Archive of Our Own ^beta

Cozy, Satoru had called it.

Tucked within a pocket of trees just up the hill from where you had parked, his cabin sits slightly askew on uneven land. You scrutinize every detail of the worn wooden outer walls of the structure as the word echoes in your head. Acorns and Pine Cones decorate the fall ground, crunching beneath your sneakers as you shift.

Cozy.

You’re not so sure the wooden building fits that description. You suppose it’s fitting for Halloween, but it does make you feel as though you’re five minutes from stepping into some cheesy slasher film.

You would say the vibe is a bit more… like a run-down cabin that needs a little TLC, but you suppose maybe the outside is just weathered. After all, your old friend did mention that his parents have owned it for a while.

Still. What an oversell.

As you skeptically peer up at the structure, you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t hear the sound of fallen pine needles and leaves crunching beneath heavy footsteps.

“Hey, doll.”

You jolt, turning to face your old friend-turned famous football player, Toji Zenin- scratch that, Toji Fushiguro- who you’re shocked to find actually made it. He’s sporting his signature jersey and a couple of black stripes across each cheek, just about the most half-assed attempt at a Halloween costume you’ve seen. Still, he did manage to make time for your old group, which you’re admittedly grateful for.

“Toji!” You grin, greeting him with a polite hug. He returns it with enough fervor to make you squeak under his strength. Just as you pull back, you spot his closest friend-turned-manager coming up the hill behind him.

“Do I need to remind you that I’m not your caddy, asshole?” Shiu spits from around the cigarette settled between his lips, an unimpressed look on his face as he dumps Toji’s bags beside the brute unceremoniously. Before the football player gets a chance to reply, Shiu’s brow is raised as his eyes find you. “Well, shit. Look who it is,” he greets you with a side hug.

“Hey Shiu!”

“Lookin’ good, love the cowgirl costume. Very classy,” he compliments your cute pink attire, his eyes shamelessly trailing on the plump of your ass that your shorts barely cover. “I’m a fan.”

You laugh, dipping your hat gratefully at his compliment off as your cheeks warm. “Thanks, Shiu. I love the uh- salaryman attire?” You make your best guess, but in truth he’s just in a suit.

He chuckles, moving his cigarette to his fingers. “Nah. We just got off a plane from Toj’s press conference. Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, you both look great,” you grin.

“You seen anyone else yet?” Toji inquires, giving you a light nudge.

“Not yet, but I got a text from Hiromi right before losing service. He’s almost here.”

Toji hums thoughtfully. “You keep up with him after graduating?”

“Not really,” you sigh honestly. “I kinda fell out of touch with everyone aside from Shoko. Kento and I try to meet up every now and then, though.”

“The reality of life,” Shiu shrugs. “I hear from Sukuna and Choso every so often.”

You wince at the mere thought. “Sukuna’s coming?”

Shiu smirks knowingly. “He is. Sorry, doll.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Water under the bridge,” you sheepishly reply, trying to set aside thoughts of seeing your former situationship once again. You’re both adults and it’s been three years. You can just avoid Sukuna if worst comes to worst. There’s enough people here to keep your attention away from that asshole and his inability to commit.

Besides, his little brother Choso was always sweet to you, junior to you by only a year. There’s no reason for you to be so wary about seeing him, at the very least.

You can just keep Sukuna at arms’ length.

Speaking of the devil, an obnoxiously large Jeep with a black matte wrap rolls up entirely too fast for your comfort, barreling up the hill Satoru specifically warned you all to walk up. The bass pumping from the vehicle shuts off as Sukuna and Choso hop out.

They both look good. Choso has put on a lot of muscle, filling out his baggy clothes with new piercings decorating his face. Sukuna rounds the car with a joint held between two fingers, carrying the bravado of a man entirely too cocky for his own good. Safe to say the one man you’re not so sure about hasn’t changed one bit. So, that’s just great.

“You haven’t changed one bit, huh?” Toji grins at Sukuna in spite of his mocking tone. He extends his fist to Sukuna, who bumps it without a word, silently offering a hit of his blunt.

Brushing his pink-dyed hair back with long fingers, Sukuna puffs out a sigh, smoke spreading before him. “Damn, was this a costume party?” He carries that same aloof expression as he stares down at his dark denim jacket and baggy torn jeans.

Snorting, Toji nods. “You two forget?”

“Yeah. Busy,” Sukuna excuses himself with a shrug and no regard for the party.

Honestly, you’re shocked all four of the men at your side were able to make it at all. Satoru and Suguru were a given, Kento and Hiromi could be convinced, Toji and Shiu had the excuse of travel, but Sukuna and Choso? You’d just figured they couldn’t give a damn enough to be here. They’d always been a bit on the outskirts of your group, mostly by choice- they prioritized their weed side-hustle more than you, something you had learned the hard way.

Sukuna’s disinterested and mildly stoned crimson irises sweep the cabin once, before turning to settle on you. There’s a slight twitch in his eye as his gaze drinks you in and you find yourself shivering as goosebumps raise along your arms. You’re not sure you care to know what he’s thinking.

“Alright, well I’m goin’ inside,” Toji decides as silence stretches on. He and Shiu begin their bickering as the former Zenin snarkily tries to get his manager and friend to take his bags, only to get a swift kick to the shin.

Choso quietly observes before leading the way up to the door. He tests the handle and pushes inside upon realizing it’s open. As Toji and Shiu sort themselves out and head in next, you trail after them. Tugging your bag up over your shoulder, you just barely catch a familiar baritone voice calling out for you to wait.

Flipping in place, you catch the warm smile of a very tired law student in his final year. His hair is longer than when you last saw him, a few stray brown strands falling across his forehead. “Hiro!” You grin as he jogs up to you.

Letting the door shut behind you, you step back out to hug him. He fixes you with a kind smile, his sunken gaze taking in your appearance. “Your costume is cute,” he speaks matter-of-factly, not daring to let his gaze linger too long like your friends with far less decorum. Always polite, he takes a step back to show off his own.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who put in a bit of effort,” you laugh, admiring his cheesy Superman- no, Clark Kent- costume. It’s fitting for him, and the Superman tee beneath has a certain cheesy charm to it. “That’s fun, I love it Hiro.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, averting his gaze for a brief moment. “Am I the last one here?”

“I think we’re still waiting on Ken,” you muse. “I haven’t seen Shoko, Sugu or Satoru yet, but I heard them inside.”

“Hopefully I didn’t keep anyone waiting too long.”

You shake your head, pushing the door back open for him. “No, I just got here and everyone else literally just headed inside. You’re barely late.”

“Ah, good to hear. So, that means you saw Sukuna?”

“Don’t remind me,” you groan. “I’m just looking forward to a stress-free fun night of booze and beer pong and forgetting that guy ever existed.”

Amused, the almost-lawyer blows air out of his nose in a hint of a laugh. “Well, if you need time away from him, give me a shout.”

“Thanks, Hiro.”

Pushing into the cabin, you take in the sights as you drop your back to the ground beside Hiromi’s. You’re pleased to find that with the fireplace lit in the center of the large living area, the cabin is considerably cozier inside. The slasher vibes seem to end at the front door.

Thank god.

Classic cabin attire decorates the large open living space with three couches surrounding the crackling fireplace and a TV hung over the mantle. Red plaid blankets and pillows are tossed carelessly across the furniture and a stuffed bison head hangs just before the entry to the kitchen. A large staircase can be found at the back of the room, leading up to the seven rooms this place apparently boasts.

Light floods from the door that you assume leads to the kitchen just as Satoru and Suguru make their way out from the kitchen.

“You all made it!” Satoru grins, greeting each of you with a tight hug. He’s grown considerably, no longer the twig he was back in your early college days. He fills his shirt out nicely, the material pulled taut around muscular shoulders, though you can barely tell under his plastic chainmail. There’s a hint of dark circles forming beneath his eyes, but you chalk that up to life as an adult. Or maybe costume makeup.

Probably the former.

Suguru, on the other hand… he looks a lot happier, and healthier for that matter. Maybe that’s just the part of you that’s still attached to your ex-boyfriend, doomed by distance after you moved overseas. With no bad blood between you, he offers a soft smile as he stands aside to let Satoru greet everyone first. As Satoru launches into chatter with Toji, Suguru slips through the crowd to approach you.

“Hey,” his smooth timbre remains low as those golden eyes slowly take in your appearance. “You look great.”

“Thanks, Sugu,” you keep your voice low as heat creeps up your neck, reaching the tips of your ears. You’re forced to avert your gaze from the attention his presence always seems to demand, completely effortlessly. Finding your footing, you can’t fight your smile any longer as you take in his costume.

A baggy white shirt hangs loosely from his shoulders with a vest tied tightly over it. An eyepatch dangles around his neck that you assume he got sick of, while his hair is half-tied up.

“You make a good pirate,” you compliment him.

Those calculated golden eyes you once fell so hard for slide down the length of your body, the fire beneath his smirk scarcely hidden. “You make a gorgeous cowgirl.”

You have to chew on your lower lip as you sheepishly thank him. When you look up, you catch a glimpse of blonde behind Suguru’s large form, alongside Shoko. Your eyes light up at the sight of your best friend and the only other member of the group you’ve succeeded at keeping in touch with.

“Satoru, I already told you, just because I’m dressed as a chef does not mean I’ll cook for you,” he gripes, mild irritation laced within his voice as he shoots the white-haired business mogul a frown.

“C’mon Nanamin, I was just saying hi,” Satoru groans, a mischievous glint in his eye as he uses Kento’s most loathed nickname. “I’ll be right back!”

You turn your attention back to Suguru briefly. “I’m gonna go say hi. Catch up later?”

Suguru gives you a warm nod with a soft ‘take care’, murmured only to you as you slip past him.

“I can’t believe you didn’t wanna drive with me,” you poke fun at Shoko despite the fact that she’d given you a perfectly reasonable answer when you’d asked earlier.

