Tether Me - Chapter 2
Pairing(s):Â Geto/Gojo/Reader
Summary:
âHey! Didnât keep you waitinâ too long, did we?â
âNo, not long,â you assured, fighting hard to keep your eyes off his friend for however long possible, vainfully clinging to your sanity. You knew that as soon as you centered your vision on him, your ability for conscious thought would evaporate.Â
You wanted to present yourself as at least marginally normal as a first impression, though you doubted you were achieving that by avoiding the obvious third presence. You were surely coming off as rude, you really shouldâ
âThis one's Geto Suguru,â Gojo introduced the noiret by his side, nipping your overthinking at the bud.
At last, your full attention was guided to him.
Oh.
Oh. That was a mistake.
CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here)
AN: there's a couple mentions of emotional eating (in thoughts). Degrading words towards self (slut, whore, etc) but not self-degrading. I think that's it? Lemme know if I missed something, it's 5:50 am at time of posting and I am eepy, so I'm sorry if I did âĽ
Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4
WC: 12.9k
The scent of something marvelously delicious wafting through the air had you groggily rolling over from your stomach to your back in bed, stretching your arms above you and practically vibrating the way a cat would as you eased away any sleep-induced tension from your muscles.
You honestly hadnât slept that well in a long while. You were bleary-eyed, sure, but refreshed. You didnât have any heavy bags under your eyes, you didnât experience any nightmares of being hunted. Just calm, good, dreamless sleep.
As much as you wanted to laze around in bed all day, though, the watering of your mouth couldnât go ignored. Or the rumble in your stomach, for that matter.
With a sleepy groan and big, feline-like yawn to match your stretch, you shuffled out of bed and rubbed the crusties from your eyes as you pulled on some comfortable clothes. Hell if you knew what you were going to do for the day, you could figure that out after you sated your appetite.
You were downright drooling when you left your room to do your morning routine and groused like a toddler that didnât want to brush her teeth before devouring her weight in breakfast. But you were a grown ass woman that quite preferred to have good hygiene, thank you very much. The intoxicating call of sustenance would have to wait until after you scrubbed your face and polished your teeth to perfection.
Catching sight of yourself in the mirror made you choke when you saw how chaotic the nest of hair on your head was. You felt like a cartoon character that got zapped, your tresses sticking in every direction.Â
You must have slept really well, then.
You combed your fingers through the messy strands, trying to smooth the misbehaving locks. It took some effort to tame them into a somewhat presentable fashion, which was the most you cared to do when you were dying to eat already.
Your eyes flickered towards the remaining bottles you left on the sink countertop from last night and you nearly lost your shit.
Just what did Satoru put Ijichi through to get you high end skin products like these? And in such a short amount of time? You guessed the poor man broke a few speeding laws to get these in time for you to use. That, or maybe Satoru had informed him earlier, when you initially agreed to take him up on his offer to stay at his place. Or he already had them and was keeping them around for this kind of situation? Did he use the same brand?
Well, whatever. You were going to use those zealously, so help you god.
And, by the heavens above and seas below, they were fucking incredible. Your face was baby-skin soft. Lustrous, dewy, you were glowing, and certainly felt like it, too. You couldnât stop touching your cheeks and forehead, they were just so smooth.Â
No wonder rich people always had the clearest skin. If you had these while growing up, you never would have had to deal with getting acne in your teens and into your adulthood.
So fucking unfair.
Lamenting how Satoru was born with a silver spoon in his mouth while you were robbed by the universe, you followed the delectable wisps of the tasty aroma in the air like a drunk cupid with tiny wings and a dazed veneer on your face. There you found the man himself in the kitchen, humming an unfamiliar song to himself.
You continued to be baffled that he knew how to cook. It seemed almost unnatural, in a way. He was the prime example of a rich boy that you could find reclining on a poolside chair, hands behind his head as a servant hand fed him grapes. Yet here he was, cooking away, an apron tied around his neck and waist (with frills and little hearts, too, the flashy ass). You wouldnât be surprised if it had âKiss the Chefâ written across the front and oh, would you look at that, you were right.
âGoooood morning!â Satoru exclaimed, turning away from the stove to greet you. The apron was even flashier than you thought. For fuckâs sake, it had sequins on it. âHowâd youâ whoa. Nevermind, your hair answers that question.â
You subconsciously tried to flatten down your frizzy tangles once more, grumbling and pulling your gaze away from the atrocious fabric covering his chest that you would totally wear as well, gods, it was horrific. Your morning hair never liked to cooperate with you. âMorning.â
Yawning against the back of your hand, you climbed onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island and veered your body to the side, trying to see what he was cooking around his arm. It smelled sweet, the kind of sweet that was almost enough to make you nauseous, but wouldnât actually cross that line. Kind of like dessert after youâve filled yourself to bursting with dinner.
âWhat are you making? It smells really good,â you said.
âPancakes!â He exclaimed, sliding an already finished plate to you, soufflĂŠ pancakes stacked high atop, drizzled in chocolate and syrup. He even added fruit slices in an arch around the back, just to make it extra fancy.
Someone had a sweet tooth, it seemed. That, and it was obvious he was trying to show off his culinary skills, having the perfect reason to do so now.
But who were you to point that out? You were getting free food, and not even for the first time! Of course you were going to stuff yourself sick with these. Because, honestly, they did look incredible. You would have felt bad about devouring such art if your stomach wasnât going nuts.Â
âWow, these smell amazing,â you said, scooping up a bite with the fork he passed you. You admired it, tilting it a few degrees in the light, then chomped down on it.Â
The noise you made was downright unholy. Straight to the Second Circle with you, donât even think about looking at the pearly gates of Heaven.
âFuuuuck,â you keened as you immediately shoved another piece into your mouth. You savored the delectable meal with chubby cheeks, letting the sugary and fluffy delight overtake your senses. âThis is so fuckinâ good.â
He cackled at your reaction as he finished cooking and styling up his own plate, ditching the eye-bleedingly ugly apron, and you realized a trice too late that you just stroked his ego considerably. âI didnât know you could make those kinds of sounds,â he quipped. The sunlight pouring through a nearby window caught the lenses of his glasses when he slid into the seat beside you, making them glint the same way his eyes would if you could see them unobstructed. âMakes me wonder what other noises you can make.â
You almost choked on the pancake you were greedily wolfing down.
Okay, he was not allowed to say things like that while you were eating. And especially not in that voice, the one that lowered a couple octaves and had you squirming in your seat. Barely 10 minutes into the morning and you were already struggling to keep your composure around him.
You swallowed down your food stiffly and patted your sternum with a wee cough. âYouâre going to be the death of me.â
âIâm not opposed to that.â
âYou promised youâd let me use your hot spring first.â
âI can be patient!â Exclaimed the man who very much could not be patient.
You deadpanned, but your lips quivered as you tried to restrain a grin. âSomehow, I doubt that.â
He moped like he was told he couldnât go to the park today. âYouâre so mean to me. How could you? And right after I graciously agreed to house you, too.â Wow, he wasnât kidding about not letting you live that down.
To make up for it and bring the whiny baby back into a good mood, you let him have a few bites of your food, and he lit up like a damn firework, scarfing them down without a second thought. He had this sort of boyish charm that was difficult to resist in a way that made you want to tease and taunt him endlessly. His statuesque features certainly aided his charisma.Â
âBy the way,â Gojo began, speaking around a piece of syrup-covered strawberry from his own dish. âThereâs someone I want to introduce to you later. Youâll like him.â
You gave him a sidelong glance. Was this the second âsomeoneâ Granny mentioned the day before? You shuddered at the thought of dealing with two Satoruâs. You barely knew the first one, and he was already a handful and a menace. You chewed quickly and swallowed to answer.
âIs he anything like you?â You asked, doing your best to be ladylike and eat the way a normal person would. You werenât really succeeding.
