ll survive without it.”

“No, you won’t, especially when this is supposed to be our breakfast time. Please, come on, I won’t even say anything if you decide to heap sugar on your food again. Just try getting up here on your own and you’ll feel better about it. Otherwise, I’ll just force you on and you’ll sulk the entire way.”

“f*ck you, man. Not with you driving—you’re gonna kill us both.”

“That’s exactly it, why on earth would I want both of us to die? Especially dying with you, eww. And we’ll be fine, I literally have a license.”

“You—you have a what?”

“I have a license. How else would I have gotten this motorcycle? I got my first bike when I was fourteen and then another one legally at sixteen. Stopped when I entered university but I ride a bike when I visit home, sometimes. I have experience, I know how to ride this thing safely. You won’t be in any danger.”

Satoru gnashes his teeth as he tiptoes his way toward the bike, bit by bit. “Long hair, piercings, martial arts, motorcycle, deep voice—damn, no wonder.”

“What?”

“I SAID YOU’RE SO DAMN UGLY.”

“Whatever. Get on behind me and put on your safety gear. Make sure to hold on tight, I’ll have to go fast.”

Satoru buzzes around the motorcycle. “How the f*ck do I get on this? It’s so…tall.”

Suguru stares at him, unimpressed. “You’re tall enough to be asked if you play basketball. Just lift your right leg up and over. If you’re that scared, you can put your hand on my shoulder for support.”

“I’ll use your shoulder,” Satoru says, perked up again.

Satoru still takes forever to get on the bike, but when he’s on, he becomes a f*cking leech. It’s like having a ginormous sloth trying to meld itself into his back and on top of that, his knobby knees are digging harshly into Suguru’s legs. He’s also wrapped his arms around Suguru’s waist way too tightly and he’s wheezing puffy breaths onto his neck.

“...You can loosen your grip a bit. And move your head or something, it’s like having a dying seal taking its last breaths on my neck.”

Satoru laughs again, continuing to rest stiffly against him for just a moment more before he gingerly loosens his grip just by a little bit.

“You need to try harder than that.”

Satoru huffs a laugh. “Not a cute comparison.”

“Well, you aren’t cute.”

“You’re just in denial.”

“...You really need to loosen your grip.”

If anything, upon hearing this, Satoru tightens his grip again, clinging to Suguru with impossible physicality. “No! Suguru’s making me ride on this ugly, monstrous thing so he’s gonna have to deal with me being like this.”

“Fine, fine. Do what you want.”

Suguru shoots a glance at the bay. It’s a beautiful day, the light reflects gorgeously off the water, there’s little noise disturbance other than a certain someone’s heavy breathing.

“You know,” Satoru says suddenly, apropos of nothing, “I used to bike a lot. When I was a child.”

“So you do know how to ride a bike.”

They’ve been riding for a while now, on the way back from the restaurant but this time, they’re taking the long, scenic routes through the coastal areas on the way to Son Tra for a day trip.

Satoru’s all talked out by now, having spent the first fifteen minutes quietly rambling on about the local cuisine. It’s not like him to be quiet, even on long rides like these, but his silence has felt like a peaceful one, comfortable at the least.

“Okay well, I didn’t ride the bike. I used to have a bunch of cousins living around me—Gojo family things—and I’d make them ride the bike a lot while I sat on the back like a passenger princess, I guess. Or I’d ask my parents if I could ride around the block on the bike and they’d make a cousin be my chauffeur?”

“So you were ferried around in your grand old chariot as a kid?” Suguru laughs. “No wonder you turned out the way you did.”

“Hey! I was a very courteous passenger, you know. Not my fault that none of the adults ever trusted me to ride a bike on my own, unsupervised.”

“Well, could you be trusted?”

Satoru makes a tutting noise, flicking a finger against Suguru’s spine. “Once, I tricked my cousin into teaching me how to actually ride the bike. I wasn’t very good at it—I mean, of course I wasn’t—and got pretty scared so I screamed real loud that my cousin was trying to kill me. People started coming out of their houses so I got more panicked so I actually started riding the bike and rode straight into a utility phone.”

Suguru snorts. “I guess your parents banned you from biking ever again after that? Cousins regardless.”

“Yeah, they never were too enthusiastic about it anyways. I fell once in the garden and clobbered my head against the fountain, so everyone was just really fearful and overtly cautious for a long while.”

“Hmm. Doesn’t sound too fun.”

“No, no it wasn’t,” Suguru listens as Satoru puffs his cheeks out and blows out a breath in one long extended exhale. “Though I didn’t mind too much, I very quickly became more fond of watching anime and playing video games.”

“Digimon?"

“Digimon."

“So, I guess you never had any fun, silly sort of childish biking adventures like most everyone else had.”

“I didn’t,” Satoru whines, banging a fist against Suguru’s helmet. “Ugh, I was so envious of everyone at school. Why be Gojo ‘billionaire child’ Satoru when you couldn’t be Gojo ‘crashed a bike into the rabbit’ Satoru?”

“...I’m pretty sure any kid would have happily sacrificed biking for life if they could become a billionaire. And why’d you ever want to hit a rabbit like that? What’d they ever do to you?”

“Not the point. Bike riding was just…so badass? I dunno. Just imagine you at seven years old, pumping your way from street to street without a care in the world and me, all the way up in my too fancy, too big room wishing I could bike.”

“Well, you’re here now.”

Satoru chuckles, a deep, rumbling laugh Suguru would feel even if Satoru still wasn’t pressed up against his back, as he’s always been.

“Yeah, I’m here now. This is nice, isn’t it? A different sort of mood and atmosphere than usual.”

Suguru smiles. “Feels special, doesn’t it? I think this is the most relaxed outing we’ve had since our boating picnic—the picnic only, not the capsizing.”

“Special enough to qualify as a date?”

“That again? You really have weird definitions of a date—and a lot of other things too, now that I think about it. This, this is better than a date.”

Satoru laughs again. “Okay, I’ll accept that. Speed up a bit—I wanna see if we can get in on a sunset cookout.”

Suguru watches as the vendor pours a ladleful of mix into the waffle maker, presses it, and soon enough Satoru is eagerly accepting his final pandan waffle for a stack of ten.

“Want one?” Satoru asks through a large, snarfled mouthful.

“Only if it’s plain.”

Satoru mutters that he’s lame, but gently hands him one anyways, then turns to his remaining stack and dumps an awful heaping of whipped cream and spare berries.

Suguru nibbles on his waffle absently, standing up and leading Satoru away from the waffle stall with his stacked plate.

“Dude, you could have let me sit a bit to finish my waffles.”

“You were literally squatting, you’re going to stretch out the fabric at this rate and we’re going to return these rentals in top condition or else. Your whipped cream mound extraordinaire is wobbling.”

“sh*t, you’re right. There’s some benches over—wait, oh my god, hold my waffles, I need to get that.”

Suguru awkwardly holds the plate in one hand as it droops slowly, and his own waffle in the other as Satoru runs off to a candy stall, uncaringly pushing his way past a mound of children. He’s such an asshole.

It’s their final week in Vietnam, though they have stayed here a little bit longer just so Satoru could get his grubby hands on the Mid-Autumn Moon Festival’s special food offerings. As it is, Satoru actually adores big old traditional, festive events like this so he’s gone full out.

“It’s Tsukimi! Tsukimi! We don’t have kimono!” he shouted before, shaking Suguru hard. “We can’t go without kimono! We have to rent ao dai, we’re gonna look so hot together, Suguru.”

It’s a perfect night to keep in remembrance of the country, or at least it would be if Suguru hadn’t just spotted Satoru’s white shock of hair bobbing up and down in agitation. There’s an ungodly sort of hubbub around him and there’s a multitude of yells.

Suguru sighs tiredly as he stands up and walks over to the commotion where Satoru’s very determinedly engaging in a heated discussion with…a f*cking child.

He really, really should be stepping in, but instead, Suguru lingers in a more obscure nook and watches the proceedings.

“Fine!” the child shouts, “Rock paper scissors, best of one.”

“You’re on, Megumi,” Satoru sneers. “I’ll count on three, two one—go!”

Satoru flips his hand out into a paper symbol. Megumi very decidedly blinks lethargically at Satoru for a split second before displaying a scissors symbol.

“Yay, I won. The carp lantern’s mine.” Megumi reaches up his chubby little adolescent hands and claims the very last lantern from a vendor’s waiting hands.

“You—YOU—” Satoru seethes, “YOU CHEATED, THE LANTERN’S MINE.”

…And now he’s engaging in a very much non-friendly tug-of-war battle with this Megumi. It’s surprising on its own that he’s standing his ground so solidly, Suguru’s almost proud.

“GIVE IT BACK,” the child shouts.

“NO NO NO! THE GAME WAS MINE, IT’S MINE FAIR AND SQUARE.”

“NO, I WON.”

“YOU BLOODY CHEATED IS WHAT YOU DID. BY DEFAULT, I WIN.”

“NOOOO, YOU BIG BULLY. I DIDN’T DO NOTHING.”

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING A BULLY, MEGUMI? WAIT UNTIL I TALK TO YOUR MOTHER—”

“Satoru,” he calls out loudly, eyeing them warily.

“What is all this?” he gestures at the two of them, feigning ignorance.

Satoru perks his head up and looks up at him, hands still just as fervently tugging on the upper half of a lantern pole. “Ooh, over there I got banh tieu, banh in, banh dau xanh, xoi dau xanh, banh bo, xoi la cam, banh da lon, sua chua, banh lot keo cu do, o mai, a sh*t ton of che, che troi nuoc, banh in, and uhh that’s it, I th—”

“Not that, you dumbass, this. Why are you wrestling around with a kid? You’re above fighting children, even if you act like one.”

“This, this isn’t just some kid. Megumi is—”

Suguru stomps over and roughly separates Satoru from the lantern, gently pushing the pole back towards the kid and herding Satoru over to the side and by the ginormous mound of goods he bought. He puts a random pastry into Satoru’s hand.

“I’ll ask again: What is this?”

Satoru puffs his cheeks out in frustration, looking to the side and glaring at Megumi, who’s still standing at the edge of the crowd with a deeply bothered scowl. “...I won it.”

“Won what?”

“The lantern. He cheated, I was getting my dues.”

“You were what?” Suguru’s voice cracks as he pulverizes a random pastry. “Satoru, oh my god.”

“I didn’t fight him or anything,” Satoru harumphs, biting sourly into his piece of cake. “at least until he decided to break the janken honor code. He broke it! I won it fair and square. And he was seven.”

“Satoru, look at me. Look into my eyes—you, a full-grown twenty-year-old just fought against a f*cking seven-year-old. Seven years of age. He’s puny, your hand could crush his cute little skull. Do you think any game with a seven-year-old would be fair unless you’re putting up a friendly act? Seven-year-olds don’t have f*cking honor codes. And don’t tell me you didn’t put your full competitive spirit into beating that poor child.”

“I told you! Megumi isn’t just any stupid little child still learning to color inside the lines. He’s a vile, insolent little punk. The meanest little devil with no sense of ethics or morals or principles or—”

“Satoru. Do I need to repeat that he’s seven?”

“...No.”

“You’re going to go back to Megumi, apologize for your game of rock paper scissors, apologize for trying to steal his lantern, and give him a piece of candy or something.”

Satoru stares at him tragically. “The candy? Really? You can’t do that to my desserts, I paid for these.”

“Yes, really. I can, and you can pay for more.”

Satoru grumbles a curse as he picks through the pile and takes out a cute bird figurine on a stick. “This one’s just rice anyways, would have been for you.”

He depressingly makes his way back towards Megumi where his six-feet-three looms over tiny, sour Megumi with his rat’s nest of a hairstyle and impudent stare.

“Look, urchin hair, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you were raised in such a way that made you think it’s okay to cheat at rock paper scissors. I’m very sorry that you were raised without manners. I’m very, very sorry for trying to get my righteous justice served so harshly when you’re so weak—”

Suguur wallops him on the back of his head. “Try that again, but nicely this time. You don’t even have to mean it.”

He looks down at Megumi, who’s frowning at them even more darkly as if he’s watching a pair of teens make out in front of the television while his favorite show is playing.

He smiles gently at him, crinkling his eyes the way all his children adored. “Megumi, isn’t it? I’m sorry on my friend’s behalf, he’s just a little—”

“You’re just as bad as him, bangs guy,” he sneers. “You’re so fake and—and—you’re a motherf*cker.”

Megumi probably has no idea what the word actually means—just that it’s bad enough to warrant throwing it at Suguru—but still, Suguru’s pissed.

He continues smiling at Megumi as he reaches out and grips Satoru’s shoulder in a vicious grip.

“Forget it, f*ck this kid. Get the lantern.”

Satoru’s sullen expression converts into full, unadulterated smugness and he looms over Megumi again.

“Well well well, Megumi-chan. Let me apologize to you once more.” He descends elegantly onto one knee, coming up close to Megumi and staring directly into his eyes.

“You see, I really do—” Satoru snatches the pole and darts away.

“Satoru, running wasn’t in the plan. I can’t carry all of your sh*t here,” Suguru says lamely as Megumi starts screaming infantile invective.

“Sorry about that kid,” he scooches away from Megumi’s kicking legs and starts piling up as many of the sweets as he can into his arms. “But really, you had it coming to you. Learn to talk to strangers nicely.”

“You’re just a bad, bad stranger! You’re so mean.”

“Live and learn kid, live and learn. Didn’t anyone tell you not to interact with strangers? You should have ran the moment you saw the white-haired man with the candy.”

Suguru flinches at the feeling of a bony finger poking at his shoulder harshly. “Satoru, I’ll handle this side, and if you could take that—”

He turns around.

There’s a really f*cking buff monstrosity of a man, stopping at just maybe an inch below his height though with his presence, Suguru feels like he’s being looked down on.

He’s Japanese, wearing ill-suited clothing for the chilly night, and looks like the spitting image of Megumi.

“...Excuse me? Do you have a problem—”

The guy shoves past him, stooping down by little Megumi who’s impossibly cringing even harder at the new arrival.

“Gum Gum, I leave you alone for one f*cking minute and you start yelling and now I see that you lost the lantern Papa gave you money for? Or wait, don’t tell me you bought some candy instead.”

Megumi glares at him. “Shut up, Dad. It got stolen from me.”

“What? How?”

“Fought with this annoying old man. He stole it.”

“Did you win?”

“...”

“Okay, fine. Who was the asshole, your papa will go beat him up for you.”

Megumi looks up and makes eye contact with Suguru. He slowly lifts up a finger and points at him in accusation.

Suguru immediately throws his arms into the air, faking surprise. “Are you pointing at me? I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m sorry to hear that your child got into such a situation. My bad for listening. Though you really shouldn’t go around beating up senior citizens. Just buy your son a new lantern or whatever.”

The man looks at him in confusion. “The name’s Fushiguro. Just f*ck off man, I’ll beat up who I want.”

Megumi interrupts. “He’s a big fat liar. He’s the other guy’s boyfriend, they’re in on this together.”

Fushiguro stares at Suguru stonily. “Well, I don’t respect gay people.”

“hom*ophobia is not a belief you should maintain. And our brat’s a liar, Satoru’s only my friend.”

“No! No no, that Satoru guy was yapping on and on about ‘Suguru this’ and ‘Suguru that when he was blocking the lines, you’re obviously that Suguru guy.”

Fushiguro continues staring at him as his kid yaps. “I said disrespect, not hate. Big difference.”

“Hey! Let’s break it up, my good gentlemen, let’s settle this once and for all.”

Everyone turns to stare at the newly arrived Satoru, lantern out of sight.

“Yoo hoo, Suguru,” he blows a kiss at Suguru. Megumi and Fushiguro eye them incredulously.

“What took so long?”

“Finished the waffles,” he slings an arm around Suguru’s shoulder, smirking cheekily at the other pair.

“One round, me against your daddy here, Megumi-chan. We win and I keep the lantern. You guys win and I’ll give it back—no, I’ll also forfeit all of my goods over there.”

Suguru feels skepticism like none other. “You really want to lose another round of janken?”

“Arm wrestling!”

Fushiguro eyes Satoru’s stick of an arm with disdain. “You sure about that, kid? I might break every bone in your sorry little limb.”

“He’s right, Satoru. Just go with something luck-based, or let me fight him—”

“No no no, Suguru has to stand by this time. This is my battle to fight.”

He dramatically straightens his posture, looking defiantly up into the moon. The light falls on his hair and cheekbones handsomely. “Watch and marvel, Suguru. Watch and marvel.”

Satoru almost looks like he’s going to cry as Fushiguro gleefully shovels all of Satoru’s desserts into a gigantic plastic bag like an exceptionally greedy, reverse Santa Claus. Suguru’s seen Satoru cry before when cats don’t stop to let him pet them; he’s an ugly crier.

Suguru just came back with the lantern and finally, begrudgingly hands it over to a smirking Megumi. It’s the closest thing to happy the kid has ever looked. Suguru hates him.

He looks back down at Satoru and sighs. “Come on. I’ll get you some more food and we can go somewhere else. Let’s enjoy the night.”

Satoru looks up at him and smiles lightly. “Yeah, let’s go do that.”

“Let me see, so there’s banh tieu, banh in, banh dau xanh, xoi dau xanh, banh bo, xoi la cam, banh da lon, sua chua, banh lot keo cu do, o mai, a sh*t ton of che, che troi nuoc, banh in. Managed to keep some pastries...ha.”

Suguru pokes at a tightly wrapped square-shaped package. “All right, of course, at least I think. Sounds like what the sellers said in any case. You’re always very good at this. What about these wrapped ones? They all look the same.”

“That’s banh chung and this one’s banh gio and that one’s banh u and that one’s banh la and there’s some of that banh giay you like and bao. Ooh—watermelon seeds! I guess you can chew on them while you stare up at the moon dramatically and wax poetry like an old man.”

“I’ll see you on the moon first. You missed the mooncakes.”

Satoru grabs at one, opens it up, and sniffs at it carefully. “Rose, green tea, sugary syrup, coconut?”

“No rose, but you’re right otherwise.”

Satoru mopes as he devours it whole. “Maybe I’m just too used to the rose flavoring.”

Suguru watches as Satoru stops to lean to the side and peers at the lit-up waters of the river. “Do you know why there’s even a Japanese bridge here? Bit of an odd thing.”

Satoru peers over at the temple the bridge preceding it. “Merchants, I think. It’s got Vietnamese and Chinese elements in it though, the temple in particular. Reminds you of home a bit, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah it does. Been a long while since we left Tokyo.” They walk into the bridge, leaning against the guardrail and staring at the moon.”

“This is my first Tsukimi spent outside of Japan, outside of home in general, really.”

“Yeah? Me too. I used to go back to the country every year, harvest time was really big in my family. I’d help fold the dumplings and my mom would make the best Tsukimi soba.”

“Bet you folded the prettiest dumplings,” Satoru smiles at him and turns to fully face Suguru.

“You know, in China, there’s a lot of traditions and practices celebrated for Tsukimi.”

“Hmm? Like what, poetry?”

“Well, stuff like that, yeah. Also a lot of stuff for children and couples. There are some places where the ladies throw their handkerchiefs into the crowd, and the men would catch them and return the hankies for a chance at love.”

“Aww, that’s kinda cute, actually.”

Satoru stares at him for a moment, looking oddly shy, before he suddenly whips a hand out and throws a piece of cloth at Suguru that ends up slapping him, given their close proximity.

“Ow—hey! What was that for?” He fusses out the fabric and stares at the handkerchief.

Satoru stares at him harder. “Think about it. Just really, really think hard about it. Just for a moment.”

Suguru thumbs the handkerchief uneasily. “I hate to say it out loud if you meant to keep this on the low, but is my nose running?”

Satoru chews his lip doggedly and then promptly shoves an entire rice cake into his mouth.

“You know what? Why do I expect anything different at this point?” he mumbles through globs of sticky rice.

“Are you sure? Because you keep doing things like this and I really don’t understand—”

“It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine like this. Let’s just enjoy the moon together, for a last night in the city.”

Suguru contemplates him silently and then sighs, drawing closer to Satoru and letting him rest his head against his shoulder. “Alright, whatever you want.”

Ancient Hue Garden Houses: Reviews

Gogo Saburo
★☆☆☆☆
MY BANH BEO IT WASN’T SWEET ENOUGH. YOU GUYS ADVERTISED IT AS SAVORY AND SWEET BUT MY EXPECTATIONS WEREN’T MET…IT’S LIKE DRINKING A DRAGONFRUIT AND LEMON ICED TEA AND TASTING ONLY THE DRAGONFRUIT…y’all actually ruined banh beo for life…i’ll never be able to eat again…to hell with ancient elegance and imperialistic cultures. i hope your preserved traditions die the way you killed sugar.

Gego Sugoiru
★★☆☆☆
Mineth corse is a temple. ‘Tis an absolute icon of purity and divine p'rfection and I treateth ‘t and feedeth ‘t as such. I consume only at the most prestigious temples and tea houses and shrines and batheth in wat'rfalls. The city, ‘tis nothing to me, nothing at all. I doth not stepeth backeth in timeth upon setting foot on the grounds of Hue’s Imp'rial Garden Houses; I wast b'rn in and liveth in the v'ry spirit of classicalism. I 'rd'r'd the “vegetarian mixed” and this “stir-fri'd mix’d vegetables” though I doth not knoweth wherefore young gudgeon of the fryeth art did include in a “vegetable” dish. ‘T wilt has't been an 'rr'r of thy brusheth though, as nay gudgeon w're in mine own sacr'd plateth. I did taste the oil and kicked the bucket. Extra stars because I has't ascend'd to the heavens on the strength of thy off'rings. Ciao, mwahh <3

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Ieri Shoko: are u with gojo rn

Geto Suguru: I’m not. Why? Has he said anything to you?

Ieri Shoko: um https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ

Suguru clicks on the link and blinks at the title: “[LIVE] EATING 30KG NOODLES IN 15 MINUTES + CHAT W/ ME.”

Instantly, Suguru is subjected to the sight of Satoru neatly picking his way through really damn impressive mounds of noodles with just a single, flimsy, tiny little pair of takeout chopsticks. He’s only clamping small amounts of noodles, but even as Suguru watches him, he’s tucking away his food at quite a rapid pace. As per usual for Satoru.

The video’s already halfway finished, judging by the ever-increasing time length ticking upwards from seven minutes something.

“User Cheenygy asks why I’m doing mukbang when I’m already so successful as a critic; well, my dear viewer, firstly, my bestie once mentioned that I’d be good at it. Secondly, I eat all the time anyways so why not share my thoughts with the world while I do so?”

How vainglorious of Satoru. Suguru shifts his grocery bags from his left arm to his right and speeds up his walking pace.

“User SnoEats says hi, User Monroe Chavez says hi, User Nurma Hazael says hi, User Reggaerboe says hi, User Michelle Yana says hi, User Tearda says hi, User Edgar Manggion says hi, User Ysabel Bkl says—okay, you know what?” Satoru looks disgruntled. “All of you say hi, and hi back from me. Over with greeting the lot of you.”

Suguru speeds up even more.

“What am I eating, asks User Chowowow. Makaruna imbaukha with extra raisins and cinnamon and orange flower water—East Libyan dish. I like things sweet, I’m not accepting criticism, constructive or otherwise, by the way. I’m actually in Africa right now! Not in Libya though, but I’ll be visiting.” He shakes out a box of extra raisins and pours them all out into his mouth.

“Y’all have seen me eat some appetizers in the beginning—a lot of them are from the cities we’ve visited: Gondar, Marrakesh, Lagos—who’s we? Why, no other than my shmoopie poopsie—my best friend! In fact, my cutie patootie got me a small portion of this once, so I got some more today. Don’t tell them though, I’m not supposed to be eating anything right now. Let’s pray that they don’t find out about this, yeah?”

Suguru flags a taxi, one hand up in the air and the other furiously texting Satoru.

“User MochiiDonill asks why I’m not supposed to be eating. Well, that’s none of your business.” He says sweetly. Suguru watches the chat blow up.

“User Silverglasses9183 says they’re from Africa! Well, hello hello, I guess we’re on the same continent for a while now and we’ll continue sharing the same soil for a little bit. What have I done here? Ate a lot—what else would I be doing? Hmm, I’ve been here for a couple of weeks already. My snooku*ms is big on educational sh*t and culture so we’ve been to a lot of schools, museums, some mosques, ruins here and there, visited Mount Kilimanjaro too. What a person of culture and learning, my pudding wudding. Did I mention that I ate a lot?” He watches the chat buzz.

“I did? Well, okay. Anyways, so much good food. Some bad food…recently. Did I climb up the mountain? No, my feet carried me to the rest center. Choo choo boo boo climbed all the way through, my strong little pumpkin pie.

“User LargePuffer says I’m so f*cking hot and asks if I’m single,” Satoru puffs up, preening as he chortles an ugly laugh. Not so hot. “Thank you, yes, I do think I’m pretty hot myself. I’m single but—”

Satoru cuts himself off as he—and Suguru—watch the live chat blow up tremendously. “Woah woah woah there, calm down. I can’t read what anyone’s saying. Well, as I was saying, I’m single but I’m crushing on someone.”

He what.

If anything, the chat erupts into an even more extraordinary flurry.

“You guys aren’t surprised with the way I’m talking? Hmm. Who is it? I’m not just going to out my pookie wookie like that! You guys really aren’t surprised? You know who it is? Wow, you guys are so, so very funny. Don’t any of you dare try to spill the beans. They’re very, very hot. I daresay even hotter than I am, and you can see how impossible that seems. I’m not gonna say any more about them.”

The chat pings repeatedly. Suguru impatiently forks over an extra stack of bills to his taxi driver and demands he drive faster.

“Done eating, but I promised fifteen minutes of content, didn’t I? I’ll just talk some more then. About the food, it was good I guess but it could be sweeter.

“Didn’t I say it was a savory dish?” Satoru scoffs. “Like I said, I eat how I like.”

“Hmm, User Locochii asks why I look like hell. Wow, okay well thanks for sharing your opinion. I’m actually sick, I’m stuck at home right now so I guess that’s another reason for my new career as a YouTuber—don’t worry, you’re still very handsome? You flattering liars.”

Satoru peers down at his computer, casting himself in a very unflattering and yet still very attractive angle. It’s always those damn eyes.

“How’d I get sick? Well—hmm—it so happens that—”

Satoru squeals and flinches back in surprise as Suguru’s hand suddenly snaps shut his computer. “What the f*ck man? I was doing something—”

“Something? Something that includes live streaming you downing copious amounts of food when you’re sick because you downed copious amounts of food?” Suguru sneers.

Satoru throws him a tight-lipped, blank-faced stare. “Streaming? That’s so silly, so stupid! Why’d I ever do something like that? I was writing up another review—”

Suguru silently shows him his phone and on it, the ending frame of Satoru’s blurred figure and shocked eyes.

“...Shoko, that f*cking snitch. Okay, you caught me.”

“I caught you? Is that all you have to say for yourself? I did try to warn you that I was coming, check your phone. You might’ve been able to end your vlog or whatever somewhat nicely. I couldn’t care less about the live streaming, but you really shouldn’t be eating anything this heavy.”

“I eat however I want,” Satoru says mockingly. “Didn’t you hear me say so in the stream?”

“You got the worst case of food poisoning I’ve ever had the misfortune of witnessing and then developed such a bad fever you were muttering in your sleep about writing a will. And now you’ve just got the flu. I’ve never seen someone so unlucky as you when it comes to sickness, though I guess you don’t really get sick at all otherwise.”

“...Eating makes me feel better.”

“Idiot. You should be saving your stomach for some more soothing foods at the very least, why else do you think I went to the grocer’s?”

Suguru perks up slightly, making grabby motions at the bags. “I eat for a living. Who are you to deny my livelihood?”

“Your ‘shmoopie poopsie’ apparently, seems like I have all the right. And you could live off the money you have now for another fifty years at the very least. But who’s that pookie wookie of yours? The one you’re crushing on.”

Satoru stares at him, hands still from when they had just been picking through the grocery bag. “Do you want to think about that for a bit?”

“What’s there to think about?”

Satoru reaches forward, clasping Suguru’s hands between his own and leaning in real close, trapping their hands between their chests. “It’s you, of course.”

Suguru blinks at him. “Oh, wait—really?”

“Really.”

“...I can’t seriously believe you want to crush me.”

Satoru’s eyebrow twitches. “I want to what?”

“Crush me. You know, you’re crushing on me. You want to crush me. I thought we were beyond that. Though I don’t really get what crushing has to do with being single or not. Or why you commented on my being hot.”

“I—Umm—You are hot.”

“Again with the ‘hot,’ you’ve made that comment a lot over the past few months, actually. But I’m always at a regular temperature—most times at least.”

Satoru stares at him, the thin line of his pursed mouth wobbling as he pats Suguru’s shoulder with a shaky, but firm grip. “It’s okay, it’s just really awful street slang. Nothing you need to worry your handsome head over.”