She pulls you into a hug despite having seen her yesterday. “You know how far the hospital is from us,” she retorts, indulging your teasing. Pulling back, you take note of her scrubs and narrow your eyes as you scrutinize the red drops across her sleeve.

“Please tell me these are clean.”

“They were until Satoru pulled out red food dye,” she shoots a snarky side-eye his way.

“Thank god.” Her scrubs are still about as half-assed of a costume as Toji’s, but at least they’re clean.

Turning your attention to the patient man off to the side in a cute chef’s hat, you grin. “Ken, hey!” You greet the blonde with a bear hug, who welcomes you with open arms.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he hums, pulling back from the hug to briefly remove his glasses. He rubs at his eyes before replacing them on the bridge of his nose and adjusting his apron. “I thought I arrived in a timely manner, but I was far too early and have been stuck as someone’s personal chef since then,” he shakes his head.

“The asshole immediately put us to work,” Shoko groans in agreement.

“Sorry to hear it,” you giggle. “In Satoru’s defense, Kento is dressed like a chef.”

“For Halloween,” he states dryly.

“I like it, it suits you.”

“I appreciate that,” he sighs, “still not Satoru’s chef,” he adds, taking a step back to look over the filled room as everyone begins to fall into conversation.

“Alright, alright!” Satoru beams, rubbing his hands together like an eager fly as he gathers the group’s attention. “Nanamin and I are just finishing up dinner-”

“We are not-”

“- so! Make yourselves at home. There’s seven rooms and a bunch of couches so pick your poison. Nothing’s off limits. All the alcohol’s in the wine cellar, but be careful down there, the door gets stuck sometimes.”

With that, Satoru’s totally normal cabin Halloween party commences.

Spirits are high as you follow Kento and Satoru back into the kitchen. For all his complaining, Kento doesn’t utter a word as he steps back into the role of chopping veggies for a platter.

“How can I help?” You cheerily join the two men, watching relief flood Nanami’s face.

“Keeping me company is a wonderful help,” the blonde replies evenly, briefly lifting his gaze to smile at you. “Are you officially moved back for good?” He queries, referring to your time overseas.

“Just finished moving at the start of the month,” you grin. “So no more rushed coffee visits while I try to fit everyone in during my visits,” you laugh.

“Good to hear,” Kento hums with a kind smile.

“Oh yeah, how was that?” Satoru chimes in, turning back from the pantry with a handful of spices. He dumps them on the island in the center of the kitchen, gorgeous blue eyes peering up at you with genuine intrigue.

“The animals over there are horrifying but otherwise I loved it!” You grin. “You can only find so many basketball-sized spiders before you miss home though,” you add more sheepishly.

The white-haired man flashes you a lopsided grin. “Sounds like you needed someone strong to get rid of them.”

Before his ego gets the better of him, you pull up a photo that you took of one of said spiders hanging out beside your bed, flipping your phone screen towards him.

“Oh- Fuck no. Fuck that. No wonder you moved back.”

Laughing at his change of heart, you set your phone back down on the kitchen counter. “It seriously played a part in it. Too many heart attacks in a year was bound to kill me.”

Satoru chuckles at the admission. “Well, now that you’re back, maybe we can actually try to get some of this group back together every now and then,” Satoru nudges you as he dumps an outrageous amount of seasoning over a premade pizza. “Right, Nanamin?”

“If you stop calling me that, I might consider it.” Kento’s sharp tone carries all the sass of a man  out of patience. Which is pretty brutal when you consider that you arrived less than ten minutes ago. You suppose the blonde has been here longer, but it can’t be by that much.

“C’mooon,” Satoru pouts, tossing the pizza in the oven. “I miss you guys. It sucks just working all the time,” he groans, tossing his head back as he leans against the counter.

“Are you still working for your dad’s business?” You inquire.

Satoru nods. “Yeah, I’m the Chief of Strategy now,” he sighs.

“That’s an impressive title,” Kento comments, clearly shocked to hear that his least mature friend somehow now has the most matured career. Sure, it’s nepotism at its finest, but to remain in that role means he’s more competent than most give him credit for. That does tend to be the case with Satoru, though. Every so often you see through the cracks of his cheery demeanor, something more mature and somber peeking through.

“It’s more than just the title,” Satoru grumbles, leaning back against the counter. “I barely managed to get a couple of days off for this. I pretty much just work.” His eyes are dull as he admits it, causing you and Kento to exchange a concerned glance.

“Have you tried talking to your dad about it?”

“I don’t, uh-” The white-haired man flicks his hair from his eyes. “- I don’t think he cares,” he chuckles.

“I’m sorry, Satoru,” you offer your sympathy in the form of a sad smile.

“It’s alright,” he bounces back quickly, his cheerful personality returning. “Not a big deal. I’ll live.”

Kento tilts his head thoughtfully from where he stands opposite you at the island counter. “It’s something in medicine, right?”

“Yeah, my dad owns most of the hospitals in the country,” he grimaces.

“Do you not like it?” Kento inquires, narrowing his eyes.

Satoru hesitates for a moment, brilliant blues flickering between the both of you. Conflict simmers beneath the surface as he contemplates his answer and for a moment you think he’s about to cheerily brush off the question. Sighing, he yields. “Uh- no, not really.”

“Is it just because of your dad?” You query, recalling his rocky relationship with his parents back in college. “Oh-! Sorry, I probably shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine,” Satoru brushes you off. He flashes you a tight-lipped smile in his best effort to diffuse the situation. “Uh, no, it’s not my dad. Well, mostly. It’s kinda my dad.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just tough. Working for a for-profit corporation that owns businesses that people need to survive… I kinda get forced into a corner where I have to make decisions that lives depend on. It doesn’t feel like strategy, like my title would make you think.”

You purse your lips at the thought, tilting your head at the man. “So what do you do about it, then?”

“I focus on marketing. The last thing I’d ever do is give these old assholes ideas on how to exploit people.” He wrinkles his nose at the mere thought. “You should see some of the receipts that I’ve seen. The kind of things people are being charged for makes me feel like I have blood on my hands and I haven’t even been inside half of the buildings.”

Your eyes widen in horror at the mere thought.

Satoru waves a hand towards you, your reaction telling enough of your thoughts on the matter. “See? So, yeah, I’m getting out as soon as I can.”

“It takes a lot to leave a prosperous role for morals. Good on you, Gojo.”

Satoru fixes Kento with a begrudging pout, blazing straight past the compliment. “You know, it’s been like 10 years, you could call me ‘Satoru’.”

“I’m aware,” Kento replies, auburn gaze flickering up to meet Satoru’s. “And yet you still insist on that nickname, so I suppose we could be considered even,” he states dryly.

Stifling a laugh at the argument over something so trivial, you excuse yourself to catch up with the rest of your friends, strategically avoiding Sukuna. He doesn’t make that too hard when he and Choso both separate from the group relatively early. As you all split off into smaller groups to catch up, you find yourself falling back into easy chatter within the small groups.

Pizza is passed around, followed shortly by booze when Shoko makes a run with Shiu down to the cellar, narrowly avoiding locking themselves down there. Shoko’s cheeks are already rosy from the sampled alcohol she chose to test in their brief stint down there.

“I needed this,” she sighs as she relaxes into the cushions of the couch she collapses on.

“Hospital life not treating you well?” Suguru asks, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles.

“You could say-” Shoko stops in her tracks, brow furrowing as she stares at the ceiling. In fact, you all do, the loud thump from above is hard to miss. “What was that?”

“Satoru, did you have to invite us to like the creepiest cabin in the middle of nowhere with no cell service?” You scrutinize the white-haired man, who puts his arms up in defeat. “Is this some sort of prank?”

“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” he shrugs jovially, grinning. “I know it’s older but it’s got some charm, right?” He waves a hand towards the fireplace, as though it’s the telltale sign of coziness. And while he is right, the taxidermied animals hung on multiple walls feel more like a vampire’s favorite decor.

Suguru ignores Satoru’s quip, peering around at the group surrounding you as he evaluates who isn’t with you. “I saw Choso and Kento head upstairs,” he shrugs.

“Sukuna and Toji are somewhere else too,” Shiu points out, his suit jacket discarded in favor of his crisp white button-up.

Noting that Suguru’s gaze is lidded from the effects of alcohol and Shoko may as well have those cartoon bubbles telling of liquor consumption coming off of her while your other two friends don’t seem concerned, you get to your feet. “I guess I’ll go check on them,” you murmur. Making your way up the stairs, you turn and point to Satoru. “I swear to god if this is some sick prank, I’m turning this into my own horror story and you’re my first victim, Satoru!”

He waves you off with a faux dramatic shake of his head while you begin making your way from door to door upstairs.

You finally spot one of the men in a room at the end of the hall, the bedroom decorated in reds much like the rest of the cabin. It’s cozy, albeit a little small. Choso is on his knees before the bed, fiddling with something you can’t see when you find him. “Everything alright?”

“Hm?” His eyes widen as he jolts at your sudden presence.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He nervously peers from side to side, before shaking his head. “No, it’s uh, it’s fine. I’m good. You good?”

You raise a brow at his strange behaviour but nod regardless. “I’m good. We just heard a noise coming from somewhere up here.”

Choso blinks as though he didn’t hear you. “Hm? Oh, uh, I didn’t make any noise I don’t think.”

“Oh… kay.” You furrow your brow at his incredibly suspicious behavior, shaking your head as you leave him to whatever the hell he’s up to. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Choso waves you off as you head back into the vestibule of doors. Making it to the other end of the hall, you press on the last door but there’s resistance from the other side. It creaks under the weight of your hand, the hinges rusted from lack of use.

“Kento?” You call the blonde’s name, figuring he must be leaning against it or something, but he doesn’t reply. Rather than pushing again, you opt to knock this time. “Kento? Everything alright?”

When he doesn’t reply, you press your palm flat onto the worn oak door and put some force into pushing it while trying the handle. With a bit of strength, it gives way just enough for you to see…

Oh god.

You stumble back with a shrill gasp, the door slamming as you let go while you trip into the wall and slide down to the floor. Your heart hammers in your ears, threatening to escape your very body with the fear that rocks you.