He grinned wide. âHeâs the best! Second to me, of course.â
âThat does not answer my question,â you pointed an accusatory fork at him.
âPshh, donât worry. Heâs cool. Well, not as cool as me, but very close.â
That still didnât answer your question. More so, it put you on edge. You were already mentally preparing to get acquainted with this potential twin, doppelgänger, and/or clone.
âCan you at least tell me his name?â
âGeto Suguru,â he responded.
Geto Suguru, huh?
Same initials as Gojo Satoru. Same amount of syllables, too.
You were so fucked, werenât you?Â
The thought of having two copies of the gremlin beside you had you preemptively putting your hands on your nape to ease the tension. Figuratively, but possibly literally, depending on if height was something they shared.
âAlright,â you said. âWhen do you want me to meet him?â
âOh, the time will come, you shouldnât worry your pretty little head.â
Well, if that wasnât the most cryptic shit that definitely had you worrying your pretty little head. Asshole, he was doing that on purpose, confirmed by that cunning expression he had as he observed you with his temple resting on his fist, elbow on the counter. He liked toying with you.
You narrowed your eyes at him. âDonât look at me like that.â
He raised his brows. âLike what?â
âLike youâre planning some shit.â
Satoru pressed his fingers to his chest, feigning innocence. âWhy, Iâd never!â
He was absolutely planning some shit. All you could really do now was brace yourself for whatever was to come, though you were certain that no amount of readying yourself would keep you from getting swept off your feet. âIâve got my eye on you.â
That was the wrong thing to say, considering he fucking swooned and tipped over, resting his head on your shoulder and closing his eyes, sighing like a schoolgirl. âI knew you thought I was handsome.â
You gave a long-suffering exhale and poked his cheek. âI said no such thing.â
âYeah, but you looked it.â
âThe hell does that even mean?â
âJust keep your eyes on me, pretty baby,â he directed and sat back up, reaching for his fork. âWhatâs on the agenda for you today?â He asked as he scooped up the rest of the syrup on his plate with the last bite of his food.
You coughed to cover your blush, grateful for the topic change. âWell, I guess take stock of all Iâll need to do with my house. I got a job at Grannyâs store, so Iâll start working there in a few days.â
âShit, really?â He gaped at you. âThat fast?â
You nodded around your final piece of pancake, closing your eyes to savor the sublime flavor. Youâd have to make him teach you to cook like that sometime, too.
A âwhoohâ sound left him. âImpressive.â
âItâs weird,â you said. âEverythingâs worked out so far, and Iâve barely been here for two and a half days. Iâm getting suspicious.â
âWhy?â
Your shoulders lifted and dropped. âSeems too good to be true. Gotta stay on my toes, yâknow?â
Satoru ruffled your hair as he stood to stack your empty plates into the dishwasher. âYou think too much, sweetheart.â
You crossed your arms over your chest. âLet me be paranoid.â
âYouâll just give yourself worry lines like that,â he cautioned, returning to press his index finger between your brows, âriiiight here. You gotta relax, princess. Chill out, do something fun.â
It was hard to, after spending so many years escaping metaphorical ghosts. Old habits die hard, you supposed.
He was right, you could really use a break from non-stop wariness. This was supposed to be a fresh start, after all. You washed your slate, unmarked of everything on purpose, keeping next to nothing but your name and the clothes on your back. No contacts, nobody waiting for you somewhere, no responsibilities or obligations holding you back. Who knew how long youâd get the chance to let go like this? Might as well take advantage of it.
You werenât sure what would qualify as âfunâ here, but you were a new sprout, after all. What better way than to learn firsthand?
âAlright,â you agreed. âRecommend anything?â
âHmm,â he lolled his head side to side. âGo to the bakery. Itâs not far from Grannyâs store, a couple streets north. Hard to miss, itâs got a big sign. We saw it on the way to Grannyâs yesterday.â
You scratched through your memory, trying to remember exactly where it was. You had a fuzzy idea, but the benefit of living in such a small locale was that it wouldnât be too difficult to find. âWill do, thanks. Iâll go after I check out my place first. Iâll need the emotional support after that.â
âFair enough, I saw why,â he chortled. Oh, the exterior was nothing compared to the interior, sweet summer child. âYou want a ride there?â
You considered it, then shook your head. âNah, itâd be better for me to walk there to get more familiar with the town.â
âYou sure?â He raised a brow, a teasing, lazy smirk crawling up his lips. âWonât get lost?â
âProbably,â you snorted, âbut experience is the best teacher, eh?â
He chuckled low in his throat. âIf you do get lost, donât be afraid to call me. Iâll be your prince in shining armor.âÂ
You made a âpffftâ noise and glared at him. He just smiled back like the dork he was. âItâs knight in shining armor.â
âPrince is better. Iâm not some lowly knight.â
Drama queen. âAlright, whatever you say, prince. Iâll see youââ In the midst of slipping off the stool to get ready to leave, you stopped, remembering a key piece of information. âHey,â you spoke up, rotating to scrutinize him with a squint. âHow did you know my back door doesnât have a lock?â
He shrugged nonchalantly. âMy friends and I would go there on dares when we were younger. Believed it was haunted, dumb kid shit, you know how it goes.â
Oh.
Thatâ yeah, that sounded way more plausible and understandable than whatever ghost stories about kidnappers and serial killers you came up with. But he still could have phrased it better than he did, he didnât have to go creepy-mode to convince you to stay with him for the time being.
âWhy?â He chortled. âThought I was gonna kidnap ya?â
âYes,â you replied automatically, scratching the spot behind your ear sheepishly. âSorry about that.â
He snickered at your expense, bending down and lowering his voice into a rumbling murmur. âYou never know. Maybe I will.â
âHar har,â you replied flatly. âVery funny.â
His lips curled further, eyes gleaming behind his shades. âBetter keep your guard up, princess. Someone might just come and snatch you up when you least expect it.â
You scoffed as you swiveled and headed towards the front door. Satoru followed you in a way that reminded you of a puppy, or a mischievous cat, observing you as you tugged on your shoes. âIâm sure Iâll be fine. I can scream really loud.â
âAnd if they cover your mouth?â
âI bite,â you grinned toothily.
He crooned. âIâll keep that in mind. You sure you donât need a ride?â
âIâll be fine,â you dismissed his uncertainty and double checked your purse as you put it on. âIâll catch you later.â
âAh, wait, before you go,â he halted you, reaching out to search through a bowl on the console table pushed up to the wall. After a second or two of digging around, he pulled out a key attached to a ring and held it out to you. âHere, in case nobodyâs home when you get back.â
You took it from him and turned it over in your palm, evaluating its untarnished sheen. âThanks,â you tucked it away safely into a pocket in your purse. âIs it new?â
âJust a spare,â he stuffed his hands into his pockets. âPut it to good use, yeah?â
âSure,â you agreed.
He patted your head and you scowled at him. âIâll be awaiting your call for when you need to be rescued.â
You stuck your tongue out at him as you opened the door and stepped out of it. âDream on.â
His rolling laughter was the last thing you heard as you closed it behind you. The purity of the air awed you again. It was like a medium between you and nature, tickling every one of your senses. There was this certain liberating power in this valley, one that swelled behind your heart and spread out like hot tea on a cold winter morning.
It swirled in your stomach and radiated from your chest in time with your pulse, lulling and salving. Why had you never considered going to the countryside before?Â
You were a city-hopper, bouncing from metropolitan hellscape to metropolitan hellscape, where the streets of downtown reeked of anything sickly, apartments were expensive to rent, and you only ever felt like a side character.
Restaurants there were always jam-packed, cafĂŠs were less of early day respites and more places of palpable depression. The bars were grimy and boozy, ear-piercingly loud and sweltering with the body heat of dozens of people pressed too tightly together, but at least they were good for one thing.