“If you say so. I’m going to go cook. I’m sure by the time I’m done your superb metabolism will have your stomach ready. And this’ll help calm it down, anyways.”

Satoru observes him gravely, and then suddenly cheers, leaping up to wrap his arms around Suguru’s neck. “I can’t say no to Suguru’s homecooked food! I’ll be good and rest in bed then.”

“As long as you stop stressing your body out so much.”

Satoru peers into the kitchen, looking uneasy and vaguely embarrassed as he twirls his index fingers. “You’re taking an awful long time—you sure you’re not destroying the kitchen or anything? I know I just throw money around and sh*t, but replacing a kitchen is pretty damn costly and I don’t think the owner will be that happy even with new, state-of-the-art facilities.

Suguru waves him off, pushing him out of the kitchen. “I’m not like you, I know my way around the kitchen—or, well, I guess you do too, but I’m not a general human disaster. Don’t peek, you’re gonna ruin the surprise.”

“Surprise? Surprise! Suguru, are you—”

“No questions. I’m almost done anyways, just wait a bit.”

Satoru grumbles his reluctance but obediently leaves anyways.

True to word, Suguru leaves the kitchen soon after, carefully balancing a tray packed with multiple smaller dishes.

Satoru happily grins at the sight of the food, poking his newly supplied lacquered chopsticks at the dishes. “Exciting, exciting. It all looks so good! How’d I never know that Suguru was such a fabulous cook?”

“You never asked. Eat slowly, or at least pace yourself like a regular person for once.”

Satoru bobs his head in agreement, gently murmuring his thanks as he starts eating. “This all gives traditional Japanese cuisine—but this isn’t all Japanese, isn’t it?”

Suguru seats himself next to Satoru, who instantly cuddles up next to him. “Most of these are my grandma’s recipes. She used to travel a lot and picked up a bunch of recipes here and there, mostly Asian ones. Kind of reminds me of what we’re doing now.”

He smiles fondly as he pokes at Satoru’s biggest bowl. “She used to make me this fish broth whenever I got sick too, said that the omega 3 fatty acids would cure any cold or flu or fever I would get, perhaps the same sort of idea behind fish oil. It’d take her forever to make it—you see, she’d clean out the entire fish, literally the whole thing full and proper, and simmer it for a long while.”

“Sounds like she loved you a lot.”

Suguru laughs, nicking a bit of ginger from a side dish. “You think so? It’s always what I think about when I think about my grandma. Her best way of showing her love. Probably why I made my mum okayu when she got sick too, just as you have it here now—to show her my love. The genmaicha too.”

Satoru stares at the porridge, oddly red in the face. He is still pretty sick. “To show her your love? Just as I have it here now?”

“Mhm, exactly as it is.”

Satoru stares at him, flapping his mouth open and closed like a dead fish.

“Satoru? Are you okay? Are you trying to say something or do you feel unwell?”

He slams his mouth shut, pursing his lips for a short moment, still staring at the remaining dregs of the broth and the still-steaming okayu. “Just—thanks, thanks for this. Thanks a lot.”

Suguru huffs a laugh. “No corny, weird, incomprehensible comments to make this time?”

He stops laughing as Satoru flashes him a gentle, appreciative smile. “Not this time, maybe another time though. Thanks for all the love.”

Suguru blinks at him and then smiles back. “Anytime, always for you, Satoru. I’ll be waiting for you to cook for me someday too, I’m still waiting on that promise.”

“Even if you have to wait until you’re old and senile?”

“Even if we’re old and senile. I’ll always be waiting for you.”

“The neoteric nigiri, kosho salsa, Lambert’s Bay abalone with the black truffle kaeshi, Mozambican crab, Burnt mushroom custard, Hokkaido milkbun—make it ten milkbuns, please and thanks—the Fregola risotto, gamefish tartare with the avo and the peri-peri peanut, the Binchotan seared gamefish too with the pomelo and chirizu, the Kalahari beef fillet with jibuni and mushroom ragout and sunchoke and spinach and the entire sweet kaiseki courses set with the Madagascan chocolate with pumpkin seed and the rice ice cream with shoyu syrup and the burnt persimmon with yuzu and schichimi. Mochi too, all flavors. Thank you.”

Suguru watches as the waitress leaves. “Pretty good selection for a Japanese-inspired place.”

“I should hope so, FYN is a top-notch place even by global rankings.”

Suguru wipes down his chopsticks out of habit. “I suppose it has been a while since we’ve had so much Japanese, or well, some variant of it.”

Satoru hums, swishing around his hyper-sugared lemonade. “Speaking of Japan, got any plans when we get back?”

“Already thinking of what’s gonna happen in ten months’ time?”

“Isn’t it natural to think about what’s ahead after all this? I thought you would have at least—you know, being the detailed oriented guy you are.”

“Is that so? Well, I suppose I’d finish my thesis. Graduate. Find a job or something. Invest in stocks since a teacher’s salary is pretty sh*tty. Get a cat and a nice garden.”

“Kind of boring of you, Suguru. Not the cat though, good call.”

“Boring? I’m sure my lifestyle, no matter how extravagant it may get—which it won’t—will ever reach the heights of grandeur yours will, but I’d rather peace and quiet. I’ll probably just ride the highs from this trip for the rest of my life.”

“The rest of your life? Interesting thought. Still gonna think of little ol’ me when you’re dusty and living a stiff old life with the wife and kids?”

“Who’s gonna have a wife and kids—I can’t ever imagine you with such, don’t be talking about me.”

Satoru stares at him, slowly chewing his way through his freshly served ragout. “The reasons why I will never have a wife are very different from why you may never have a wife—though I hope they’re the same.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t want to see me get married? How bitter of you, Satoru. After I was gonna make you my best man and all.”

“I’d rather be elsewhere at the altar,” Satoru snootily bats his eyelashes. “Speaking of the metaphorical, improbably wife, what’s your type?”

“...My type?”

“Yeah, your type. You know the one—oh wait, sh*t—you don’t, don’t you. Suguru, explain to me what you think a type is defined as.”

Suguru blinks at him blankly. “Like a category? The normal kind of type. I’m Japanese and I’m a student, I guess. You know all this.”

Satoru wheezes a half-choked, half-whistled breath, ducking his head under an arm.

Is he f*cking laughing at him?

“Okay. Let me rephrase my question: What’s the ideal kind of person you’d want to date? Your ideal kind of partner?”

He waggles his eyebrows, batting his eyelashes again. “Bet it’ll describe me to a tee.”

“...Okay? So, a partner. Dating. That’s what a type refers to? Weird slang, these days.”

“You sound so old, Suguru. Someone needs to buy you a properly edited urban dictionary.”

“Urban what?”

“Nothing. Okay, so your type is?”

Suguru ponders for a split second before responding, rapid fire. “Dark hair, short, able to keep up with me in a spar, well-mannered, elegant in speech and actions, sweet and caring, affectionate, emotionally sensitive, doesn’t get into fights, considerate.”

Satoru noisily swallows a last massive spoonful of ice cream, looking vaguely perturbed and sourly thrown off. Then, he grins cheesily. “Wow! That sounds just like me, for real, truly, really.”

“You—”

Satoru starts counting with his fingers, just as immediate and quick-paced as Suguru just before. “My hair’s so dark it gleams gorgeous white, I’m short—uh—spiritually. Short-tempered too. I’m so good at verbal barrage and I can beat anyone in a thumb war for sure. My table manners are excellent, I move with uncanny grace, I care about myself a lot, I’m also affectionate to myself a lot, and I’m emotionally sensitive to my own needs—gosh, I’m so f*cking good to myself. I only start fights, and I consider how things affect me.”

“...What.”

“Aren’t I just your type exactly? Date me.” Satoru makes sleazy kissing noises.

“I still don’t know what dating is…”

“PARTNER THEN. MAKE ME YOUR PARTNER. PLEASE.”

Suguru tilts his head, confused. “Aren’t we already partners?”

Satoru sighs, rendered moot again. “You know the spiel—you just never understand. Dense as a rock, that’s what you are.”

“The body’s density is usually lower than most rocks' densities though? Maybe for once if you actually explained, then I could—”

“Someday, sometimes, maybe. But I’ll let you figure this one out on your own. It’s easy enough.”

“Sounds like an excuse.”

Satoru stabs a last piece of mochi. “If you say so. But partners? Us? Really? What’d that signify for your future date—uh—lover?”

“Signify? Well, whatever happens, they’ll just have to deal with it. You’re stuck with me for life, and I'm with you—remember? I’ll still be avoiding your babble when we’re knobby-kneed and misplacing dentures regardless of who else comes into my life and who comes into yours.”

“They? Ooh, interesting, I’ll think about that. But awfully assuming of you. You’re gonna be the one person who’s ever come into my life and changed it as much as you have.”

“...Sweet of you, I think. Wow, felt real foreign to say that. You’re never sweet.”

Satoru hawks a laugh as he flags down their waitress for the bill. “Gotta be tenacious! You said ‘they’ after all, I’ll chase any chance I can get. And it looks like I have one.”

“Isn’t—this—the most—comfortable—thing you’ve ever—f*ck—been on?”

“I wouldn’t say anything in the affirmative, but if anything, you’re the uncomfortable one.”

“Oh my—god—f*ck you—truly.”

Suguru laughs as he watches Satoru violently bob up and down on his camel, repeatedly enduring displacement and breaks in his speech.

“You’re the one who bought this tour, don’t go ruining this for yourself just because you got a moody camel. Don’t let your bad decisions ruin your time in Egypt.”

Satoru glowers at him like he’s seeing red as he manages to lean down in a rare moment of stillness to lock his limbs around his camel, head resting against the knob of its spine. “f*ck off, this isn’t just some regular old feisty camel. This guy’s an absolute bastard—worse than you and me! It’s like I offended his grandma or something, I swear he’s got it out for me.”

Suguru tsks in mock pity, flapping a demeaning hand in Satoru’s direction. “Don’t make assumptions about your poor camel—who knows? He might just be more intelligent than your average camel, knew that he should be wary of you.”

Satoru makes a muffled noise of offense. “So damn rude—but hey, you know who’s really f*cking rude?”

“What?” Suguru throws him a glance askance. “Someone we both know? Don’t tell me it’s Shoko. I know she bullied you recently but—”

“No no no—though actually she really was—no wait, I’m getting off track. It’s Nanamin and Haibara, those devilish little juniors.”

“Nanami-kun? Haibara-kun? The prudish little emo guy with a stick up his ass in culinary and Haibara ‘gives everyone free food anytime everytime’ Yuu?”

“Don’t be decieved, Suguru dearest. They’re seeking to outdo me—yes, out me.”

Suguru cringes at him. “Is this what insecurity looks like on you? You really might be better off as a narcissistic, egocentric, conceited—”

“Suguru’s funny if he thinks that I, Gojo Satoru, still don’t think of myself as the most beautiful, majestic, glorious epitome of human life. No, I’m talking about Nanamin and Haibara starting a f*cking YouTube channel. You know what they’re doing? ASMR and cooking lessons! They’re stealing my thunder!”

“So two college kids on a poor budget and mediocre editing tools are somehow a threat to internationally acclaimed and widely famous food critic Gojo Satoru’s food channel? Amazing what people can do these days.”

“Shut up. And that’s the thing, they are a threat. A massive f*cking threat. I dunno how sh*tty their actual budget is but the editing’s actually really good. I bet Utahime’s doing it for them, that little sh*t, she’s gonig to become such a pretentious film critic.”

“Takes one to know one? I think this is misplaced anger though. I know you might think Nanami giggles boundlessly at the thought of your company, but he really would learn editing or anything completely out of his range if it was to spite you. I’d have done so too.”

“Nanami would never be so vindictive against his wonderful senior…right? Right.”

“Sure he wouldn’t. But really, you’res saying that those two are surpassing your channel’s successes? Didn’t your first mukbang have, like, one million views and a good two hundred thousand live viewers?”

Satoru scoffs mean and low. His camel scoffs back. “Those two…they got three million on their first video.”

Suguru balks at the extraordinary figure. “Three mililion? That’s a bit too much for media newcomers with no previous reputation or advertising…what extraordinary juniors we have. This senior is proud.”

“Well, this senior f*cking isn’t,” Satoru hisses. “You know how they got so many views? You wanna know why so many people flocked to that video?”

“...Why?”

“A taste of the title, for starters: ‘Exploring the True Mindlessness aand Peculiar Pitifullness of a Wrongfully Presumed God of Contemporary Society: A Debasem*nt of Gojo Satoru.’ Long ass title.”

Suguru titters a giggle into his hand, taking care to make sure he’s loud enough for Satoru to hear. “You memorized that? Gosh, they traumtized you good. So Nanami is the one behind the editing.”

“f*ck off. That’s not even the worst of it. Those two…they have it all set up with a sad, sad looking little grey couch and they come on looking all grim and serious like they’re making a public statement that I’m like, I dunno, a serial killer.”

“Are you? You definitely are a cereal killer.”

“What? What is that supposed to—OH, JUST f*ck OFF, WILL YOU?”

Satoru slouches back down onto his camel, rageful burst finished. “The rest of the video…they probably think they’re so damn funny. You know what kind of sh*t they were saying? ‘Though Gojo-san may be a deeply inane, careless wannabe that only truly seeks to incarnate the quality of being annoying, he cannot be faulted for any of his faults. He simply is a sad sort of existence and we pity him for it.’ I wish I was joking.”

“Absolutely repulsive of them. Book a flight back to Tokyo right now so you can smash their skulls in with your knobby elbows. Embrace your inner serial killer.”

“I’ll start with you first,” Satoru says severely, like he’s about ready to throw himself off his camel and onto Suguru’s. Not that he would succeed though, he’d end up rolling down a dune. “You should have seen it. Powerpoint presentation all up and fancy on the screen with their cute little pointers and sound effects and business casual tone of voice. I hate them.”

“Sounds an awful lot like when we first met. And look at us now! This must be such a bonding moment for Nanami-kun and Haibara-kun—I should find a way to download the video so I can play it at their wedding in case they delete it.”

Satoru makes an off-tone, muted wheezing noise into his camel’s hair. The camel echoes the wheeze. “You—You think they’re gonna get married someday?”

“Who knows? Look at how cute they are, growing up and making professional-level presentations to throw down their ugliest senior. It makes this old man feel like crying.”

“...And you compared that to us earlier.”

“Yeah? It’s literally the exact same thing. One would naturally do so.”

“So when are we getting married?”

“Hmm?” Suguru turns towards Satoru, who’s determinedly staring at Suguru as his camel settles into a slightly less violent swaggering gallop. “You’re so funny. What wedding?”

“I—You—What? You were literally just saying—”

“I don’t know what you’re on about, why would we get married—you’re really such a funny little creature, like why are you even bringing that up?”

“I—Excuse me? I literally just said why.”

Suguru thinks about it, and thinks more, and thinks more. “I really don’t see any connection. You’re on some mad line of thought this evening, Satoru. Maybe try to get your camel to body-slam you into the sand again. Might knock a bit of sense back into your befuddled little brain.”

“Maybe you need a good wallop,” Satoru titter-tutters at his camel, fondly patting its head for once. “You’ve wronged me more than Nanamin and Haibara, even. I can’t believe you. Camel-chan here would have understood. It’s me and Camel-chan against the fine desserts of Sharm El-Sheikh—the world even. Suguru’s still slow on the uptake.”

“Who’s slow on the uptake? You’re just as inane in your blabbering as usual—”

“Hush hush, ride your camel and enjoy the sights.”

“Not too terribly fond of buffets, especially ones with such sparse offerings, but good, sweet goat millk and the bread’s nice and toasted and really f*cking good herbs with the mandi madfoon and the dates. Not enough food though!” Satoru pouts at his empty plates.

There’s a stagnant, offended silence from the rest of the guests.

“All fourteen of us have already skimped out on portions because you kept complaining that you’d die with a regular one. You still have the nerve to complain?” Suguru flicks his ear, unimpressed—even as he offers the remainder of his bread to Satoru.

“Oh my god, more bread. You’re so f*cking hot, Suguru, this is the sexiest thing you’ve done. Can we please get married?”

“Again with the random ass marriage mention. You’re so peculiar. Maybe Nanami-kun and Haibara-kun were onto something.”

“Shut up. I’ll admit to being peculiar but I’m not ‘peculiarly pitiful’ or whatever crap they were spewing. Now shut up for a bit, you gotta watch this.”

Suguru watches with a creeping feeling of unease but an even greater feeling of gleeful curiosity as Satoru careful unpacks a bag with marshmallows, chocolate, crackers, and an elegantl bundle of sticks along with a hitherto still corked bottle of alcohol.

“A night with food and booze under the stars? Not what I would have expected from you at all, but I guess I won’t object?”

“Don’t be fooled, Suguru. You do know me well. This isn’t for drinking purposes. Watch and learn the amazing one-night party trick of Gojo Satoru, available under select condiitons and environments in select company only.”

Suguru’s gaze flickers between their chatting hosts, the other guests, and Satoru’s enthusastic, exaggerated movements. They’re lucky Satoru wanted to sit away from the main group’s seating area, sacrificing the comfy seating and lighting and the dancing for a snooty little flickering campfire and blankets. Any more of Satoru’s disruptions, and they’d be mobbed.

Satoru violently stabs a marshmallow, makes a show of poking at the fire, an even bigger show of pouring himself a cup of whisky.

“Listen here,” Satoru clears his throat unecessarily as he jabs at Suguru with a clean stick, “if I manage to execute this properly, Suguru has to promise we’ll get hitched in Vegas. Like in the movies.”

“You’re talking crazy again, but you know what? I’ll take you up on that. I’d like to see you get anywhere near pulling off any sort of stunt.”

Satoru grins devilishly as he grabs the cup. “Prepare to see greatness.”

He watches as Satoru chugs an inordinately massive gulp of the stuff. He doesn’t even look like a regular chipmunk, he looks like one who’s been told it has one last meal to savor in its measly, sad little life and tried to compensate so hard it ended up choking.

Then, in very quick, successive and therefore unpreventable order, he sucks on two fingers, holds them in front of the marshmallow stick, exhales a much too huge cust of fire-turned alcohol, burns his hand, and starts screaming.

Suguru tiredly ambles towards the first-aid kit as he listens to Satoru’s high-pitched exclamations and the other guests’ own cries of alarm.

“Satoru…sorry to say it, but I really don’t think that you executed your trick in any shape or former that can be considered ‘done proper.’”

“I tried my best, okay! I saw it on Instagram and thought it’d be cool…Why don’t you try and see if you succeed?” Satoru grimaces as he studies the reddened, tender flesh.

“Instagram? You really believed something you saw on social media? Ever heard of editing? And I’m not so stupid as to actually play around with fire.” He crouches down next to Satoru, throwing the steaming, blackened, gooey remains of the marshmallow into the sand and unlocking the kit.

“You always think you’re better than me.”

“It’s because I am. You literally just thrashed around your poor, burnt hand in the sand, how much worse can you get? Hold still, I’m going to apply the burn lotion now. It might sting a bit—don’t scream again, or else we’re gonna get kicked out.”

“They can’t do that when we’re all ready in the middle of the desert. What are they gonna do? Drug us until they’ve left so we’re stuck with the pyramids and the skies and Camel-chan one and two?” Satoru grumbles petulantly as Suguru pats in the last of the lotion.

“Continue complaining and I’ll do it myself. With the way we’ve been eyed, I’m sure no one would stop us.” He wraps the last of the bandage around Satoru’s hand. “There, don’t unwrap, don’t try exacerbating it, don’t even think of picking around at it even if you feel itchy.”

“Yes, Mom,” Satoru mutters lowly as he studies the bandaging.

“Does it still hurt? If so, we don’t have painkillers. You’re gonna have to suck it up for a bit, none of us are gonna tolerate your amplified complaints.”

“Does Suguru think I’m that weak? A simple burn like this is nothing to me—”

He shuts up when he sees Suguru’s unimpressed glower.

“Okay fine, I’ll keep quiet about it. But…I really did want to have a nice night under the stars with some s’mores and a nice, warm fire.”

Suguru watches Satoru mullishly alternate between studying his burnt hand and kicking sand over the poor old burnt marshmallow.

“If it means that much to you, we can still do that.” As Suguru speaks, he neatly stabs a marshmallow and holds it over the campfire, toasting it nice and proper without any showy finangling around.

Satoru edges close to him, forcing Suguru to accomodate his slouched weight as he watches Suguru slowly rotate the marshmallow. “The stars are really quite nice tonight, actually. We’ve been to a lot of places with less light pollution, but I think this is the first time we’re actually staying up to see the stars? Kind of odd.”

“Odd?” Suguru muses. “It’s usually impossible to get you out anywhere past ten. You and your comfy beds and YouTube binging sessions.”

“Don’t talk like you don’t join in too. I’m actually really interested in astrology, believe it or not.”

“Astrology? Do you go around berrating people to tell you their signs? Try to find out if you’re compatible? Obsess over the position of the moon and planets were in the day you were born?”

“You always try to take this piss out of whatever I say, what a bully. I like the stars and sh*t, none of that math and physics stuff though—that’s for the astronomy nerds.”

“Do you now, Mr. Astrology Nerd?” Suguru decides to indulge him for a bit. “Okay, s’mores done.”

He pushes a bunch of finished s’mores into Satoru’s uninjured hand and gently pushes him back onto the blanket. Suguru points up at the sky. “Why don’t you tell me which constellation that is? Talk to me about it, say something fun.”

“Wha—Where?”

“There.“

”Where the f*ck are you—”

“Here,” Sugur snaps, grabbing Satoru’s hand and pointing up at the night sky. “Can you find it now? Or are your magnificent eyes failing you?”

Satoru just rolls his head over to throw him a smug look. “If Suguru wanted to hold my hand so badly, all he had to do was ask!”

“What’s so odd about holding hands? Do you want to hold hands? We already do a lot, with how often you keep straying away and putting yourself in danger. I’l hold your hand more if you want.”

Satoru preens, more tightly interlocking their fingers. “A win is a win, I’ll count it. Africa’s turning out so good.”

“Whatever. The constellation.”

“Oh—right, yes, the constellation,” he stares up at the stars solmenly for a good half a minute. “That’s the Big Dipper.”

Excuse him?

“Satoru,” he says slowly, poking Satoru’s cheek so that he turns and they make eye contact. “Isn’t the Big Dipper, you know, actually kinda shaped like a…dipper?”

“What? A dipper? You’re talking crazy. You think it’s named after an actual scoop thingy? You’re so funny, that’d be so boring.”

“...Why is it called the Big Dipper then? To your knowledge.”

Satoru scoffs, as if its a pithy, stupid question not even worth asking. “Let Gojo-sensei enlighten you. It’s called the Big Dipper because back in Ancient Greece, a fleet of soldiers were running away from an enemy attack and at the time, a common slang word to communicate running was ‘dip.’ They had to run faster, so some of them started shouting ‘big dip.’ They managed to escape eventually and when they looked up at the sky, they saw the same stars above us right now and decided to call them the Big Dipper collectively.”

Suguru stares at him, concerned. “Satoru, you sound like a victim of misinformation.”

“...Why’d you say it like I’m in serious legal trouble. And I’m right, you’re the misinformed one.”

“Satoru,” he says seriously, “do you really think ‘dip’ was a slang word used back in ancient times? Do you really believe anyone would have said dip when they ran? Think about it.”

Satoru squirms uncomfortably. “Okay—well actually—yeah okay, no.”

“That’s what I thought. Poor you, living all this time as a proud astrology nerd with all the wrong facts.”

“Don’t make fun of me!” Satoru pretend slaps at Suguru’s chest. “You try living with misinformation for years and see how you like it.”

“Years? How have you not ever been told that you…did Shoko feed you any fun tidbits?”

“...She did. That smarmy bastard. Wait until I can get my hands around her grubby little neck, no one will ever find her.”

“You have to forgive Shoko, I’m sure she just thought of it as a bit of fun,” Suguru says as if he isn’t inwardly laughing at Shoko’s misdeeds. He’ll have to congratulate her later.

“Always fun at my expense.”

“Right, right. Your expense. Now shut up with your whining, tell me more about the Big Dipper. Or, well, I think it’s Ursa Minor actually.”

“You really want to hear more? Even if it’s all fake?” Satoru’s silent as he stares into Suguru’s eyes.

“Sure I do. When all’s said and done, you’re very nice to listen to.”

“Am I really?”

“My favorite person to talk to. Now get to talking astrology before i stop listening to you entirely.”

Satoru beams, wiggling around to fit an arm around Suguru’s shoulder. “Okay then, I’ll talk until one of us falls asleep.”

FYN Restaurant: Reviews

Gogo Saburo
★☆☆☆☆
i’m just a GOOD OLD tender luving PATRIOTIC AMERICAN wanting a bit of his hamburger and steaks and eggs and sausages and biscuits with dish-gush-tang gravy and processed hot dogs and greasy pizzas and what do i f*cking find here?? this JAPANESE and AFRICAN food. where’s the straight from me mama’s kitchen kentucky fried chicken and slobbery mac ‘n cheese i so vied for?? why was there this…damnedly tasty raw fish on cold rice and these suspiciously heavily seasoned meats…this sh*t’s too flavorful for my bland palate me tongue crying out loud here. i thought this was a good old hand to heart american diner. the country’s going to the dogs, i say. The environment looks a little funny too…so many nice trees and I dun hear any gunshots no more. Too peaceful.

FYN Restaruant
Dear customer, I’m sorry to hear that you had such an unsatisfactory experience with our services, but this is FYN in Cape Town, Africa and we serve Japanese African foods, not American foods. Perhaps you may have left a review under the wrong resaurant?

Gego Sugoiro
★☆☆☆☆
Good grief and hell and tarnation, partner. Yee haw. I’m afriad yew got the dust in yer eyes. This ain’t the good ol’ country!! But yer also delusoinal, I fear, good partner. This place did do serve us some bonafide, hearty biscuits in gravy with your favorite mushy little scrambled eggs and barbequed ribs and sad floppy little pancakces. Don’t that sound familiar, partner? And you enjoyed yer food so much! How could you have forgotten already? I must apologize on behalf of my partner to yer beloved food stuff place, my deep condolences. Ta, Gego XOXO

FYN Restaurant
Dear customer, I’m afraid you’re also mistaken? Please fact check before you leave reviews. We’d like to request that you and Mr. Saburo respectfully refrain from interacting with our establishment again. Thank you, sirs.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

“Satoru? The rice has been kneaded out.”

“Coming, wait a bit,” Satoru’s voice answers from far away.

Suguru sits himself down on the grass as he waits for Satoru, staring out at the fruit orchards. They’re one week into their travels across Italy and on their last day of their farmstay in Anacapri.

And it’s Satoru’s birthday.

Soon enough, Satoru scrambles down the stairs, traipsing over to where Suguru’s set up on the terrace with the pounding motar and two large mallets.

He gingerly picks up one of the mallets, tests its weight in his hands, and drops it back on the ground. “Damn, Suguru, I don’t think I got it in me to pound the mochi. You do it, I’ll stay here and sob under the shade about how weak I am.”

“Come on, you’re twenty-one now. Perfect time to get some muscle into those shrimpy arms of yours. Let’s have a go at it.”

Satoru sighs, picks up the mallet again, lifts the mallet up, and plummets it down towards the dough.

It hits the glutionus rice with a haplessly soundless thump. The mallet falls to the side again and Suguru peers at the indentation on the dough. It’s virtually nonexistent. Satoru stares at it sadly.

“...Okay. Maybe still a bit early for you. We’ll skip the initial double pounding then. Let’s have you do the kneading in between hits.”

“Me? Knead it? Be the kaeshi-te? When you’d be able to hit it with such power and strength? Hell naw,” Satoru giggles like Suguru just declared Armageddon. “I’d sooner just crush my fingers myself. No thanks.”

“Satoru, there’s really no need to worry. I’ll hammer it slowly so that you have enough time to knead properly. You’re good enough at slapping sh*t with your hands, I’ve seen the damage you’ve done to those poor throw pillows when you’re watching those frustrating soap operas of yours.”

“Don’t judge my taste in TV, Mr. I Like Period Dramas and True Crime,” Satoru grumbles, even as he rolls up his sleeves and situates himself next to the motar.

He pauses mid-roll, peering up at Suguru through his sunglasses. “Are you really, really sure though? Mallet injuries really are not pretty at all.”

Suguru studies him, bending down to pick up the mallet and flicking Satoru in the ear. “Stop worrying so much, do you really think I’d risk you getting hurt on your birthday of all days?”

“You would.”

“You wound me. Besides, the pound-knead routine of mochi-making really only is dangerous if the two people aren’t in sync. And we have a deep enough trust to manage this, right?”

Satoru smiles back at him, flicking Suguru’s bangs in a fond, retaliatory movement.

“Yeah, you’re right, of course. Silly me for every doubting us.”