“You good up there?” Shoko calls up to you, the chatter on the main floor dying.

It has to be some sort of sick prank, right? It’s just a joke. He’s okay on the other side of the door.

It’s Halloween, after all. Maybe Satoru really is just an asshole trying to scare the lot of you.

Somehow, that seems reason enough for you to check again.

And this time you’re certain it’s no prank. Kento’s body is slumped, limp, against the door, and with each time you open it, he slides further down. Fresh crimson drips from the corner of his lips, his jaw ajar. Most notably, a knife is lodged between his ribs in what looks like it must have been a quick takedown. There’s no sign of his killer, just him.

Unfortunately, that gives you more time to allow it to sink in. Something between a panicked scream and a shriek of ‘he’s dead’ parts your lips as you scramble to get back to your friends.

You can’t tell when they started, but tears race down your cheeks, sobs tearing through your panicked lungs as you ramble what you’ve just seen at the drunken group before you. “Ohmygod, he’s- he’s dead, there’s a knife in his- his ribs and I dunno itallhappenedsofast-”

“Woah, woah, slow down,” Suguru laughs, discomfort bleeding through his tone as he senses something serious even through his inebriated haze. “What’s going on?”

You stare between them, taking a step backwards as it occurs to you that any one of them could have done it. The thought chokes you up and your chest contracts at the idea that this might be it for you.

Satoru, the only sober member of the group, glances around and gets to his feet, approaching you slowly and carefully. Between your sobs and the way you murmur under your breath that you don’t want to die, even he doesn’t make light of the situation.

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out for you and wincing when you shy away. He glances back towards the rest of the group, who all share the air of apprehension hanging over the room. When he finds your gaze again, he makes his best effort at proving his innocence in order to provide you whatever comfort he can. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve been with me all night, yeah?”

What’s left of your sanity lets his words sink in, and you nod, allowing him to touch you.

“You got this, sweets.” He flashes you a charming smile, one that doesn’t know exactly what lies in wait for him upstairs. “It’s alright,” he soothes warmly, letting his hands rub up and down your biceps. As you start coming to your senses, he gives you a squeeze. “Now, can you tell us what’s going on?”

“Kento,” you murmur, swallowing hard as the words damn near choke you, dropping like a brick to the pit of your stomach. “He’s dead.”

The room goes silent and Satoru’s hands drop from you as he straightens, horror piercing his gaze. “What?”

You point up at the room that you checked. “He’s dead.”

“What? Is this because you’re scared of the house?” He laughs strenuously, uncertainly glancing at Suguru, who shrugs. “This isn’t funny.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” You cry, unimpressed. His gaze falls, like he already believed you but was trying to convince himself that couldn’t be the case.

“Okay, hold on, what?” Shoko, far too drunk for this, is leaning forward now. “What happened?” She asks, punctuating her question with your name.

“He got stabbed,” you whisper mousily. “There’s-” you choke on your words, voice raw as you cough into your elbow. Noticing your body shaking violently with fear, Satoru slowly closes the distance between you, wrapping an arm around you to offer quiet support. “- A knife. In his ribs. Blood everywhere.”

Shiu holds out a half-finished slice of pizza, pointing nonchalantly upstairs. “Should we tell Choso?”

“How the hell are you so calm about this?” Suguru growls, pressing a thumb into the crease between his brows like it might help him make sense of the situation. Between the shared inebriation of the group and your distraught state, the football manager’s in no way helping.

Shiu just shrugs, shoving the pizza back in his mouth. “You’re probably all just playing a prank on me.”

“This isn’t a prank, man,” Satoru grimaces, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder as your bones practically rattle within your skin.

“No shit, huh?” Shiu sighs, sitting upright. “So, what do we do then?”

Satoru eyes Shiu uncertainly, turning his attention to you in his arms. “Should we go… take a look?” Your muscles clench at the mere thought, so Satoru leans down, keeping his voice low as he whispers, “I’ll stay with you, okay? You’re safe, sweets.” He even flashes you that signature easy smile. The one that makes you think everything will be okay.

The very same one that you know he uses to hide his own troubles.

And as much as you want to trust Satoru, it’s hard when you’ve just seen a dead body and have no clue who did it.

“I can give us an approximate time and cause of death,” Shoko offers, only to get shot a baffled stare by Suguru across from her.

“Time of death; when we heard the sound, cause of death; stabbed. Think we got that covered, Shoko.”

She pouts, though she’s far too drunk to argue. “Maybe the killer left evidence behind.”

“Yeah, a knife,” Suguru replies sarcastically.

“At this rate, you’re next,” Shoko rolls her eyes, unamused.

“Can we stop with the jokes?” Satoru attempts to take charge, a more serious air to him as he holds you tight against him. “What do we have for alibis?”

Suguru points a thumb at Shoko. “Unfortunately she’s clear. We’ve been together all night, aside from the cellar, but I saw her come and go.”

“Can we not with the ‘unfortunately’?” She quips, shooting Suguru a look. It’s easy to forget just how much Suguru is a shit-stirrer like Satoru, though when he’s drunk it tends to come out tenfold.

“Can you two be serious?” Shiu quips, leaning forward on his knees. He brushes his hands off on his slacks, pushing a hand back through his hair. “Toji and I claimed a room upstairs when we first got here, but I’ve been in this room since then.”

“I’ve seen you for the past hour or so at least,” Suguru cuts in, his bangs falling before his gaze as he stares down at the patterned carpet beneath his feet. “I saw Toji and Choso go upstairs a bit before Kento.”

“Um-” you clear your throat, gathering the group’s attention, though you keep your voice low. “I did see Cho. He was acting a bit weird.”

“Weird how?” Shiu queries, resting his chin in his hand.

“Um, he was just shifty. It looked like he was hiding something under the bed.”

“It may have just been a suitcase,” Suguru points out.

“Doesn’t explain his shiftiness,” Shiu shrugs.

“Then we start there,” Satoru decides, taking charge.

Led by Shiu who still carries himself with an unreasonable amount of confidence, you direct them to the room where you found Choso. There’s no sign of him as your group makes their way into the small bedroom, allowing Shiu to peer under the bed.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, pulling out a taped plastic bag filled to the brim with powder. “The boys’ business sure blew up from when we were in college,” he holds it out like it’s no big deal, setting it atop the bed before searching for more. His brow furrows as he reaches further and pulls out a handful of unmarked glass ampoules with clear liquid within them, paired with syringes. He holds one up to the group, twisting it either direction. “Shoko?”

Her brow raises in surprise. “Ketamine.”

“Damn,” Shiu replies. “Why would he bring it in here?”

Uncertain gazes are passed around the room, but there’s no answer to that question that can be given.

“C-can we put it back?” You murmur, shiftily looking over your (and Satoru’s) shoulders to make sure Choso doesn’t see you. “If it’s him…”

Shiu hums, obliging your request. Getting to his feet, he brushes his hands off on one another. “So, we’ve got a couple of options as far as I see it.” You all leave the floor to him to rattle off ways to save yourselves. “We head down the hill and call for help when we have service and let everyone else fend for themselves, or we play detective and maybe get killed.”

“I would argue that’s only one reasonable option,” Suguru sighs under his breath.

Satoru, resolute, leads the way. “C’mon. Let’s move fast.” He keeps you close, his brow furrowing as he gazes at the door that makes your muscles seize. Pushing past the thought, he lets his adrenaline carry him as he rushes you all towards the front door, only to stop when he hears a voice speaking loudly outside. His movements halt and he holds you closer as you make out muffled voices in a loud tussle of some sort.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you asshole!” You’re pretty sure that’s Sukuna, snarling something out before letting out a pained grunt. Your skin feels ready to leap from your skeleton at the thought of your ex-situationship being in a tussle with someone who killed Kento, but if anyone were to reasonably survive that, it should be Sukuna. Shoko begins to sneak to the window, but Satoru reaches out to grab her arm.

“Don’t be stupid,” he hisses, his voice low as you shake in his grasp. “We need to hide.”

“Got somewhere for us?” Shiu queries, his narrowed gaze sliding towards Satoru.

“The wine cellar. We can go out the back entrance, it leads into the backyard,” he throws a thumb over his shoulder, treading carefully to not draw attention to your group moving within. The cellar door creaks as he pushes it open. Once everyone is on the old wooden staircase, he flicks on the lightswitch and carefully shuts the door behind you.

It’s almost comedic just how rich your friend is. Wine lines the damn room from floor to ceiling, while other types of liquor are gathered at a marble bar in the corner. You might even rejoice at this any other day.

Unfortunately being surrounded by red liquids has you feeling a little queasy, and there’s nothing comedic about that.

Gripping Satoru hard, he squeezes your shoulder as he points up at the exit. Opposite where you stand, a set of stone stairs leads up to a pair of wooden doors angled appropriately for the basement. Suguru leaps up the steps, two by two, and presses his hands against them, only to watch the doors recoil right back down as a lock prevents him from getting out.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Are there any tools down here?”

“Corkscrew?” Satoru shrugs uselessly.

Sighing, Suguru holds the doors up to get a look at the lock. “It’s pretty big. I don’t think a corkscrew is doing much good.”

“Shit, let’s head back then,” Shiu keeps a watchful eye on his surroundings, something practiced held within his confidence that gives you the shivers. Still, you have no reason not to trust him. Letting out a shaky breath, you trail behind with Satoru, who continues to comfort you to the best of his ability. He remains headstrong in his confidence and whether that’s how he truly feels or not, it still works wonders in grounding you.

Leaning into your vision, Satoru shoots you a concerned frown. “Hanging in there?”

“I guess,” you murmur.

“You got this. You’re doing good. We’re getting out of here, okay?”

You nod, though your confidence in the group is wavering when Shiu aggressively waves his hand down at your group from halfway up the stairs from which you came. He moves with the utmost silence back down, bringing his head down close to your group as he speaks. “Someone’s up there.”

“We’re gonna fucking die,” Shoko drunkenly groans, too loudly.