They were good for shutting down your brain. When it got too loud and too full, when the alcohol burned too much and the people were too touchy, that was when you went into autopilot and thrived in the bliss of silence created by the endless droning of the bass vibrating from your feet to your scalp. You hated liquor, just the thought of it made you queasy, but you craved the buzz it gave you back then.
You didnât have that luxury now, but you didnât need it. You hadnât so much as thought about partaking in that vice since moving, actually. Had you known about the kind of life you could find here, you would have ditched the neon streets a long time ago.
The placidity of mostly untouched vegetation and of the tightly knit community provided a different kind of solace, one that distracted you with things far more interesting than paranoia and anxiety-driven overthinking.
You didnât feel lost here. Not in the metaphorical sense. Literally had yet to be seen. It remained unfamiliar, but your panic had smoothed out from the first steps you had taken off the train. You could breathe without feeling like there were matches being held too close to your lungs, or needles aimed at your heart.
You didnât hold onto hope, though. The pattern remained the same. Once you got used to this place, youâd hop on the next train and be on your less-than-merry way.
Will I ever stop running? You asked yourself frequently.
Nobody ever answered.
Thatâs alright. For now, you were okay.Â
Choosing not to indulge in those ideologies, you followed the curving road back down the incline, noting that the car Ijichi had brought you in was gone. Youâd need to find a way to thank him, as well as Granny. You didnât like being indebted to people, especially if it put you at risk of getting tied down.
Satoru was a different problem entirely, since he was letting you live with him. Chores, rent, maybe another thing or two to keep the score level. You werenât great on brainstorming ideas on how to return favors, but youâd figure it out. A good walk always helped make the creative juices flow.
You ruminated on who he wanted to introduce you to later, coming up with ideas about what he might be like. Hopefully a counterpart and not a duplicate, you werenât sure how much youâd be able to handle if that was the case.Â
If he was friends with Satoru, though, the likelihood of him driving you insane in one way or another was highly likely.
âI bet heâs disgustingly handsome, too,â you muttered cattily under your breath. âIâm gonna see him and the last brain cells I have are gonna explode.â
It didnât help that you had no idea when you were going to meet this âGeto Suguruâ. Would you have time to anchor yourself mentally? Would it be today, or a week from now? Could you even prepare at all?
Ugh.
Satoru was right, you thought too much.
As you roamed around, the shrine caught your eye once more, and you stopped to take it in. You hadnât been to a shrine before â not this kind, anyway. The bigger ones in Tokyo didnât count. You vaguely remembered how to pray, though you werenât sure if you should. Paying respects, though, that was fine.
You nibbled on your bottom lip, debating. In the end, it wasnât a hard choice. You would take any chance to procrastinate and delay facing the disaster awaiting you as much as you could. Except for the bakery Satoru recommended, you were saving that for after you made a plan for your house. You figured youâd want to stress eat afterwards to balm your troubled heart.
Besides, you werenât sure if youâd have the time to visit after you got started on everything. You had a few days to use up, why not use them to check things out?
The trail leading up to it was easy to find, and though clearly well-traveled and requiring some exertion to traverse, it was clear that it was loved. The flowers on either side of the path were tended to with a compassionate hand, blooming and fragrant. You took a break on several occasions just to sniff a few, admiring them.Â
Usually, you were picky about flowers.Â
Most were less redolent and more bitterly pungent for you, such as roses. They were elegant, no doubt, but their scent always bordered on perfume-y in a way that reminded you more of an old folksâ home rather than pleasant and subtle beauty. Generally, florid notes made your face scrunch up like you ate something unexpectedly sour.
These flowers were just right, though. They still had those floral undertones, of course, but presented salubrious and fruity essences atop it. It made you mull over why every other flower you smelled before wasnât palatable.Â
Soon, the shrine entrance was in clear view. You traced your finger along the edge of a petal one last time before standing up from your squatting position and making your way over to it. The tower itself was mostly vertical in terms of size, decently small in contrast to the typically larger ones scattered about Japan, but it fit in perfectly with everything else here.
There were two stone benches on either side of the archway leading in, pressed up to the sturdy cobblestone foundation, and lanterns situated at the corners of both, reminding you of a few animated movies with similar designs youâd seen in the past. They were slightly shaded, turned a few degrees away from the sun, and you imagined it would be nice to read there and watch the sun fall asleep beyond the horizon.
The doors were open, guarded by dog-like statues, a bit crudely carved out. Satoru had mentioned it was a shrine dedicated to the wolves that used to roam the mountains, so the statues were likely meant to resemble them. You were curious about the interior, wanting to see the altar up close, since each place of prayer had their own uniquely made one, but the sight of a person clad in white and red kneeling in front of said altar within had you nixing that idea. You could do it another time.
She must have noticed your approach as her head lifted and she peeked partially over her shoulder. She rose up and rotated to face you, and you withheld your exasperation.
Right, this was just fucking ridiculous now, what the fuck.
Why was there another criminally attractive person in this godsforsaken valley? You got scammed, you wanted your money back. Everyone here was so out of your league, you felt like the dog that caught the baseball bat after itâs thrown rather than a player in the game. What, was there going to be an additional good-looking person, ready to knock the wind out of you?
Probably Geto.
If any of these people told you to get down on your knees and bark, you would have without question.
Seriously, why?
You should have been relishing existing in the presence of so many charming folks, but in reality, it just made you feel self conscious.
âHello,â she greeted as she walked over to you, bringing you out of your internal raging monologue. âMay I help you?â
âOh,â you fluttered your lashes and stammered minutely, trying to recollect yourself. âSorry, I didnât mean to distract you. I just wanted to see the shrine.â
The shrine maidenâs lips tilted up politely. âYouâre fine, donât worry. Are you a tourist?â
âNo,â you fidgeted with your thumb and index finger on your right hand. âI moved here recently. Iâm checking around to get more acquainted with the area.â
Her brows rose a millimeter short of being comical. âReally? Thatâs surprising. Did one of the villagers leave that I didnât know of?â
âAlso no. I bought the house on the outskirts, uhh,â you twisted to scan behind you and pointed in the general direction of it. âThat way.â
âThat house? I thought theyâd torn it down a long time ago. Why that one?â
You lowered your arm. âIt was cheap. Gave me an excuse to move here properly.â
âI hope youâre not staying there, itâs dangerous,â she frowned, using a stern yet caring voice.
âIâm staying with Gojo Satoru while I fix it up.â
Immediately, the womanâs face twisted into a sneer of repulsion. Scorn shadowed over her honey-brown eyes, causing yours to widen as hers narrowed. âRun away while you still can,â she told you firmly.Â
Well, thatâs not worrisome at all.
What the hell did he do to her?
âWhat? Why?â Your brows furrowed.
She sighed as if the mere mention of Gojo had stripped a few years off her lifespan. âHeâs the devil in disguise.â
Was anyone ever going to give you a straight answer about him? âDid heâŚdo something?â
Her scorn turned to ire and agitation in a snap. âHeâs so obnoxious! And arrogant, I canât stand to be around him, he pisses me off to no end,â she downright snarled, heat rising to her cheeks from her anger. âHe acts all high and mighty when heâs just a spoiled brat that refuses to respect his elders!â
âOhââ
âMe!â She pointed harshly at herself. âIâm his elder! Well, I mean, not the only one, but still! He was raised like a golden child, given everything he wanted. He loooves getting on everyoneâs nerves, especially mine. Get away from him or heâll send you to an early grave, miss.â
You didnât know what you were expecting when you came to view the shrine, but a rant from a peeved miko definitely wasnât anywhere on your list of possibilities. His name alone sent her into a tailspin, and you would have regretted it if seeing her go off about the man wasnât more entertaining than it had any right to be. You did feel bad, but madly interested, too.