They go at it for a while, pounding and kneading and kneading and pounding. Satoru’s actually keeping quite well at it, dutifully pushing down at the mochi without even a word of complaint.

“This is quite different from any birthday I’ve had, not to lie.”

“The homemade mochi and pasta? Or—”

“I mean, of course that, but I everything, I suppose.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. Having an aimless sort of day. Waking up like it’s a weekend day and trooping around in an old shirt and pants making coffee and setting up breakfast like any other sort of relax day. Even at uni, it was go-getter and super-achiever sort of feelings, jumping around all over the place fielding off birthday wishes from relatives I’ve seen once in my life and partying with classmates.”

“So this is better? Not really having a special sort of day.”

“I mean, it still is special, isn’t it? Here in Italy with fresh fruit and vegetables and nice weather and everything I could want to feel content, including you, snuggluffa*gus.”

“Hmph. Well as long as you’re happy, that’s what matters.”

“Much happier than with past birthdays for sure. You know—when I turned fifteen, guess who came to my f*cking birthday party?”

“...Naoya?”

“Naoya. Still living with the family at the time, so of course it was always those huge bacchanal sort of celebrations, soirees officially. Every influential family, every rich kid our side of Japan and beyond even would come over. Mommy dearest thought I might be able to make friends with people in similar situations. Used to invite him over all the time for playdates.”

“So Zenin ‘Spoiled, Toxic, Misogynistic' Naoya was a candidate for your friendship? How awful.”

“Exactly! He ruins everything, birthdays included. Though it was just the one time with him.”

“One time only? Why’d he never come back? Didn’t your mom always invite him over?”

Satoru grins devilishly, motioning for Suguru to stop walloping the dough as he douses it in hot water. “Never ever came back after the party. Didn’t think I’d ever see him again, actually. Mighty shame he got accepted to Todai. Bet he only got through by legacy.”

“He’s never been too smart,” Suguru says toothily. “So what happened at that one birthday party?”

“Ehe, well, I started planning beforehand.”

“Beforehand?”

“Listen closely, Suguru. When you want to get rid of someone who keeps sticking to your side like a really f*cking determined leech, you have to go to equally extreme lengths to get rid of the leech.”

“When you say extreme, does that mean—”

“Yes, Suguru. I mean being annoying.”

Suguru sighs, pausing his hammering to look down at Satoru. “I can’t say I don’t approve if it’s Naoya we’re talking about.”

“Is that so? Well, firstly, I started to visit him late at night.”

“Late being?”

“Midnight. Then two a.m. Then three a.m. Then four a.m.”

“Actually? You really put in the effort to get up earlier each day? You should bring back that habit, would do us well in the mornings if you could actually function.”

Satoru looks at him confusedly. “What? No. I’d visit him every night four times at midnight, two, three, and four. Then I’d sleep until two in the afternoon.”

Oh. Oh.

“Almost feel sorry for Naoya,” he says quietly, “if I could feel sorry for Naoya, that is.”

“When I visited, I used to, like, fake breakdowns.”

“You…what.”

“You heard me. I faked breakdowns. I’d cry like a lot. Upset all the time, would bang at his door in tears and blubbering about some issue or the other. Talk about how the world was so sad and unfair, how hard it was to be as pretty as I am, and that I just couldn’t help but cry all the time and—you know—being so, so very sad.”

“How’d Naoya react?”

“Exactly how you might expect. ‘Oh! But Gojo-sama, you’re so hot and awesome, the world isn’t cruel to you—you’re just too good for the world! He didn’t get pissed off enough, but he started to get really tired throughout the day, hehe. He’d just take naps during our meetings.”

“So Naoya looked up to you? Wow, he really is a loser.”

“Shut up. Everyone should look up to me, I’m so great. Anywho, I switched to accommodate his ‘views’ and just acted like an extreme narcissist. Thought that he’d maybe see how annoying it was if I actually did act like I had like a god complex or something.”

“Don’t you already?”

“SHUT UP. Whenever we had to have a playdate, I’d talk about how hot I was, how everyone loved me, how much my parents spoiled me, how rich and famous I was, and I’d always be ogling myself in the mirror and striking insufferable poses. Would always say I was the hot sh*t and had the greatest fits too, even when I was just wearing my sushi pajamas.”

“Even during your night visits?”

“Especially during my night visits. And I’d always try cutting him off whenever he tried to talk. Especially when he tried talking about himself—I’d also just try to look terribly confused then. After all, why would this plebian even want to talk about himself when I existed? Utterly incomprehensible.”

“...I fear that some of those habits accompanied you in early uni. No wonder I avoided you.”

“And all for naught! To think that we could have been friends for a couple years more. Being egomanical still didn’t stop him, surprisingly. So I started being a flake.”

“A what?”

“You know, a flake. Unreliable, impractical, always abandoning him and failing to follow through with plans.”

“Umm. Wow. Okay.”

“I really tried so hard to make it seem like I wanted to be his friend, but just couldn’t. Started calling him to make elaborate, convoluted plans to meet up and then I’d just sit and home and not show up. Fielded his calls and showed up at midnight as per usual saying sh*t like ‘I completely forgot!’ or ‘I just couldn’t stop watching the new Digimon episode’ or even ‘I fell into a trance staring at myself in the mirror.’”

“Don’t tell me he still persisted with trying to be your friend after all that. God knows I would have slaughtered you by then, if I hadn’t already tried before.”

“You’re so cute, Suguru. Naoya’s built different though, maybe just a plain idiot. He must have gotten dropped on the head a fair number of times, something wrong with how eager he still was.”

“You and him both. Why didn’t you just lie to your mom and say that he was like trying to get in your good graces so he could usurp you later on?”

“...This was funnier.”

“Of course. You found it funny.”

“Of course I did! Let me finish storytelling. So on the fateful day of, I pretended like he just didn’t exist. Gaslighted him.”

“Gas lit him? Like…with gasoline and a match?”

“NO, WHAT THE f*ck? I meant like manipulation. Psychology. Crazy talk.”

“...Your family didn’t do anything?”

“Birthday privileges. Asked them to ignore Naoya for the day as a social experiment, they agreed, of course.”

“The whole day I went around the place loudly asking where Naoya was and how odd it was that he wasn’t there. Screamed and sh*t when he was right next to me. Wondered out lout if there was a ghost or something when he started poking at me. Stared straight at him but kinda like I was looking past him while talking. Gave him a few lead ons, like walking faster when he was nearby. Of course, everyone else just ignored his complaints.”

“That’s so mean. Continue on.”

“Last bit was at dinner. He sat right next to me—of course. I ate everything he put on his plate. Like he’d be reaching out for a gyoza and I’d take it before he could. I gushed really loudly about how good everything was, how wonderful the textures were, how much of a shame it was that Naoya couldn’t be there.”

“Did he cry at the end?”

“Buckets! And that was the reason why I became a foodie.”

Suguru stares at him, astonished. “What?”

“You heard right. I keep surprising you today! I kept raving about the food and found that it was actually kinda fun, and Naoya really, really looked like he didn’t want to listen to me. So I started learning about cuisines and stuff and trying more foods, and Naoya vanished from my life at last. I’ve genuinely grown into this career though, make no mistake.”

“No one would think you aren’t being genuine, with the way you eat. What an interesting…origin story.”

“Isn’t it! And now, here I am, six years later. Very much not having to deal with that annoying brat anymore.”

Suguru drops the mallet, gathering the dough up and gesturing for Satoru to open up the cutter. “And now you’re stuck with me, Shoko, and most horribly, yourself. Go get the cutters and fruits and whatever it is that you want in your mochi, we have to hurry if we want to get everything done in time. Our reservation’s at five.”

“It’s very pretty in here. The blue’s so relaxing.”

“My eyes are prettier.”

“Just shut up for a minute, would you.”

Satoru huffs incredulously, but he does quiet down, instead turning to rummage through their picnic basket.

“I really can’t believe that you’re taking me on another boating picnic—after what happened last time, I’d think that you’d never want me within a ten-mile radius of a any sort of waterborne vehicle.”

“This place was too nice to pass up. And its just a rowboat, so I could take charge without your noodle limbs endangering the both of us.”

“Talk about my gorgeous noodle limbs again and you aren’t getting any of the mochi. Or the napolitan. Or the—”

“Okay okay, I get it.”

Suguru sets down the oar, examining the stalactites and corridors of rock around them. Everything’s awash in a luminescent, crystalline sort of azure blue with silvery reflections. It’s all very reminiscent of Satoru himself, if in beauty only.

Satoru passes him his container of the pasta, the clinking movements echoing off the walls. “

“Happy birthday, Satoru. A shame that Shoko can’t be here with us. I know she’s always been there for your birthdays.”

Satoru smiles down at his own container. “Yeah, well, it’s fine with just you here. Better even, you still make fun of me but Shoko’s not as easy to bite back at. Untouchable.”

“That’s Shoko for you alright. But she did say she’s shipped out your gift, it’ll be at our rental in Rome.”

“And where’s your gift?”

“Mine? It’s been all this, being here with you and making pasta and mochi with you and coming out to this grotto.”

“How sweet! I still want more.”

“More?” Suguru quirks a questioning eyebrow. “I can’t really go and buy you something special this late…maybe if you stayed home I could go to the markets but…”

“Perfectly fine.” Satoru leers at him ominously. The upwards glow from the water doesn’t help his image. “Be my boyfriend.”

“I am though?" He asks confusedly. "I’m a boy…and I’m your friend…”

“NOOOOO LIKE DATING—f*ck—LIKE LOVEY DOVEY AND sh*t.”

“…Lovey dovey?”

“Special hugs! Hand holding! Dates! KISSING!”

“Don’t we do all that already? I keep saying.”

“Not the kissing.”

Suguru leans over and pecks him on the cheek. Satiry stares back, flabbergasted and red in the face, though it doesn’t show in the lighting.

“There we go—Satoru? Are you okay?”

Satoru wheezes out something unintelligible, tilts backwards, grabs at his food, and falls into the water. The pasta and mochi with him.

“Suguru, why do you think that waitress keeps staring at us?”

“Is she now? That grumpy little old lady right there? Maybe it’s because—I dunno—you’re going to order all the antipasti dishes and all the first courses and all the second courses and all the sides and they’re going to have to put together at least six of these tiny little tables together for you? Maybe she’s pissed as the very thought.”

Satoru aggressively grabs a piece of garlic bread in refutation. “It’s not like I haven’t been doing that at every single restaurant with every single server. What makes this one different? I haven’t even ordered yet.”

“Your luck ran out. How does it feel to have your first true hater in the culinary world? Are you shivering in fear yet? Quick, put your coat back on.”

“You’re the cold one,” Satoru bites back lamely. “And I’ll repeat: I haven’t even ordered yet, how’d she be pissed just looking at me?”

“It’s your big blue, glowy eyes. They’re suspicious.”

“f*ck off,” Satoru sneers, inquisitively munching on the bread before nodding his head in appreciation and proceeding to scarf down all seven of the other slices all at once.

Suguru winces at the sight, shoving a napkin at Satoru as the waitress approaches them.

“Ready to order?

“Mhm,” Satoru does a complete one-eighty, giving the waitress a polite little smile as if he hadn’t just been throwing curses around. “The watermelon, tomato, and goat cheese; croutons with coratella pate and figs; the aubergine, ginger and chili caponata, cod and potato croquettes but ease up on the basil pesto; the horse tartare with yolk and pecorino; the rigatoni with pajata and again ease up on the colatura; pici alla gricia; gnoccheti with scampi cream and lots of extra stracciatella; spaghettoni with gratinated tomatoes and fennel; the tagliatelle eggplant and less of the marjoram and the seasoned ricotta.”

Satoru ruminates as Suguru stares sourly at him for a moment before promptly proceeding to list out the rest of the menu. “Ehh, let’s see. The sheep meatballs and take it easy on the white wine and chard, pork pan with cherry tomatoes and olives and rosemary, cod in oil with the courgettes and extra raisins and pine nuts, chicken spit alla diavola with sauteed peppers, peposo heart of beef with the green sauce and roasted onions, and the duck breasts with peaches in wine and again, easy on the wine. Sides too! The smashed potatoes, the sauteed herbs, the salad…oh wow, I suppose that’s all the sides.”

“That’s literally the entire menu too, if you care to mention it.”

“Have to appreciate all the offerings!” Satoru grins as he waits for the waitress to finish writing and immediately tears off a chunk of garlic bread. “So what traditional pastas can we ask for?”

The waitress pauses from where she’s scribbling up Satoru’s lengthy order. “Cacio e pepe, carbonara, amatriciana, alla gricina, spaghetti aglio.”

Satoru hems and haws as if he hasn’t already made up his mind. “Can we get a carbonara? But without the pork please, just plain carbonara.”

“No, you wouldn’t like it.”

What.

Suguru makes a surprised sort of gasping wheeze as Satoru plainly gapes at the waitress, blinking rapidly as he retracts a hand from the bread basket.

“...Excuse me?” Satoru asks edgily.

“We use lardons here, smoked bakon lardons. Broccoli too. You wouldn’t like them. Stick with the others instead.”

Is she for real? Suguru makes eye contact with Satoru from across the table.

Don’t ask me. Satoru throws him an exasperated look before clearing his throat and turning back to the waitress.

“I’m sorry, but lardon isn’t an issue for me or my dining companion here. We also both love broccoli. This is our first time visiting this establishment too, we’d appreciate it if you didn’t—err—assume our preferences.”

The waitress stares back at him grimly. “Take the cacio e pepe instead.”

Suguru can see that Satoru’s about to f*cking lose it, so he intervenes. “Sorry, but my friend here really would like to try your carbonara. Even if we end up disliking it, we won’t hold it against the staff or kitchen or anything.”

“Cacio e pepe.”

Suguru makes eye contact with Satoru again, who’s plastered on an extremely fake half-smile half-grimace of civility on his face. His right hand is squishing a piece of garlic bread into mushy, lamentable bits of garlicky slush.

“Listen here, I—”

“Satoru, let’s think about this for a while, yeah? Excuse me, ma’am, we’ll see about the traditional pasta dishes later.”

The waitress throws him an off look, nods, and leaves.

They both watch her walk off in dead silence for a minute and then immeidately turn to each other.

“What the f*ck was that?” Satoru hisses. “Like, I get when people are like ‘oh, you shouldn’t get this, personally I think that the dish kinda bad’ but this is a quality place, none of the dishes are bad. She didn’t say that the dish was unavailable or something…That wasn’t even a f*cking recommendation—hey, what the f*ck are you doing? Meditation?”

Suguru doesn’t respond, instead taking a deep breath, hands to chest, head tilted towards the ceiling, eyes closed. He asks himself: Is it worth my time, our time, to get upset over this? Should we simply…move on?

He cracks an eye open, peering at Satoru, who’s petulantly and somewhat moodily tearing apart another piece of garlic bread. Basket must have been restocked.

f*ck allowing myself to move on.

“Satoru,” he starts sweetly, “forget about the carbonara for now, enjoy everything else we’ve ordered.”

“Wha—but you saw how that waitress—”

“For now, I said. How do you feel about coming back later?”

“...Later?”

“Mhm. Not particularly as Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. Maybe as random, never to be seen again, rude bitches that give a hell of a serving experience.”

Satoru gawps at him, as he’s oft to do, and then grins at him, as he always follows with. “I’m all for it.”

“Stop fussing.”

“It’s itchy.”

“Then stop fussing.”

“But it’s itchy.”

‘THEN STOP f*ckING FUSSING.”

Satoru reluctantly stops picking at his bald cap, gripping his hands together tightly. “I can’t help it if my beautiful, lucious locks are trying to break free to rest in their natural state of being. Why wasn’t it me who got the extensions.”

Suguru stills from where he’s trying to smooth out the last few inches of his now knee-long, glossy, absolutely wondrous, princess-level tresses. “Wow, gosh, I really don’t know. Maybe it was because I already have long hair? What a thunderous realization, I’m shaking in my heels. Almost as violently as you are, isn’t it impressive?”

Satoru fums, lurching forward in perhaps an attempt at either making a rude gesture or shoving Suguru but instead, he just ends up toddling forward dangerously on his stilettos and ends up crumbling into a wretched little heap on the ground. His petticoats warble in the air about him.

“You’re going to ruin your very lovely dress there, you know. Some five-year-old little girlie is boohooing that she can’t run away on a pony into her magical little castle and here you are, with it all and underappreciating everything. I did pay a lot for that.”

“f*ck. Off.” Satoru begrudgingly holds his hands up into the air and Suguru hoists him back up. “I’ve never worn a dress—how do I even sit in this—and heels before or had this much makeup—you know, being naturally gifted with earthshattering levels of beauty.”

“Lift up the skirts or something. Text Shoko, she’s always still up at three a.m. Are you saying I’m not earthshatteringly beautiful either? I’m offended, Satoru-chan, do I look like I’ve ever had to wear makeup like this either? And it’s my first time in a dress and heels too.”

“You for real? You haven’t wobbled even a little bit in those heels. Why do you get the form-fitting dress anyways? This one’s such a pain in the ass.”

“Martial arts. Balance training. I have the figure, you don’t.”

“...Sure.”

Satoru dusts off his dress and then flips out a handheld mirror, inspecting his newly created beauty marks and mascara. “No smudging!”

“Of course there wouldn’t be, I bought very top-notch stuff, Shoko recommendations.” Suguru shifts his massive tote bag about his shoulder, nuding Satoru with his other arm. “It seems like we can head in for dinner now.”

“Shoko? No wonder.” Satoru unsteadily toddles his way through the sidewalk. “Did she say anything about—uh—your requests?”

Suguru gives up, lending him a supportive arm. “Does laughing her ass off count? She said that she’d tell Utahime too, she’s the one who recommended going full out with dressing up as women, actually. Shoko also says to send pics.”

“Damn Utahime,” Satoru grumbles, “and damn Shoko too. Why couldn’t we have gone with beards and hats? Those two always just want to see us suffer.”

“See you suffer, I think. I’m doing just splendidly here.”

“I can see that very well,” Satoru grumbles as they approach the host stand.

“Table for four, please,” he asks in a high-pitched, grossly unrealistic Italian accent. They aren’t even disguised as Italians.

The staff member smiles at them. “Will the other two guests be joining you shortly?”

“Oh no, they’re already here.”

They stare at Satoru funnily. “I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t see any—”

“Hang on,” Suguru interrupts, unzipping his bag. “Give me just one quick moment.”

The staff watches in mild bafflement, which quickly transforms into full-bodied horror as Suguru digs out their purgatory children from sweet, fiery hell.

All three of them stare at one another. Satoru blinks his mud brown eyes. Gogo and Gego stare blankly at the door.

“Don’t look at them that way,” Satoru says in a hushed whisper. “Our children have been…experimenting with makeup recently. You know how it is: two moms, lots of makeup everywhere. Hard to keep the kids out of the drawers. They get touchy if people comment.”

“Your children,” the staff states flatly.

“Our pride and joys,” Suguru fondly pats Gogo’s hideous mound of hair. Another few straggles of loose yarn fall out. “Please don’t mind that they were in the bag, it’s a comfort space for them. Air isn’t an issue for them either, born with special lungs. We’re quite proud.”

“Proud indeed,” Satoru vigorously bobs his head up and down. His cap jiggles. “You see, it was very hard to have our children. You know, with our being, uh—uh—what’s the word?”

Suguru stares blankly back at Satoru. “...Sapphics?”

“...Isn’t it lesbians?”

They stare at each other dumbly.

The staff clears their throat. “I believe sapphics include lesbians.”

“Same difference then,” Satoru flaps a hand. “As long as you guys are inclusive.”

He suddenly leers towards the staff member. “Which I do hope you guys are.”

“Rest assured, miss, our establishment is inclusive of all peoples, Trattoria Pennestri does not discriminate on the basis of race, color, national origin—”

“Mhm, mhm, absolutely lovely,” Satoru pats cuddles Gego close to his chest. “Now, about that table? And also, we’d like this one waitress to serve us in specific.”

“Carbonara please, specifically with lardons and broccoli.”

“Amazingly, that is exactly how we make our carbonara.”

“Wow! Oh my gosh, what an awesome, fortunate coincidence.”

“And for the other lady?”

Suguru twiddles his thumbs, making a grand display of pretentiousness and annoying indecisiveness. “Do you happen to have a Pepsi?”

“We have co*ke.”

“I’ll take a gram of that and a Pepsi then. Gosh, restaurants are improving their offerings day by day!”

The waitress stares down at him thunderously. “Ma’am, whatever you are implying is very wrong.”

“Is it?” he gasps. “My apologies, then the baked lamb and courgettes?”

“Will that be all?”

“Will that be all? Of course not!” Satoru grandly gestures at their poor fake children. “How could you neglect from making sure the children are fed? The children!”

“...And what for the kids?”

“They’re picky,” Suguru thunders. “At this age, they only accept chicken nuggets. Dino nuggets, the American sort. You know how it is.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we do not serve…dino nuggets. Certainly not of the American variety either.”

“Oh dear, oh dear me,” Satoru worries about the plushies. “I’m sorry, dears, but you’re going to have to starve for tonight, no can do! Settle with water and bread. And thank you.”

They continue hemming and hawing with mindless babble and titters and grossly garulous gossip until the waitress arrives, carbonara and lamb in tow.

“Here is your carbonara and here is your lamb.”

Satoru gasps, hands flying up to cover his mouth. “Oh, excuse me, but is that—is that cheese?”

“Yes? I believe so—”

“Oh, I’m so, so very sorry, but I can’t have cheese.”

“No issue, we’ll redo it without the cheese.”

“No worries! Thank you dearly.”

“Here you go: your carbonara without cheese.”

“...Does this sauce have dairy in it?”

“Yes…I believe so…”

“Ack, I’m so, so very sorry, but I can’t have dairy. I’m lactose intolerant.”

“...I’ll be back shortly.”

“Sabu-sabu! She should have known, right? Did you say no dairy?”

“Oh my gosh, Sugo-sugo! No, I said no cheese.”

“Why the f*ck didn’t you say no dairy in the first place?”

“Mhmm, slipped me mind.”

“Alright, carbonara with smoked bacon lardons and broccoli. No cheese. No sauce.”

“Oh, dear me. Did I not say no broccoli?”

“Carbonara with smoked bacon lardons. No cheese. No sauce. No broccoli.”

“Ooh. I don’t eat bacon.”

“Carbonara. No cheese. No sauce. No broccoli. No lardons.”

“Can I just have the raw pasta?”

“Raw pasta.”

“Oh dear, I do think this might break my teeth. Delicate, those things. Could you like—I dunno—perhaps powder it? Just a little, maybe blend it up a bit?”

“Blended pasta.”

“Could I actually just get the pasta in its most natural, raw form?”

“Wheat.”

“Oh sh*t. Is wheat gluten?”

“Are you f*cking for real, Sabu-sabu?”

“I just can’t eat gluten! I’m sorry!”

“Would you like just a bowl of ice, ma’am?”

“Ooh, yes! Oh my gosh, that does sound lovely.”

“Ice.”

Satoru stares lovingly into his bowl of ice, topped off by a single sad sprig of basil. “Actually, is this mineral or tap water? I—”

The waitress turns to Suguru, who’s neatly cutting the last of his lamb at this point. “How did you find your lamb, ma’am? No issues like your companion here?”

“Hmm? Odd question, that. I just looked next to the courgettes and there it was.”

The waitress blinks at him. Suguru blinks back.

There’s a loud crash, and they both turn to see Satoru sheepishly half-standing, half-sitting over the table, bowl overturned and bits of partially melted ice slowly slipping down from Gogo’s fluffy head.

“Tried to feed the children a bit.”

“That was exhausting,” Satoru groans as he yanks of his heels, rips off his bald cap, and collapses into a puddle on the carpet.

“A bit more than an average night of work, I’ll say.” Suguru chucks his own heels in Satoru’s direction, ignoring Satoru’s shrieks of indigence as he plops himself down on the couch, dropping Gogo and Gego’s bag onto the side table.

Satoru clambers to his feet, grabbing their takeout bag and immediately digging into the dessert.

“Satoru, your cake isn’t gonna disappear. Get a f*cking fork at least.”

“But olive oil chocolate mousse with Sardinian pane carasau, rosemary, and sea salt. SARDINIAN FLATBREAD.”

“Okay okay, jeez. Do as you will.” He tiredly grabs at the TV remote, slouching against the couch, uncaring if his dress wrinkles.

“Are we watching Nanami-kun and Haibara kun’s latest video or did you want to—Satoru? Where’d you go.”

Silence answers him as Suguru stares at the pithy remains of the mousse.

His phone buzzes.

Ieri Shoko: GOJO SENT US PICS FJLAKSJDFKLASJDLFAJSLMFAO DID YOU TWO FEEL PRETTY?????

Ieri Shoko: he just called. talked like he was hot sh*t. be prepared

Geto Suguru: Prepared for what?

Ieiri Shoko: u really spent a lot on that dress for him didn’t u? he likes it a lot. though ig he'd like a trash bag if it's from u

Suguru turns to the sound of trinkets and odd bits of furniture being shoved around. Satoru’s petticoats.

“I WALK. DOWN THE HALLWAY. IN MY GORGEOUS, FLOWY DRESS OF SILK AND TAFFETA.”

What the f*ck.

He watches in horror as Satoru squeezes his way through the narrow doorway and strikes a pose like he’s hot sh*t. “I’m the prettiest boy in the entire country with my watery blue eyes and no one can resist my beauty. That means Suguru looks at me with LOVE in his EYES.”

There’s an awkward silence as Suguru stares at him, agape and dumbstruck. Satoru struggles to maintain his pose.

“I said he looks at me with LOVE in his eyes.”

“Are you okay?” Suguru asks with genuine concern. “Not enough sugar for the night? Let me unpack the rest, there’s still the viscole tart and the goat milk panna cotta—”

“OH, WHY HELLO THERE, SUGURU. FANCY SEEING YOU HERE—DO YOU LIKE MY DRESS? SAY I’M PRETTY.”

He shyly twiddles his index fingers together. “I was going to wear this to the Midnight Sparkly Starlight Twinkle Star Midnight Ball Extravaganza but I don’t have a date…no chance to wear my adorable dress…”

What the f*ck.

“Umm. You said ‘midnight’ twice.”

“You know what? I’m going to stare at you real hard until you get the hint.”

True to word, Satoru comes up and stares into Suguru’s eyes. There’s maybe a few centimeters worth of distance between them. Suguru blinks. It really is an unflattering angle of Satoru’s face. The petticoats are bunching up uncomfortably in between them.

“...What hint?”

Satoru spreads his arms out in an extravagant display of might. It does look good with his fancy wear. “I’m the prettiest guy of the ball. And you, you’re the—well, we can’t both be the prettiest. You’re…the handsomest guy of the night! Suguru’s always so handsome, dress and otherwise.”

Suguru grimaces at him, nudging over the plated tart. “Is this your way of trying to say that you…”

“That I?”

“That you feel threatened by my good looks? I know Shoko said I look better in a dress than you do, but don’t think that—”

“No no no, stupid. Though I do look better than you do. I’m asking you to f*cking dance with me. Hint hint?” He swallows the entire tart, pointing his spoon at Suguru for good measure.

Suguru blinks hard. He looks at Satoru, still standing tall and confident in his pink princess dress with his empty plate. He looks at Gogo and Gego sitting sadly on the couch. Gogo slowly falls over to the right. Gego follows suit.

“I’ll dance with you, sure.”

Satoru startles. “Wait, really? Are you sh*tting me?”

“Why’d I be sh*tting you? We can move the furniture around a bit, have a few rounds with some nice music, and then change back to our comfy clothes and finish off the night with the rest of the dessert and some TV. You can even trash talk Nanami-kun and Haibara-kun as much as you like.”

“You understand me so well, Suguru,” Satoru gasps, starry-eyed and absolutely moved. “That sounds like the perfect night, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?”

Suguru smiles despite himself as he scooches the couch against the wall.

“Yeah, I guess it does. Only because it’s you.”

“Me? Careful with what you say, might start sounding like you’re in love with me.”

“I’m in what?”

“Nothing, never mind.”

“Again? You’re so—”

“Funny. Yes, I know. I always know.”

“Satoru, just try one step.”

“No.”

“Just try. I won’t let you fall or anything.”

“Noooo. I’m not doing it.”

“Try? Just once? For me?”

“…No.”

“Be that way then.” Suguru skates over to where Satoru is clinging to an entry post of the ice skating rink, violently shaking in his skates and staring at the ice like it personally offended his mother in a past life.

He gently takes hold of Satoru’s wrists and then viciously yanks him onto the rink.”

“HEY—WHAT—THE f*ck ARE YOU DOING—ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TRYING TO KILL ME—“

He cuts himself off as Suguru pulls the both of them to the middle of the rink and stops skating.”

He gazes mutely at the ice, looking somewhat nauseous. “I’m gonna throw up. Oh my god.”