Slapping a hand over her mouth, Suguru shoots her a sharp look. “This is built on top of an old ski lift, no? This must connect to that.”

Satoru, still processing the situation, tears his gaze from the entrance. He nods, squeezing your shoulder as he leads the way across the cellar to a dimly lit side with white wines. “There’s a door behind this rack.”

“Help me move it,” Shiu instructs.

“Hang in there, alright?” Satoru reassures you, dipping his head down to check in on you under your hat. His cerulean irises swim with concern that barely masks his own fear as he makes his way over to Shiu and Suguru to slide the rack aside. The veins in his forearms bulge noticeably as he presses against the well-crafted oak rack. It makes a sickening noise that surely alerts the killer if they’re nearby, a shiver running up your spine at the thought. A thick metal door lies in wait, a keypad with thoroughly worn numbering attached to its edge.

“What’s the code?” Suguru hisses.

Satoru blanks, his gaze running wild across the cellar as though he might find the answer hidden within a bottle of wine.

“You don’t know?” Shiu hisses in disbelief.

“You know you’re my best friend?” Shoko comes up beside you, slapping a heavy hand down on your shoulder with a defeated inebriated expression. “I’ll miss you.”

Horrified, you take a step back from her. “Don’t say that!” You whisper back, tears pricking your eyeline again as you wrack your brain for something that could make a good code. “Satoru, how about your birthday?”

He removes his chainmail vest and faux armor, setting them aside. “Uh, maybe,” he punches in a few variations of codes that make up his birthday, though it seems his doubt was founded. He shakes his head, turning back for more ideas as though it isn’t his cabin. Technically.

Shiu takes charge with an exasperated scoff, beginning to punch in every generic code under the sun as you all contemplate answers.

“Do they have a favorite wine?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about one of your parents’ birthdays?”

“I couldn’t tell you their birthdays if I tried.”

“Their anniversary?”

You can see uncertainty written in bold lettering within Satoru’s eyes, quickly flooded with frustration at all the questions being thrown his way. He’s used to being the one to make decisions, the one in charge, the one with answers. He’s practically the head of a damn company and now he can’t even so much as keep his friends alive.

Finally, you pipe in with something that you can only assume will turn Satoru’s defeat into something palpable, something that physically hangs over you all. The kind of thing that makes any child feel unloved. “What about the date of their company’s founding?”

Satoru’s demeanor is all but sucked from him at the revelation that you’re probably right. This damn company means more to them than anything, why wouldn’t it be that?

Frowning, he pads over to the lock, typing in the date of the company’s inception. When it flashes red, he tries a couple more combos, but everything still flashes red. You breathe out a sigh of relief that his parents aren’t so shallow to value a company over their son, until you watch his shoulders slump with defeat as he tests the date of the company’s incorporation.

… And it flashes green.

A collective sigh of relief is breathed from Shoko and Shiu, but it’s not shared by you, Satoru, or Suguru. Though tightly clutching your arms to yourself, you still share a concerned glance with the raven-haired man, Satoru’s closest friend who understands the minute break in the man’s composure.

Like a switch flipped, he turns back with a charming smile, one that doesn’t paint a picture of a neglected child in a murder house. “We’ll be alright! Follow me,” he instructs, holding the heavy door open. Suguru queries about locking the door behind you, but Satoru shakes his head, stating it only locks from the outside. Once everyone is through, he doesn’t hesitate to take your hand as he leads the way through musty stone tunnels that the light of your phones hardly manages to illuminate.

“Satoru, your house is really creepy,” you murmur, casting a glance up at him. No longer facing the majority of the group, his cheerful demeanor has twisted into something unbefitting of him. Fear.

Upon realizing your gaze is on him, he brightens, shooting you a smile. “Yeah, I used to think it was pretty cool when I was a kid, but uh,” he chuckles, “guess it’s not so cool anymore.” He pauses at a crossroads, licking his finger and holding it up in an attempt to feel a faint breeze. Now feels like just about the worst time to feel warmth pool in your stomach, but that’s a bridge you can cross later. “This way.”

Keeping your voice low as you chatter between yourselves, you set a hand over his, still resting on your shoulder with his fingers tightly curled into you. “You alright?”

“Hm?” He seems out of it when you catch his attention despite just chatting amongst yourselves, his gaze seeming to look right through you. “Oh, yeah. Guess it’s just been a while since I’ve been able to do something for myself.”

“Really? You used to go out all the time, what happened?”

His hand squeezes your shoulder. “Any time I’m not in the office, my parents have me doing some sort of publicity.”

“Publicity?” You parrot. “For a hospital?”

He frowns, clearly as displeased as you are confused. “I hate it,” he murmurs, low. “I didn’t really realize how bad things were until I saw some of the bills come across my desk. They’re charging well into the millions for things that cost next to nothing for us,” he explains, his gaze souring as his nose wrinkles in disdain. “I’m talking like double or triple costs in other countries, but they get away with it because they own basically all the hospitals around here.”

“I’m sorry, Satoru. You don’t deserve that.”

“It’s not about me. I’ll live. It’s the people they’re scamming. I’m getting out as soon as I find something else,” he mutters, bitter as he is determined. “I can’t be a part of that.”

“I know you’ll find something. You’re smart,” you smile hopefully.

His gaze whips towards you, disarming his uncertainty with your kindness. The tension in his shoulders relaxes as he’s faced with your sweet smile, and he shifts closer to you, knocking your cowboy hat askew. The briefest of smiles curves the corner of his lips upwards.

“Did you know it’d be like this when you started?”

“Uh,” he shrugs, “sorta.” He runs a hand through his mussed hair, curving down a long corridor as a pale blue begins to illuminate the cave passages ahead. “I knew my parents would be a nightmare to work for,” he chuckles sadly, “but I thought I’d be doing good. I thought it’d be worth it. I didn’t think I’d be searching for ways to pinch pennies that don’t lower the quality of care or heighten the prices,” he chokes out the words, jaw tight as he admits to his disdain for the work.

You lean into him as you continue walking, quietly supporting him as he voices something you doubt he’s had much of an opportunity to talk about.

“I wish there was some way to open my own hospital, anything to bring them down, but that’s so far out of my wheelhouse. I have no clue how I’d-”

He freezes, whipping his head around and holding you closer as your entire group follows suit. Breaths are held as Satoru’s sudden movement causes everyone to turn and search for the origin of whatever caught his attention.

“What’d you hear?” Shiu queries lowly, his sharp gaze flickering wildly around the faint light your phones cast within the cavern.

“I swear I heard footsteps.”

“I didn’t hear anything. It might just be getting to you,” Suguru offers, giving his friend a light pat on the shoulder.

“Maybe,” Satoru muses, turning back around. Slowly but surely, you all begin to shut off your flashlights as moonlight pours through the cavern entrance, basking the massive clearing before you in silvery-blue. You’re still well below the ground with high walls extending on every side, well too high to climb. In the center of the clearing is a massive sinkhole, likely caused by the old firewatch tower that creaks with each breeze, barely held up over what could almost be described as a canyon.

Either way, it’s a steep drop.

“Do you think the radio is still in there?” You point towards the tower, a light still flickering from some sort of device within, maybe the radio in question.

Shoko shakes her head adamantly. “There’s no way that thing doesn’t fall if you try to climb on it.”

“You think?”

“Are we looking at the same thing?” She shakes her head in disbelief at your confidence in the teetering steel tower, precariously balanced over a hole you can’t see the bottom of. “Girl, I’m drunk and you couldn’t pay me.”

“Guys-” Satoru attempts to interrupt, his fingers digging into the skin of your shoulders.

“I don’t know, do you have any better ideas?” You motion to your surroundings, stone walls several stories high reaching up on all sides, and more dark caverns extending to both your left and right.

“Guys. Where’s Shiu?” Satoru speaks up, his eyes wildly searching the area surrounding you before he fixes his gaze behind you.

All following his lead, you fixate on the tunnel from which you came. The sound of something whipping through air and liquid spattering on stone catches your attention, sinking its claws into your heart before you have a chance to process it. From deep within the cave, heavy steps echo on stone, slow and ominous in their steady gait. Light reflects off smooth damp stone, glimmering across the crimson-stained silver blade that hangs from your assailant’s hand. It’s undeniably Kento’s killer. Whoever they are, they’re big, built and muscular beneath a plain white tank top that makes your hair stand on-end when you finally settle on their empty gaze, nothing but dark shadows hidden behind an old hockey mask.

Like some sort of sick Jason Voorhees wannabe, only your stomach is sinking as it occurs to you that the blood spattered on their mask and machete could now equally be Shiu’s or Kento’s.

Maybe even Sukuna or Choso’s.

Suguru smacks Satoru’s arm, uttering a panicked “run” as he takes off towards another set of caverns. Satoru takes off in the opposite direction, his arm falling from your shoulder as he clasps his hand within yours and pulls you along. You toss the string of your hat over your head, abandoning it as it clatters to the stone floor in your frightful dash.

The Jason lookalike is scarcely a few steps behind you as Satoru pulls you along as quickly as he can, keeping you just far enough away to stay alive. Your heart pumps in your ears, your blood roaring and deafening your senses like a feeble attempt to keep your alarm at bay.

You can’t say it works as you gasp for air, both exhausted and terrified.

“You’re okay sweets, I gotcha,” Satoru soothes as best as he can, though hidden within the dark caverns, you can hear apprehension wavering in his voice. You’re not even sure how he’s managing to see, let alone stay any semblance of calm, but you’re grateful for his presence regardless as the footsteps following you slowly fade into the distance.

Wannabe Jason is fast, but Satoru is faster, even dragging you along behind him.

Moonlight casts its silver shine on stone again as you emerge from the cavern… right back where you just were, a few feet to the right.

“Shit,” Satoru murmurs quietly, glancing back behind you. “I thought the ski lift was that way.” Without a moment to spare, he whispers “fuck it” and drags you to the ledge of the precipice at the center of the clearing, staring down at the gorge beneath. Nothing but gaping darkness stares back at you, but quite frankly your options are this or a machete to the gut, so you’ll take your chances as you realize what he’s doing.