âIâŚsee,â you reacted stiltedly, stifling a laugh. âAre you, like, exes or something?â
She gaped at you as if you had informed her of her puppyâs passing. âWhat? No! Absolutely not! Iâ how couldâ never even mentionââ She abruptly stopped herself, took a few intensely deep breaths to calm herself, then she was smiling kindly again as if nothing had happened. âWhere are my manners? Iâm Iori Utahime, a miko. Itâs a pleasure to meet you. And you are?â
Left reeling from her unexpected 180 in demeanor, you stuttered out your own name in response, to which she nodded in approval.
âA lovely name. You said you moved here recently? How fun! What brought you to this valley?â
Satoru had several questions to answer for the next time you saw him. If you had a notepad and pen, you would have been writing them down like a P.I., bobbing your head with a solemn face as you asked Iori to recount her history of events.
âI came to study abroad in Tokyo a few years back, and fell in love with the country,â you said. âIâm not big on cities, though, so coming here seemed perfect.â
Maybe you were embellishing your story a bit, but in all fairness, you didnât know her. Besides, clean slate; you had no story before this, why not paint one now that you had the freedom to?
You werenât going to whip up some grand tale about how you were this astonishingly intelligent, leading programmer in your country that did impressive work for science (that was your mother), but it didnât hurt to fib the truth a small amount. The part about studying abroad was true, anyway.
She appraised you with an interested visage. âI see, I see. Where are you originally from?â
Man, people loved asking that, huh?
Itâs not like you could blame them, youâd do the same in their place. You were a foreigner, they were going to treat you like one.
âAh,â you told her of your place of origin. âItâs nothing special. I mostly traveled.â
âOh? How did you make money?â
âFreelance,â you answered. âOdd jobs here and there, enough to keep myself afloat. Have you traveled before, Iori-san?âÂ
You could see the overjoyed spark in her eyes that someone was finally respecting her. âOnly within the country,â she responded, somewhat somber. âIâve always wanted to see what itâs like outside Japan.â
You tilted your head back to see the sky and think of suggestions. What do the stars look like here? âDepends on where you go. Some places are very packed and have lots of things to do no matter where you go, like Europe. Other places are more sparse, like the States.â
âBut the States have more people,â the woman pointed out.
âYeah,â you confirmed, âbut that country is massive and people there tend to group into major cities, rather than be spread out. California is technically bigger than the entirety of Japan, but has way less people.â
Her eyes bulged in surprise. âReally?â
âYep. Itâs why you might hear Westerners say âthereâs nothing to do hereâ,â you glanced at the structure behind her. âYou guys revere wolves here, right?â
Utahime clapped her hands twice eagerly. âThatâs correct! Howâd you know?â
Based on her reaction to you merely mentioning Satoru, you figured itâd be best if you didnât tell her the source of your information. âIâve heard about it. I was curious, I havenât been to a smaller shrine like this one before. Only the bigger ones in Tokyo, but those were part of my assignments, rather than for leisure.â
âOh, itâs not much,â she espied at it from over her shoulder, but you could see the pride in her eyes. It was well taken care of, with love and chariness. It easily passed off as something constructed more recently, given its meticulous maintenance.
âHow long ago was it built?â
âAround the same time the settlers first came here.â
This time, your eyes were the ones that opened wide. It had to have been at least 350 years old in that case, based on a rough estimate. âThat far back? Wow, itâs in seriously good shape.â
The woman puffed up her chest. âThough the wolves have long since died out here, we still honor them. They helped us with hunts and allowed this village to thrive when we needed it most. They protected us from cursed spirits, as well. Itâs only right we treat them and the bounties theyâve given us with respect.â
Oh, there was that term again: cursed spirits. âCould you tell me more about cursed spirits?â
Enthusiasm bubbled up in her the way it would in a child about to tell their parents about the story they wrote up. She skipped over to one of the stone benches and plopped down onto it, patting the spot beside her. You slid onto it, a chill shooting up your spine from the cold temperature. Being shaded from the sun made the rock gelid, go figure.
âNow! Letâs start from the beginning as we know it,â she cleared her throat and took on the role of a teacher. âThe origin of cursed spirits and jujutsu sorcery as a whole is largely unknown. Itâs speculated that spirits have lived alongside humanity from the beginning of it, as cursed energy is formed by negative emotions, and cursed energy is what spirits are born from.â
She was very animated when teaching, you noticed. Lots of hand movements, facial expressions, and a bouncy attitude to boot. It made for a very entertaining show, and did well to keep you engaged.
âCurses were invisible to humans. Only a select few could see them, and even fewer could actively interact with them in some way or another,â she continued. âSmaller curses would typically leech off of people without them knowing it, feeding off their bad emotions. Stronger curses, however, could be incredibly powerful. Sometimes to the point of standard weapons being completely useless against them, which is why jujutsu sorcery came to fruition. We needed some way to fight back against the spirits, so we developed a way to do just that by manipulating the natural reserves of cursed energy we had within us.â
Folklore from other countries always captivated you. From the creator of mankind in some Chinese mythos named NĂźwa, to the counterpart of the equivalent of Santa in Germany, the origin of Halloween and turnip lanterns â even the oddly terrifying ones without nefarious intentions, like Mari Lwyd.
You adored hearing about legends, stories, and tales passed down through oral and written history over the centuries of life existing in each respective land. To say she had you hooked would be an understatement.
What were curses like? Assuming they were real, of course, and that jujutsu sorcery didnât follow the same ideology as hanging witches. Were they ugly? Bipedal? Humanoid at all?Â
âMany natural disasters are blamed on curses, even to this day,â she began lifting her fingers as she counted off a few examples. âEarthquakes, tsunamis, droughts. Pretty much anything you can think of.â
âWere they kinda like demons?â
âEh,â she tilted her hand side to side a few times. âYes and no. Depends on who you ask, really. They could be different from demons of hell, or they could be one and the same.â
âI see,â you pinched your chin. âSo, whereâd they go, then?â
She grasped one of her pigtails, running her fingers through the open and loose portion at the top of it. âNobody really knows. Some think that sorcerers were able to eradicate them at the source, and died off since they werenât needed anymore. It could be that the curses have simply lost power due to the progression of mankind, and particularly therapy, though itâsâŚstill kind of taboo. Some claim theyâre still around, we just donât notice because we arenât able to see any of it.â
Satoruâs words on the matter echoed in your mind. âEven if they are real, there's no way they'd beat me.â
You bit your cheek to hold back an unwitting snicker. Leave it up to Satoru to say some brazen shit and have it pop up in your head at random.
âWhat about you? What do you think?â You asked.
Utahime flicked a piece of invisible dirt off the front of her hakama. âI believe they exist. Itâs part of why Iâm a miko, and one of the reasons I maintain this shrine. Itâs my duty. Curses may not be the same now as they were back then, but thatâs no reason for me to slack off. Complacency breeds contempt.â
It was heartwarming, in a way, to see someone still holding onto traditions like these, working to keep her friends, family, and home safe, upholding the rules within and outside places of prayer. You admired her for it.
Not that you would personally want to be a shrine maiden, but you held them in high esteem nonetheless.
âAnd you?â She peered at you. âDo you believe in the supernatural?â
You closed your eyes for a moment, stretching your legs in front of you and idling back on your hands. âIâm agnostic, neither here nor there. I respect spaces that are considered sacred, Iâd rather not get hexed, but I donât go out of my way to hunt down, letâs say, ghosts.â
âI commend you, many could stand to learn a thing or two from you,â as she spoke, she stood up and brushed off the back of her kosode. âYou are good company, though I fear I should get back to work soon.â
âAh,â you got up as well and bowed to her. âThank you for sharing your stories with me, Iori-san. Iâm sorry for disturbing you.â
She waved her hand. âYou didnât, donât worry. Come visit me again soon, okay? Iâd love to hear stories of your travels as well.â
âSure,â promised easily, more than content to exchange tales with her. âStay safe.â
âLikewise,â the noirette disappeared back into the shrine with a final word of parting, leaving you to your devices.