“Shush, you’re fine. Let’s get you balanced.”

“Get me balanced? What are you—NOOOO“

Suguru lets go of Satoru’s arms.”

“NO—DON’T LET GO OF ME—I’M GONNA FALL.”

His arms pinwheel wildly through the air as his feet shift apart. Suguru takes the piss out of his remarkable inathleticism and glides back, letting Satoru start to tumble down to the ground before taking hold of him at the last moment.

“Careful now, Satoru, wouldn’t want you to smash your glasses or your fine little nose against the ice.”

“f*ck you, you did that on purpose” Satoru grumbles as Suguru heaves them back up to a standing position.

“Maybe the once, but I won’t try again, promise.”

“Yeah, well I sure as hell won’t let you do that again.” True to word, he’s clutching at Suguru like the limpest, most pathetic damsel in distress. With the way he’s standing, there’s barely any weight being put on his skates. He’d sooner make Suguru fall than fall himself.

Suguru easily detaches Satoru’s grip.

“NOOOO STOP IT. YOU’RE GONNA—“

“Shut up, stop shouting for a moment. Let me offer you a proposition.”

“A what?”

“Cooperate with me to learn how to skate. You’re weak as sh*t, but you can do it. Skate well enough, and we can skid ice onto the other patrons.”

Satoru gasps in delight, rocketing forward to wrap his arms around Suguru again.

“Suguru! That’s so romantic of you! I’ll do it, I’ll become a damn good skater and we can have a wonderful date being mean to people.”

“Thought that might work.”

Suguru watches in mild horror as Satoru gleefully and expertly waltzes about the rink, skates quickly darting out the side whenever he passes someone and splashing them with shaved bits of ice.

He comes to a harsh stop when he reaches where Suguru is leaning against the railing, taking the hot chocolate and fritelles he’s extending out to Satoru. “That makes 250 people I’ve hit now. Ooh! Extra powdered sugar, you’re such a blessing.”

“You’re so bad. And you’re welcome.”

“Says you. Your count was 200.”

“Mhmm. Counting for me, were you now?” Suguru helps him out of the rink, holding his hand as Satoru scrabbles for purchase on the snow.

“Of course I would. Let’s go return the rentals, the main market’s ten minutes from here I think.”

They arrive at the Sestiere of Dorsoduro soon enough, colorfully lit and full of hustle and bustle.

“I suppose it’s too much to say that food is not first on the agenda?”

“Absolutely so,” Satoru starts ranting as he counts off his fingers, “white almond torrone, panetone, speciality biscotti, dried porcini, candied chestnuts, Alban white truffles, pandoro, fritole veneziane, zaleti, and there’s some nice olive oils and vintage balsamic vinegars we can use back at the apartment.”

“Snacks only? Where’s your hunger? Where’s the compulsion to devour sixteen course meals.”

“Silly that you could even joke about my appetite being gone. I’ve got my heart set on the specialty foods, of course. Pastas and traditional cakes and sweets.”

“No long list of names? Maybe your appetite is decreasing. Lucky for your family’s accounts.”

“Of course, I’ve also got my heart set on you.” Satoru blows a noisy kiss at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Heart set on me too? You want to eat me as well? I—”

“Maybe Suguru should shut up for once before he says another incredibly stupid, oblivious thing.”

“I—Fine. Okay. Whatever fits your fancy.”

Satoru blitzes through another set of stalls, already loaded up with ten or so bags. Even with his arms being as they are, somehow he’s able to carry around an incredible amount of goods for insane lengths of time, but for food matters only. Elsewise, he shoves everything onto Suguru.

“Nits, more nhts, candied nuts, roasted nuts—wow, all the nuts. I’m in nut heaven.”

“I’m sure when you die there’ll be a special section of heaven dedicated purely to nuts just for you.”

“Aww, you think I’m still gonna go to heaven with how much of an asshole I am?”

“So you do admit to your asshole tendencies.”

“Never tried to deny them. Back to heaven though, does this mean Suguru thinks I’d be an angel?”

Suguru shoots him an unimpressed glare. “A biblically accurate one, maybe.”

“A biblically—Suguru! That’s so mean! And such a lie when I’m prettier than any angel, especially those horrors—”

Satoru flinches as he bumps harshly against a bystander. Serves him right for walking backwards.

“Oh sh*t—I’m sorry—SUGURU CHECK THE BAGS, IF THE BOTTLES BROKE—”

“Calm your horses, your cargo’s fine.”

Suguru shifts around the bags as Satoru dusts himself off and waves his hands around in apologetic sort of motions.

“Again, I’m really sorry about that. My bad for not looking where I was going. I—”

“It’s you,” the stranger says, disgruntled.

“It’s me? I’m sorry, do you know me?”

“You’re the asshole from the rink. The one who kept skidding ice onto everyone.”

Crap.

“Me? Skid ice on some poor, innocent passerbys?” Satoru chortles obnoxiously. “I’d never, ever dare do such a thing—like that’s so mean! Do I look like someone who’d do that? In any case, there’s no proof that I even—”

“Tall guy, very white hair, very blue eyes behind blackout round sunglasses even though it’s already nighttime. Sound familiar? And you look like you revel in other people’s miserty.”

Satoru smile becomes faker. “Well, there’s a lot of people who look like that. I meet a guy white white hair, blue eyes, glasses yada yada everyday! Quite eerie, but what can I do about it?”

“He’s lying,” Suguru whispers loudly.

Satoru whips around, glaring venomously at Suguru mouthing something that seems to say I’m going to kill you when we get home but can also be interpreted as There are unicorns here in Rome.

“Don’t act like you weren’t skidding ice too. In any case, there’s nothing we can do about your rude behavior now. But you’re both banned from the rinks here. Permanently. Lifelong ban.”

“Excuse me?” Satoru screeches dramatically.

“You heard right. You’ve already quite the reputation, you know. Went viral on social media. The idiot guy who fell into the Grotta Azzurra and caused the Cooperativa Battellieri Grotta Azzurra to fuss over the security measures. The idiot duo that got banned from the Trattoria Pennestri and a waitress fired, though I guess that one’s kinda okay.”

“Suguru! We’re famous! But you can’t do that to us, you can’t just ban us like this! This is a public space—”

“I can and I will. You see, I’m the rink owner. Proud owner of the Campo San Polo Rink, even on days like this.”

“...Suguru? Help me out here.”

He sighs, bunching up the bags firmly and walking closer to the other two.

“Sir, I’m terribly, terribly sorry about our rudeness back at your fine rink. Let us apologize—”

He and Satoru simultaneously kick at the mound of snow Satoru has steadily been building up as they’ve been talking, and dash away.

“Telepathic!” Satoru screeches as they sprint through the stalls, weaving their way between shocked visitors and cluttered booths. “I can’t believe we’re known all over Italy. Suck on that, Nanamin.”

Suguru laughs with him, finally pulling him to a stop in a tight alleyway. “Vindictive till the very end, aren’t you? Let’s stay here a bit until we know we’ve lost the guy for sure.”

Satoru nods in agreement, snuggling up to Satoru. “Oh wow, haha, it’s so, so tight and so confined in here. Incommodius. Compacted. Stuffy. Snug. Restrictive.”

His arms tighten around Suguru in an intense hug. “Gotta cuddle together if we want to be able to move around in here, I fear. Gosh, how uncomfortable this is.”

“You don’t look uncomfortable,” Suguru says amusedly as he peers down at Satoru trying to snuggle his way into Suguru’s coat like a dying octopus desperately trying to find warmth before it shrivels up from the cold.

“Do I not? If Suguru says so, then I guess I’m very comfortable.” His voice echoes muffled against the thick woolen coat Suguru’s wearing.

“You’re so funny. But seriously, we gotta move out. Stand here any longer and my feet are gonna freeze.”

“Noooo,” Satoru wails, “we can stay here. f*ck having feet.”

“Think about that again and tell me if you still want to keep staying here in the bitter cold instead of the warm stalls.”

“...If you get me all the specialty foods I’ll let go.”

“I’ll buy you all for them. It’s your money in the end. All it takes is walking and talking.”

“So the cotechino e lenticchie and the tortellini in brodo and the lasagna alla bolognese and the zuppa di pesce and the crostini di cavolo nero and the caponata? I also want to take home some panini and cicchetti and arancini.”

“How the f*ck do you know everything’s that being sold here? But yeah, I’ll get your cotechino and tortellini and all that.”

“I have my ways. You’re the best Suguru, truly.”

Satoru watches languidly as Suguru ducks into a glassworks stand. He warily laps at his mulled wince once, twice, then winces and sets his cup back down.

“Suguru? You can drink the rest of this. Still too…winey.”

“Hold onto it for a minute, I need to buy something. And winey? Seriously? Is your cognoscenti encyclopedia of a tongue failing you?”

“Vinous, grapey—shut up. I hate you. What you buying?”

“Secret.” Suguru quickly grabs a couple items, hands them to the vendor, and pays.

“Tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me—”

“Shut the f*ck up, you’ll see in a bit anyways. Be patient or else I’ll just chuck these in the lagoon.”

Satoru shuts the f*ck up.

They walk in amicable silence for a while together along the bridge edging the Grand Canal. Suguru finally comes to a halt at a quieter, less occupied spot. Satoru blinks at him as he takes a swig of the wine and takes out his new packages.

“Happy Christmas Eve, Satoru. Here’s to the first of many December 24ths we’ll spend together.”

Satoru gawks openmouthed as Suguru unwraps the last of the crepe paper encasing two simple bands of glass-blown rings.

“Umm—What—Suguru, are these rings?’

“No. They’re decorations for wine stoppers. Of course they’re f*cking rings.”

Satoru’s mouth flaps open back and forth for a good minute. He’s breathing loudly, adenoidally. Then he looks up with a cheesy, somewhat grungy grin.

“Suguru! Is this a marriage proposal! How romantic! How spontaneous! I did want my drunken elopement in Vegas—”

“Marriage? What marriage, you’re a strange one.”

“Suguru’s the one who’s buying rings for the both of us.”

“I sure am? Well, I just saw the blue-tinted blown glass at that stall and thought that maybe I could find a piece of jewelry in the same color. Same color as your eyes, might remind us of Italy and the Blue Grotto for all of time to come, right?”

“Right,” Satoru mutters as Suguru finishes fixing the ring about his finger. He holds his hand up to the light and beams at how the light bounces off the glass. “Still awfully romantic of you though, Ring finger and all!”

“Whatever you want, as long as it makes you happy.”

“Oh yes. I’m very, very happy indeed. I’ll tell Shoko we’re actually married—no, from now on we are married. Shoko and the lot of them can eat sh*t.”

“I’m sure she’ll just laugh her ass off at you or something.” Suguru finishes adjusting his own ring. “There, now we match.”

“Match indeed,” Satoru crows as he edges forward and intertwines their fingers together, rings clinking.

“I think we’re done for the night. Let’s get home and unload everything, gotta make sure we don’t sleep in late so that we can call Shoko.”

“Right right. Let’s finish the night off strong.

Trattoria Pennestri: Reviews

Gogo Saburo
★☆☆☆☆
you. me. 3:18 am tomorrow. right in the middle of the piazza vittorio bottego roundabout. no weapons. we fight to the death. u know who u are

Gego Sugoiru
★☆☆☆☆
Me and my wife and our beloved children do not like.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

“BOON-JHURE MAIS AMEES, JUH MAH-PELAY GOJO SATORU, AUH-JUHRD HUI, JAY SWISS EN PEARIS!”

“He means ‘bonjour mes amis, je m’appelle Gojo Satoru, aujourd’hui, je suis à Paris.’”

“No no, don’t listen to him, dear viewers. I know French better than he does,” Satoru pooh-poohs into his microphone as he shifts his phone to block Suguru from the frame of his camera.

“No you don’t,” Suguru dismisses.

“No I don’t,” Satoru agrees, “and yet that doesn’t stop me from fully enjoying Paris! The City of Love! Luh vill duh ay-moore! Wall of Love, Points day Arts—it’s gonna be so romantic here with pookie wookie.”

“La ville de l’amour. Ponts de Arts.”

“Same difference. Me and honey butter biscuit here are going to be touring Paris for one week and then we’re hopping over to Lyon! The World Gastronomic Capital! Or at least France’s. And thanks for commenting all of your guys’ favorite bistros and cafes in the city, we’ll be sure to check them out.”

“You say that like you weren’t just complaining the other day that you already knew all those places.”

“Shut the f*ck up I’m on live. Don’t talk to your husband like that, people will think that you’re too mean to me.”

“I want people to know that I’m mean to you. It’s not like you don’t deserve it, asshole.”

Satoru blows a raspberry at him. “User MissMissMelon asks if we’re actually married. Sure we are! See, we even got rings!” He wriggles his fingers at the camera insufferably. The glass flashes in the bright sunlight.

“We’re not married.”

“Shut up. Chichi poo’s lying. We’re going to the Angelina cafe—original location of course—at the Tuileries near the Moose day Loh-vuhre. Can’t go to Paris without trying the infamous hot chocolate and Mont Blanc.”

“It’s Museé du Louvre.”

“User Mimimama says that I shouldn’t have both the hot choco and the MB? That both are really, really rich and indulgent? Who do you think I am?”

“Satoru, too much talking not enough walking. The line’s gonna be really long by the time we arrive. I won’t wait with you the entire time if it’s more than half an hour.”

“Abandoing your husband like that? How could you. Whoops—chat’s asking if you’re a man, it’s the voice. We’re not going to confirm or deny, they’re faking their pitch.”

Satoru huffs at his phone. “Y’all don’t believe me? Fine, be that way. I really don’t have any supporters.”

“Sounds like you don’t have fans, just haters,” Suguru says gleefully.

“They love me,” Satoru says absently as he flaps Suguru off.

“User Dia Thompson asks what my response is to Channel Hainana Cooking & ASMR’s latest video exposing me as a universally hated member of the culinary world.” He stares darkly at the camera, deeply unhappy.

“What’s my response you ask? Those two brats can f*ck off—affectionately of course!” He sounds as affectionate as a sociopathic squid.

“Satoru, the cafe sign is right there. I’ll go on ahead and save us a spot, you continue talking to your fans or haters or whatever you want to call them.”

“They call themselves the Gojo Gaggers,” Satoru makes one last kissy-kissy face and strikes a peace sign at his phone. He doesn’t realize that his hand isn’t on camera. “Gojo out!”

Satoru sighs loudly as he cataches up to Suguru, running up ahead so that he can stand directly in front of Suguru and walk backwards. There’s very few things he’s good at physically, but they do include being uncannily good at walking backwards.

“It’s so exhausting to be hot and famous. I’m so tired. I need food. Food! Desserts! I want the hot chocolate and the Mont Blanc—of course—and the Paris-Brest and the finger mojitos and the lemon and strawberry tarts and the mil—uh—the meal-foo-euh—uh—”

“Mil-uh-fuh-yuh. Millefeuille.”

“Mi-yoo-fool. And the joconde and the chocolate and strawberry éclairs and the macarons and the madeleines and the trocadéro and the gavottes and the strawberry shortcake and the—”

“Then just stop YouTubing. Also: f*ck you, you stand in line. I’m not carrying all that crap.”

“Why’d I ever do that? Either of those?” he asks incredulously. “Why’d I ever even consider that? Why’d I be the one carrying ‘all that crap?’”

“You…Fine. I don’t care. Enjoy your fall from YouTube and culinary fame. I’ll stand in line just this once but you’re covering next time.”

“It’s called being cancelled. And see! You care the most!” Satoru roughly pinches Suguru’s cheek and ineffectively tries to twist the skin. “Wow, that might have hurt me more than it did you.”

“This is exactly why I’ve been trying to make you go to the gym with me. You think you’re having so much fun running around the apartment all day watching TV and eating through all your snacks while I have to ‘run around like an ostritch on the treadmill’ but who’s the one who’d f*cking die the moment someone punched him?”

“Suguru will be my knight in shining armor and rescue me before anyone can punch me.” He flips his hair back, lurching forward in an attempt to snuggle into Suguru’s chest.

Suguru punches him. Hard.

“HEY—OW—WHAT THE f*ck—sh*t THAT HURTS IT’S LIKE YOU f*ckING STABBED ME I’M GONNA—”

As he stumbles backward, he crashes straight into a lovely cloth-covered outdoor table. The attached umbrella and said tablecloth crumples onto him along with the remainder of some pastry or another and Satoru howls as he tries to untangle his legs from the mess along with an intricate metal chair.

Suguru promptly ignores the commotion and stands at the back of the line, leaving Satoru to fight for his life on his own. The line’s short, fortunately.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry—why do I keep crashing into these f*cking—here, let me pay for ruining that—”

Satoru suddenly shuts up, unnervingly quiet.

Suguru looks over, concerned. The other never shuts up so abruptly and with such fullness unless it’s something actually serious. “Satoru? Are you okay over—”

Suguru shuts up.

“It’s you two,” Fushiguro f*cking Megumi sneers, feet kicking innocently and diabolically from where they can’t reach the ground. He’s wearing crocs, a too big white t-shirt, and an expensive looking watch. His hair’s even worse looking than when he was glaring up at them with his lantern. His iPad is blaring Cocomelon in the French dub.

Suguru hates him even more than before.

Satoru props the chair back up, but his motions are rigid and constrained like he really wants to throw it at the child instead. “What the fu—frick are you doing in France? In Paris?”

“Dad has a commission in Paris.”

“What commission?”

“A commission.”

“A commission?”

“A commission.”

“A COMMISS—”

“Satoru, shut up. Don’t be rude to the—” Wait. “Actually, never mind. Carry on.”

Megumi tries to voice a complaint but he’s drowned out by the screech of the other chair as Satoru helps himself to a seat. “So…Megumi. Megumi-chan. What kind of…commission are we talking about?”

“Kill you.” Megumi almost looks happy.

“Haha, your dad’s job is so sad and—WAIT—HOLD UP—WHAT THE f*ck DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?”

“Kill you,” Megumi says again, but joyfully.

“You—When I get my hands around your chubby little juvenile neck—”

“And do what? What you gonna try? You’ll be arrested if you kill me.”

“I’m sure the police won’t care if I rid the world of a little twerp like you. I won’t even have to explain it to them, I’m certain that brattiness lives on even after death.”

“Nuh uh, they will care! Police are good guys, they’d stop you. I know how to call them! One-one-zero.”

“Ohoho, I can’t wait until you’re all grown up and learn about something adults call corruption. And we’re not in Japan, you stupid little thing. Live and learn: here it’s one-one-two, thank your Gojo-sensei.”

Megumi very much does not thank his Gojo-sensei. “Well you—you—you dress bad.”

Satoru looks appaled. Now he really does like he’s ready to off the kid. “This is Dolce & Gabbana.”

“I don’t care about your douche and gabby. You—”

“Satoru, don’t let him get you like that,” Suguru calls out, “destroy the kid. Please and thanks.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, “I will. And you—it’ll take more than that to offend me.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of ‘destroying me’ like your boyfriend asked,” Megumi huffs, “and you’re smelly, you stink, your clothes are ugly, your face is ugly, your eyes are ugly, your sunglasses are stupid, your face is stupid, the way you walk is stupid, your food is stupid.”

Suguru coughs a laugh at Satoru’s look of increasing desire to hurt a child.

“And you—your bangs are stupid, your hair is stupid, your bun is stupid, your pants are stupid, your clothes are stupid, your face is ugly, your eyes are ugly, your smile’s ugly, your earrings are stupid, your ring is—”

“Let’s stop talking before someone gets hurt, hmm? Hint hint, it won’t be me or Satoru getting hurt,” Suguru edges out.

“Try me, bangs man. I still want my pastry.”

“f*ck your pastry, kid.” Satoru makes an akanbe gesture. “You think we’re buying you another? Go to hell with your asshole father.”

“I’ll see you in hell first, who you calling an asshole father?”

Both Suguru and Satoru turn to see the senior Fushiguro approaching the shop, massive bags in hand. Satoru immediately hisses something crude at the sight of him while Suguru silently powerwalks to the front counter. Mighty shame that he’ll get less time to interact with the madman.

“Toji, you’re late.”

“Shut up, kid. I bought you a pastry and let you have the tablet, you don’t get to complain. And you, you’re that one white-haired lanky motherf*cker from before, aren’t you? The guy who tried to steal my boy’s lantern. Didn’t I beat you in a wrestle or something?”

“Eww, it’s the hom*ophobe,” Suguru titters.

“Again: I only disrespect gays, I don’t hate them or nuthin. Though I might start hating them soon.” He eyes their rings with vivid distaste.

“What are you on? Me and Satoru aren’t gay or in love together.”

“I’m gay,” Satoru interrupts somewhat wistfully.

“Those things on your fingers say otherwise.”

“I was SAYING that you’re a father and an asshole,” Satoru interrupts again. “Though if you’re labeling yourself as an asshole of a father, then be my guest.”

Toji ignores him. “Boy, where’s my worm.”

“Don’t have it.”

“You…don’t…have…it…?”

Satoru seems to miraculously grasp the change in atmosphere as he silently creeps away and sidles up next to Suguru. “What do you think is up with that worm? What’s he meaning by this worm, anyhow?”

“I don’t know and frankly, I hope I never get to know.”

Satoru nods in agreement. “Let me order the hot choco, I want to practice more French. We’ll have two chao-co-late chad ah la-eink-schien diht l’A-fric-kan.”

“It’s called ‘chocolat chaud à l’ancienne dit "l’Africain." Dummy.” Megumi’s voice calls out from afar, with flawless pronunciation.

Satoru flits out of the store with deadly speed to spit vitriol at poor little Megumi again. “f*ck you and your stupid good French.”

“You’re just a sour puss because I’m better than you in every way.”

“I—You know what? I won’t stand for a kid hurling this crap at me. I’m done.” Satoru stomps back into the cafe, instantly reverting back to tolerable bedside manners. It’s like he never left the cafe at all.

“And we’ll also be taking the couples’ discount, I’m here with my husband.” He casually slings an arm around Suguru’s shoulders.

This time, it’s Toji yelling out. “They say they’re not together and sh*t though. Not even gay.”

The cashier eyes them uncomfortably, obviously ill at ease with the boisterous group. “I’m sorry, but the discount only goes to actual couples.”

“What?” Satoru whines, squeaking his shoes against the tile. “But we are together, see? These are our wedding rings.”

The cashier still looks suspicious. “I really am sorry, but I’m not inclined to believe you. And our—”

“Okay,” Satoru says simply before reaching out for Suguru’s cheek.

“Do you mind—err—out here—in public?” he asks, rapidly flickering a finger between his and Suguru’s lower faces.

Suguru doesn’t get what he’s supposed to be minding or not minding, but he nods anyways.

Satoru seems to look vaguely shy before he confidently plants the most hair-raising mind-blowing out-of-the-world absolutely goofy juicy thing of a smooch of a peck straight onto Suguru’s lips. It’s not a lip-lock in the slightest, but it sure could pass for one just with the sensation.

Satoru’s lips felt entirely gross.

…It’s making Suguru feel things. He might be blushing.

He’s gonna have to call Shoko later. Privately.

The cashier gapes at them. “Umm…I’ll apply that discount. So sorry, sirs.”

When they exit the cafe with their new goods, Toji and Megumi are still f*cking there, casually sitting at the same table as if they have any right to be there. They both pass them deeply unimpressed looks before returning to their respective activities.

Megumi’s poking through their own bags like a nosy little child, abusing Gogo and Gego, ripping out the former’s eyelashes and reaching out to tug at the latter’s bangs. Satoru shoves his way in and roughly pushes Megumi’s hands away, tenderly recollecting the plushies.

Toji’s rotating a small glass cube layered with soil and sand and weird bits of decaying compost, again and again and again.

Megumi picks his iPad back up, looking vaguely queasy as Satoru shoves a full slice of cake in his mouth as he starts rearranging the plates. Toji looks ill for other reasons. He sets his little container back down. “I think I do hate gay people too now. What the f*ck was that in the store? Couples’ discount? And y’all really aren’t dating? Liars.”

“Why does everyone keep assuming that?” Suguru throws his arms up in frustration. “We aren’t dating! Whatever that means, I still don’t f*cking know. f*ck all of you.”

“Don’t you f*cking swear near my kid.”

“f*ck you,” Satoru parrots uncreatively. “How’s your worm doing? Left his little habitat there? Seems like even a worm would leave you.”

Poor Megumi flinches slightly at the words.

As if triggered, Toji turns back stonily to Megumi. Poor Megumi indeed. “Show me.”

“No.”

“Show me.”

“No.”

“SHOW ME.”

“NO.”

“f*ckING SHOW—”

Suddenly, Suguru acutely understands how Megumi can get on Satoru’s nerves with such expertise.

“Hey hey now, let’s all calm down a bit,” Suguru says as he approaches the table, waving a half-placating, half-condescending hand.

Then something squelches under his boot. He cringes and lifts his boot up, examining the sole.

There’s something squishy and vile. Disgusting.

Suguru carelessly brushes off the mushy intestines and gizzards of whatever poor little bug he crushed, and then darts his head up when he realizes that all he can hear is Satoru’s muffled, inappropriate giggling. Toji and Megumi are inexplicably still.

Toji slowly approaches him. Suguru hurries away to Satoru’s side. Toji follows.

“You…that’s my worm. That’s my wormie.”

His…wormie?

He turns to Satoru, giving him an incredulous eye. Does this guy seriously have a pet worm?

Did this guy actually bring his pet worm out in public? Satoru eyes back.

Serves him right for now being the sad owner of a dead worm. Suguru can’t be blamed.

“Hey man, don’t be upset. But if you do want to be upset, talk to the kid.” Satoru points an incriminating finger in Megumi’s direction. “Wasn’t he supposed to keep your…wormie safe or something?”

Toji fums, loud and angry as slowly turns to Megumi. Megumi stares back apathetically, continuing to rummage through the bags without looking at his hands.

At least until Toji opens his mouth.

“MEGUMI, YOU’RE GROUNDED FOR…TILL COLLEGE.”

Megumi looks completely and utterly aghast. One might think that someone just told him that the world was ending in three, two, one.

“FOR TILL COLLEGE?”

“FOR TILL f*ckING COLLEGE!”

Megumi looks like he’s about to cry. “But…I’ll be so old. I’ll be like you. I’d be dead soon. I can’t play with Yuuji if I’m dead.”

Satoru nods, like an asshole. “Exactly, kid. Count your days now.”

“I just—I just want to hang out with Yuuji! I’M GONNA DIE? I CAN’T PLAY WITH YUUJI IF I’M DEAD.” Megumi wails.

“Don’t worry so much, Megumi-chan. Everyone grows at the same time at the same rate, so if you get old and die, your friend Yuuji will grow old and die too!” Suguru adds unhelpfully but very much gleefully.

Megumi bursts into tears at this, throwing himself off the chair so that he can stomp on the ground maliciously with his glow-up, ratty sneakers. “You’re all SO mean. You always bully me! No one here ever tries to treat me nice.”

“Hey, kid, we’re just strangers here.” Satoru waves a macaron in front of Megumi before snatching it back and devouring it whole. “Though yeah, bullying you is kinda fun.”

Toji looks somewhat guilty though, descending down onto one knee to awkwardly meet his son’s eyes. “Megumi…I’m sorry, okay? I know I’m not like your mom or Tsumiki and I never will be, but I do try my best, yeah? I just forget sometimes. Most times. All the time. Anyway, how ‘bout I make it up to you with some new toy or something? Five-year-olds like you still like toys right? Any price, daddy can do it.”

Megumi instantly stops crying. “I’m eight now, nitwit. I don’t want a toy or a game. You buy me two dogs. A Samoyed and a Malamute.”

“What a devious little sh*t,” Satoru whispers into Suguru’s ear as he stirs his hot choco. “He totally knew his father would feel all guilty like that, I bet he’s been planning this since the beginning.”

“You’re giving him too much credit, Satoru. Eight-year-olds are too dumb too be criminal masterminds.”

“Criminal?”

“I mean, in your view, he just orchestrated the murder of a worm for personal gain, didn’t he.”

“Right, right,” Satoru guffaws, downing his hot chocolate. “A little devil indeed. Hey, wait—where’d the big guy go?”

Suguru blinks, turning around. Sure enough, there’s only the regular passerbys on the street and Megumi, gathering his things.

“His father’s always leaving him alone,” Satoru whispers again, “almost feel bad for him. Reckon we should make sure he’s safe for a bit?”

“So you are reliable sometimes. You know what? Why not?”

“Megumi-chan,” Satoru calls out, reaching out a beckoning hand. “Sit with us for a while until your dad comes back. Sorry for being mean, but no child should be left alone in a big city like this for a long time.”

Megumi squints at them indifferently before shrugging. “I think I’d be in more danger if I was with your dumb face. And thanks for killing the worm for me, helped speed things up for me.”

They both stare, gobsmacked and speechless as Megumi strides through the crowd, disappearing from their lives for hopefully the second and last time, proud future owner of two brand new dogs.