He pulls his hand from yours, scooting back a few steps before he takes a running jump onto the precariously balanced firewatch tower. He lands atop what was once an outer wall of the sideways tower, not daring to move as it creaks and groans beneath his weight.

Once it settles, he carefully moves to the ledge. “C’mon sweets, jump,” he coaxes in a loud whisper.

Your eyes widen, terror pinning you to your spot. “I can’t,” you squeak, holding yourself as you shuffle from foot to foot. Sure, it was your idea originally, but that was when you thought you had time. It was also when the jump looked…

A lot closer.

If you were to drop a stone into the darkness, you’re not positive you’d actually hear it hit the bottom at all.

“You can and you will,” Satoru instructs confidently. “You gotta jump before they get here,” Satoru holds his hand out, adamant in the little shake he gives it.

It could be nothing more than the rocks adjusting or a rodent of some sort skittering away, but something causes gravel to shift behind you and damn near scares you out of your skin. It’s enough to convince you that the jump is worth it. Backing up a few steps, you shut your eyes as you leap across the gap straight into Satoru’s waiting arms.

He wraps them around you tightly, his head falling into the crook of your neck as the tower shifts beneath your joint weight. Your breaths come quickly against Satoru’s broad chest as you cling to him while the metal groans and squeals. When at last it settles, that’s when you both move to check your surroundings carefully.

Satoru fixes his gaze on the cavern you came from, patting your arm gently. “We gotta get inside, quick.”

Leading the way just behind you, he wrenches a door open at your feet and slides inside, landing unevenly on an old control panel attached to what was once a wall. Windows face the pit below, something you’ll just have to convince yourself not to look at when you land beside him, safe in his embrace.

Satoru holds you close, squishing you tightly to him to take up as little space as possible as he takes a seat and tangles his legs with you. Mutely, you wait out your assailant’s potential return together. Burying your face into his neck, you keep your anxious breaths as long and slow as possible to prevent yourself from accidentally making any noise.

It only takes a minute before you hear heavy steps across the gravel of the cave. They pause momentarily, heading right at first, then doubling back to head left. They pause once more, shuffle a bit, then go running off to the left. As far as you can tell, they chase after Shoko and Suguru.

Satoru waits until they’re well out of earshot to adjust his position. “Shit,” he breathes, turning his attention to you as he squeezes you tighter. As though you’re the last precious thing on earth to him, he exhales deeply into your warmth. “What the hell’s going on? I thought we’d just have a weekend together, I didn’t- I didn’t think-” He shakes his head against you, his insecurities all bleeding together at once. “I can’t believe I ever thought this was a good idea.”

“You couldn’t have kn-known,” you try to soothe, though your voice betrays you as it breaks partway through your sentence. You shut your eyes, blinking a couple of times as you gather yourself to the best of your ability. “It’s not your fault, Toru.”

His demeanor softens as he squeezes you tightly. “I should have known being around me was a recipe for disaster.”

“What? Why you?” You pull back to get a better look at him.

He smiles sadly. “People hate me for my position,” he mutters. “I get it, I don’t blame them. Everyone blames me for ruining their lives because I’m in charge of strategy at the hospitals. It should be me paving the pricing, but I don’t even have control over it.”

“You think someone came to kill you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Satoru…” you breathe, brows knitted together in concern for your friend. You reach up to brush his cheeks softly, the man becoming putty in your hands. He melts into the action, eyes fluttering shut as a single affectionate brush of fingers has him folding himself to fit whatever you need. He’s so starved for any sort of affection, so desperate to be cared for, in the face of a world that he believes hates him, and yet he still faces it with a bright smile like nothing can truly beat him down. You have half a mind to wonder if he would have surrendered to the killer were you not there for him to shelter, all because he believes it’s his fate.

“What if you just quit now?”

His eyes crack open, the usual brightness of his baby blues faded in favor of something dull. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“My parents- they’ll find a way to keep me there.”

“Just run, Satoru. You have money, right?”

He nods slowly.

“You’re already out of the city right now. Just keep running after this.”

Fear and uncertainty flash within his eyes as he glances down at the precarious pit beneath you both right now.

“They don’t own you, Toru. You’re not theirs to puppeteer around like a toy. I know you said you don’t know what it takes to run your own hospital, but it seems like you really believe in this. You should speak out about it. Find people who can help.”

The silence is different as he contemplates your words. Neither light nor heavy, tense nor easy. Eerie, if anything. Maybe it’s the fact that your legs are dangling over windows that scarcely protect you from a perilous drop below.

“Maybe,” he muses, his mind too muddled to come to a decision. “Let’s just find the radio,” he murmurs, brushing the thought aside as if it’s all too much right now.

Frowning, you offer a nod and crane your neck to get a better look at the machinery surrounding you. A couple of lights still seem to be blinking here and there, but you can’t make out what most of it is for, the equipment beyond anything you’ve seen or used. Moving to your hands and knees, you shakily inhale as you crawl across the steel control panels that keep you off the windows. You heave yourself over another protruding table or panel of some sort, when you spot what you’re fairly confident is the radio, dangling from a curled cord a small jump away.

Shit. You’re not sure this place can survive another jump.

“Satoru!” You whisper-yell from across the tower as he searches the opposite side.

His head swivels towards you from where he’s precariously balanced atop some sort of table that lays over the window.

“Careful,” you warn at the sight, sucking in a breath through your teeth. The glass beneath looks frail and you hate to think what could become of him. “I think I found it.”

“One sec,” he grunts as he pulls himself back up to the control panel where you both sat together, carefully balancing as he moves across to stand behind you. You both go rigid as the tower groans under the shift in weight, but it remains stationary for now. Satoru’s breath fans your neck as he breathes out in relief and leans over to where you’re pointing. “Shit, that’s it. Looks like it’s still working, too.”

“We can’t jump, it’ll bring the tower down.”

He eyes the distance for a moment. “If I hold you, do you think you can lean far enough to reach?”

You flash him a horrified glance, but all he can do is shrug. You’re out of options otherwise. “Um-” you eye the radio, “- maybe?”

“C’mon, I promise I got you.”

Opting to quite literally trust him with your life, you give him a sheepish nod. With his firm grip on your wrist, you lean out over the gap, shakily inhaling as you reach precariously for the radio. It remains just out of your reach, so you step one foot out over the edge of the panel your feet are on. Stretching as far as you can, the radio just barely brushes your fingers enough that you can cause it to swing back and forward into your grip. “Pull me back, pull me back, pull me back!” You insist, leaving your arm outstretched to ensure you don’t accidentally pull the receiver clean off of the radio itself.

Satoru carefully tugs you back towards him, arms wrapping around your middle as relief courses through to your very marrow.

“Okay,” you breathe once you’re both able to take a seat and stare at the small device. There are a couple of buttons and a dial on it. “How do we use this?”

Satoru shakes his head. “I dunno. Try holding that button?” He points at one of the silicone buttons along the edge. You hit it once, the sound of static coming through the speaker where it connects at the edge of the tower.

“What do I say?”

“Uh- Emergency, requesting assistance?” He shrugs, equally uncertain.

You follow his instructions, but there’s no reply. In fact, you’re not sure it broadcasts to anyone at all. Maybe the static is nothing more than lost signals.

“Try turning the knob?”

You twist the dial slowly, static coming over the speakers of the radio on the other side of the watch tower until finally you get some sort of a real signal. A muffled voice comes through, not entirely clear, but someone is there.

“There! Try again?”

You hold the button down again and repeat the words, your heart pounding out of your chest in prayer.

The line is nothing more than white noise for a moment before it comes to life. “This is Base Camp, who am I speaking with? Over.” The voice of a woman, authoritative and confident, is your angel in the rough.

You gasp, shooting a relieved look at the white-haired man beside you who shares your relief. “Hi, we were at the cabin by the fallen watch tower. We’re stuck inside the tower now, someone is trying to kill us, please help! Um- over?”

Satoru nods in approval, giving your side a tentative squeeze as you await a return message.

“Copy. Confirming sending authorities to the Gojo Manor. Over.”

“And the fallen watch tower! The one in the hole! Please!” You quickly confirm. “Over.”

“Copy, confirming dispatch. Is medical attention needed? Over.”

Your jaw hangs open for a moment as you search for words. “I’m not sure,” you hesitate, searching the perimeter of the precipice you’re surrounded by for any signs of Shiu. “A lot of us are missing. Over.”

“Copy. Relaying to authorities. Hang tight. Over.”

You let your arm fall in relief, leaning into Satoru. He welcomes you with open arms, his head resting against what was once the floor, now a wall to you.

“How long do you think it’ll be?” You wonder aloud, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

“An hour if we’re lucky. They’ll probably send a helicopter for us,” he muses.

You nod, lifting your feet carefully to pull your knees into your chest. “It’s cold,” you murmur.

Satoru wraps himself around you, huddling as close as he possibly can. His grip on you is firm as the warmth of his breath fans your shoulder and neck.

Being stuck in the pit is a unique kind of silence. The gorge is hollowed out in such a way that every minute shuffle feels as though it echoes off the walls. You can scarcely make out the sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze and wolves howling in the distance from outside the sinkhole. It’s as though the walls of the fissure taunt you, threatening to lure your assailant back with every single sound you make.

Satoru’s chest rises and falls steadily behind your shoulders, interrupted when he subtly trembles. You cock your head to the side to get a better view of him. “Everything alright, Toru?”

“Just… Cold. I’ll live. As long as you’re warm.”

You suppose it makes sense given that he’s shielding you from the chill of the air that he wouldn’t be so warm himself. “Oh, um,” you shuffle a bit, attempting to twist yourself in a way to hug him as well, but trapped on the small control panel, you don’t have much space to maneuver.

“I could sit on your lap?”

He shuts his eyes briefly, blinking them open with an indecipherable expression. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he mutters, averting his gaze as a soft rose dusts his cheeks and tints the tips of his ears.