While you didnât get to see the altar inside, you considered the visit worthwhile, and got a new acquaintance out of it, too. You could come back to check it out another day.
Having burned through all the reasonable amount of procrastination time you allowed yourself, you voyaged back down the path, appreciating the blooms the whole way down the same way you had when you went the other way. You had to ask Utahime if she was the one tending to them next time you saw her.
You were proud to say that you only got lost twice. But you did find the bakery on the way, and memorized where it was once you located the path home. Not bad, not bad at all. You managed to find your way around, and you didnât need to embarrass yourself by calling Satoru to come to your rescue.
Itâs sad how low your standards for happiness had fallen, but youâd take any crumb of serotonin you could find.
You noticed the trip to your house was shorter whenever you actively didnât want to go there, as if it was a living creature that purposefully made you arrive faster, just so you had to give it attention.
It stood, looming, mocking you. Taunting you, the monstrosity. What an asshole.
The outside matters came first, the less time you had to spend inside, the better. You pulled up the notes app on your phone and began the task of drafting everything you needed to deal with, denoting it as the âOutdoorâ section in your native tongue.
Fence, you typed down, scribbling sporadic thoughts as you went. Tear down? Repair? Replace?
You checked the ends and noted that the fence only went back about halfway into your property, leaving the back uncovered. Covers only front. Built like that? Collapsed/removed in the back?Â
You felt the stalks of yellow-ish green leafage with your palm, the tips reaching your hips. Cut down grass and weeds. You should plant pollinator flowers if the yard was ever cleared out well enough. Itâd be nice to have some butterflies and bees around to help everything grow nice and healthy.Â
You lightly nudged a piece of a busted plant pot with the toe of your shoe. Dispose of broken pots. A slight stumble had you leering down to see a strangely shaped tile. You tilted your head in confusion, then peered up at the edge of the roof, deducing it was a shingle that had fallen off. You stepped further away from the roof, just in case. And fallen & loose shingles.
Rounding the side, you waded through the overgrown flora, poring over the condition of the rundown houseâs environment. Remove ivy from walls. Set up trellises. Lattices to form a backyard/patio/garden/thing?
Angling your chin up, you placed your hand over your forehead and assessed the roof. From on the ground, you wouldnât be able to completely acknowledge the damage done to it over the years it sat untouched, but you were reluctant to climb on it to see first hand. You didnât have a ladder, for starters, and you liked having unbroken bones and working shins.Â
Get a ladder.
The back of the estate was in the same condition as everything else. Which is to say, disheartening.Â
âWhatâve I got myself intoâŚâ You muttered.
You spotted a narrow garden plot built into the back of the house. Overgrown, yes, but itâd be perfect for planting stuff when you got it all cleared up.
It wasnât a question of âifâ, unfortunately. You had no other real choice besides mending what was left in your hands.
You were still miffed at the real estate agent. You likely wouldnât have purchased this piece of land had you known what was ahead. Or if you were in a better state of mind, honestly, rather than being in the middle of your fight-or-flight phase of living.
âNo good dwelling on the past,â you whispered to yourself as you circled back to the front. âCanât change it now.â
You took a deep, long, full breath, enjoying the fresh and crisp air while you still could. You savored the temperate hints of nature and the clement weather, treating it like it would be your last time experiencing such comfort. You didnât know if your nostrils (or you) would survive the excursion into hell you were about to go on, so you werenât risking taking the breeze for granted.
Exhaling all in one big puff, you steeled your shoulders and pushed open your front door, your free hand covering your nose in anticipation. Replace hinges and/or front door.
It managed to punch you in the gut regardless.Â
New section in your notes open, you got to work typing. The most obvious issues came first, such as the floors, the peeling walls, and exposed boning and pipes. A lot would possibly need to be replaced, such as the counters in the kitchen, cupboardsâŚ
Floor rotted(?) and sticky. Wash?
Spackle for holes in walls? New drywall instead?
Check insulation.
Your spirits fell more and more with each additional item of note you wrote onto the list. Could any of this be salvaged? Were you better off tearing it down?
Remove tatami. Replace? Donât?
Stepping into what you assumed was the master bedroom, you made your way over to the sleeping bag you left behind and cautiously rolled it up, maneuvering around the grime stuck to it, and placed it against a corner. Youâd toss it when you got the chance to.
M-bed closet missing doors and shelf.
Seeing the window, you tip-toed to it, hoping to open it to air out the room. Your nose formed bunny lines at the cobwebs littering the sill and edges. While there werenât any spiders â as far as you could see â you still did not enjoy touching them in the slightest.
Pushing up from the center of the window proved to be futile, the frame wasnât going to be budging anytime soon.
Windows stuck.
Remove spider webs.
There was litter here and there â torn pieces of paper, a ripped open baggie, fabric â that you decided to leave as is. Along with not having gloves to pry them off the ground, you didnât have anything to throw them away into. They got to live another day.
Toss out trash.
The shower and bathroom had a cupboard tucked off to the side, but opening it showed the middle platform separating the top and bottom within was crumbly and would break if you put any weight on it. Replace shelf in bathroom cupboard.
The tiles were all fucked up, too. Some were chipped, others were outright broken or missing. Rust had gathered around the tap and drain in the tub, likely from years of having a leaky faucet before it ran out of water to drip.
Clean out rust in bath/pipes. Throw away broken floor tiles. Replace.
You pulled the left handle of the sink faucet and waited for a few seconds to see if the plumbing was functional.
Which was a big, fat no.
Plumbing. Faucets.
Limescale on shower head, wall tiles.
You scrolled through what notes you had already created and chewed on the corner of your bottom lip, thinking of what else you might have needed to write down. You fixated blankly on the wall in front of you as you went over everything, then quickly typed out a few more things.
Electricity.
Check for asbestos, lead in paint.
You figured the tasks you needed to do would pop up as you went along, considering your notes to be a simple skeleton outline. You could jot down other things as needed, and work through them one by one.
Having done as much as possible while staying inside for as long as you could tolerate, you walked back outside and dug around in your purse for the piece of paper Granny had given you, the one with names and numbers of people that could help you in this endeavor.
To say you were beginning to panic would be an understatement. You already bought the damn thing, and doubted youâd be able to resell it and get all your money back. You also didnât want to subject anyone to repairing the thing when it was both a health hazard and an embarrassment.Â
You had some reserve money, but it wasnât a whole lot, so you required that job Granny gave you.
Gojo said you could stay with him for however long you needed, but that was with the expectation that youâd leave once your house was fixed up. Given the villageâs size, it was unlikely that you would find another place within it to live in, even after saving up some money working for Granny. You didnât want to piggy-back off anyone and be an imposition; the only reason you felt less guilty about staying with the moon-haired idiot was due to the sheer amount of space he had in his mansion.
You were swiftly running out of options.
Your lips paled as you pressed them tightly together, trying to wrack your mind for ideas. You couldnât sell it, and you didnât want to deal with the humiliation of having strangers work for you. In such a small town, word spread like fire on a dry wick. Who knows what they would say about you?
Realistically, it wasnât your fault, you knew this. The house hadnât been built under your name and, hell, was likely older than you by at least a decade or two. It didnât fall to ruin because of you, but you were the owner of this house now, the responsibility rested on your shoulders.
You read through the list of handymen under your thumb, the paper shaking slightly from the death grip you had on it.
Repairing it on your own was technically an option, but you would be basically begging for severe injuries or even death by attempting that. You wouldnât even know where to start. Foundation? Floors? Structure? Roof? You didnât fucking know how to do any of that shit!
âŚOr you could just burn the damn eyesore to the ground âtil there was naught but ashes left.
No, that was a stupid idea, but you were out of any good ones.
The thought you had previously of tearing it down and buying a garden shed to reside in was feeling more and more tempting by the hour. It was unreasonable, you knew, you simplyâŚdidnât know what you were supposed to do.