Later, when it’s four at night for him and nine in the morning for Shoko, Suguru texts her.

Geto Suguru: I need your opinion on something.

Ieri Shoko: oh worm? whats up, spill ur heart out to dear shoko advice columnist of ten years.

Geto Suguru: Pls don’t mention worms for a while. It’s Satoru.

Ieri Shoko: did he try to sneak in ur bed again or

Geto Suguru: No, he didn’t. What the f*ck?

Ieri Shoko: just asking. so what is it?

Geto Suguru: He liek. um. kissed me. I think. i fel tweird feelings in my stomach like all swwopoy and excited like i think i might havewanted to kill im or soith.

Geto Suguru: I’m not gay or anything.

Geto Suguru: Oh sh*t, I think I might be hom*ophobic.

There’s no response for a while; Suguru’s left to anxiously stare at his glowing screen. Every sound makes him fear that Satoru’s about to burst into his bedroom.

He shamefully sends another message.

Geto Suguru: What do I do? Satoru said that he’s gay, I can’t be his best friend and support him if I’m hom*ophobic.

Still silence and more waiting.

Then: a voices message from Shoko. Five minutes long.

He opens it.

Shoko’s loud, obscenely deranged laughter fills the room high-pitched and ringing clear for approximately three seconds before Suguru manages to mash the power button hard enough to stop it.

Suguru sighs and pockets his phone, getting ready to try sleeping again.

He’ll deal with this later.

“This place is so rustic and cute you’d never think the name is something so flashy as ‘The Golden Saucepan.’ Le Poe—Le Poy—Le Poh—”

“Le Poêlon d'Or, please stop with the French. And who are you to comment on the name? Anyone who looks at your face would think that you’re an innocent little angel but you’re really just a gremlin. Book, cover.”

“Your comebacks are getting sloppy.” Satoru flips through the menu, skimming the staters and main course pages only to hone in on the dessert page, as always.

“I don’t got it in me anymore,” he says somewhat helplessly. To Satoru, it’d read as flippant and casual as any other remark—and that’s exactly what Suguru is trying to come off as—but really, he’s having f*cking crises and talking to Satoru is, well, hard.

Talking to him is hard.

Looking at him is hard.

Thinking about him is hard.

Even as he looks at Satoru now, he feels. Things. He feels weird. He feels like blushing.

His heart goes…it goes doki-doki.

Am I gay? he wonders as he stares at Satoru’s dreamy cheekbones. No, that’s such a funny thought, I’m definitely not.

But wait…Satoru is kinda cute. But it’s not gay to think your best friend is cute, right? Right. That’s just being encouraging of your friends in every way, every single way. Feels kinda weird that I’m not so inclined to mock Satoru as ugly now, but he always has been attractive…Maybe I’m just leaving that point in our friendship where I like to hate on him so much.

His ugly horrible no good absolutely terrible badly escalating train of thought cuts off as a waiter approaches, water pitcher in hand and ready to take their order.

“Hello, we’d like to have the salad with the St. Marcellin cheese toast with honey and thyme, the terrine with chicken tenders, the Lyonnaise salad, the lentil salad with cervelle des canuts, marinated tomatoes with burrata and pesto, the duck foie gras with artichoke heart, and the duck foei gras cooked au torchon for starters.”

The waiter stares at them funnily. Nothing special.

“And for the main course?” they ask slowly. Real slowly.

“Main courses, you must mean! The eggplants baked with tomato and Emmental cheese, the mushroom ravioli with porcini cream, Andouillete mustard sauce, the Saint Marcellin chicken supreme, the pork feather, the traditional Lyon quenelle of pike au gratin, beef fillet with morels sauce, the veals sweatbreads, and the—”

“Excuse me,” the waiter starts, voice trembling slightly, “but do you two happen to be those two—those two food critics? Gogo Saburo and Gego Sugoiru?”

Satoru blinks in confusion, eyes darting down to their bag where Gogo and Gego lay at rest upon hearing the name drop. “Wait—oh—oh my god—you mean us! Sugu—Sugoiru! We’re famous!”

Suguru fakes a smile. “They know us in France now. I do love knowing that French people know me. I’m so happy. Want an autograph? It’ll cost you a hundred euros.”

“No—umm—what I mean is—I’m going to get the owner—” the waiter is completely wheezing at this point as they scuttle over to the kitchen.

Satoru watches them go. “Does this mean I’ll have to order dessert later?”

“Satoru, I think we have bigger problems than that right now.”

They both watch as the waiter scrabbles out of the kitchen, frantically speaking as they point at them.

The owner leans out and spots them—their eyes widen, and they assume a look of complete unabashed horror. “OH GOD, IT’S THEM. GOGO AND GEGO!”

“The one and only! Ones and onlys? Twos and many.” Satoru beams at them. He clearly has no idea what’s going on, but he makes the most out of anything. Especially when there’s a chance to laud himself.

The owner does not looked impressed. More staff pop out and if anything, they all look supremely sickened.

“It’s those awful food critics.”

“The assholes!”

“I heard there were children…”

“Those ones who were everywhere on the Internet from the Trattoria Pennestri. Aren’t they women though?”

“Isn’t that actually Gojo Satoru?”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. It’s Gogo and Gego here in the flesh at our restaurant. I can’t believe this is happening to me. What’d I ever do in my last life to deserve this? I think I’m gonna throw up—”

“That other one looks scary.”

“But Gojo’s a good, reputable man. Completely respectable. Gogo’s a complete internet horror.”

“Who’s that other fellow?”

“Bangs man!”

“Bangs guy.”

“Bangs boy.”

Satoru watches the commotion with something like stars in his eyes. He turns to Suguru, eyes twinkling as he takes Suguru’s hands in his own. “Suguru, I think this is the moment of my career. Nothing is topping this.”

Suguru stares at their hands. Wow, it’s kinda really hot in here. These are nice hands. “Umm. Yes. Yeah. Absolute peak.”

Satoru giddily flaps their hands in the air. Their water glasses wobble precariously. “Do you think we can take pictures with them? Gogo and Gego Defining Career Moment, January 2018.”

“I don’t think any of them would want to take pictures with you.”

“What about that lady blushing over there though? She looks shy, maybe she’s trying to muster the courage to come talk to us.”

Suguru turns to look. Said lady is red in the face, yes, but it looks more like she’s either stark-raving mad and about to blow a fuse or she’s just about to faint. “I really think she’s on the extreme end of ‘do not be in Gogo Saburo’s proximity at all.’”

Satoru stares at her. And stares. And stares. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you…not realize when people don’t like you?”

“...People don’t like me?”

“Me at first. Utahime. Nanami. Gakuganji-sensei. Mei—nah, she just doesn’t care. Kashimo. Sukuna. Uraume. Choso. Need I continue?”

Satoru stares at their interlocked hands. “Utahime hates me? I thought she was just joking.”

He’s kind of an idiot, Suguru realizes with dawning despondency. “Dude…she’s hated your guts since like, forever.”

“Forever?”

“Forev—”

“YOU TWO THERE!” one of the staff members shrieks. “GOGO AND GEGO! WE WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO SULLY OUR GOOD REPUTA—”

“Wait just a minute,” Satoru drawls, standing up grandly. “Let’s talk this out! First things first, red berry coulis with cottage cheese praline pie chocolate Valrhona mousse raisen rum creme anglaise french toast lavender creme brulee lemon ‘n raspberry iced vacherin ardchoise cup vanilla pineapple mango compote panna cotta le—”

“You really think you’ll be getting dessert out of us!” their original waiter wails, violently shaking finger pointing desperately at Satoru from behind the counter. “Do you really think we’ll be serving you anything at all? Not when you—”

“The lemon sorbet colonel cup—minimal vodka, please and thanks. This guy can’t handle alcohol,” Suguru finishes blandly as he reads the last of the dessert menu.

The waiter looks like they’re about to either burst out into giggles or tears. “f*ck you. f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you—”

“Please…let’s all try to settle down…” the owner whisper-shouts, glancing uneasily at the shocked diners all around them. No one has been eating for the past five minutes, absolutely stupefied by the turmoil.

“We can talk this out nicely. We would appreciate some mutual cooperation between our party and yours so that we all come out happily, after all, you are diners. We can negotiate your stay here! Though we may end up extending our right to refuse—”

Ping!

Satoru finishes his typing and holds up his phone. “Say no more. Already done! Consider this a free of charge reputation boost for your nice restaurant here—or actually, if we could get a secone free helping of that mousse, that’d be great.”

The owner apprehensively and very, very slowly edges closer to Satoru’s phone with all the enthusiasm of a dying slug. Suguru stands up too, leaning across to see.

Suguru reads the review and laughs, loud ugly laughs perfect for the occasion.

The owner fums. “YOU, HOW COULD YOU—STOP LAUGHING—IT ISN’T EVEN THAT FUNNY—IT ISN’T FUNNY AT ALL.”

Suguru smiles, big and wide, lips pulled back and gums flashing. “No need for negotiations."

The waiter’s shaking uncontrollably. “You—We—How could you—”

In no time at all, Satoru grabs Suguru, easily strides over to the counter in two long steps, snatches a stray dessert plate, slaps on a ten euro banknote, and glides the two of them into the bathroom.

“I’ll leave you all to figure things out! Me and Satoru will take a dessert break, ao ree-vore.”

“It’s kinda tight in here.”

“Really? Doesn’t feel like that.”

“...”

“You want some?”

“...No.”

Suguru uncomfortably cranes his head down to look at the increasingly disappearing custard, chin pressed awkwardly into his neck.

Satoru in turn squishes his head down into his shoulders, peering up at Suguru. He shrugs and spoons another heaping mound of the dessert. “More for me then.”

Suguru stiffly tries to shift around, trying to rearrange himself more suitably, but it’s hard to find space when he’s blocked into a tiny cubicle of a stall with Satoru’s lanky mass and a dish of f*cking creme brulee.

“Satoru…mind moving your arms a bit? I’ve got no room here.”

“But I’m holding the dessert,” Satoru replies with genuine confusion, “I have to give it air.”

“What air?” he grumbles, still shifting back and forth on the same exact spot. “I’m suffocating in here.”

“Jeez, Suguru, lighten up a bit. It’s not even as bad as the airport lavatory.”

Satoru’s completely wrong. It’s terribly stuffy in here and he feels all hot and just absolutely claustrophobic in this narrow stall, encased in here with Satoru.

Maybe I’m developing anxiety, he despairs as his glaze flits back and forth from Satoru to the dish to the stall walls to Satoru to the ceiling to the tiles to Satoru to the window and back to Satoru.

Anxiety seems plausible. He can’t seem to settle his mind, especially when he so much as looks at Satoru—which unfortunately, he’s doing a crap ton.

Anxiety has something to do with bad people skills, right? Right.

“Okay, I need to get out of here. We need to get out of here.”

Satoru slowly chews on a blackberry. “Well, you’re the one facing the door, just reach behind me and pull the latch.”

Umm.

Ooh, it’s hot in here.

Suguru gingerly reaches around Satoru’s right side, and pulls at the side bolt.

It doesn’t move.

Suguru pulls it again. And again. With greater force. With extreme force. With maximum force.

The door shakes thunderously. It doesn’t move.

“Suguru, why’re you abusing the door so much? Just open it already.”

“I’m trying,” he sneers, violently wrestling with the metal. “It’s stuck or something. sh*t.”

Satoru shrieks in excitement, backhanding his plate up and over the stall wall. It breaks loudly. Immediately, his arms take advantage of their newfound freedom to wrap themselves around Suguru tightly.

“Woah! Haha, I do think we’re stuck together again, what a conundrum! Nothing like those old ugly bathrooms before or like—what—that train market in Bangkok?” he squeals as Suguru wheezes inwardly and perhaps externally too. He can’t really think right now.

“You really do like me so much,” Satoru warbles as his hair tickles Suguru’s ears.

“Of course I do,” Suguru says haplessly.

“It’s really just so, so unfortunate that it’s so cramped in here. No room at all! Couldn’t even keep the plate with us, so shameful, so regrettable. Alas, we’re going to have to make do getting nice and cozy like this—”

He shrieks again, jumping back and falling backwards, clutching backwards at the sink as Suguru kicks the door open.

“SUGURU! NO—WHAT—WE WERE HAVING A MOMENT! YOU ACTUALLY DESTROYED THE DOOR—OH MY GOD! OH. MY. GOD. OHHHH—“

“Shut,” Suguru wheezes slowly, “the f*ck up. Let’s get out of here.”

They poke their heads out of the restroom, peeking at the main room at the commotion.

It’s gotten no better.

Some poor person in the kitchen hadn’t seemed to have caught wind of everything that’s happening so now there’s a clusterf*ck of dishes piling up and no one to serve them. There’s a person wondering loudly about the large crash coming from the restrooms. Someone’s taken out Gogo and Gego and set them onto Satoru’s and Suguru’s seats respectively. All the other guests have evacuated the premises.

Satoru wriggles his way past Suguru—who’s still standing frozen at the junction between the connecting hallway and the main dining area—and immediately zooms over to the food, inhaling the dishes at high speeds.

“This is kinda boring now,” he muses, stacking plates neatly.

“It is,” Suguru can’t help but agree. This is nothing, really, in comparison to what can happen at university.

“You call this boring?” some random person shrieks. “You’ve ruined everything! This literally can’t get any worse.”

“There’s always a way for things to get worse,” Satoru pipes up, flicking his eyes to Suguru.

“You wanna makeout?” he asks blandly.

The random person gasps. The owner shouts a protest at Satoru.

“What? Like make an out? An exit? Do you want to leave? Hmm—I want to leave.”

“No no no. Like kissing. Smooch smooch.” He puckers his lips for good measure.

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” he makes a vague gesture, “like at the cafe. Back in Paris.”

Suguru thinks back.

Oh. Oh.

Wait.

Suguru thinks. That was kind of—well, something at least. He’s still been thinking on that.

It wasn’t boring though.

“Sure,” he shrugs, “I’m for it.”

“...For real?”

“For real.”

“Pucker up, lover boy.”

‘Lover boy’ very much does not pucker up, but Satoru beckons for him to come closer anyways, making grabby motions at Suguru’s collar and pulls him closer, landing another death-defying absolutely show-stopping spectacular world-changing absolutely breathtaking teeny tiny little peck on Suguru’s lips. Then he immediately giggles and jumps back, hands clasped to pink cheeks.

Suguru giggles back, horrifyingly, and then hiccups. His lips taste like nuts and cheese.

“Woah! Suguru! We’re so bold, out in public like this. My heart’s aflutter.”

Suguru’s too busy feelings things. Weird things. His heart is back to going doki-doki. But if Satoru’s feeling it too, this all be normal.

“You two,” the owner seethes upon their reentrance, “we will NEVER forgive you—mark me, I will—“

“Make sure you check the bathroom,” Satoru says as he pushes away the final plate. “We’ll pay for all damages.”

The owner goes silent.

“…Damages?”

Suguru catches wind of the awful tone. “Satoru, we’re getting out of here.”

“Huh? But the mousse—”

“Damn your mousse, I’ll get you another one. We’re leaving.”

“I want both mousses,” Satoru mumbles, even as he crams Gogo and Gego back into the bags and throws a massive wad of bills onto the table. “Should be enough to cover everything and more! En-chant-tea, thanks for promoting Gogo-Gego Reviews,” Satoru croons at the flummoxed staff before blowing a kiss at them and sprinting out of the restaurant after Suguru.

“So that was our excitement for the day,” Satoru finishes as he walks past the couch, dropping the phone onto Suguru’s sweater.

“It’s rude to jostle the phone like that when you’re on video call, you know,” Shoko’s voice drawls from the speaker. “What if I get nauseous?”

“You’ve done dissections. You won’t get nauseous.”

“Things change, especially when the two of you are involved.”

“Aww, but you love us.” Satoru forces his way onto the couch too, propping his feet up against the table.

“I love you two like two misbehaving cats that can’t take care of themselves. It’s a chore.”

“Hey—HEY! What’s that supposed to mean? Shoko! What’s that supposed to—”

Shoko hangs up.

Satoru exhales loudly, head flopping back onto the top of the backrest. “I’m bored.”

“Find something to do. Write up another hate letter to Nanami-kun.” Suguru continues typing up his latest report.

“Already did that.” Satoru restlessly flounders around, grabbing a pillow and pushing himself into a partial sideways position.

He looks over at Suguru. “Wanna makeout again?”

“You’re gay.”

“Obviously I’m not gay.”

“You literally like to kiss Satoru. You’re telling me that’s not gay behavior?”

“I’m not gay,” he repeats slowly. “It just feels really nice to kiss Satoru.”

“You like kissing him, like a lot a lot. You think he’s cute. Hell, you think he’s gorgeous.”

“Is that what I’m thinking?” Suguru mumbles as he pads a steady path across the white-capped stands, occasionally bypassing Satoru’s seat where he’s—naturally—eating.

Shoko sighs. “You never get it.”

“Help me get it,” he begs.

“I don’t even know if that’s possible.

“I’m so glad we came here for the weekend, thank god Salat exists,” Satoru babbles in-between bites as Suguru passes by, “this is the best.”

“The best,” Suguru repeats as he stares at a basket of full, uncut truffles in the stand over. They looks as unappetizing as eating a pen.

“See look,” Shoko chimes in, “the Suguru I knew would have told Satoru that ‘it’ wasn’t the best—whatever ‘it’ is supposed to be—just for the hell of it. The Suguru now agrees, apparently. I can’t believe Satoru has done this to you.”

“Done what? Done what exactly?”

Shoko sighs again. “You’re down so bad for him.”

“Down? I’m not sad. How can I be ‘down’ bad? Is it possible to be bad at being down? I—”

“I’m hanging up now so you can pay all your attention to dear Satoru over there,” she cuts in smoothly, “and hopefully better understand what you’re feeling on your own. You’re smart enough for this. Talk to you guys soon.”

Suguru stares down at Shoko’s contact information, draws in a deep breath, and pockets the phone, moving to sit down next to Satoru.

“You shouldn’t be eating so much. Don’t you want to save your stomach for the demonstrations.”

Satoru gives him an incredulous eyebrow raise as he finishes chewing. “I’ve always more stomach. Besides, all these croustous! There’s foie gras! Gnocchi! Truffle-stuffed chicken! Truffle butter duck skewers! Delicious.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Whatever I say indeed.” Satoru shoves his fork under his knife, pushing the plate back towards the vendor. “I think our truffle hunting session should be starting real soon, we should make our way over to the grounds soon.”

Suguru watches him as he rewraps his scarf. “Are you sure about going in without having any safety lessons? Like really, really sure?”

“Of course I am,” Satoru laughs. “You’re talking to Gojo ‘Culinary Connoisseur’ Satoru. No way I’d pick out a poisonous truffle.”

“...If you say so.”

“I’m not sure we’re allowed to pick this many.”

“Sure we aren’t.”

“No, I mean it. This is insane.”

“Finders keepers, the forest is owned by none.”

“And yet you’re laying claim to an awful lot of it.” Suguru grimaces as Satoru sluggishly, very sluggishly, toddles back to him. His knapsack, pockets, zipped-up jacket, his scarf even are all stuffed with explosive amounts of truffles and mushrooms. His arms are no exception. There’s a noticeable trail of stray mushroom caps behind him.

“Finders. Keepers.” Satoru clumsily tilts himself towards the bag Suguru has open and extended, emptying out his load.

“Is that what you tell Shoko when you steal her snacks? She still complains about how you did that?”

“Good times,” Satoru says nostalgically as he reaches for a mushroom.

Suguru slaps his hand away.

“OW—Suguru! That hurt! Why’d you hit me?”

“Were you going to eat that? Never mind, stupid question—of course you were going to eat that. Don’t eat random fungi, you don’t know if it’s poisonous.”

“I told you. I”m an expert. I know what I’m doing. See now, this,” he waves around the mushroom, “is an Asian paddy straw mushroom. It’s a young one, so it looks a lot like a death cap. Then how can I tell the difference? The spore print is pinker.”

“Wow. That almost sounded educational.”

“Exactly.” He chews the mushroom, contemplates it, and then proceeds to devour the rest of it.

Well. Suguru’s happy to watch him die then.

“Eat what you want then. Can’t blame me if you die.”

“At least I’ll die in umami heaven.”

And then Satoru keels over, throws up, and f*cking dies.

“Shoko…I don’t know what I’m gonna do without Satoru…how can I go on…”

“I’m completely and utterly shocked. Unbelievable to think that a mushroom would take him out in the end. I leave the two of you alone for just an hour, and then there was one.”

“I’m still here you know.”

“Here we have him. Gojo Satoru: internationally acclaimed food critic and failed YouTube artist—albeit a widely known YouTube sensation. Dead at twenty-one years one month by mushroom poisoning because he was too f*cking stupid.”

“Not stupid. Just co*cky.”

“So you do admit it.”

“Hard not to, being where I am.”

Satoru’s eyes lazily flit around the ambulance’s inner layout. He’s acting way too nonchalantly for someone who just underwent acute fungi poisoning.

Suguru sighs, continuing to stroke the back of Satoru’s hand as he has been doing for the past fifteen minutes. “How does it feel to eat sh*t for once? Got your stomach pumped like a literal dog, but at least you’ve escaped the liver and kidney damage.”

“If we’re lucky, he does have the organ damage,” Shoko pipes in.

“Hey, I’m built different. A measly little poisonous mushroom can’t hurt me.”

“Hard to think that, seeing where you are.”

Satoru stares up at him, tight-lipped. “You’re not funny.”

“You aren’t either.”

Satoru laughs anyways. “Do you…think we can go back to the festival after this?”

“Are you f*cking with me? You can’t be for real. You actually have to be f*cking with me.”

Shoko quietly hangs up from her end.

“You can’t serioulsy think I’m letting you anywhere near any sort of mushroom or truffle or whatever after what you’ve done to yourself.”

“Exactly! Unpleasant experience, this. I’ll work hard to avoid it again. Suguru can support me.”

“Support you to hell and back. I’m locking the both of us inside the apartment. And no more food for you the rest of the day, festival food or otherwise.”

“...Are you actually trying to kill me?”

“Did you not hear the doctor? No solid foods for a few hours, only thin liquids. You’ll exacerbate the stomach lining.”

“I’m. Built. Different. My stomach can handle sixteen-course meals and then some, it can handle some more light snacking.”

“You wanna keep having the same argument? Because I’ll keep f*cking arguing back. And just so you know, I have the upper hand here.”

“What upper hand? You can’t blackmail me or nothing.”

“Do you want to know how it feels to have an IV drip ripped out of your arm?”

“...”

“Thought so.”

Satoru sighs, flopping his head left and right and right and left against the cot. “Suguru is so mean to me.”

“I’m making sure you don’t have another near-death experience.”

Satoru ugly giggles, twirling a lock of his hair. “Suguru’s so romantic! How cute that you can’t bear to live without me—well then, I guess I have no choice but to not eat anything dangerous if it means Suguru can have me with him in the land of the living.”

“Romantic?”

“Romantic.”

“Romantic how?”

“Romantic everything.” Satoru pats Suguru’s arm. “Don’t you worry, you do more than enough without trying.”

“...That doesn’t sound particularly comforting.”

“Suguru, darling, my dearest sugar boo boo. Just shut up. Don’t think about it.”

Satoru lays quiet for a moment. There’s only the sounds of the beeping equipment and the ambulance driving along the roads.

“So—umm—what are we?”

“What are we,” Suguru parrots.

Weird question. In normal circ*mstances, he’d simply just voice that they’re humans, they’re men, they’re students, they’re friends, they’re best friends—somehow, it feels like he should just continue shutting up.

“Like,” Satoru looks oddly nervous, keeping his gaze focused at the side, “are we—erm—together?”

“Together,” Suguru parrots dumbly.

“Yeah. Like, are we da—f*ck—are we—” He closes his mouth tightly.

“Are we…?”

“I’m trying to think.”

Suguru stares awkwardly at the mess of hair covering Satoru’s right ear.

“Are we…gonna go steady? You do understand, right? Things are changing a bit.”

Going steady? They are in a stable relationship for sure.

He doesn’t really get what has changed though.

“Yeah, yeah we are.”

Satoru snaps his head around to stare wide-eyed at Suguru, somehow surprised. “We are?”

“We are.”

“Is repeating me all you can do?” Satoru teases, but he looks terribly pleased with himself.

“Shut up, you’re no better.”

“Aww, but you love me. I can’t wait to tell Shoko all about this. She owes me so much money.”

Le Poêlon d'Or: Reviews

Gogo Saburo
★★★★★
some people just know how to appreciate you, they just know how to adore and revere and completely and utterly worship you like the god you are. such is the case with le poelon d’or. these people here know can recognize legends, even ones in the making. they know how to make a CLAMOR for ur every move. they have the gogo seal of approval. they have made promises. promises!!! upcoming visitors can expect to see framed autographs from gogo and gego, a framed receipt from their infamous visit, never seen before pictures of gogo and gego!!!!!!!!! the food here is heavenly, sth i can attest to without even tasting the food. and my opinion is always right. je adore le poelon :3c <3

Gego Sugoiru
★☆☆☆☆
didn’t get to eat sh*t. superb entertainment on the premises though 10/10 would ridicule again.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

“Pick up, pick up,” Suguru hisses hysterically into his phone from where he’s crouched tight in the corner of their current apartment’s bathroom. The entire rental is silent apart from the ringing from Suguru’s phone; Satoru isn’t home.

Shoko doesn’t pick up. Suguru tries again.

“Pick. The. f*ck. Up.”

Shoko picks up.

“Hello, Suguru-kun?” Shoko drolls peacefully. “What’s got you so hot and bothered you’ve got to call me at…three a.m. your time? This day’s Kentucky, right? Got more grievances about your PG 13 friends with benefits—”

“Shoko,” he interrupts helplessly, “I messed up big time. Big f*cking time.”

“...What? Are you in jail? I can’t bail you guys out. I don’t even think that’s possible over international borders.”

“I’m not in f*cking jail. Me and Satoru. He—The f*cking—the f*cking rings? The kisses? Were you aware of all this?”

“Was I—was I aware? Suguru-kun, what are you even talking about?”

Suguru wails. “I think I just had the worst breakup of my life. I don’t even know what I’m breaking up.”

“You didn’t—” Shoko goes quiet, seemingly simmering. “You better start from the beginning.”

“Hamburgers and fries, hotdogs slathered with mustard and ketchup and relish and onions and cheese and bacon and olives. Beef jerky, lots of beef jerky. Pizza. Key lime pie. Biscuits and gravy, grey gravy. Grits, barbecue ribs, BLTs, apple pie. Philly cheese steak, baked beans. Reuben sandwiches. Meatloaf, cornbread. Buffalo—”

“What the f*ck is all this? Why’s that hot dog so nasty sounding? The f*ck is relish?”

“It’s our Top American Foods List, Suguru! And don’t hate on the hot dog before you try it—we just gotta have all the toppings on it. Relish is pickled cucumber jam—that actually sounds really bad out loud. Maybe try other hot dog toppings. Ooh wait, I actually think there’s also sauerkraut and jalapeños and coleslaw and—”

“f*ck eating that.”

“Aww Suguru, come on! It’s just a sausage. In between two things of bread.”

“A heavily processed thing of various meats full of god knows how many fats.”

“...I’ll only eat the one.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Satoru makes a painful-looking turn of the head. “I’m not like lying or anything, it is just the one hot dog—or like two, I’m not entirely sure yet.”

“You’re not sure? Yet? Why do you keep sounding so suspicious, stop being dodgy and just spit it out.”

“Garbage plate,” he compliantly spits out.

“...Satoru, I didn’t think you’d be so low as to stomach actual trash.”

“Suguru, my dearest snickerdoodle…do you think I’d eat actual garbage?”

“But it’s the name of it?”

“You’ve got to stop taking things so literally—book, cover, sound familiar? Anyways, it’s just a big ol’ thing of a cheeseburger or hamburger or white or red hots with Italian sausage or chicken or grilled cheese piled with home fries, french fries, macaroni salad, baked beans, spicy mustard, chopped onions, hot sauce, meat sauce, ketchup. Nothing too big.”

“Are you sure you aren’t missing a few ors? Nothing too big?” Suguru asks in horror.

“Not with the plate I’m getting. Besides, look at how many foods we’re knocking off the lists already! You should be glad to hear that, at least.”

“Do you have the stomach for that? No wait—stupid question. Please tell me you won’t have the stomach for this, you’re better than this.”

“You make it sound like I’ll eat just anything,” Satoru scoffs like someone who’d just eat anything. He flicks open his map app, keying in their next location. “I’m just a normal guy with a normal stomach eating normal foods.”

“Shout it louder so the people in the back can hear, will you? What’s taking so long?”

“I’m trying—my best.” Suguru watches as Satoru squints down at his phone confusedly, resorting to holding his phone upside down and flipping it around over and over again.