“It’ll keep up both warm though,” you reply with the most horribly oblivious expression that softens Satoru’s embarrassment into something softer, almost boyish in his sheepishness.

“Do you remember hanging out before I introduced you to Suguru and you introduced me to Choso and Sukuna?” He queries, keeping his voice down, his lips near the shell of your ear.

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you remember how much I flirted with you?”

You chirp out a sweet laugh, nodding. “Yeah of course. You flirted with everyone.”

“No, I-” He sighs, chuckling to himself. “Guess that makes sense. I, uh-” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I only really was flirting with you.” When you stare blankly back at him, his grip on your waist tightens. “I played it up like it was meaningless when you started talking seriously to Suguru and pushed it down, but-” he shrugs, staring down at the abyss beneath your feet.

“You liked me?” You lay his thoughts out plainly in disbelief. “Oh god, I’m stupid,” you breathe, covering your mouth and muffling your words.

“Nah, I was an idiot-”

“No, Toru, you don’t understand. I liked you before I liked Suguru or Sukuna. But you flirted with anything that breathed, I thought-”

His head falls into the hand that isn’t wrapped around your waist. He groans, punctuated by a chuckle. “Maybe we’re both a little stupid.”

You laugh along with him, leaning into his warmth. Once your quiet shared laughter has died down, you peer up at him from beneath your lashes. In spite of the situation you find yourself in, things don’t feel so bad with him at your side.

“Soooo,” you begin, a cheeky grin twisting your features. “Would you pop a boner if I sat on you?”

He doesn’t even hesitate, bright-eyed and grinning shamelessly. “Oh yeah. Without a doubt,” he chuckles, the apples of his cheeks growing visibly warm.

Chewing on your lower lip, you shift and carefully move atop him, your thighs straddling him on either side as you trap him beneath you. His eyes follow you hungrily, not even bothering to blink as though he might miss something.

He grunts, letting out a breath as his entire demeanor changes. His jaw tenses as he breathes your name out, something between a warning and a groan. It’s chilling to hear him speak like that, restraint baked into the tension of his muscles beneath you.

Sitting back on your knees, you run your hand from between his pecs down his abs, feeling the peaks and valleys of each and every muscle tightly knit to make up his muscular form. His lidded gaze follows your every movement, his hands clinging tightly to your thighs, damn near bruisingly. You pause just above his belt, his fingers curling into the plush of your skin as you search his gaze. He nods, small and quick, before his head falls back against the floor of the tower behind him.

He lets out a breathy groan, unrestrained, and you have to cover his mouth with your other hand, your eyes shooting wildly from side to side. “Quiet, Toru.”

“I’ll do my best.” His voice is muffled beneath your hand as you drop it from his mouth, rubbing his already hardened shaft from over his gray jeans. It twitches under your slow strokes. “Agh-” He moans, his voice breaking as he chokes on his moan. “Shit, sorry. I- It’s been a while.”

Leaning forward, you place a mischievous kiss on the tip of his nose that leaves behind a boyish grin on his lips despite his flustered appearance. “You look cute all blushy like this.”

He groans, his voice a whisper as he protests your compliment. “You can’t tell a guy that when you’ve got his dick in your hands.”

Mischievously laughing, you lean forward to press another kiss to his nose, but he tips his head and captures your lips first, sending your heart skyrocketing as he slides a hand up the side of your body to settle it on your cheek as he deepens the kiss. Your hand, briefly slowed from stroking him, glides up to fiddle with his belt as his tongue dances with yours. He tastes sweet, like whatever soda he was drinking before this whole ordeal.

You swallow a moan from him, but he’s forced to pull back when you manage to undo his belt with one deft movement of your hand, unzipping his jeans and freeing his erection from its tent.

“Shit,” he murmurs, his head falling back again as you catch a glimpse of him. His tip is red, angry and leaking pre-cum already as he twitches beneath the warmth of your digits. Veins trail up the bottom from base to head, hard beneath your fingers as your hand wraps around the organ. He’s pretty, long and pulsing, and heat pools between your thighs at the sight. He blows air from pursed lips, his eyes flickering shut as your thumb grazes his tip, spreading his pre-cum.

“Let’s warm you up, Toru,” you tease, pumping him once, twice, as you test the weight of him in your hand before falling into a rhythm. The gentle sounds of his pants and groans seem to echo around you, the sensation causing you both to shiver as you lift a hand to cover his mouth once more. “Gotta be quiet for me, baby,” you coo teasingly.

That only serves to turn him on more as he twitches, more pre-cum leaking from his tip. It settles atop your fingers, the wet sound of your hand pumping him penetrating the air as his muffled moans remain yours alone in the silence of the gorge.

“Fuck, that feels- haah- don’t stop,” he murmurs behind your hand, breathy and chatty despite your requests to stay quiet.

He’s still Satoru Gojo, after all.

His thighs tense beneath yours as he grows closer to an orgasm by the second. His hips buck up into your grip, abs flexing as he pants heavily. He grips your thighs with enough desperation to bruise.

He moans, still muffled beneath your hand, but undeniably loud. Your pace slows to a halt as you firmly keep your hand pressed to his lips. His eyes flicker open, fixing you with a lidded and desperate stare. His question is held within the way he examines your expression.

“You promised you’d keep quiet,” you whisper, a scolding nature to your tone. Despite your tone, you still move your hand from his lips to his cheek, brushing it ever-so-gently. His cock twitches in your hand just from the gentle affection, completely despairing for any form of real attention.

He lets out something between a whine and a moan, choked. “I’ll be quiet,” he insists, wetting his lips with his tongue. “Don’t stop,” he pleads. “Please, baby.”

You smile sweetly despite your taunts. Leaning in, you place a gentle kiss on his lips, saccharine as your smile. At last, you resume your movements, stroking him in long up and down strokes. His thighs and abdomen visibly twitch, a breathy gasp tearing from his throat.

“‘M close,” he murmurs, seeing stars before you’ve even had the chance to build much of a rhythm. The pads of his fingers dig harder into your thighs, trembling the closer he grows to orgasming.

Chewing on your lower lip, you rub your thighs together, chasing friction on his leg. His dazed expression sends electricity straight to your core, you can only imagine what he can do with the monster in your hand.

“Ah- Shit, I-” The air is sucked straight from his lungs when his climax hits him like a goddamn tsunami and all he can do is stifle his moans. His head falls back as cum spurts across his shirt-covered abs, painting the fabric in a slick white sheen.

You slow your rhythm to match the waves of his orgasm, working him through it with the sweetest hum of, “so much, Toru,” that he thinks he’s ever heard.

“Fuck,” he breathes, catching his breath as he stares blankly at the door above him, open to the starry night sky. Caught up in a post-climax haze, his chest rises and falls heavily when he fixes you with his gaze, lidded and warm. “I shoulda told you years ago, damn sweets,” he chuckles quietly, staring down at the mess spread across his front.

Stripping his shirt off, he uses it to clean himself up before tossing it down against the windows uselessly, discarding it for now.

“You’ll get cold,” you pout.

“After that? No, I won’t,” he teases, shaking his head to rid his vision of stray white strands, dampened with sweat.

“Wait! Here,” you strip off the faux leather cowgirl vest adorning your middle, handing it to him.

“This is not fitting me,” he chuckles, but obliges regardless, leaning forward as much as he can manage to slip the vest over his buff shoulders. He stares down at it before striking what may be the most awkward pose he can manage given the limited space. “What do you think? Stylish?” He grins, sliding his palms across the material of the front. It barely fits around his biceps over his pecs. You’re pretty sure if he flexes too hard, at least one of the seams will split. 

“It’s… a style,” you agree, stifling your laugh as you lean into him and rest your forehead on his shoulder. He grips your waist, equally muffling his chuckles to the best of his ability as he laughs along with you.

“I dunno, I think-” he pauses suddenly, his grip on you becoming fierce, protective, when something catches his attention.

You follow his gaze, but you don’t hear anything for a moment, until suddenly-

“Satoruuuu?” Followed closely by your name. Shoko.

“Do we answer?” You whisper.

“Give me a sec,” he mutters, tucking himself back into his pants. He shifts out from under you and ensures you’re safely settled as he precariously makes his way to the door and slowly pops his head out. He waves upon spotting Shoko, beckoning you over.

“Thank god you’re both okay,” Shoko breathes, a bit too loud for comfort as you and Satoru both climb up on top of the fallen tower, pausing with each creak and groan.

“Can you get us out of here?” Satoru whisper-yells up to her, keeping a steady hand on your side to secure the both of you to one another.

“Yeah, hold on- we found the ski lift, it had supplies,” she replies too loudly once more, turning away from you to grab something. You wince, clinging tighter to Satoru, who pulls you impossibly closer.

“C’mon, we gotta jump back off this thing,” he murmurs, slowly making his way to the edge to assess the jump. It’s a bit worse than the jump to get here, but do-able. “You first, sweets. I don’t want you alone on this thing.”

Chewing on your lower lip, you step back a few times to get a running start and leap across the gap, landing unsteadily on your hands and knees and rolling a couple of times. Satoru follows suit, but he puts a bit too much strength into the jump, causing the tower to creak and tilt a bit further on its axis just as he lands. He pushes upright, instinctively wrapping his arms around you as he winces. The tower is a noticeable three or four feet further down now, and you shiver as you imagine yourself atop it still.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Let’s head to the wall.” He leads the way in a jog to the edge of the crevasse you’ve found yourself trapped in, letting out a sigh of relief when a rope falls to the ground a short distance away, the slack piling on stone with a thump!

“It’s tied to a tree, use that!” Shoko instructs from above.

“You go first, I’ll be right behind,” Satoru murmurs in your ear, nudging you forward. He surveys your surroundings, letting out a breath as he doesn’t see the Jason wannabe. “Shoko, where’s Suguru?”

Shoko’s head pokes out from above as she stares down at Satoru, her jaw slack as she searches for words. Your stomach drops, an unsettling chill causing the air to push in on you from all sides as you and Satoru are both left to stare at Shoko in horror.