You were used to doing things alone. You relied solely on yourself, trusted only your own words and intentions. Letting people in was not something you did for many reasons. Maybe you did crave closeness and camaraderie at some point in the distant past, but the concept was out of the question entirely now. It made uncomfortable butterflies sit heavy in your stomach, the urge to vanish into the treelines and never be seen again increasing with each extraneous person you invited into your life.
You sighed. âI should have just moved into the woods and turned into a witch,â you grumbled low, then scoffed sardonically. âRight, as if I wouldnât accidentally poison myself with a weird mushroom on day three and die a horrible, painful, slow death.â
The two lists you had remained in your somewhat reluctant hands. You knew you were way in over your head, and youâd probably unintentionally curse the house sooner than you managed to make a positive change, butâŚyou werenât used to asking for help. Always the type to manage shit on your own, get things done yourself, be independent. Could you really be faulted for having a hard time reaching out to anyone else?
Especially since you hadnât even met any of them yet. That would be disconcerting, asking folks youâd never seen â let alone spoken to â before to work for you.
Your phone singed your fingers. You did know someone, and knew that he was just a phone call away, but did you really want to deal with him of all people? He would take this chance to rub it all in your face and then some.
You carefully weighed your choices.
Rebuild the house yourself with no former experience with anything beyond shitty popsicle stick bird huts.
Call someone on the list, explain your situation, and ask for help.
Call the prick.
âŚBy the gods, you really hated making calls to people you didnât know.
Shamefully carping to yourself, you dialed Satoruâs number, trying to ignore the contact name he had set up for himself. It was so glitzy, the â¨â¤ď¸ Satoru â¤ď¸â¨ sitting at the top of the call screen making you stifle a short laugh, ironically lifting your spirits. âHere goes nothingâŚâ
He answered within three rings. âYo, been a while, princessâ Satoru purred as if you hadnât seen him that morning, and you rolled your eyes, despite not being there in person for him to see.
âYou greet every girl like that?â
âNope, just you,â you could hear his grin. âWhatcha need?â
Now came the part where you set aside your pride and voiced what you very much did not want to. Again. Youâd known this man for barely 24 hours and he already had several wins over you. InâŚwhatever game you decided you were losing. âLook, IâŚI need your help.â
âOho? Whatâs this? Is the princess finally admitting how much she misses me?âÂ
Smug dick.
âI did not say that,â you immediately berated him.
He simply hummed, unaffected. âSame thing.â
You ran your hand down your face, already exasperated just 30 seconds into the call. âYouâ ugh, just, can you help me or not?â
âDepends on what you need, sugar plum. Did ya get lost already?â
This man was going to be the cause of your madness. The bridge of your nose ached where you pinched it. âGranny gave me a list of people to call to help me with my house and I really donât want to call any of them.â
âThen donât.âÂ
âAnd, what, do everything by myself?â
You could envision him shrugging. âWhy not? I could help you.â
âSatoru, I trust a wild forest fire more than I trust you with a hammer.â
âOuch,â he sucked air through his teeth, faux whimpering. âYouâre such a bully. Fine, Iâll help you with contacting everyone.â
Oh, that took less fighting and groveling than you expected. You exhaled in relief. âThank youââ
âOn,â he interrupted you, âone condition.â
There it is.
Your skin began to sting as you dug your nails harder into it, leaving curved indents between your eyes. âYâknow what, I think Iâll be fineââ
âAh-ah-ah, hang on a second there, pretty girl. Hear me out.â
Conceding, you sighed and urged him to make his request. âFine, what is it?â
"Cook something for me,â he requested. âConsider it evening the score.â
Your face scrunched up into a question mark. âWait, thatâs it?
âWhat, do you want it to be more?â
âNo, no, I can do that,â you quickly declined, biting on the edge of your thumbnail as you tried to think of something to prepare for him. âDo you have any preferences?â
âSweets.â
Sweet stuff. Okay, you could work with that. You could bake some pretty killer macarons. You didn't know what ingredients he had at home, or how to operate his oven, but you'd just figure it out, right?
âAlright, I can do that,â you answered.
âWe have a deal, then?â
You took a moment to consider. You could back out, but your introverted personality made that notion null. It was only baking, too, rather than the ghastly demand you were expecting him to make. Baking it is. âDeal.â
âGreat! Weâll be over in a flash!~â
âOkayââ wait. ââWeââ?â
He hung up before you could ask. You groaned and contemplated smashing your phone against the ground, but decided against it. You needed the thing, unfortunately.
Since you had to wait for however long, you chose to add in some thoughts to what youâd already written down, brainstorming how you wanted to proceed. It was difficult to tell at this stage, before you started on anything. But you could pick out what you might want to plant; flowers, vegetables, a fruit tree or two. So what if you were fantasizing? It helped keep you calm. Escapism was a valid coping mechanism.
It was too hard to picture anything given the state of the house, though. Youâd need to snip down the field first and go from there, when you could see everything clearly.
How much did contractor services cost in Japan? What about the people Granny knew, how much did they charge? What kind of services did they provide? Your toe tapped repeatedly as you stepped outside your fence, trying not to pace.
Would you need one, or multiple? Were you going to have to get materials from the nearby city by yourself, or would they do that? If the former, how?
âI need an adult,â you lamented, your shoulders slouching and arms folding over your chest. âI wanna die. Iâm not mature enough for this shit.â
You recalled what your mother told you often when you were younger: ânot everything at once.â
Easier said than done. Sleep on it, one step at a time, break it down into shorter tasks, nothing was taking the edge off your stress.
âIâll just start with the grass,â you muttered, eventually succumbing to the need to pace. âI have to start somewhere, and Iâll need to get rid of that before anything else can be done. Oh, but, fuck, thereâs so much of itâŚnot to mention debris, rocksâŚdo they still make scythes? Canât launch a pebble with a scythe. No, wait, thatâd be so much more effort and take more timeâŚâ
A flicker of alabaster down the road caught your eye, halting your hurried back-and-forth roving and hushed bleating.
Satoru was always easy to spot from a distance. It was hard not to see him when his hair redirected the sun like a mirror, blinding anyone who saw him from the wrong angle. He was the angel on your shoulder with the personality of the devil, urging you to dive into your most heinous and blasphemous thoughts. The light bouncing off his head created a glowing aura around it, resembling a silver halo, further pushing that deceptive angel motif.
Would the halo turn gold in the light of the crimson rays of fading day?
You uncrossed your arms, ready to greet him, only to notice the man beside him. They were conversing, and the latter must have said something funny, as the former guffawed hysterically. It echoed off the mountains on either side of the valley, reaching you with no concern for distance.Â
Did such bellows reach across the entire settlement, or was it localized, feeling louder than it actually was due to an echo chamber effect?
Gojoâs cachinnation dissipated when the pair were close enough to you, at which point he waved his hand high in the air to greet you avidly, like you werenât only 20 feet from them.
âHey! Didnât keep ya waitinâ too long, did we?â
Truthfully, the fifteen or so minutes you had been waiting for them had gone by in a flash when you were so deeply buried in your spiraling thoughts while remembering dumb shit sprinkled into your internal ranting. The only evidence of your anticipation for their arrival being the barely present ache in your heels from where you rested most of your weight on them.
âNo, not long,â you assured, fighting hard to keep your eyes off his friend for however long possible, vainfully clinging to your sanity. You knew that as soon as you centered your vision on him, your ability for conscious thought would evaporate.Â
You wanted to present yourself as at least marginally normal as a first impression, though you doubted you were achieving that by avoiding the obvious third presence. You were surely coming off as rude, you really shouldâ
âThis one's Geto Suguru,â Gojo introduced the noiret by his side, nipping your overthinking at the bud.
At last, your full attention was guided to him.
Oh.
Oh. That was a mistake.
âThis oneâ was breathtaking.