“Give it here, the directions can’t be that bad.”

Suguru looks at the phone.

Ooh, that’s bad.

“...You know what? Maybe if we walk around long enough we’ll figure it out.”

“Or,” Satoru drawls, “we can just ask someone.”

He reaches out and grabs onto someone’s shoulder. “Excuse me, but can you help direct us to Dogtown? We just need to—”

“Go down half a mile, right turn, two blocks across, turn left, right on your left.”

Umm.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru says very slowly, “but what’s a mile in terms of kilometers?”

The guy stares back. “What the f*ck is a kilometer?”

Oh no.

“Satoru, let’s just stop bothering the nice gentleman and be on our way,” he says evenly, very evenly.

“No wait, let’s talk a bit. You guys metric system people?”

Suguru immediately slams a hand over Satoru’s mouth, pulling him away. “Nope, what even is the metric system? My friend here was just being silly—you know how it is, couldn’t resist the call of his silly impulses for a moment there.”

“Do I know?” the guy asks.

“You do.” Suguru speeds away with Satoru, eventually releasing his hand.

“Hey—what the f*ck man?” Satoru whisper-screeches. “I was trying to get directions from—”

“Satoru. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the people here… they’re, you know, a bit, well, odd?”

Satoru stares at him blankly. “Odd?”

“Odd.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think.”

“...Suguru, I hate to admit it but I think I’m not as smart as you give me credit for.” He lands a great big smooch on Suguru’s cheek. “You still love me though, right? It’s my looks, not my brains.”

“I—okay we’ll talk about that later. Just shut up. I’m just saying, Americans are very…American.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll just tell you everything later.

Suguru watches with much unease and even more distaste as Satoru shoves the last forkful of his ‘garbage plate’ into his mouth, leaving behind offensive smudges of ketchup and mustard on the plate.

“You really sure you don’t wanna eat, Suguru? This isn’t half-bad.”

“Killed my appetite, thanks for asking.”

“Suit yourself,” Satoru drags the last of the fries basket towards him as if having fries in his main dish wasn’t enough already. “So like, what was up with that guy? Back there?”

Suguru observes him with even deeper unease. “Haven’t you noticed that people here are kind of…odd?”

“Odd?”

“Odd.”

“Odd—”

“Wait, just shut up. We’re not going to rehash the same spiel again. But surely, you have to have noticed there’s so much—I dunno—America everywhere?”

“...What’s that supposed to mean.”

Suguru looks around the restaurant furtively, eventually shifting closer to Satoru. “All the flags. The Great Seal. Bald eagles everywhere. Everyone chanting either that Star-Spangled Something or The Pledge of Allegiance. A crap ton of Uncle Sam mascots. Super Bowl? The obsession with baseball and everyone and their mother wearing blue jeans.”

Satoru stares at him, slowly looking down at his legs. “So I’m out of fashion here, not wearing blue jeans?”

“Why the f*ck is that the only thing you caught onto?”

“Tell me I’m pretty. I’ve got to know I’m pretty here, even without the fashionable blue jeans?”

“What the f*ck? I won’t. We’ve got other things to discuss.”

“Tell me I’m pretty.”

“No. As I was—”

“Tell. Me. I’m. Pretty.”

“Fine. You’re pretty. The prettiest across all the lands, happy?”

“Happy,” Satoru enthusiastically and very crookedly attempts to rub his nose against Suguru’s. Suguru edges back.

“Your woes aside, I need you to get it through your thick skull that Americanism is very heavy here.”

“So like, are you calling them racist?” Satoru gnashes a thick handful of fries in half.

“What? No, oh my god. Where’d you even get that from? I’m—”

“I’m just saying. Supremacy and racism are never too far off, just so you know.”

“...I’ll bear that in mind. But in New York at least, just shut the f*ck up and don’t talk to people. Your big mouth will get you in trouble.”

“But Suguru will protect me!” Satoru dramatically drapes himself over Suguru’s lap, staring up at him with shiny, glittery, horrifying eyes. “My dashing prince until the very end.”

Doki-doki again.

Suguru violently shoves Satoru off his lap before he tries something stupid…like stroking his hair.

“I’ll happily watch you die.”

“Suguru’s so mean!” Satoru affectedly rubs at his shoulder. “But like, you know, can’t we just make fun of them?”

What?

“What?” he voices dumbly.

“Like—we’re already kinda really hated on international levels, why can’t we just poke fun at these guys? What are they gonna do? Get mad at us? Suguru can just beat the sh*t out of them.”

What?

“So we’re just going to what? Provoke them? See how far we can push buttons? Become complete and utter assholes?”

“Exactly,” Satoru grins at him, “up for it?”

He definitely is.

“If I wasn’t the kind of guy to say yes, I’d never have come on this trip with you in the first place.”

“Hey hey there, good sir!” Satoru warbles, as he slings himself into a seat at the bar, glancing carelessly up at the TV and then back to his new bar-mate.

Suguru sits on his right soundlessly. For tonight, for a set time, his personality is laconic and restrained. At least until his time comes to buttress Satoru’s gimmick.

The other guy squints at Satoru warily. “Who’re you?”

Satoru cutely and very grandiloquently brandishes out his arms in a wide gesture of majesty. “I, my dear friend, am Gogo Saburo.”

The other guy continues staring. “Gogo…Saburo. I’m John Doe.”

“Mhm. Mind you Gogo Saburo, that is Gogo Sa-bu-ro. Important distinctions.”

“...Uh-huh.”

“Well! My dear friend, let me buy you a drink. Let’s go for a few, in fact.”

“A drink?” Doe perks up, suddenly not so skeptical. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“Fabulous. Dear sir, what is it that you—”

“The Sidecar d’Antan with a Full Throttle and a Rip It on the side. I also like a little American flag to stir my drink too, you know how it is.”

Suguru peeks at the menu. Ooh, the most expensive co*cktail.

Satoru’s smile twitches minisculely. Suguru titters obnoxiously. “You didn’t set a price limit indeed, Saburo.”

Satoru mouths at him a very sweet ‘shut the f*ck up’ before turning back to their hopeful victim of the day, lovely smile plastered back onto his face.

“Don’t mind my…lovely little friend here. Business partner. Associate. He likes to say random sh*t sometimes.”

“Only sometimes,” Suguru regurgitates as he shifts his chair closer.

“Sometimes,” Satoru repeats yet again, pushing the newly served drinks towards Doe. “Let’s go for a few more rounds! I’ll keep treating.”

The other guy eases up even more, taking a long draught of his drink. “As long as it’s your bill, not mine.”

Satoru smiles smugly at him. “I wouldn’t dare. Say, what is it that you do?”

“Super Bowl,” Doe booms, “it’s coming up real soon.”

“Right, right! I’ve been so excited about it. I love love love American sports,” Satoru fibs.

“We’re real excited about it. Love American sports.”

“So excited in fact that me and my associate here have been diving into the…Super Bowl business.”

“The Super Bowl Business. Very exciting. Lots of diving.”

“You’re in luck, Mr. Doe! You see,” Satoru pauses for dramatic effect, “we love capitalism.”

“Absolutely adore it. Consumerism is what makes me wake up each morning. Black Friday’s my favorite holiday.”

“Yes. Me and my very helpful associate here have been tinkering around with merchandise. Very lucrative. So, so very lucrative.”

“Lucrative to the max.”

The guy ignores Suguru’s odd attempts at parroting. “Merchandise, you say? What kind of merchandise?”

“Digital toys where you can be in charge of a player and manage their training, skillset, evolution, and battles. Like Digimon. Trying to exhibit your players in different ways so it could turn out like Devimon or Gatomon, depending on what you want to do.”

“Basically you can make your player look deceptively weak when they’re really strong or they can look strong enough to match their actual strength, or something like that. Digimon’s like Tamagotchi.”

“Tamagotchi,” Doe thumbs his chin, “that Japanese toy thing that was real popular in the 90s and aughts? Kinda cute, I guess.”

Satoru catches it. “Exactly! A great way for enthusiasts to feel closer to their favorite players, if not actually.”

“You two got sample merch I can look at?”

Satoru grins. “You see, my dear fellow, we have not yet been able to manufacture our products yet. We need sponsorship, you see.”

Doe perks up, like an idiot. “Woah, man, you’re in luck. See, I’m a sponsor in the Super Bowl business. That’s like my thing.”

“How wonderful,” Satoru croons, “how fortunate it was that we met you tonight then!”

“How wonderful, how fortunate. Tonight is very blessed. Let us poor, unfunded young saps please market our product to you. Please.”

“As Sugoiru said, we’d love to have the chance to let you explore what we have to offer. You are our great hope, Mr. Doe.”

“Alright, have at it.”

Satoru whips out a notepad and pen, speedily etching out a drawing. “It’s a little portable video game interface, handheld with a chain attachment. We’re thinking of making it in three colors: red, white, and blue. Me and my friend aren’t very creative, but for the soundtrack, we’re just so inspired by—you know—The Star Spangled Banner, In God We Trust, Party in the USA. They’re just so moving.”

“Uncle Sam’s the guy who helps you out, like in the tutorial and sh*t,” Suguru tacks on, “a thought we had.”

Doe stares down at the notepad with something like stars in his eyes. “I’m very…moved.”

Satoru guffaws loudly. “You’re moved! How exciting.”

Suguru squints down at the notepad. The drawing is awful.

Satoru oh-so smugly interlaces his fingers, leering over at Doe. “I propose a trade offer: you buy us dinner, and we’ll talk some more. Sound’s good! Right?”

“Dinner’s on me then,” Doe hastily agrees, “order what you like, this is the start of a great business opportunity between the two of us.”

Satoru grins. “I’m thinking every other appetizer, the Maison Close Seafood Tower, the Alaskan King Crab leg, all the main courses, and the truffle fries. Dessert later, of course.”

Suguru absently looks at the menu. Almost each of the appetizers Satoru will have this Doe order for them is above thirty US dollars. Sweet.

Doe, however, doesn’t seem to be aware. “Excellent, excellent. Let’s get to talking while we wait.”

Satoru easily loops his arm into Suguru’s as they exit the restaurant, humming the US national anthem out of tune as he pries open a takeout box of dessert.

“Ile flottante and tarte tatin and poire belle helene and vanilla creme caramel, beautiful. It’s too bad that we had to keep pretending so much with that guy, it’d be fun if we could make out in between sentences like usual?”

“Isn’t that French? You actually said those really well. And enough with the making out, I still don’t understand your weird lingo. But anyway, what was up with you and that guy Doe at the end? You actually got him to sign sh*t? I thought we were faking.”

“Huh? Of course we were faking.” Satoru crumples an empty box into a tight little ball of paperboard. “He’s now a proud subscriber to my YouTube channel, Gogo and Gego’s reviews, and my food criticism news outlets. And now, any calls that icky manager my parents hired tries to get to me will go through him first. He’ll have some very nice mornings.”

Suguru recalls Satoru having thrown his phone across the room multiple mornings. “We’re gonna be the ones with some very nice mornings.”

Satoru cackles again. “Exactly! Exactly. Wanna go get another garbage plate?”

“Suguru, I think we’re in the wrong…California?”

“You what?”

“I said I think we’re in the—”

“No, shut up. I heard you right the first time. Why’d you ever think that?”

“This doesn’t feel like the California I always heard about. Where’s the Golden Gate Bridge? The Hollywood sign? The palm trees and perfect beaches? Disneyland?”

“San Francisco, Malibu, and Los Angeles are very different places.”

“But where the f*ck is this?”

Suguru sighs, finally clambering up from where he’s been resting in the back of their car rental, rubbing at his eyes as he pokes his head out of the window.

His eyes widen. Oh.

This very much isn’t the California Satoru has described, but it isn’t any sort of California Suguru has heard of either.

Wide, open, expansive plains as far as he can see. Lots of yellow. A sh*t ton of random crates. Cows. Horses. Lots of hills in some parts. Modern-looking windmills?

“Satoru,” he says slowly, “this is feeling like that Texas I always hear about.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Satoru wails from the driver’s seat. “Where’s the bling-bling?”

“Do you know what city this is? Is this a city? Please tell me it’s a city.”

“It’s like Livingston or something.”

Suguru googles it.

“Oh no. Oh, Satoru. What have you done to us?”

“What have I done? What have I done? Suguru, what the f*ck are you on? Is it that bad?”

“Livingston. It’s pretty small and desolate. Good god, Satoru, I thought you wanted to ‘live it out’ in the big city? Why the f*ck didn’t you book for San Francisco?”

“It isn’t my fault!” Satoru howls plaintively. “I saw this marketing for Livingston on Instagram, it looked so beautiful and interesting! I just—I just want In-N-Out! Will I not be able to get In-N-Out here?”

“Satoru.”

“...Yes, darling?”

“Show me the damn ad.”

Satoru throws him the phone. Suguru takes one look at the page and immediately closes the phone, reaching over to harshly thump on the back of Satoru’s seat.

“WHAT THE f*ck, SATORU? WHY WOULD YOU TRUST A PAGE THAT’S CALLED CAT AND FISH TRAVELS? CAT AND f*ckING FISH. IT’S A CATFISHING PAGE. THIS sh*t ISN’T REAL.”

“I DIDN’T NOTICE!” Satoru screeches. “WHY ARE YOU THE ONE OUTING ME? IN ANY OTHER CASE YOU’D THINK THIS WAS A PAGE FOR HELPING YOUR PET CATS AND FISHES TRAVEL!”

“I’m not an idiot like you when it comes down to it.” He wallops the seat again. “Just keep driving until we hit a gas station or somewhere to eat. We need to figure out what we’re doing next.”

“This is gonna be the worst meal of my life,” Satoru moans, slamming his head against the countertop as the waiter makes off with their order. “Those hashbrowns are gonna be mushy, the eggs will be tasteless, the milkshake’s gonna be so thin. I can already taste it.”

“At least you’re having a good ol’ American roadside diner experience,” Suguru says snidely, “head off the counter, who knows what nasty sh*t there is on there. You don’t know when that was last cleaned.”

A waiter glares at him. Suguru glares back.

Satoru sighs, sluggishly raising his head up. “I thought this place’d be cool, you know?”

“I don’t know,” Suguru says waspishly.

“...I guess I set myself up for that one. But like—the video! Beautiful castles, gorgeous malls, fabulous entertainment, really lively streets. I just thought…you know.”

“That the pics were so gorgeous you wouldn't have to do any fact-checking before booking our flight tickets? Weren’t the hotels really weird looking or anything?”

Satoru stares mulishly before him as his plate is served. “I wasn’t looking at them too deeply. I just thought there were great prices.”

“Satoru…we don’t care about the prices.”

“Why are you so upsetti spaghetti over this? I know we’re not thinking about expenses, but—”

The fork clatters against the plate as Satoru yelps, both of them turning as the door slams open.

There’s a f*cking cowboy there.

“Oh my god,” Satoru exclaims, “oh my god—wait, what the f*ck is happening?”

“HANDS UP!” the newbie yells.

“Get down,” Suguru whispers as he manhandles Satoru underneath the counter. “I think that guy has a gun.”

Satoru stills. “Oh my god, so like an actual cowboy! That’s so co—”

“Don’t call the man with a gun cool. Guns are not cool. You’ll get your head blown off.”

In response, Satoru wraps his bony limbs around Suguru in their very tight, very uncomfortable nook in between the stools and the front elevation. “Suguru will just block the bullets for me, right? My dashing knight till the very end.”

“I’ve got a regular human body? The bullets will just go through and hit you. What are you even thinking?”

“...Is Suguru saying that we’ll die together then? Wouldn’t take you for such a romanticist, my heart’s fluttering. Is yours fluttering too? This is such a moment of passion.”

“Who’s heart is fluttering?” Suguru bites back, trying to extricate himself from Satoru’s clingy mess of limbs.

“But your heart is fluttering, Suguru.”

Suddenly, Suguru becomes acutely aware of the fact that if Satoru’s annoyingly entangled with him, that also means he’s annoyingly entangled with Satoru.

“You’re imagining it.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not. Suguru, don’t tell me you’re actually in love with me? So early into our relationship! Oh ho ho—”

He yelps again as Suguru forcefully kicks him away, rolling out from under the counter and around the stools to where their unfortunate gunman stands.

Suguru inwardly despairs as Satoru cringes, looking up at the gunman and giving him a small wave.

“Big umm guns you’ve got there. Think you’re Lucky Luke or something? I—”

Suguru whips out a hand and attempts to drag Satoru back, only to be left scrabbling at the hardwood as Satoru himself clambers to his own feet.

Good, Suguru thinks petulantly, at least he can save himself—

He f*cking gasps as Satoru, instead of hightailing it out of the diner, stumbled in the opposite direction right back towards Suguru, going out of view. But Suguru can hear the screech of the stool as Satoru plops himself back down into his seat, and the squeak of the cutlery being pushed against the plate again.

“What are you doing?” he whisper-yells up at Satoru. “Are you f*cking eating? At this time? Get down, now.”

“I’ve gotta eat,” Satoru says in a muffled voice. “Like, I’m pretty sure even if I’m down there with you, I’ll just die anyways. Sorry baberoni, but I’d rather die eating than ensconced in your loving embrace.”

He seems to pause. “Though kissing is almost as good as eating. I’d do with dying while kissing you. Is it possible to kiss and eat at the same time? Woah, maybe I should get plastic surgery for two mouths. Imagine that, my schooopy whoopy.”

“I’ll let you get the surgery as long as you get the f*ck back down here,” Suguru begs. “You’re such a f*cking nitwit but I’m not letting you die.”

“But I’m almost done with my has browns.”

“I’ll buy you more hash browns, just—”

Wait.

Wait a damn minute.

He slowly detracts his hand from where it’s reaching out to Satoru’s stool and slowly pokes his head out from under the counter. “Have you seen any sign of danger while you were up there?”

Satoru blinks and then looks down at his plate. “Like, the cowboy?”

Suguru looks around once, twice, and then dusts himself off, exhaustedly taking a seat next to Satoru. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Honey, are you okay?” Satoru asks concernedly. “Do you want some of my hash browns?”

“I don’t want any hash browns.”

“Maybe you do need some hash browns,” a waitress butts in. “You two fellas were reacting real oddly to our American Frontier Display Extraordinaire.

Satoru blinks again. “What?”

“Our American Frontier—”

“I heard. What the f*ck is that?”

“It’s a reenactment of what it would be like to have lived in the Frontier, like in those Western-style movies. Saloons, cards, the cowboys and the sheriffs blasting in guns ablaze, the whole hubbub. Every Sunday, twelve o’clock sharp. You boys were acting so funny no one wanted to stop you two.”

Suguru exhales harshly into the hands covering his face. “So we really weren’t in any danger? I thought gun violence was a big thing in America.”

“Nope, no danger this time at least,” the waitress says smoothly. “You’re right though, it ain’t too safe in America. But no shooter’s gonna come in fully decked out in cowboy wear like our guy here, probably at least. In any case, the best chicken joints in the hood usually have bulletproof glass, and we’ve got some damn good chicken.”

Satoru oddly looks disappointed. “So I should have ordered the chicken? Wait wait wait, so this was all just acting? Aww, damn. Can we continue? I want my Western-style height-of-the-action romance moment with Suguru! The sun at our backs as we ride off into the sunset, dust clouds about us, a grand kiss to seal things off.”

Suguru flicks a finger out and knocks the salt shaker over into the remainder of Satoru’s eggs. “I’m not kissing you anymore. Not for forever.”

“Aww, but you love me. You can’t live without my kisses.”

“f*ck you,” Suguru says stupidly. The waitress has silently left them to their bickering. “You’re just making assumptions because my heart was off-beat.”

Satoru laughs and then goes quiet. “But Suguru, you know, do you like, actually love me?”

Suguru turns to him; Satoru’s blushing as he quietly brushes the salt off his eggs.

“Yeah, I do a lot. What stupid kind of question is that?”

“Wait—like for real? You’re not just saying it because?”

“Because what? You’re so stupid sometimes, Satoru. Of course I love you. Why are you questioning that?”

“It’s kind of really hard for most people to admit to love so early in a relationship.”

“Haven’t we been in a relationship for a long, long while?”

Satoru makes a gasp of adoration. “So Suguru has been on the same wavelength as me! You’ve been messing with me this entire time, haven’t you? Ooh, I love you so much, sugar lips.”

Suguru grudgingly grabs onto the hand Satoru’s waving about at him.

It really is a stupid question. After all, everyone feels love for their very best of friends, it’s what makes friendships last in the first place.

Of course he’d say he loves Satoru.

“I thought we were done with these desolate, miserable sort of places.”

“Suguru, you’re going to have to persist! Kentucky’s special! KFC’s so good in Japan, it’d be criminal not to go to the original location while we can.”

Suguru side-eyes him. “So that warrants taking a flight all the way out into this god-forsaken city? Just for a single meal here?”

“Yes,” Satoru says resolutely. “It absolutely does.”

“...Fine.”

Suguru holds the door open as Satoru scuttles into the very first KFC in none other than Sander’s Cafe and Museum of Corbin, Kentucky.

Satoru eagerly skitters around the restaurant, examining the various memorabilia and posters as Suguru pulls out two chairs, slouching into his own.

He eventually settles down after placing their order, wandering his way back to the table Suguru has prepared.

“This place isn’t as exciting as I expected.”

“It’s just a KFC when it comes down to it, what else did you expect?”

Satoru huffs, flipping through a spare menu. “In any case, it’s an interesting enough location for our new project.”

“New project? Our new project? Since when am I involved in your sh*t?”

“You’ve always been! But no, Suguru, really—this deeply involves you. Gogo-Gego collaboration.”

“I have to draw out the Gego Sugoiru persona today?” He eyes the bag that Gogo and Gego have been crammed into for today.

“Yes. You see, today we’re breaking up?”

“...What are we breaking?”

“Don’t get upset, my dearest Suguru! We’re not for real breaking up, of course. But Gogo and Gego are.”

“I still don’t get it.”

Satoru sighs, taking out a pencil and lying the paper menu flat on the table.

“You see, Gogo and Gego are very notorious, naturally. Part of that is that they’re a very hateable, very easy to disrespect married couple. It’s their image, you know?”

He doesn’t know.

“So today, we’re staging a breakup. It’ll be so much fun! So dramatic! We’re gonna get such a reputation boost.”

Suguru really feels like he and Satoru are not on the same page.

“...Okay.”

Satoru nods and then unleashes a bombastically ear-piercing scream. Everyone in the restaurant looks at them.

“S—Sugoiru! You can’t do this to me! How could you?”

They’re launching into this already?

He still does not know what the f*ck they’re breaking. Are they going to destroy the dolls? Their review system?

The chairs?

Suguru awkwardly clears his throat. “You’ve had this a long time coming, Saburo.”

Satoru ugly sniffles. “But—But you’re my one true love, Sugoiru! My snookie pookie! We’ve been through so much together…our short-lived courtship to our virtually nonexistent engagement to our current what-would-have-been long-lived marriage!

Suguru’s eyebrows crease.

Courtship? Engagement? Marriage?

His brain is working hard.

He still doesn’t get it.

“I…I can’t deal with this anymore,” he says slowly, genuinely.

“I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS EITHER!” Satoru screeches, yanking at his gorgeous hair. “YOU—YOU NEVER GET WHAT I SAY, WE’RE NEVER COMMUNICATING LIKE A GOOD COUPLE SHOULD, YOU—SUGOIRU, YOU—WE JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER.”

“We don’t understand each other,” Suguru repeats slowly.

“EXACTLY—SEE? IF YOU HAD REALLY UNDERSTOOD ME, YOU’D BE TRYING TO COMFORT ME AND—”

“Hold up just a moment,” Suguru wheezes, one hand flat against his chest and the other extended out to block Satoru, palm faced outwards. “I need to f*cking think.”

His brain is working overtime trying to comprehend this sh*tshow.

“YOU THINK I’M GONNA LET YOU THINK, YOU MOTHERf*ckER? I’M BREAKING UP WITH Y—”

“SHUT THE f*ck UP FOR A MOMENT,” Suguru shrieks back, “WHAT THE f*ck HAVE YOU EVEN BEEN TALKING ABOUT? I JUST—I DON’T—WHAT?”

Satoru goes still, looking at Suguru confusedly. “Eh? Suguru, you gotta keep acting. We’ve gotta have a clean breakup, we’re on video.” He points at the various people videoing them around the restaurant.

Suguru wheezes again. “Like, you know—umm—hoo, it’s hot in here.”

“...Is Suguru okay? Are you developing a fever?”

Suguru thinks he’s reached a realization of sorts.

He doesn’t like it, but it’s a realization.

“I—umm—when you’ve been saying we’re in a relationship, like ever since Italy and sh*t, what do you mean by that?”

“...That we’ve been dating?”

“I don’t understand that.”

“...Umm. That we’re in love?”

“Of course I love you, and you love me. But not that.”

“...That we’re like, I dunno, lovers? I really don’t know what you want me to say.”

Oh.

Oh.

Suguru groans into his sleeve, clutching at his head in despair. What has he done?

“Do you mean to say that this entire time you think we’ve been in a ‘relationship’ relationship? Like Shoko and Utahime?”

“...What the f*ck do you mean? Of course like Shoko and Utahime.”

“Satoru, I—” Suguru works his jaw. “I’m like—I—UGH—I don’t think of you in that way.”

He can’t see Satoru’s face from here, but it’s evident that the other has gone still. “What does that mean?”

“You’re my friend, Satoru. I don’t like, love you or anything.”

“But…you’ve said that you do. You’ve been saying it this entire time.”

“There’s love love and then there’s love love—don’t you get it?”

“OF COURSE I f*ckING DON’T,” Satoru yells, “YOU’RE BEING SO CONFUSING.”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S BEEN CONFUSING! Oh my god—oh my god—you can’t seriously think that we’ve been in a committed relationship this whole time. Satoru, you’re really just my friend. My best friend. Never anything but.”

Satoru’s silent again. “Are you for real?”

“For real.”

“For real?”

“For real?”

“FOR REA—”

He cuts himself off with a harsh snap of his jaw as someone delivers their Ultimate BBQ Fried Chicken Sandwich Combo and Chicken + Nuggets Family Combo, all accompanied with mac and cheese and mashed potatoes and biscuits and gravy and the special KFC sauce and ranch and buffalo ranch and honey bbq and honey sauce and hot sauce. And two Pepsis.

“Y’all keep yelling like this, and we’re gonna have to kick you two out. Take your breakup elsewhere.”

Suguru slowly lifts his head up to look at Satoru, who’s staring down monotonously at his bucket of chicken.

“Satoru? Are you okay?”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

He still doesn’t f*cking get what they’re breaking, but now at least he kind of gets what Satoru’s been thinking about.

“Yeah, I think I am. I think we are.”

Satoru’s mouth wobbles dangerously before he proceeds to devour the entire bucket.

He grabs onto the fries bucket and the sandwich, standing up.

“Don’t bother waiting up tonight, I’ll rent a hotel elsewhere. I’m sure you don’t want to share a room tonight. You’re going to have to call a taxi back. Bye, Suguru.”

“And so that’s what happened.”

Suguru listens to the sounds of Shoko shifting around from her end of the phone call. “Suguru…you’re actually really stupid, aren’t you?”

“W—What the f*ck, Shoko?” he splutters. “Why are you bullying me? Satoru’s the one to blame for all this, I was the one who—he’s the one who’s been assuming that we—”

“Suguru, just shut the f*ck up.”

Unlike with Satoru, Suguru shuts the f*ck up.

“I almost, just almost feel bad for Satoru. Incredibly bad. Again, almost. You’re both very much at fault for all this. Again, the both of you. I need you to get that in your stupid little head.”

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s what I’ll try to fix today, hopefully. Suguru, do you want to try to explain to me why you thought Satoru reacted the way he did?”

“He’s been acting like we’re in a relationship but we really aren’t and he keeps thinking I love him and like I do but I don’t like love love him and I think he’s upset that we’ve been kissing a lot all this time in spite of everything but like isn’t that what everyone does and he’s really been weird about the rings and talking about being married a lot and then there’s Gogo and Gego and the other Gogo and Gego and I—”

“Suguru, calm down. Okay, there may be a lot of factors, but try to disseminate the most important one, please?”

“Well he—he—that guy, he—”

“Suguru, take a few deep breaths and collect your thoughts.”

He breathes in.

“Satoru…I think he’s mad that his publicity stunt flopped.”

Shoko makes a weird noise. “Suguru, turn on the lights if they aren’t on already and find somewhere comfortable to sit if you aren’t in the bathroom or whatever weird sort of comfort place you went to. We’re going to be talking for a while.”