“I’m so sorry, we got trapped and Suguru told me to get in the lift while he turned it on, and-”

She averts her gaze, pained and tired from the night’s turmoil.

Satoru’s best friend, and your ex that you would be willing to say you only just got over.

Gone.

Just like that.

“I never got to tell him I was gonna leave the hospital,” he mutters under his breath, the words escaping him before he has the chance to process anything.

“Toru,” you breathe, equally proud as you are terrified and saddened yourself. “We’ve gotta go.”

He swallows hard, jaw setting as his lips press into a hard line. He nods, steeling himself for the climb.

You take the rope first. It’s rough in your palms, tearing at your skin uncomfortably, particularly as you wrap your legs around it and begin pulling yourself up. It’s an effort to haul yourself up on shaky limbs, but Satoru only a couple of feet beneath you keeps you moving at a steady pace.

Nearly able to reach the top, you lift a hand to try to grab the ledge where Shoko awaits, only to bring your hand back to the rope with a gasp when it wrenches from side to side suddenly. “Don’t do that,” you hiss to Satoru beneath you, glaring over your shoulder only for the world to feel as though it’s spinning as a blood-spattered hockey mask stares back at you from beneath the snowy-haired man.

Letting out a shrill scream, you ignore the waving of the rope and haul yourself up with as much strength as you can muster. On all fours on the dirt and stone mixture above, you reach out to Satoru, attempting to beckon him up, but the waving rope is affecting him more from where he’s stuck, unable to steadily climb under these conditions.

The assailant doesn’t seem to have any issues climbing, even as they keep the rope swaying from side to side, approaching your friend quickly with their athletic build.

“Satoru, climb!” You cry, desperately reaching out. In a panic, he reaches up, only to lose his footing and slide down, well within the killer’s grasp. “SATORU!”

The killer has no issue holding himself up on one hand as he pulls the machete from his belt, attempting to slice at Satoru’s leg. The white-haired man moves just in time to avoid it and kicks the machete from their grasp. It clatters to the floor, echoing throughout the stone fissure. Undeterred, the killer attempts to reach for Satoru’s outstretched foot, narrowly catching his jeans and pulling with all their might.

Satoru hisses in pain as he’s tugged further down the rope, the material burning his palms. He curses aloud, staring down beneath him and kicking at the killer’s mask now that they’re close. The killer grunts, masculine and painfully familiar, but the mask remains in place. One more kick and it falls aside, dangling from their neck.

His neck.

Toji’s neck.

“Toji?” You murmur, betrayed as you find yourself staring down at a dear friend.

The scar along his lip is pulled taut as he frowns, his gaze more sorrowful as it finds you. “This ain’t about you or Shoko or anyone else, you just got in the damn way,” he gruffs, lifting himself up the rope to fist Satoru’s ankle.

“The hell did I do to you?” Satoru grits back, shaking his ankle. He hisses again when Toji wrenches on it. 

“My wife’s fucking dead because of you, asshole!”

Satoru’s eyes widen in horror, guilt stirring in his chest. You’re forced to watch, arm still outstretched for him to grab as his fight or flight instinct begins to die, weighed down by guilt.

“Satoru!” You cry out desperately as tears trail warm down your cheeks, but he’s too far to reach.

“What did I do?” His snowy locks fall over his vision as he stares down at Toji, letting him wrench his ankle and pull him further down the rope, inch by inch with no resistance.

“Christmas, last year. Do you remember the budget cut you made?” Toji snarls, fury blazing in his emerald eyes.

With a furrowed brow, Satoru stares out at the wall and you find yourself somewhat surprised by Toji’s patience given that at least two people are dead by his hand, probably more.

“I cut the budget for doctors. We let go of three,” he reveals, ashamed as he stares down at the raven-haired football player. He shakes his head, trying to justify himself. “It was the only thing I could cut to keep my parents happy and keep the hospital and patients afloat. I thought- I thought I was making the right call-”

“Well you didn’t!” Toji cries out in fury, his gaze glistening beneath the moonlight, blurry with tears that he blinks away. He wrenches on Satoru’s ankle again, twisting it and causing a sick crunch to ring out in the air.

Satoru grunts, wincing at the feeling.

“Satoru, climb!” You cry, “you know you didn’t want to do that!” You remind him, searching desperately for his will to live. For the fire you know he harbors. “You’re the only one who can speak out about this!”

Satoru hesitates, a spark re-igniting somewhere within at your reminder. “You don’t understand Toji, I didn’t have a choice. They wanted to cut the entire cancer wing.”

“Do you know how many doctors were working on fucking Christmas Day, you bastard?” Toji barks, unbidden. “Two. Two fucking measly doctors for an entire hospital. She could have- she should have-” Toji chokes up, climbing an inch higher.

Too close to Satoru, too close.

“Toru!” You scream desperately, “you told me you wanted to do better. You didn’t want that. You can open a new hospital, make things right.”

The spark ignites into something real as Satoru’s grip on the rope strengthens and he manages to heave himself up a foot. “I’m sorry Toj’, but I promise I didn’t mean to,” Satoru pleads with his old friend. “I was only ever trying to make sure things like that didn’t happen.”

“And look how that turned out!” Toji snarls, losing his grip on Satoru as the white-haired man begins actively climbing.

“You don’t have to do this, Toji!” Shoko cries out from beside you. “We can help you! We can-”

“There’s nothing to help!” Toji barks, his vision blurred from the tears gathering in his eyes. Too far gone, too lost within his demons, he reaches back into his pocket, flipping open a hunting knife.

“SATORU!” You scream out again, leaning down as far as you can to reach for him.

Before you can process what’s happening, Toji lifts himself up the rope with ease and jabs the knife straight into Satoru’s untouched ankle. He cries out in pain, clinging hard to the rope as he lets out a pained groan. Running purely on adrenaline, he tries to pull himself up, but Toji’s grip is firm on the knife.

Satoru’s blood drips from the handle down the football player’s hand, pooling in the ditch where his bicep meets his forearm.

“She’s gone,” he mutters, manic. “She’s gone and you’ll pay for it,” he snarls again.

Shakily holding himself up with only his arms, Satoru grits his teeth and slams his twisted foot into the knife, unlodging it painfully from his ankle and causing Toji to slip down the rope a short distance. He chokes on his breath from the pain in his ankles, struggling to keep his head clear given the newfound nausea.

“Come on, Toru!” You call, holding your hand out.

“Cut the rope,” he chokes out. “Untie it, something. Cut it!” He calls, glancing back down at Toji as they both get their bearings.

Scrambling to your feet, pebbles kick out from under you as you run to the tree the rope is tied to.

“Hurry!” Satoru calls as you pull the rope out through knots.

“Jump!” You call out, wrenching on the last piece that’s keeping it in place.

Unable to make out what happened as you hear a scream, you scramble back over to the gorge. Satoru is hanging precariously from the stone, held up by his forearms as Shoko does her best to keep a grip on him, her arms beneath one of his shoulders.

You glance past him into the basin, where Toji’s legs are splayed in a position that makes you sick.

He didn’t deserve what drove him to this.

Focusing on Satoru, you position yourself on his side opposite Shoko, your hands curling around his bicep. You heave him up, all three panting once he’s seated atop the gorge.

Letting out a breath of relief, you collapse into him, hugging him tightly and pulling in Shoko. “Thanks for coming for us,” you breathe as you all cling to one another.

She nods against you, breathing out a sigh of relief. “We gotta get out of here,” she pulls back, looking behind her.

“They’re sending someone for us. The radio in the tower worked.”

“You’re a genius,” Shoko sighs in relief, her shoulders falling as she slumps back against the ground. “We didn’t have much time in the ski lift.”

Satoru is quiet throughout everything, his breathing labored. He slides himself away from the hole, avoiding looking at the mess his old friend has become at the bottom as he pulls himself back with a hiss while he drags his injured ankles.

“Shit,” Shoko mutters, carefully moving the leg of his jeans up so she can get a look at it. “Hang in there,” she instructs as she tears a piece of her scrubs off and wraps it around the wound, placing pressure on it.

Letting out a pained gasp, Satoru reaches out for your hand, clinging to it as his adrenaline fades in favor of all the emotions pooling in the base of his stomach. “I might throw up,” he mutters, holding his head with his free hand.

“It’s okay, Toru. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I killed his wife,” he murmurs.

“You didn’t. You know that.”

“I killed him.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Toru. He was gone. I know you could see that wasn’t the Toji we knew,” you try to soothe him, but it scarcely works.

He pulls back from you, disgust with himself visible in his lowered blue eyes.

“Hey, she’s right. You can’t blame yourself for that,” Shoko cuts in, keeping pressure on Satoru’s wound. “I work at that damn hospital, I know the shit your parents pull. You did what you could.”

“Use this opportunity to be better than your parents,” you offer, grateful when his hand finds yours again.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You can’t turn back time, but you can be better,” Shoko agrees, her head whipping around at the sound of a helicopter.

Satoru reaches out, pulling you close as the blades of the helicopter stir the foliage around you. Huddling into his side, you block the light shining down on you from above as the metal bird circles overhead, looking for a place to land.

“Thank god,” Shoko proclaims over the sound of the chopper. “We’re safe.”

Nodding, you lean further into Satoru. “Thanks for keeping me safe Toru,” you breathe into his ear, your voice low for him only. His grip tightens on your waist as the sound of voices over the horizon spells your safety for the night.

“Hey, by the way,” Shoko calls over the propellers, fading as the helicopter searches for a landing spot nearby. “What happened to your shirt?”

With the tips of his ears tinged pink, Satoru coughs to mask a chuckle. “Long story.”

Over the excitement of the small crowd of your friends, you catch your ex’s eye and slip off to the side as promised.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” Suguru confesses as he leads the way to a small offshoot of the cabin, a little office tucked into the back corner.

You cock your head curiously to look up at him, your cowboy hat sliding down your head to hang around your neck. “Why not?”