His midnight hair caught the sunlight in a scintillating iridescence that shifted between the deepest phthalo blue youâd ever seen and a mesmerizing sheen of violet when the light caught it just right, like the feathers of a raven. It struck you how glossy and luxuriously silky it was, and you wanted to pull it out of the high bun he kept it in to run your fingers through it endlessly. That one loose section of his bangs that hovered over his eye was just so cute, your digits itched to tug on it.
And, speaking of, those eyes.Â
Sharp enough to cut diamonds and make you stand straighter. Heat rose to your cheeks as he observed you, head cocked to the side with a smooth and sweet smile that absolutely melted your insides like soft-serve ice cream, lily-livered and defenseless against the blazing sun incarnate in the form of a man.
They were dark, yet warm; a rich chocolate in hue that you could swear had flecks of gold within and rings of wisteria coiling around his abyssal pupils.
He was tall and foreboding, just like Satoru, but in a completely different fashion. He was the radiant Sol, pacifying and precious heat licking at your skin, soothing away the frostbite of winters long past.Â
Beside him stood the Moon, reflective and brilliant and so goddamn cocky that it made your cheeks hurt â whether from biting the insides of them to hide back a smile, or to prevent yourself from smacking that shameless attitude out of him, you didnât know. It didnât matter.Â
Satoruâs pearly locks contrasted sharply with Suguruâs obsidian lace, providing a striking visual. These godly beings towered over you, imposing and otherworldly and too good to be true, yet you knew your imagination could never come up with men like them.
And you?
You poor, dear, sweet, dumb little lamb. A pathetic speck caught in the gravity they created. Two black holes, eager to suck you in and rip you to shreds, and you were tempted to let them, practically falling into them without their overwhelming influence affecting you.
Their presence, their power, their very existence that demanded you drop to your knees to worship and beg like the tragic whore you were dominated your consciousness, filling it with fantasies you hadnât experienced inâŚgods, ever. Nobody exuded the same aura they did, nobody made you weak-kneed and aching between your thighs, not like this. They created a desire in you that you wanted to have fulfilled â needed, even.
The pop of your knuckle in your fist that you had subconsciously created managed to snap you from your revere and back into the present, reminding you that, perhaps, you should do something, rather than drool like an idiot.Â
Youâve gone fucking crazy. That was it, the last straw, the last hauntingly magnificent person. Why, oh, why did you move here?
With no small amount of embarrassment at the realization that your panties were a bit more damp than they were a minute ago, you clenched your jaw hard enough to anchor yourself, and made a mental note to get rid of the problem between your legs as soon as you were alone and could succumb to the pleasure, the yearning, you hadnât experienced in ages.
As well as pretend it wasnât caused by them, the iconic duo that had you in a mental fit.
Hoping you hadnât made a total fool of yourself, you turned and bowed respectfully, saying your name in return as you stared at the ground in an attempt to clear your mind of the filth it created on its own, unprompted. âIt's a pleasure to meet you, Geto-san.â
Suguru studied you for a few seconds (donât look at me like that, please, Iâm begging you, spare me), then faced the male beside him with an amused expression. âAre you sure this is the same girl you were telling me about? The brat?â
Oh, heavens, that voice.
Fire exploded across your cheeks and pooled deep in the lower pits of your stomach when you heard him say that word; enunciate it clearly, croon it in that damned tone that had electricity jolting up your spine.
Not now, slut. Focus.
It was significantly easier to ignore the unholy fantasies plaguing your sanity when you centered all that pent up energy into being annoyed at Satoru, questioning your already questionable friendship when you learned of what he called you in private. Your eyes narrowed into an icy glare, primed and deadly. To your agitation and further chagrin, he only smirked boyishly at you.
âThatâs the one,â he replied with a widening grin as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants.
âShe's far too polite,â Geto countered.
Satoru snorted. âTrust me, she's a spitfire.â
âIs that soâŚâ The onyx-haired man bent down to come closer to your face, and your breath hitched in your throat, refusing to come out properly. His scent embraced you. Mild, pleasant, like warm chai and jasmine, making your muscles instinctively loosen.
His eyes softened into closed curves as he beamed at you. You really hoped he couldn't read your mind. There was nothing holy or sane in there.
âYour name is lovely as is,â he murmured as his voice lowered into a roguish octave, âbut I think I have a better one in mind.â
âW-What?â Your own vocal cords strained just to get the one word out in a wimpy squeak, and of course you just had to stutter. Whereas the air Satoru emitted naturally made you want to tackle him to the ground, Suguruâs wrapped around you like wisps of incense smoke, soothing and gently demanding your obsession with its fragrance. It inexplicably made you want to thaw into a puddle, to give him your full and undivided focus.
His canines peeked through from the way his lips curled further, entertained by your sudden timidness. He remained quiet, merely viewing your reactions as he lifted a hand to loop a strand of your hair around his finger and by the gods, donât look at his fingers and how long and big they are and how perfect theyâd feelâ
âAngel,â the man said, practically cooing it at you.
You stifled a croak, verbally cuffed out of your totally, positively, very wholesome thoughts. âWhat?â
If you could die from embarrassment and be let out of this hell hole, youâd keel over on the spot when he simpered. âAngel,â he so graciously repeated for you. âI believe it suits you quite well. Wouldnât you say so, Satoru?â
Satoru was having the time of his life, you were sure of it. You could feel him staring into you, see that stupid sexy fucking smile on his face from the corner of your eye as he teased you and, shit, why were you in the middle of this? Had you committed some heinous sin? Was this your punishment?Â
âI donât know,â he hummed in deliberation. âI prefer bunny. Or mochi.âÂ
âMochi?â You and Suguru questioned at the same time, swiveling to regard the alabaster man.
Gojo nodded. âSmall, probably tastes sweet, squishy.â
âSquishy?â You gaped incredulously, relocating your befuddled scrutiny to Geto when he burst out into laughter.
âI can see it,â Suguru coincided, earning himself a pretty nasty glare, too.
You groaned and tilted your face up, pleading with the sky to give you strength. âDonât you start, too. One Satoru is enough, thanks.â
He hummed and smirked, something mischievous twinkling in his eyes. You didn't like that countenance. Not one bit. âWell, itâs a pleasure to meet you, too,â he bowed his head towards you, changing the subject. Thank fuck. âYou moved here recently, yes?â
âYeah,â you affirmed, molling the racing of your heart that was just a few beats short of being uncomfortable. âTechnically the night before yesterday.â
âYou had a safe trip, then, I hope?â
You sent the stone stepping path partially hidden by the overgrown grass a particularly scathing grimace. âI almost ate shit and died on my own porch, but I did, yes.â
His husky laugh was messing up your insides. âGlad youâre in one piece. It was the stepping stones, wasnât it?â
âYes, oh, my god. Theyâre out to kill me, I swear.â
âTheyâve gotten me a couple times, too. Itâs good to see this house will finally be getting some love.â
âI think youâre the only person thatâs been positive about this so far,â you scratched your cheek with your index finger. âEveryone else has told me itâs grossly dangerous. Wish Iâd known that before I skimped out on finding a place to stay for the first nightâŚâ
Suguruâs browline furrowed in disquietude. âYou slept in there?â
You exhaled harshly and hung your head. âDonât remind me.â
âYou arenât feeling sick, are you?â
You shook your head and patted his arm reassuringly. âNo, just humiliated.â
His expression relaxed, the hardness in his deep maroon eyes tempering. âThatâs good. If you do feel ill, donât brush it off. Excess activity can worsen your health and prolong sicknesses.â
Aww, a mother hen? He was in your good books now, you felt all fluffy, being cared for by him. âIâll keep that in mind, thank you.â
Satoru pushed his way between you two, resting one arm on Suguruâs shoulder and the other on your head, coveting your attention. âSo, whatâs the plan, mochi?â
âGood question,â you said.