Harland Sanders Cafe and Museum: Reviews

Gogo Saburo
★☆☆☆☆
f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you f*ck you i had the absolute worst time here (the chicken was okay though…)

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

“Guys…I know I look terrible…it’s the freshly single aura…yes, yes, no, don’t feel sorry for me. Uh-huh, mhm-hm. No, I’m not looking for rebounds—you guys are so funny sometimes! Today’s a breakup recovery day, which means lots and lots of food. Less than usual, but sweet stuff only! I’m Peru now, so alfajores, lucuma ice cream—from D’Onofrio yeah—and picarones, mazamorra morada, arroz con leche, leche asada, turrón de dona pepa, suspiro de limeña, and flan. Lots of flan. A ton of flan de leche. I love flan normal amounts.”

Suguru secretively peeks out of his bedroom door, taking a chance look at the couch, where Satoru’s live-streaming and very much enjoying not having Suguru around.

“How can you be single? Weren’t you married? Oh my god, are you getting divorced? So asks User WibbleWobble in quick succession. Sorry dear viewers, but the marriage was just a joke—OR AT LEAST IT WAS A JOKE TO SOME OF US.”

Suguru can hear the rapid ping-ping of the chat if he strains his ears.

“To us others…it was so real. So very real. Heartbreakingly real. Gutwrenchingly real. Traumatizingly—”

Satoru pauses. Suguru tentatively creeps out further.

“User Megumism can shut the f*ck up. Can I ban users? I want to ban this user. No no no, I said to shut the f*ck up, Fushiguro ‘watches nine-way split screen Cocomelon, Pocoyo, Subway Surfers, TikTok, YouTube playthroughs, anime, conspiracy theories, telenovela epics, Bollywood dramas’ Megumi. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Try saying something now.”

“Don’t expect a six-year-old to be a worthy adversary in a verbal showdown.” Suguru immediately realizes his f*ckup and slaps a hand over his mouth after making an unearthly gasp, following his commentary.

“That Megumi kid’s eight, eight’s old enough,” Satoru replies absently, before also realizing that he’s f*cked up his own self-sustained silence towards Suguru and promptly makes his own unearthly gasp, hand non-concomitant.

Satoru whips his head around towards Suguru, his absolutely breathtaking exquisitely delightful absolutely marvelous gloriously colored eyes staring wide at Suguru. In return, Suguru makes a weird sort of wheezing noise before waving limply, like a moron.

Satoru blinks at him very, very depressingly before rotating his head back towards his streaming setup with mindnumbing slowness. No wave back. He pulls a bucket of alfajores towards himself, nibbles at one, looks down at his bucket, and then dumps a criminal amount of powdered sugar into the bucket.

“Sorry about the—ah, umm—the ruckus. Just now. Divorced things.” Satoru resolutely ignores Suguru’s watchful gaze. “I still feel his presence, sometimes. It’s like still hearing the baby cry even when the kid’s all grown up and nasty-faced, or whatever it’s like being a parent. Have to get used to life without him—wait—User Megumism is still sending sh*t in the chat? Can someone please just ban him already?”

Suguru uneasily shuffles over to the corner of the room, plunking himself down into an armchair as he watches Suguru.

“Oh…I’m the only one who can do that? Moderators only? Guys…I don’t know how to moderate. I’ll learn by next time, but for now, Megumism better watch his f*cking mouth—his fingers—whatever. He shouldn’t be allowed near a keyboard, it’s very bad parenting. I say that we ban kids from computer labs.

“Wait—WAIT—Megumi, what are you doing?” Satoru lowers his head toward his laptop. “He’s…sending messages one word at a time? Chat, drown him out—okay, wait, I kinda want to see what he has to say. Let him speak.”

He squints at the screen even more. “Just…get…over…your…nasty…boyfriend…already—OH f*ckING HELL KID THAT’S IT YOU’RE DONE FOR, I WON’T TAKE sh*t FROM THE LIKES OF YOU—”

He pauses to grab at a truly massive container of suspiro de limeña. “Like, you know what? f*ck you. He was my one and only—my one and only! The only pookie wookie schmoopie moopie winkle dinkle doo I’ll ever have. Schmoopie moopie! I’m telling you, I’m not gonna just get over him just like that, he was special. He was supposed to be the love of my—”

Satoru pauses again, whipping his head around to where Suguru sits, gawping at him in his armchair very awkwardly. Satoru silently ends the live stream with a quick mutterance of goodbyes before standing up, still staring at Suguru, hand on hip.

“...So—uh—did you mean that?” Suguru tries to smile at him. It comes out like a grimace.

“That…that you were my schmoopie moopie?”

Past tense? Suguru wails inwardly.

But no, that’s not important, not right now.

“No. You said that I’m the—I’m the—I’m the—I’m the—”

Suguru wheezes. He’s still not very good at all this, even with Shoko’s intense conditioning.

“I’m the—”

“That you were the love of my ill-fated youthly flings? Yeah.”

Suguru gapes at him in horror. Satoru gnashes on his lip furiously.

“If you don’t have anything else to ask me then I’m just gonna like, leave now. And like, yeah. Catch you. Later. Much later. Hasta la vista.”

Satoru messily packs up his things and scrabbles out of the apartment, the door banging shut behind him.

Suguru immediately whips out his phone, hitting Shoko’s call button.

“Suguru? You again? Another botched attempt at communication?”

“Shoko…you’ve got to help me…”

“I’m not your relationship counselor,” Shoko sighs, “but let’s have at it again.”

Suguru very dejectedly trails behind Satoru at a very respectable nine-foot distance as the other bumbles his way up the hillside path.

This has been their dynamic the past week they’ve spent in Peru: Suguru tries his best; Satoru ignores him.

Look at me, Suguru thinks helplessly as he stares at the back of Satoru’s gorgeous, terribly weak-looking back. Didn’t you once think of me as your pookie wookie?

Of course, Satoru does not react to the increasing sadness of Suguru’s inward monologue, instead continuing his actual outspoken monologue.

“IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL HERE IN THIS LOVELY PART OF SOUTHERN PERU. MIGHTY SHAME I DON’T HAVE ANYONE SPECIAL TO SHARE THE VIEW WITH.”

“I’m here,” Suguru says lamely. He is, of course, ignored.

“I’ve just always wanted to see the Nazca Lines, one of the wonders of this world!”

“Satoru, it’s Machu Picchu that’s only sometimes acknowledged as a world wonder in this country, not the Nazca Lines.”

Satoru comes to a halt, still looking straight ahead. “Oh wow, what was that? I swore I heard something. Anyways, my brain has come to the great conclusion that I was mistaken. In any case, I do so love the Nazca Lines, and unlike my feelings for SOME people, this love at least will be returned in great magnitude.”

“I’m here, Satoru, I said I’m sorry,” he calls out hopelessly, “I can…love you too?”

“Too doubtful, try again,” Satoru says dismissively before continuing to ignore him.

“I’m trying, I keep trying. I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Suguru vividly recalls trying to talk to Shoko, trying to figure out how to act next.

“Shoko, please just act me like an objective witness to…our relationship? Explain to me what’s wrong with the situation as if I don’t know anything at all.”

“I dunno if that’ll work with you…”

“Just try, please? Shoko, we’re your best friends.”

“Fine.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing wrong.”

Satoru has never been one to avoid a spat.

“Oddly enough, I can’t understand what you mean by that.”

“I think you can try.”

“I am.”

“You aren’t.”

“I am.”

“You aren’t.”

“But I am.”

“But you—”

Satoru abruptly cuts himself off as he stumbles on the steep downward climb, inextricably starting to slip his way down before Suguru reaches over and catches him.

“Ooh, Suguru! My most dashing, most chivalrous, absolutely dapper knight in shining—”

Satoru gags as he realizes what he’s saying, staring up at Suguru, still frozen in his embrace.

“...Suguru, ignore that just now. Reflex, you know. Habit. Slip of the tongue. Freudian slip.”

Suguru’s about to nod before he realizes he has a chance.

“Part of this whole ordeal is that Suguru doesn’t realize how different his and Satoru’s whole dynamic is from any normal sort of one, even between really close friends. He shouldn’t keep trying to reject it as just a friendly one—that’s just plain stupid and what got him boohooing over his breakup now.”

“Is it really reflex?” he attempts to sound suave, “or perhaps do you still see me as your—umm—dapper knight in shining armor? I’ll even be your prince if you’ll have me.”

Satoru stares up at him, mouth hanging open in an ugly sort of way. Suguru finds him very endearing. He’s such an enchanting guy.

In a remarkable show of agility, Satoru manages to scramble out of Suguru’s hold. And then scrambles back farther, then farther, then, farther.

Oh, Suguru watches him go, he’s leaving me again. Did I fail? I think I failed. I keep failing at this.

Satoru’s still sitting at the edge of the path, staring at him, mouth still wide open and cheeks now very red. Then he stands up, dusts himself off, and continues on as if nothing happened.

Suguru continues his pathetic now daily routine of trailing behind him.

They both make their way up another incline before Satoru halts, Suguru easily stopping behind him, still maintaining that nine-foot distance.

“There it is!” Satoru shouts, waving his arms about in the air. “The great, illustrious, Nazca Lines!”

He unfolds a picnic blanket, lowering himself into a sitting position on it as he takes out Gogo and Gego to see the sights.

Suguru gets out his own, smaller, separate blanket like a reject.

Because he is one.

“See that there,” Satoru very pointedly directs his speech to the dolls. “These lines are geoglyphs. Ge-o-glyphs. A lot of them are just lines and geometric shapes, some of them form animals. A lot of them have stories! I, for one, look at those lines over there and see the ill-fated story of star-crossed lovers, an epic romance of will-they-won’t-they. And sadly, they won’t ever. Because they’re like, you know, ill-fated.”

Suguru tries to match Satoru’s directing finger to the massive planes of the desert before them.

He sees a bunch of random squiggles. There’s an odd sense of sorrow coming over him, maybe this star-crossed sh*t is actually true.

“THEY WERE EACH OTHER’S ONE AND ONLYS, YOU KNOW!” Satoru cries dramatically, clutching at Gego. Gogo lies on his side on the blanket, abandoned.

“They could have been everything together, they could have been everything to each other, if it were not for the dastardly thoughts of that—that—the other guy. They’re both guys, you see. It’s all very hom*oerotic.”

A mound of stray yarn escapes Gego’s weaving.

“It’s like—it’s like Chang’e! If Chang’e was like—I dunno—a guy.” He turns his glistening eyes towards the sky, looking up at the moon in the afternoon, bright blue sky. “Chang’e, left by her beloved hubby. His beloved hubby. Solidarity. God, life is so sad.”

“Some stories have it that there were certain misunderstandings between Chang’e and Hou Yi, they didn’t have the chance to communicate.”

He’s really f*cking trying.

“CHANG’E IS ALL ALONE AND BETTER OFF WITHOUT HER MAN AND YOU KNOW WHAT SO AM I.”

Satoru blatantly ignores Suguru as he stands up again, posing dramatically before the geoglyphs.

“I am a changed man now. I need no love in my life.”

f*ck it.

Suguru determinedly charges toward Satoru, blocking his view of the glyphs and definitely ensuring that Satoru cannot in any way avoid him.

“f*ckING LISTEN TO ME.”

“Uh—”

“We need to talk, you and I. Just even one time is all I’m asking, just once. If we don’t communicate, we can’t get anywhere, and that means that—”

“I worked very hard to pack my carapulcra and the pollo a la brasa and the mazamorra morada and if I don’t eat right now I might cry,” Satoru blurts out, at least having the decency to look somewhat mortified.

Stunned, Suguru sidesteps him and goes back to his blanket.

Satoru silently and yet very happily unpacks his picnic basket, unloading his food.

He pauses and then shiftily turns towards Suguru.

“Want some? You do need food. I guess.”

Suguru will take what he can get.

He sighs and accepts a plate from Satoru, digging into his meal, feeling very lonely as Satoru continues blab-blabbing to Gogo and Gego.

But if Satoru’s still sharing his food of all things with him, maybe he’s still got a chance.

“Are you listening?”

“I am.”

“Good, because I really don’t think you have been.”

“I’m trying, I keep saying.”

“Try harder,” Shoko snaps.

“Fine, fine. I’m trying harder. Happy?”

“Not really.” Shoko falls silent. “Okay, fine. I’ll entertain you a bit more. You want to talk to Satoru? Fine, go ahead. He doesn’t want to talk to you? Don’t blame it on him, think of it as a you problem.”

“But it isn’t—”

“I said to think of it as a you problem.”

“...Okay. It’s a me problem.”

“Good. What happens when you make someone upset and you need to find a way to talk to them?”

“You apologize?”

“They aren’t talking to you, remember?”

“Umm. Can I have a hint?”

“You’re so hopeless. You try to appease them in some way. And if you can’t do so verbally, you can do so physically.”

“...What?”

“Get him something nice. Something that’ll perk him up and make him welcome to your presence.”

“...Satoru always talked about getting a cat?”

“DON’T GET HIM A CAT. I’LL REPEAT: DON’T GET HIM A f*ckING CAT. THAT’S SUCH A BAD IDEA WHEN YOU’RE NOT EVEN IN A LONG-TERM HOME.”

“Okay okay, geez, no cat. What do I get him then?”

“Do you really need to ask? It’s always been food.”

Suguru knocks on Satoru’s bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

Silence for a moment, and then: “No.”

“I have something for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“I know I don’t want it.”

“I got you dessert.”

“...You can come in.”

Suguru slowly opens the door. There’s Satoru, laying stomach-first on his bed, feet kicking obnoxiously in the air as he holds his phone away from his face with a precarious-looking grip.

He gestures with his other hand at the container Suguru is carrying.

“Gimme gimme. Give it here.”

Suguru hands it over.

He can tell that Satoru is trying his hardest not to react, but nonetheless, he gasps loudly at the sight.

“Is this…is this really—”

“Eight cones, five of vanilla, two of chocolate, one of lucuma since you’ve been eating it so much—you seem to like it a lot. All crushed up together, with three chocolate chip cookies and two brownies and eight cochinitos mashed up on top. The forty-forty, chocolate syrup, Irish cream, powdered cinnamon, sprinkles, and whipped cream. French fries on the side for your dipping pleasure.”

Satoru stares at the container warily. “No coffee?”

Suguru grandly presents him with a massive cup. “Just how you like it.”

He looks at the cup even more warily. “A caramel latte with an extra pump of caramel—”

“—two pumps of vanilla, three raw sugars, a tablespoon of condensed milk, chocolate powder, extra cinnamon powder, extra whipped cream, mocha drizzle, and a cookie crumble. Even got you the twenty-twenty-twenty. Just how you like it, as I said.”

Satoru continues staring at the cup, this time with something like awe. “You really do remember.”

“Of course I remember. That was our very first meeting. And it’s you, how could I have ever forgotten?”

Satoru puckers his lips, flapping them out with a deep exhale. “I suppose you wouldn’t have forgotten. So what is it?”

“...What?”

“What do you wanna talk about? Surely you didn’t come in here with all this just because.”

“Maybe I just wanted to treat you,” Suguru says weakly.

“Treat me my ass. You always hate hearing about my guilty pleasure dessert, you think it’s too much. You’d never make it for me if you weren’t really trying something.”

He seats himself on the edge of Satoru’s bed, very conscious of his breathing as he looks at Satoru.

“Can we just talk a bit? Like old times, like there’s no bad air between us.”

Satoru shifts uneasily. “Okay, we can try a bit while I eat.”

“...”

“...”

Satoru coughs awkwardly. “You wanna hear something funny?’’

“Why not?”

“...So one time there was—”

‘HAHAHAHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD, SATORU YOU’RE SO FUNNY!” He immediately kills his laughter, but it’s too late.

Satoru stares at him funnily, real funnily. “Are…you okay?”

“I was psyching myself up,” Suguru says miserably, embarrassed.

Satoru quietly stares down at his remaining ice cream mix. “Am I really not so funny that you have to…psyche yourself up?”

“No no no, you’re always funny to me. You’ve always been the funniest.”

“If you actually manage to convince Satoru to talk to you, don’t f*cking mess up. You’ve got only once chance. Probably. Do not mess this up.”

“But what am I supposed to do then?”

“You’ve got to manage this on your own. Your relationship, not mine. You’re the one who’ll know how to best respond to Satoru.”

“Satoru,” he starts, “I know things have been awkward between the two of us, but—”

“Yeah, no sh*t.” He puts a hand to his ear. “Got anything new to share?”

“Anyways, I know things have been weird, but—”

“Blah blah blah, I can’t hear anything! I! Can’t! Hear! Any—”

“WILL YOU JUST LET ME f*ckING FINISH?” he bellows.

Satoru quails, spooning another helping of his dessert concoction. “By all means.”

Suguru sighs, crumpling back down. He already feels bad about this. So bad about this.

“As I was saying, I know things have been…bad between us. Very bad. But I miss us. I miss being able to talk with you, share a room with you, have late-night talks with you. I miss—”

“Do you miss making out?” Satoru asks very suddenly.

Umm.

He thinks about it.

“Yeah? Yeah, I miss that. I miss everything we had going on.”

Satoru stares at Suguru in a way that makes him think that Satoru thinks that Suguru has realized something that Suguru really has not realized.

Suguru catches his next words before he speaks again, giving full consideration to his words.

“I’m begging you, Suguru. Please please please think about who Satoru is to you. Who you are to Satoru.”

He’s thinking.

Suguru remembers Satoru. He remembers Satoru talking. He remembers Satoru in Africa, happily raving into his microphone on YouTube. He remembers Satoru talking about his bestie, his snooku*ms, and his pookie wookie.

Wait.

I’m the snooku*ms, he comes to a dawning realization, I’m his bestie. I’m the snooku*ms. They’re one and the same. Bestie equals snooku*ms. I’m his best friend. Snooku*ms.

“Satoru,” he says in a choked voice, rushing forward to grasp Satoru’s shoulders.

Satoru makes a choked noise as he hurriedly shovels up the rest of his dessert, switching to eagerly sipping at his latte as he makes eye contact with Suguru.

“Satoru. I think…I think I get it now.”

Satoru blinks at him.

“You do?”

“I do. I’m sorry for having been such a f*cking idiot this whole time. I didn’t know you thought of me in that way, I’ve never had this sort of relationship so it was hard to tell when your feelings changed, when my feelings changed.”

“When our feelings changed?” Satoru breathes.

“Yes. I can’t believe I didn’t realize when we became queerplatonic friends.”

Satoru’s jaw drops open, head stopping down slightly as his eyes bulge out from his head, straw hanging lamely from his open mouth. “When we what?”

“Queerplatonic friends! The rings…oh god, Satoru. You must have thought I was presenting to you a sign of confirmation of our elevated friendship! Oh god, Satoru, I’m so sorry.”

“Queerplatonic? Confirmations? Elevated friendship?” Satoru parrots blankly.

“All that, all that. I’m so, so sorry, Satoru. If I had realized I had meant that much to you…that you had meant that much to me…I wouldn’t have said those things at Kentucky.”

“You wouldn’t have?” Satoru repeats even more bleakly.

“Of course I wouldn’t. You were my very best friend. My one and only. The only one I’ve ever had. You still are.”

“One and only…?”

“One and only. Just as you’ve been saying.”

Satoru nods dumbly, staring down at the dregs of his cup. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“I hope you can—wait what? Are you okay?”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Satoru paws at Suguru, shoving him away before lurching up and staggering to the bathroom.

Suguru quickly follows him and holds back Satoru’s really very soft, very angelic locks of hair as the other vomits.

He helps Satoru flush the toilet and runs to prepare a cup of water, coming back to a very dejected but somewhat more healthy complexion on Satoru’s face.

“Satoru…are we good?”

“What?” Satoru stares at him in surprise.

“Can we be friends again?”

“Friends? Best friends? Queerplatonic friends?” Oddly, Satoru seems to be spitting out the words.

“That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Please, Satoru.”

“Sure, sure. Okay. You know what, bestie, friendship back in session. We’re back in action.” He feebly pats Suguru on the shoulder before stumbling out of the bathroom. “And now I’m gonna go call Shoko to tell her everything about our reconciliation, you’re not invited by the way.”

“So, I guess Satoru has already told you everything, but that’s what happened.”

“That’s what happened? Oh my god.”

“See Shoko? Everything worked out perfectly in the end. Thanks so much for your help, by the way. I finally was able to understand everything. Me and Satoru are back to being—”

“No. No no no no. Just shut up for a moment. Just shut the f*ck up.”

Suguru remains silent.

“...You know, Satoru never called me.”

“He what? Why’d he lie then.”

“I don’t know.”

They both sit in silence.

“Are you free now, Suguru?”

“It’s night for me.”

“Good. I’m done with trying to guide you. You’re such a f*cking idiot. How did you even get into a social program at Todai of all places? You’re going to listen to everything I say and then when you get up, you’re going to fix things with Satoru once and for all.”

Satoru is sniffling really very loudly as he triple-checks that his bedroom door is locked tight before going back to his pillow fort.

He snuggles into his blankets, pulls out his phone, and searches through his messages before finally finding the number he wants.

He hits it and waits.

Eventually, someone picks up.

“Hello? Fushiguro residence, who is this?”

“Miss me, Megumi?” he attempts to croon. It comes out closer to a snarl. “It’s your favorite person in the whole wide world, Gojo Satoru.”

“Eww, the albino manchild guy. I’m hanging up,” the little brat sneers.

“No no no, wait. Listen to me for a bit.”

“I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you. I can’t hear—”

“CAN YOU f*ckING HEAR ME NOW?”

Silence.

“...I don’t like you.”

“Hey, kid, like it or not, you’ve got to listen to me.”

“I don’t gotta listen to you, dad always says I can ignore anyone I don’t like. How’d you get our number?”

“Shoko talks too much with Suguru to be fully sympathetic, Utahime’s too mean, neither Nanami nor Haibara are in my good graces…and those are the only friends I have. Besides Suguru. So, you! I know people, I know how to find a number. Easy peasy.”

“But…I’m not your friend. I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“You know what, Megumi-chan? Don’t care. You know about the situation.”

“What situation?”

“Good god, Megumi. You know, me and Suguru. Epic breakup? Keep up with it, it’s like you’re just a dumb kid or something.”

“You—you big fat loser, you lost your best friend and your boyfriend. You’re so lame. Bleh.”

“Shut up.”

And so Satoru talks and talks and talks. To the audience of one unhappy, probably inattentive, rude little Fushiguro Megumi.

“So? What should I do about all this? How can I keep acting like Suguru’s my bestest friend in the whole wide world when I’m in love with him. I can’t do it.”

“My teacher says bestest isn’t a word.”

“f*ck YOU AND YOUR TEACHER, MEGUMI-CHAN. I DIDN’T COME HERE FOR CRITICISM, I CAME HERE FOR ADVICE.”

“What’s an advice?”

Satoru comes to the realization that advice is very much an adult thing.

“sh*t…it’s like. Megumi…you know how in class sometimes you do something bad and your teacher tells you what to do? It’s like that?”

“Oh.”

Satoru listens to shuffling noises on the other end of the phone.

“My dad says when you’re having issues with a girl, you should just cut her out of your life. That’s what he does with all the nice ladies he brings home. And the not-so-nice ones.”

Satoru really doesn’t like this.

“Want to talk more about that?”

“Block your guy’s number, get a court order? I dunno what that is. Find their address and ruin their house. Badmouth them to their boss so they get fired and can’t live in your area anymore.”

Woah.

“Megumi-chan, does your dad do legal work?” he asks with some concern.

“I dunno. He goes out to work and comes back home, I dunno nothing. But I can go to school and eat and I have my dogs. It’s all fine with me if I have my dogs. Yuuji lets me stay over.”

Figures.

Satoru sighs. “In any case, I don’t want to do any of that to Suguru.”

“Bangs guy? I don’t—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Satoru hangs up on Megumi.

He sighs again, throwing his phone back onto the bed, watching it bounce off the sheets.

Maybe he should just accept living the rest of his life stuck in an eternal friends-more-than-friends phase with Suguru.

“The River Cotton with lots of extra pacay and the shrimp, nut, and huito. The Desert Plants with yellow chili, onion, and mamey. Spiders on a Rock, extra sargassum, and more of the limpet instead of the clams, please. The Jungle Scales with the river snails, gamitana, turmeric, sangre de arból. The Andean Plateau, Marine Soil, Tree Skins, Extreme Stems, Colors of Amazonia. Green Highlands with extra cacao and the Medicinals & Plant Dyes.”

“Satoru, ordering dessert later?”

“The Green Highlands and the Medicinals & Plant Dyes are the dessert dishes.”

“...I’ll buy you something more later.”

Suguru nervously adjusts his shirt collar. Very nervously.

He’s been thinking. Thinking a lot. An awful lot.

After what Shoko told him, he can’t help but think. He feels like his brain has been working overtime for the past week.

Satoru looks, well, not any different to him after what Shoko’s told him.

If anything, Suguru has only become aware of how he has been seeing Satoru.

Apparently, seeing your best friend and spending a bit too long lingering on how long their eyelashes are or how nice their hair looks or how unfairly good-looking their skin is or how mesmerizing their eyes are is not normal “friend” behavior. Not at all.

Suguru still doesn’t entirely get why, after all, why would he think about Shoko that way? There’s Shoko, and then there’s Satoru. There’s this, and then there’s that.

Apparently, Satoru’s different in many ways.

And so here, sitting here and watching Satoru push through his dishes, rattling on and on about the various ingredients and cooking techniques and seasonings and platings makes him feel like he’s been thrown back into the past, to India or Thailand or Vietnam or Africa or Italy or even f*cking France or America, as if he’s just Satoru’s best friend.

But as Shoko puts it, there’s bro love and then there’s hom*o love. Or as she more eloquently rephrased it, platonic and romantic love.

So this is romantic love? he asks himself as he watches Satoru messily tuck into the…Spiders on a Rock? He does feel very tender and mushy watching him. Ugly feelings.

“When the mood feels good—though don’t use that as an excuse, I’m giving you three days to act—make it clear to Satoru that you know what’s actually up between the two of you.”

The mood feels kinda good, he guesses.

“Satoru, I—”

Satoru suddenly gasps a choking heave as he tries to splutter something around his mouthful.

“Satoru! Can you breathe? Do you need me to get someone? Let me come and—”

“No no no, I’m fine. But Suguru, look! He points out the window.”

Suguru squints. He sees buildings.

“Is…there a fire or something? I don’t see anything.”

“Nooooo, Suguru, look! At that church! Look at how many people are going in!”

“Is there service or something?”

Satoru glances over at him, unimpressed. “It’s not Sunday.”

“...Oh.”

“Look at how fancy they’re all dressed! The colors! All the nice dresses and suits! Suguru! It’s a wedding.”

I can use this, Suguru thinks decisively.

“Satoru, you know those ri—”

“Suguru! We’ve got to go look!”

What.

“What?”

In a flash of a moment, Satoru has what remains of the food packaged up, more of it being chewed rapidly in his mouth, their bags packed, and Suguru’s hand held tight in his own. There’s a good stack of bills on the table. It’s all very impressive.

“Suguru, use your great strong legs and run us over to that church, I want to see the ceremony!”

“You really would just crash anyone’s wedding, would you? What an asshole.” But Suguru bridal-carries him to the church anyways.

They enter normally enough into the church when the arrive. Luckily, there’s a good number of stragglers entering late too, so they’re not too out of place as they make their way into some spare seats on a bench.

Satoru excitedly burbles as he watches the bride and groom…probably exchange their vows. “I just adore weddings, you know? The actually nice clothes, the flowers, the f*cking food, like oh my god. Damn, do you think they have enough wedding cake to spare?”

“I’ll steal you some cake anyways,” Suguru says pathetically.

Satoru blushes, turning towards Suguru. “That’s…so nice of you to do. You really are my—hrck—my best friend—”

“Satoru,” he leans forward and clasps Satoru’s hands between his own. “Listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” Satoru wheezes.

“I like…I love you. Or something.”

And so he said it.

“Umm…I love you too man.”

“Satoru, no. Not like that?”

Satoru blinks at him. “Not…like that?”

“I mean that I love you. The way you said so before.”

“I just said I love you too and you said not like that.”

“No no no, I mean like before before. Good god, Satoru, keep up with me, will you?”

Satoru’s face distorts like he’s sucked on a lemon. “I’m trying my best, you’re being very confusing right now.”

“I’m trying not to be confusing, for you.” Suguru’s shoulders sag slightly as he sighs. “I’m…give me a moment.”

Satoru waits.

“...Satoru, I’ve come to realize that I’ve been treating you very unfairly for a long time.”

“Ehh? Suguru, haven’t we already had this talk? I said it’s okay—”

“I mean in other ways, the actual ways, not my botched misinterpretation. And you never really said it was okay for you, I kinda pushed you into a hard situation.”

Satoru nods rapidly. “You pushed me into a hard situation. Continue?”

“...So what I mean to say is that—is that—”

“Is that?”

“Give me time.” Suguru gags. It’s really hard for his brain to process all this. “When I say I love you, I mean that I love you. Like—like ‘love’ love.”

Satoru stares at him in wonder. “Love love?”

“Love love.”