There was a brief pause, as if you were all waiting for someone else to speak, before he leaned down towards you. âWell?â
âWhat?â
âThe plan? Whatâs the plan?â He lifted a brow.Â
âOh,â you darted your eyes between them. âOh, no, I donât have one. I just said itâs a good question.â
Suguru frowned. âNothing at all?â
You pulled up your notes app and scrolled through it. âI guess cut the lawn, and call up the folks on Grannyâs list for starters.â
âCan I see her list?â
âMm,â you held out the paper to him, cringing when you saw how your fingers wrinkled the corner of it out of stress.
A crease in his forehead formed, deepening the more names he read, making you nervous. On top of how nervous you were already feeling. You were nervous-squared now.
âWhat is it?â You asked.
âItâs nothing. JustâŚI donât think any of these guys will have enough free time to help you out. Not for a while, anyway,â he returned the sheet to you. âHowever, I grew up assisting them, so I know a thing or two. Mind if I go inside?â
Well, if that wasnât soul crushing. âIf you have a gas mask, go ahead. The smell inside could knock out a grown man. I donât want to trouble you, though.â
âItâs no trouble at all. Iâve been needing something to do these days, this could be the perfect excuse for me,â he assured you. âIâll be quick.â
âOhâ hang on, there might be asbestos in there,â you warned.
âThere isnât,â he assured confidently.
Satoru narrowed his eyes. âHow do you know? Huh? Were you there when this house was built? Didnât think so.â
Suguru leveled him with a vacant lour. âAsbestos wasnât used in the construction of any houses here. Besides being expensive to import, our village was constructed with traditional methods. This building was Western inspired, but it wasnât built with Western methods.â
You crossed your arms over your chest, nervously picking at a spot on your forearm. âWho built it?â
âFrom what I know, it was someone from either Kobe or Osaka that visited a state in America on vacation and fell in love with the architecture. First thing they did when they came back was buy this plot of land and build an imitation house on it,â he answered.
âWhyâd they leave?â
He raised a hand, then dropped it in a half-shrug. âAny number of reasons. Some of the older folks say that their spouse fell ill, and they had to return to the city. My mom says they moved out because they got sick of driving an hour and a half one way to get to work every day. Dad says their sister gave birth and they had to return and assist her since she worked full time. Who knows.â
âEh?â Satoruâs expression twisted into one of confusion. âI thought the owner just died or something. Hence why the house is haunted.â
âThe house isnât haunted, Satoru. Donât scare her.â
You cracked your knuckles one-by-one. âIf it is haunted, Iâm gonna give that realtor hell. He promised it wasnât. He also promised it hadnât been touched in only ten years, so heâs already on my list,â you growled, then deflated and wilted. âI suppose Iâm not in any rush, Iâll need to save up anyway. Iâm bumming off Satoru for now, but I donât wanna prolong that.â
âI already told you,â he patted your upper back. âStay as long as you need.â
âThanks, Satoru. I really owe you,â you said. I hate owing people. âOhâ be careful, Geto-san.â
He gave a pacifying hand wave as he pushed past your open gate, heading towards your house. Satoru hopped up and hurried after him. âOi, wait up! I wanna see, too!âÂ
âSatoru, youâve already been in there before,â Suguru reminded him as you followed them about halfway, wanting to steer clear of the inside for a while.
Satoru twisted the door knob and pushed inwards. âYeah, when we were kids. Imagine how much itâs changed!â
âI doubt itâs changed much,â their voices grew muffled and eventually silent to you as they disappeared into your home.
You began counting in your head. If they were gone for more than two minutes, you were going to assume they died. Then you could officially label the house as haunted and hunt that realtorâs ass down. After you set up a prayer altar for the boys who so bravely sacrificed their lives for you, obviously, they deserved that at the very least.
Youâd have to check with the villagers to see if either of them practiced any particular faith to ensure you provided the correct funeral services for them, and to know if you needed to follow any specific spiritual rules when it came to the deceased.
Should you leave their bodies in there? Probably not, no, but it wasnât going to be you fishing them out. You were tiny compared to them, you wouldnât be able to drag them out yourself, even if you wanted to and tried really hard.
Your peculiar funeral fantasies were cut off then Suguru came back outside, still very much alive and well â from what you could tell.
âYou lived,â you congratulated him.
âThat I did,â he affirmed and stopped beside you, turning to face the house as his arms folded neatly.
âIs he still alive?â
âLast I checked, he was. Iâm surprised he didnât leave as soon as he went in. I think heâs trying to out-man me and impress you,â he teased, making you laugh.
Out came Satoru right then, dusting his hands off, acting like he did anything more than recce. âAlright, Iâve got good news and bad news. Which dâya want first?â
âGood news,â you requested apprehensively.
He clapped his palms together. âGood news, the interior condition isnât as bad as it seems.â
Well, that was good news. But you were wary to celebrate. âAnd the bad newsâŚ?â
âThere are, indeed, a shit ton of spiders.â
You squealed, racing to hide behind Suguruâs tall frame. The man himself chuckled at your reaction, his arms still crossed over his chest as he tilted his head back to peer at you from over his shoulder, way too relaxed for the situation. âNot a fan of spiders?â
âFuck no!â You cried out, clutching the back of his shirt in tight fists as you buried your face against his spine. âFuck that! Burn the damn thing down!â
Gojo grinned darkly, eyes lighting up with mischief. âAll you had to say, princess.â
The noiret (the only reasonable one among you) sighed and shook his head. âNo, weâre not burning her house down.â
âBoo,â Satoru whined. âYouâre no fun.â
âYou aren't afraid of spiders?â You peeked around Suguru's arm to leer up at him, still using him as your shield.
âNope.â
âYou monster,â you hissed.
His best friend snorted. âLook on the bright side. It means he can get rid of spiders for you.â
You paused to consider his words, squinting up at the poised man you hadnât let go of.
âOkay, nevermind, I take it back,â you declared, doing a complete flip in behavior, âyou're my god, now, Geto-san.â
He showed you that shut-eyes smile that had hummingbirds dancing the tango in your stomach. âDonât worry, angel. Iâll protect you.â
Blush dusted your cheeks at his pledge and you averted your eyes. Having either of them in your field of view for too long was not good for your heart.
Satoru wouldnât be Satoru if he didnât go and embarrass you further. âAww, sheâs blushing!â
âI am not!â You barked back.
âI think itâs cute,â Getoâs cheek dimpled and you were flashbanged by the faces of not one, but two ethereal beings.
Mama, you thought, if you can hear me, send help. I donât think Iâm making it out of this one.
You gulped, the noise far too loud in your ears, and tried to subtly cover your face with your hand to retain some dignity while releasing Suguruâs shirt from your death grip. âA-Anyways, uhâŚshould probably start calling people.â
âIâll handle the calls,â Suguru announced, already pulling out his phone and dialing numbers. âI know these guys well. Iâll try to work something out with them.â
âOh, you really donâtââ and there he went. You knew you asked for help, but you felt bad inconveniencing Suguru. Satoru, not so much.
âWhatâd I say about worrying?â Speak of the devil, the milk-haired boy bent down to your height and nudged his pointer finger between your brows. âRelaaaax, princess. Itâll work out.â
You worried your bottom lip as you watched the other man chatting some distance away. Detaching yourself from your perpetual anxiety wasâŚdifficult, to describe it in the least amount of words possible. Your guard was stuck to you, pinned, screwed, and soldered into place over time. Letting it go meant undoing years of work.Â
It was there to shield you. You needed it to hold your untempered heart and keep it safe. If it got hurt, you werenât sure you knew how to recover.
But you werenât really letting them in by allowing them to help you, right?
Yet, as you sized up the small incline and the shack falling apart on top of it, you couldnât shake the impression that the world was about to tilt on its axis. The tides were receding, tectonic pressure was increasing, the winds were stirring, and you were in the middle of it all.
Mama, you reached out one last time. I think itâs too late.
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