Satoru quickly muffles his mouth as a high-pitched giggle escapes. They both throw darting glances at the rest of the crowd and the altar before turning back to each other.

“I’ve come to realize,” he says slowly as he studies the way his and Satoru’s fingers mesh together, “that I wasn’t just your snooku*ms, I was also your pookie wookie.”

“What?” Satoru looks at him strangely. “What is that supposed to—oh—OH—OH MY GOD!”

Suguru hisses at him to be quiet and Satoru apologetically slaps a hand over his mouth—well, their hands.

He unhurriedly lowers their hands. “So…what does this mean? For us?”

Suguru fusses with their fingers. He actually…still doesn’t really know.

“I’ll be your pookie wookie if you will have me.”

It seems like an appropriate moment so he descends to one knee, whips out Satoru’s ring—nicked from the other’s bedside nightstand—and represents it to him.

“Forever and ever, even.”

Satoru squeals as he jumps up and down on the spot, now standing in the tight space in between benches. “OOH I ACCEPT, I SO f*ckING ACCEPT! SUGURU, THIS IS SO ROMANTIC OF YOU! OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD—”

And that’s how they get kicked out of a wedding full of strangers.

Central Restaurante, Lima: Reviews

Gogo Saburo
★★★★☆
didn’t get to try the desserts BUT SOMETIMES U GOTTA SACRIFICE SOME SUGAR IN LIFE TO GET SOME GOOD f*ckING PROPOSALS!! the view is so f*cking good here mwafhdslkadjs i love u <3

Gogo Saburo
★★★☆☆
i didn’t get to eat like anything and i didn’t see as good as a view but i love u <333333

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

“—I’m just saying, it’s totally plausible to get Naoya expelled. He’s already halfway there.”

“But Shoko-san! Naoya-san can still just try remedial lessons? If he goes through disciplinary, he might become a changed man!”

“Haibara-kun, you’re so sweet, never change. Naoya never will though—and please don’t use keigo with that man.”

“Looks lively here!” Satoru cheers as he pushes open the izakaya door. “Izakaya! Izakaya! I love nighttime yakitori, this is the best to come home to. And I’m really all for just sending Naoya hate mail until he voluntarily retracts his student status at Todai.”

“Gojo-san!” Haibara cheers back.

“Gojo-san,” Utahime derides.

“Satoru,” Shoko says in greeting.

“Gojo-san,” Nanami says with much disdain.

“What? No greetings for the boyfriend? No callouts for Suguru?” he asks amusedly as he pulls out the barstool next to Satoru, who’s already taken advantage of the empty stool next to Nanami along with the moment of surprise to start violently pulling at Nanami’s cheeks.

“Your greetings are insinuated in Satoru’s, naturally,” Shoko smiles at the pair of them as she slides them the regular menu and the nabe menu. “Welcome back to Japan, you two. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Nearly ten full months,” Suguru acknowledges as he peers at the menu over Satoru’s shoulder. “The entirety of a school year, more or less.”

“But the school year ended last month,” Haibara says questioningly.

“Gojo-san and Geto-san left the country late in June last year,” Nanami supplements.

“Nanamin!” Satoru pokes repeatedly at Nanami’s cheeks. “You remember when we left! Ohoho, looks like our kouhai cares about us, Suguru. Look at him!”

“I’m looking.” Suguru is decidedly not looking.

“Have you guys ordered?”

“Yeah, we’ve been here for a good—”

“Excellent, I don’t care. More yakitori, motsuyaki, motsunikomi, oysterse, eel, hot pot—”

“Satoru, there’s no hot pot here.”

“...What?”

“Ichifuji maybe, but not at Tachan.”

Satoru deflates. “Damn…I wanted hot pot. Can we get hot pot tomorrow? I want hot pot tomorrow. I guess motsunikomi’s enough then. I call dibs on the tsukune. We’re also getting the unagi kabayaki and the eel liver, the anago shirayaki and tempura, the fried kawaebi and chikuwa and octopus and…”

“Is he always like this?” Haibara asks with some curiosity and yet no horror as he watches Satoru rattle off their order. He pulls his seat over to Suguru’s right—Nanami, Satoru, and Suguru all moving leftwards in accommodation. “Shouldn’t we tell him that we ordered a lot already? I mean, I’d hate to see any food go to—”

“Satoru’s aware. He’ll eat everything that’s left, not that it can be called leftovers.” Suguru fondly watches as Satoru tries to nick a skewer from Nanami’s plate.

“...As long as he finishes. It’s tabe-hodai here after all.”

“Tabe-hodai, all you can eat” Satoru croons in appreciation, successfully stealing a skewer. He chews on a piece of chicken mulishly as he rests his head against the counter. “Only shame is that izakayas never have dessert options, most times here at least. I need my nightly sugar rush.”

“Don’t worry too much about it, Satoru. I’ll take you out for daif*cku and taiyaki after this.”

Satoru turns his head towards Suguru, staring up at him with his big, glimmery eyes. They really do look nice at night against warm lighting. “Suguru’s so romantic. He always knows exactly what I want.”

“Of course I do. It’s not like you’d want dango or warabimochi on a night like this, that’d just be stupid.”

“Exactly!”

Nanami makes a disgusted sort of face at them. Shoko grins bemusedly. “Is this the sort of sh*t you two get up to now that you’re properly together? I almost regret helping you two, you’re too menacing for society to handle as a pair—though actually, when you two were running around like headless flies going about in a confused flurry.”

“We resent that comparison,” Satoru scooches himself onto the edge of his chair and drapes half his weight onto Suguru, who in turn poses his head on top of Satoru’s. They’re very artful now.

“You two are as dumb as flies,” Utahime sneers, “can’t say there’s nothing in those heads because there’s no f*cking brains to speak of. Weak ass lover boys who can’t stand to wrench their eyes from each other for more than three seconds.”

“Make that one second and you might be correct for once in your life, Utahime.” Satoru continues staring deep into Suguru’s eyes. Suguru stares just as intensely back.

“GOJO—Why you—you little—”

“Thoughts before words, Utahime. It’s very inelegant to be so flustered.”

“Very inelegant,” Suguru parrots, “after all, it’s…”

Suguru pauses as he watches the blue of Satoru’s eyes change hue oh-so lightly as the light reflecting off the newly served plates bounces off Satoru’s eyes. They’re so pretty and mesmerizing.

“You—SEE! YOUR BOYFRIEND CAN’T TALK sh*t EITHER, HE’S—”

“Suguru’s different,” Satoru says dreamily, still staring back at Suguru. “He doesn’t speak because he doesn’t have anything left to say, you don’t speak because you can’t figure out what you want to say. He’s on an entirely different level than you.”

“Entirely different,” Suguru repeats dreamily.

Utahime fumes at them as Satoru proffers a tooth-picked piece of freshwater eel to Suguru, which of course, Suguru happily accepts.

“Shoko!” She whips her head towards none other than Shoko. “Why are they—why are they like this?”

She shrugs. “sh*ts and giggles, probably. They enjoy making people uncomfortable.”

“sh*ts and giggles.” Satoru nods. “Shiggles.”

Utahime sneers. “Don’t ever say that word again.”

“Satoru can say anything he wants.”

“Who are you to say anything.”

“His boyfriend, of course.”

“So you two really are established as boyfriends now,” Shoko breaks in lightly. “Last time you called, it was still ‘pookie wookie’ and whatever nonsense you two had going on. Good job on clearing things up, I guess. Took uncomfortably long.”

“Uncomfortably long? What uncomfortableness?” Satoru scoffs. “Me and Suguru developed our relationship perfectly. Every step of it was absolute perfection, you four could never.”

Utahime looks positively incensed at this.

“Now now, Satoru, don’t say such things in front of everyone,” Suguru soothes. “Utahime might cry when she gets home.”

“I’m going to—”

“How,” Nanami interrupts with some strain, “will your studies progress after this? Won’t you two have to wait until the school year starts to get feedback on your thesis projects? Isn’t that irregular, for seniors?”

Satoru waves him off. “You’re so funny, Nanamin. Really showing that you don’t know anything about senior life. I wonder how you will graduate.”

“You—”

“Satoru’s just f*cking with you, don’t let it bother with you,” Suguru flicks a finger at Satoru’s forehead. “But we’ll complete our theses as per schedule, and graduate very smoothly.”

“Graduation!” Haibara says the word like it represents the paradigm of life, which it pretty much does for them students. “Does Geto-san or Gojo-san already have plans for after graduation? Are you two continuing to graduate school?”

“I shall become a person of epic proportions, both continuing my studies and working.” Satoru rises up, posture aglow with self-imagined grandeur.

“He’s going to continue food criticism while advancing into food biochemistry. I’m just going to mooch off the Gojo family inheritance and continue as a full-time student.”

“So you are a lecher,” Utahime says snidely.

“Happily so,” Satoru agrees, grinning up at Suguru. “He can leech off me forever.”

Utahime looks away from them, repulsed. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Get sick quicker, if you leave now me and Suguru can be happier together.”

“Stop it, you two,” Shoko rebukes. “Let’s enjoy tonight’s meal without acting like cats and dogs. You two can do what you want when you get home.”

Satoru stares at her. “When…we get home?”

“Your home, of course.”

Satoru blinks at her hard. “What home.”

Shoko blinks back. “What do you mean what home?”

“I—My dorm room?”

Shoko’s eyes crease with something akin to disappointment. “Satoru, you released your dorm room when your study abroad trip went in session. Suguru too.”

“We—We what?” Satoru turns to blink rapidly at Suguru. “Were you aware of this?”

“Of course I was aware. What do you take me for, some kind of dumb idiot?”

“Maybe sometimes,” Satoru grumbles. “So do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

“Naturally so. My family’s not rich or anything, but my aunt in Tokyo moved back to the countryside shortly before we left and left her apartment to me, she owns it. I moved into it a bit when I cleaned out my room.”

Satoru gasps. “You have your own apartment! Can it be my apartment too? Suguru, ask me to move in with you.”

“Who’s the lecher now? And why the hell am I asking you? It’s my apartment, you should ask.”

“You two keep distracting the table. Ask on your own time, for now, let’s just eat.”

Suguru blearily pads through the narrow, semi-cluttered hallway on his way to the kitchen, then passes through the definitely cluttered living room.

He really has only moved in a bit; most of his belongings are still packaged up tight in cardboard boxes, all he did was set up his bed, some toiletries, and some kitchenware before packing off to join Satoru.

As such, now he’s here, testing out the weight limit of some of the bigger boxes by the kitchen, eventually sitting down on one, instead of sitting on a nice couch.

But at least here, he has a better view of Satoru.

“Good morning, Satoru. Awfully early for you.” Satoru’s the kind of person who only gets up because of his fervent admiration for breakfast foods.

“Suguru, good morning! You’re finally awake.”

“I’m awake.”

“Breakfast is almost ready.”

“I can see that. You’re awfully good at handling mornings now. Is this just a one-off or were you just being lazy on vacation?”

“One-off.” Satoru noisily shakes out a tray of ice into a large bowl. “Pleases never expect me to be this nice in the morning again—actually, I’ll consider it on your birthday or like Christmas, maybe Shogatsu.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Suguru watches as Satoru whisks at a small bowl of…something.

“What are you making? Please tell me that’s not some sort of new syrup you want to test-drive.”

“I’m happy enough with caramel syrup, thanks. But I’m making you zaru soba, this is the tsuyu.” Satoru grins down at him as he finishes whipping at the dipping sauce with his chopsticks.

Oh.

“Oh,” Suguru elucidates his thoughts quite eloquently.

“You know, it’s weird. I don’t think we ever had soba of any kind when we were out of Japan—not even in our first week here either, actually. But like, soba’s so fun to make—you know? And you always said it was your favorite even though it was so simple and I saw the grocery store on the walk back here last night and I thought about it a bit and so I thought maybe I would—”

“Satoru, you’re babbling.”

“I’m babbling,” he affirms before going quiet. Suguru silently watches as he thoroughly drains the soba noodles from the ice water, sprinkles some shredded nori, and then immediately piles them onto a bamboo basket. “Breakfast, for you.”

“Thanks for your hard work.” Suguru immediately grasps a thin bunch of noodles with his chopsticks before pausing and looking up at Satoru, who has taken to leaning against Suguru’s box. “You’re not eating?”

Satoru shrugs. “I think today, just the once, I’ll calm down on the food. It’s nice to just sit here and like, I dunno, watch you.”

Suguru feels strangely affectionate at the proclamation. “That’s oddly romantic of you, I think?”

“You think?” Satoru guffaws loudly, slapping at the edge of the tray. “It is, it is! I’m the most romantic boyfriend you’ve ever had, admit it.”

Instead of speaking, Suguru just eats his noodles.

Wait.

Oh, wow, he thinks lamely. These are really good.

He turns to Satoru. “Do you want to live with me forever? We can get a cat and have a nice little garden out back. Many cats. All the cats. Let’s get married someday.”

Satoru blushes at him, blinking rapidly. “Is this you saying you want to be with me the rest of your life? That’s kind of cringe of you.”

“You’re the one who’s cringe,” he retaliates without much malice. “But I’ll make you miso every morning anyways.”

Profile Overview: Gego Sugoiru: Compliments
Gogo Saburo
★★★★★
the only 5 star chef ever he’s so <333333

Profile Overview: Gogo Saburo: Compliments
Gego Sugoiru
★★★★★
an asshole but he can cook

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Suguru stares with no small amount of devastation at the ruined, straggled mess of worn yarn that once constituted Gogo Saburo, plushie version.

He’s only just gotten home.

“I’m home,” Suguru calls out as he soundlessly slips his shoes off. A vaguely incoherent call comes back in response.

Suguru makes a low chittering noise, stooping down to pick up a very large, but not fat cat. Three-something feet in length, ridiculously thick fur. Suguru thinks she’s the prettiest cat.

“Look at this, look at this,” he whispers as he gently pets the cat, directing her head towards the deplorable remains of Gogo. “Did you do this? You aren’t supposed to tear up the stuffies, it’s very bad behavior.”

The cat meows at him languidly.

“Fine, I forgive you anyways.” He kisses the cat’s head.

“Suguru…you’re being too nice to Daif*cku. Gego’s already gone, these damn cats keep desecrating the household. And where’s my hello kiss?”

Satoru’s standing in the middle of the hallway, staring down at Suguru, the cat, and the yarn with a sour look on his face. He kicks at the yarn. “The cat’s cleaning this up, her mess, her responsibility.”

“The cat,” Suguru says as he stands up with all of Daif*cku’s twenty-five pounds of weight, “will not be cleaning anything. I literally just stepped out into the garden, I’m not kissing you or anything.”

Satoru stares at him.

Suguru stares back.

Then he grumbles, gestures for Satoru to bend down, and pecks him on the cheek.

Satoru frowns at the cat, now in very close proximity. “Daif*cku’s not getting out of this that easily. You’re too forgiving of the cats.”

“She’s a cat. She can’t clean anything period.”

Satoru scoffs. “Humans can’t fly and yet they are flying. Your argument is invalid. The cat’s cleaning.”

“...Are you talking about planes? That doesn’t even make any sense, you’re so unreasonable. You’re so silly. What’s got you mad about Daif*cku?” He pauses. “Or did one of the other cats upset you.”

Satoru stews in silence as he pokes at Daif*cku’s nose. The cat growls at him. Satoru blows a raspberry back.

“I’m the silliest williest. Nothing happened.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow. “Did Botamon not respond to your very enthusiastic kisses again?”

“...He did.”

“You f*cking liar. Just admit it, Botamon didn’t. He freaked out again when you picked him up, didn’t he.”

“Okay, fine. He didn’t, he freaked.” Satoru’s face scrunches up as he shuffles aside to allow Suguru to make his way past, cat back down on the ground. “He just keeps shying away from me and sh*t.”

“Give him time, he’s still just a little kitten. And he is shy, it’s not you. The animal rescuer said he has social anxiety. He really doesn’t appreciate you going all ;wow wow let’s have some fun’ all the time.”

Suguru ducks into the bedroom, listening to Satoru’s endless grumbles echoing in the hallway. “I don’t like that. Why can’t Botamon like me? He clearly likes you, and he’s clearly your favorite. Do I have to make him my favorite?” Still, Satoru usually is quieter around Botamon.

“Live with it. Shoko coming to dinner tonight?”

“Nah, she’s got a late-night session in the morgue, you know how it is. Just the two of us.”

“The usual place?”

“No, somewhere fun.”

“Fun?”

“Fun.”

“Where?”

“Ete.”

Suguru leans out into the hallway at this. “Ete? That’s pretty high-end. We haven’t done fancy in a while.”

“Pfft, since when has that stopped us? It’ll be like old times! Well, excepting Gogo and Gego’s presence.”

“You say that like we didn’t just keep them in the bag half the time.”

“The other half of the time was very important to me, very sentimental.”

“Sure.” Suguru walks back out into the hallway, fully changed. Satoru’s still crouching on the floor, watching Daif*cku lazily scratch at the cat tower with their orange tabby and their Siamese.

Satoru stands up as he hears Suguru approach. “Ready to go?”

“Ready. Let me just check in with Tsumiki-chan.”

“Already did. She’s busy tonight though, apparently.”

Suguru grimaces. “We are not leaving our six cats at home alone.”

“I know I know! I talked more with Tsumiki-chan and she said her stepbrother also has a job in the business and he’s very good at it, apparently. He’ll be taking over for her tonight. He might bring a couple of people with him, on account of how many cats we have. He’s never taken care of six on the job, apparently.”

“Her stepbrother?” Suguru muses. “I’m not too fond of the idea, but Tsumiki-chan’s reliable and she’d never have someone replace her that she doesn’t trust.”

“Right? I mean like, that aside, we pay her pretty well. If she passed our keys to some sh*tty hooligan we’d have to drop her right away. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get going or else we’re gonna be late.”

Satoru’s still ranting about the desserts as Suguru fishes out their keys.

“It’s kinda rare that brioche is served second instead of as the initial appetizer but the chilled salted tart was so good as an amuse bouche that I really can’t fault the chef—god I love Hokkaido sea urchins and that garam masala spice blend was just—and that mango cake was too small of course but it was so nice what with the texture and the jelly veil and I—”

He cuts himself off with a squeal as Akumaki bounds his way through the hallway and promptly leaps at Satoru. Their tabby.

“Ooh! Look at how excited you are today! I love you, Akumaki, yes I do! Yes, I do! I love you too—”

Satoru cuts himself off for a second time upon hearing Suguru’s noise of affront, looking up and echoing the noise.

“Oh my god.”

“Oh my god.”

“Oh my god, it’s the weird albino and his—what was it again?—his pookie wookie,” Fushiguro f*cking Megumi says apathetically at the end of the hallway like it isn’t a criminally unreal event that he’s in their house.

“IT’S MEGUMI-CHAN!” Satoru shrieks, hauling up their cat and scurrying behind Suguru. “IT’S THAT RUDE LITTLE ASSHOLE OF A KID WITH THE SEA URCHIN HAIR! SUGURU, PROTECT ME!”

“I’m not a kid anymore, and I was never a rude little asshole.” Megumi gently steps aside to allow Botamon to pad through, only for him to nestle by Megumi’s feet. Traitor.

“You were always a rude little asshole in our heart of hearts.” Suguru forces a grin at Megumi. “What the f*ck are you doing here.”

“Didn’t nee-san tell you? Or couldn’t you have figured it out from the name? Fushiguro Tsumiki. Fushiguro Megumi. Stepbrother. There aren’t a lot of Fushiguros in Tokyo."

Suguru’s grin drops completely. “How’s the rest of the cats?”

Megumi sighs exasperatedly and steps back into the living room. “They’re all in here. I did the thing you asked for?”

“What thing we asked for?”

“I said you, I was talking to Gojo-san.”

“Well—”

“I asked him to lower Daif*cku’s dinner portion, you know how she gets.” He glares at Megumi. “And you were not supposed to mention that out loud—the cat doesn’t like her portions being talked about, it makes her feel bad.”

Suguru and Satoru enter the living room behind Megumi, and sure enough, the other four cats are in the living room with the other two friends Megumi brought over.

Megumi lazily makes a waving sort of gesture at them. “Pink hair is Itadori Yuuji. Kugisaki Nobara.”

“Hi, Gojo-san! Hi, Geto-san!” Itadori waves at them very enthusiastically, even bowing down at them. “Thanks for letting us come over and watch your cats, they’re all very beautiful!”

Satoru eyes him with something like begrudging amusem*nt as he sidesteps Akumaki and makes his way toward the couch where three of their cats lay sleepily. “Can’t say I exactly let you inside in particular, but you’re nicer than Megumi so I’ll let it pass?”

“Do you two already know Megumi or was he being a rude little asshole when you two came back,” Kugisaki says, not turning her head to look at them.

“Both.”

“Makes sense. Oh, and welcome back home, Gojo-san and Geto-san,” she tacks on as if respect was an afterthought to her. Suguru’s not sure what to feel about her.

“We just love your cats,” Itadori babbles as he dances over to the couch, watching Satoru poke at their cats annoyingly. “Well, by we, I kind of only really mean me and Megumi, Megumi most of all of course. But they’re so cute! I know all their names: the orange one’s Akumaki, the fat white one’s Daif*cku, the Siamese is Kuromane, the black one’s Botamon, the round one with the ears folded down is Dango, and the Munchkin cat is Taiyaki!”

Satoru grins at this, looking up at Itadori. “Itadori-kun! You got them all! Maybe next time Tsumiki-chan’s out, you can just come over in her place.”

Itadori blinks at him. “But Megumi would be the one coming over.”

Satoru’s smile tightens. “I’m sure Megumi-chan has better things to do.”

“But…he doesn’t? This really is his job, we’re just trained companions, we’re not really hired by the company.”

“I don’t like being called companions,” Kugisaki calls out.

Suguru makes his way over to Kugisaki, who’s resolutely been sitting back towards them.

Before her is the last cat to be seen, none other than Daif*cku, who’s now sporting a stupid pair of sunglasses. He looks like Satoru.

Suguru kind of hates that he finds it cute.

Kugisaki holds up a card, squints at it, and then reads it out loudly.

“Fifty percent of all marriages end in?” She glances down at the cat. “Well, pick your answer.”

Suguru watches as Daif*cku makes a muted purring noise before pawing at the second card to the left, Kugsaki’s left.

“You sure?”

Daif*cku meows.

“If you insist.” She picks up the card and flips it over, and then blinks. “Guy who eats stupid amounts. Ohh, yeah, definitely. Boy meets girl, boy says he’ll take you out, says he might eat a lot, order the entire menu, asks girl to split the bill. Big red flag.”

“Hey,” Suguru speaks up, feeling affronted. “Men who eat a lot can be nice.”

Kugisaki curls her lip at him. “Spoken like a loser man, Geto-san.”

“You—You think you’re real funny, don’t you?”

“Frankly, I’m very self-confident—as I should be, Geto.”

His eyebrow twitches. “Mind your words, show some respect for your elders.”

“Maybe when I feel like it. This is why I don’t date men anymore. Have fun with your cats and your thing for tonight, I’m leaving. Send me your haircare routine and maybe I’ll scrounge up some respect.”

“I literally don’t know who you are. I don’t have your number.”

“I’m leaving.” She leaves.

“We’re leaving too.” Megumi gives one last affectionate pat to Kuromane and Botamon before standing up. Itadori’s still cooing at Taiyaki.

“Bye then,” Suguru says bleakly. “Leave us. Please and thanks”

“Yeah, yeah. Itadori, I said we’re leaving.”

Itadori pouts at the cat as he whispers sweet goodbyes to her. “Bye-bye then. And thank you again, Gojo-san, Geto-san! Have a wonderful rest of your night.”

Satoru watches the pair of them leave, Itadori immediately launching into another rant about something or the other. “That Itadori’s much more pleasant than Megumi. Maybe we should coerce him into taking up a job with the pet sitters.”

“I don’t feel like Itadori-kun’s the kind of person who can handle six cats, too much energy just by the look of him. That means he’d bring Megumi with him, and we don’t want Megumi here.”

Satoru frowns. “Eurgh, you’re right. Just Tsumiki-chan then.”

“Just sticking to one person is good.” Suguru nods. “Do you have work tonight or are we going to watch something? There’s a new episode of Digimon that we haven’t watched yet.”

Satoru’s eyes sparkle before he seems to realize something and winces. “No Digimon tonight, but I’m done with my workload for the week. Actually, I was hoping we could sit and have a nice night talk over some namagashi and matcha.”

Ooh, matcha.

“Fresh namagashi?”

“Always fresh namgashi, who do you take me for?”

“Then count me in,” he calls out as he walks out back towards the bedroom. “Just give me a bit to change.”

When Suguru reenters the living room, all the cats are gone. He unworriedly walks out to the back patio and there they are: Satoru and all six of their cats crowded on the wooden planks.

“Awful crowded in here,” he stares down at Satoru, who’s crouching and fussing with Botamon. “Continue poking at poor Bota-chan like that and maybe you’ll finally realize why he doesn’t like you as much.”

Satoru scowls at him. “I’m—trying—my best—argh.”

“What’s got you all hot and bothered.”

“Nothing.” Satoru ducks his head back down, blocking his view of the black cat. “Wait a bit—don’t sit yet—I’ve got something special to show you.”

Oh?

Suguru tentatively casts his gaze over the entirety of the patio and the garden. Flowers are the same as usual. The wagashi is plated, the tea is hot and ready on the table. The cats are tired. Nothing’s out of place.

“Do you want me to—uh—close my eyes?”

“...Yes please.”

Suguru obediently closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of the cats scrabbling around as Satoru whispers furiously.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

Suguru opens his eyes and promptly drops his jaw open at the sight of Satoru on one knee, Botamon raised high towards Satoru, the five other cats in a neat half-circle around him.

“Um—why are you on one knee? Did you fall or something? Wait—we need to get you medical attention, sorry about whatever surprise you had planned but—”

“Suguru,” Satoru interrupts impatiently, “look at the damn cat.”

Suguru looks. And looks. And looks.

He resorts to squinting. “Is that a new collar? It’s cute, kinda flashy. That’s a really big chain attachment.”

“...Suguru.”

“What?”

“Suguru.”

“What?”

“SUGURU.”

“WHAT?”

“IT’S A RING!” Satoru screeches, violently flapping the cat about. Botamon’s definitely never going to warm up to him after this.

“Yeah, it’s a ring alright. It’s a round, thing of metal. What else is there to say? It’s a very lovely thing. Did you splurge on a nice bell for Botamon too? I never thought we’d bell our cats, but I guess he’s kinda quiet.”

“Suguru…it’s a wedding ring…I’m proposing to you…please take a hint…”

Suguru blinks rapidly as he pushes himself towards the cat, grasping at the shining metal and examining the ring.

It really is a pretty ring. There’s a blue topaz stone in the middle, edged with larimar.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “That’s a wedding ring. It’s very pretty.”

“Suguru!” Satoru whines. “Of course it’s pretty, I spent hours with Shoko picking it out for you! You’re killing me here! You’re supposed to be gasping and whispering that you can’t believe what’s happening.”

“Oh, I can’t believe what’s happening.” He’s still trying to process this.

Satoru mutters a rude sort of noise as he unhooks the ring from Botamon’s collar.

“Suguru, we’ve been living together for five years—six I guess if you count sharing hotels and apartments—and we’re basically long-married with six cats and another adoption pending and we know each other’s families and we make each other food and we can bicker all the time over everything and anything.”

Suguru blinks. “Uh-huh, I’m following, at least I think I am.”

“So, Suguru, what say you about making us officially married?”

“I—” Suguru gags, “I thought we were married.”

Satoru gapes at him as he lowers the ring. “You what?”

“I thought we were already married. Why are you proposing again?”

“I heard you the first time. Why the f*ck do you already think we’re married? Since when did I propose?”

Suguru’s mouth flaps open and close for a bit before he finally just snaps it shut. “We’ve…always worn matching rings? You proposed that time in Peru?”

Satoru stares up at him in horror. “The glass rings from Italy? Our promise rings? Engagement rings at best…Suguru, you were the one who did all the romantic sh*t in Peru.”

Suguru rubs at his head. “Was I?”

“You were.”

“...Damn, for real?”

Satoru sighs. “You always find new ways to frustrate me.”

He cranes his head up at Suguru and proffers the ring once more. “Want to continue to frustrate me forever?”

Suguru finally laughs. “Never thought I’d have to guarantee I would. Now let’s go eat, I’ve seen how you’ve been eyeing the namagashi.”

Southeast Botanical Gardens, Okinawa

Gogo Saburo
★★★★☆
IT’S A VERY PRETTY PLACE TO GET MARRIED AT BUT NONE OF THE VERY LOVELY FLOWERS CAN COMPARE TO THE EVEN LOVELIER GROOM!!!!

Profile Overview: Gogo Saburo: Compliments
Gego Sugoiru
★★★★★
he fell into the lake when he was running around with the bouquet