Suguru smiles, something bittersweet, as he turns to face you. Stepping forward, his hands reach over your shoulders, precise as he places your hat atop your head once more. He’s barely a step away as those observant golden irises of his fixate on you. “Between Sukuna and myself, I figured this would be the last place you’d show your face.” He opens his mouth again, but something causes a moment of hesitation and he second-guesses himself, shutting it.

“Sukuna is one thing,” you chuckle, “but you don’t make the list of people I don’t wanna see,” you smile sweetly.

Still, he doesn’t seem convinced, unable to hide a hair of skepticism within his steady gaze. Despite the warmth he displays, there’s clearly something pricking the tip of his tongue.

“What’s on your mind, Sugu?” You query genuinely, watching his edges soften for you, as they always do.

“Are you seeing someone?” He asks out of the blue, his eyes narrowing just enough to give away his uncertainty.

“No, why?”

He takes a step back, shaking his head. “I think some part of me always assumed you would reach out when you got back from abroad,” he replies, unable to withhold what you can only assume is disdain from his tone.

Chewing on your lower lip, you observe the way his gaze subtly darkens. You can’t place it exactly, but he seems almost hurt.

“Suguru…” you begin, searching for the words to explain why you never reached out since you returned. Sighing, you shuffle from foot to foot. “I told you I wasn’t sure if I would even come back, that you should move on. I didn’t want to drag you back, especially if you’d gotten over me.”

His golden gaze flickers towards you, evidently searching for something between the lines of your words. Had he really hung onto you for so long?

“Sugu, you’re a great guy. I thought you would have found someone and settled down, and be thinking about a family. I didn’t wanna be that girl who reaches out to her ex only to find out he’s got two kids, you know?” Your brow knits together as you search his expression. His lips are pressed into a thin line in that subtle expression he always wears when he’s hiding his true feelings. “I couldn’t be the girl who tries to drag you from your family.”

Silence spreads between you, extending far longer than comfort allows. Suguru seems to mull over your words before choosing a carefully calculated reply. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

You open your mouth to reply, but you’re at a complete loss for words. Sighing, you shake your head. Your cowboy hat blocks him from seeing your exasperated expression as your gaze finds the floor. “I had no way of knowing that.”

“You could have reached out to Satoru,” he points out childishly, in a move that’s so unlike him that you can only blink back at him in shock.

“I… I guess. I only got back like a month ago though, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not even unpacked yet.” You shake your head, at a loss.

The raven-haired man scrutinizes your frustration before sighing. He presses a thumb to the crease between his brows, shaking his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I’m not being fair.”

Swallowing hard, you offer a tight-lipped smile at his apology, letting him explain himself.

“I tried to move on. No one ever quite lived up to my expectations,” he explains, pausing as he contemplates his next words. “No one was you, angel.” His voice softens, longing glittering within his gaze. “Could you not have reached out as friends?” He queries, searching for a sign you haven’t quite given him yet.

But you shake your head, to his disappointment. “You and I could never just be friends,” you murmur. He briefly averts his gaze, but it snaps back when you continue. “I never found anyone either, Sugu. I was always comparing them to you.”

His gaze widens. He only wastes a moment on the realization that he’s finally heard what he’s been waiting for before stepping forward. He moves with resolve, testing the waters as he places a hand on your waist, this time moving your hat aside with purpose.

Another hand, slow and steady, trails up to gently brush your jaw, guiding your gaze to meet his. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes gently. “For making this about me.”

“You were hurt,” you forgive him quickly, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “I understand.”

“It’s an excuse nonetheless.”

“I still forgive you,” you murmur as your hands slide up his chest, settling at his shoulders. He’s far more built than he was when you were in college, his time learning martial arts and going to the gym clearly paying off. “I am sorry I didn’t reach out. Things had just changed so much, I-” You shake your head, at a loss.

But Suguru never has been one to waste time. One hand moves from your hip to toss your hat aside, while the other slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, angling your head just right so that he can lock lips with you. The kiss is soft, with an air of dominance that Suguru naturally carries. He steps forward, crowding you against the wall of the small office. He shifts his thigh between your legs, the friction pulling a gasp from your parted lips.

He doesn’t hesitate to use the opportunity to push his tongue between your lips. The taste of him- mint and a subtle hint of smoke- floods your senses, consuming you. Caught up in everything that Suguru is, you chase friction against his thigh, pleasure pooling at your core.

“That’s my girl,” he purrs, smooth and sultry. “Juuust like that. Take what you need from me.”

“Oh shit,” Shiu chuckles from your left. Toji isn’t far behind him, barking a laugh aloud.

Suguru finally parts from you, keeping you pinned to the wall possessively as he tilts his head to shoot an annoyed look at Toji and Shiu. Your cheeks warm at the sight of the two men interrupting.

Lifting his wristwatch into view, Shiu smirks. “Less than ten minutes,” he chuckles, nudging Toji. “Told ya I caught them eyefucking one another on the way in.”

“Do you need something in here?” Suguru interrupts, shifting his body to block you from their hungry views.

“Nah, we were just lookin’ around, but I’d take an invite if you’re offering,” Toji replies with a smug grin.

Suguru’s entire demeanor shifts, his eyes narrowing at both men as he lifts himself away from you. “Come,” he mutters under his breath, gently guiding you with a hand on the small of your back out of the room, pushing past your friends. You shoot them both an apologetic glance, in spite of Toji’s mildly sleazy comment. He’s never been one to shy away from any offer for sex and you two had hooked up at parties once or twice because of that cocky attitude.

Still, your mind is wholly on the man whose hand splays on your lower back. There’s a not-so-subtle hint of frustration swirling within his eyes as he rounds the corner of the kitchen with you at his side.

“Satoru, can I borrow the keys to the lodge up the hill?”

Kento and Satoru are both still in the kitchen, much to the blonde’s dismay from what you can make of it.

Suguru’s closest friend whips his gaze up from the pizza under his nose, eyes flickering across the sight of you both. A little smirk crosses his lips at what he gleams from your flustered expression and Suguru’s not-so-subtle grip on you.

“Yeah, hold on.” He reaches into his pocket, tugging out a key ring and pulling one off to toss to Suguru, who catches it in one hand. “You might need to light the fire. I’m not sure how the heat works in that place,” he shrugs. “But if you’re heading to pound town, you should be fine.”

“Satoru,” Kento scolds, a vein pulsing in his temple.

Suguru, equally at wit’s end, wrinkles his nose. “Make him finish cooking on his own,” he mutters to Kento, turning on his heel.

“What? Hey-”

You’re not there to hear whatever transpires as Kento clearly doesn’t hesitate to vacate the kitchen just as you and Suguru do. He leads the way out the front door, the quiet rustle of the wind surrounding you in the mildly eerie landscape. Everyone is still making the rounds inside, it would seem.

Leaves clatter overhead, equally crunching beneath your feet.

“Satoru hasn’t changed much, huh?” You offer, pulling Suguru from his bubble of mild irritation.

He peers down at you, sliding his hand up from your back to wrap around your shoulders. “Not where it counts,” he agrees with a calm smile. An air of cool confidence has wrapped around Suguru once more as he continues. “His father’s company seems to have a habit of dragging him through the mud, though. Go easy on the guy.”

“Really?” You query, peering back over your shoulder towards the light peeking out from the cabin. It’s still light enough at this time that you can make out the shapes of your friends moving past one of the windows and they aren’t just dark shadows.

He hums affirmatively, that signature dark bang blocking the subtle downturn of his lips. “They’ve got some shady business practices that go beyond anything Satoru is willing to put up with.”

“I had no clue,” you murmur, brow furrowed as you worry your lower lip between your teeth. “How’s your work been? Are you still with the psychology clinic?”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’ve moved to the youth wing of the clinic. I help kids work on their mental health,” he explains as you approach the lodge.

Before you, a small way through the trees and completely hidden by the brush is a small lodge. It looks like it’s straight out of a history book, built from stacked logs with a small chimney and painted red accents. It’s every lumberjack’s dream.

“That’s great, Sugu,” you grin, peeling your gaze from the lodge as the man in question pulls the key from his pocket and unlocks the door. “Do you like it?”

With a click, the door swings open and reveals a dark, albeit cozy one-bedroom lodge. There’s a barebones kitchen that you can’t imagine has anything stocked given the state of the rest of the space. Anything not covered by protective plastic coverings has a layer of dust settled across it thick enough to knit a blanket with.

Heading for the fireplace, Suguru’s lips press into a tight line as he considers your question. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “It’s difficult, honestly.” He hesitates for a moment, loading logs into the fireplace before he pulls a lighter from his pocket. Still a smoker, if the lighter and mild taste of smoke on his tongue are anything to go off of. “None of these kids deserve what they go through.”

You nod, a small crease between your brows as the fire illuminates the lodge and you can finally get a good look at the decor. Pulling a layer of protective plastic from the couch reveals a massive cozy-looking couch with a blue blanket draped over the back. It has some sort of pattern you can’t quite make out until you unfold it and reveal a Digimon. This must have been Satoru’s space at one point or another and is likely why Suguru navigates it like he’s been here before.

Blue accents continue throughout the lodge and you take notice of the fact that there are little hints that confirm your suspicions. An old water bottle with stickers of recognizable characters haphazardly stuck to it, a Transformer and some sort of old action figure atop the mantle, and in the single room attached to the main living area, you can make out two single beds from the open doorway.

As you take a seat on the couch, wrapping yourself in the Digimon blanket while you wait for the place to warm up, Suguru turns to face you. His skin is illuminated in a pale orange, the crackle of flames licking bark filling the air.

“Some days are easier than others,” he continues, sliding himself beneath you on the couch. You loosen your grip on the blanket to allow him to share the warmth with you, your legs draped over his lap. “It’s always rewarding to see meaningful progress being made, but-” he shakes his head. “Not every child has that opportunity.”

His brow furrows like he has a particular instance in mind, but before you can question him on it, he moves along. “How’s it been being back?”

You hesitate for a moment, able to recognize the darker side of your ex. He’s never been particularly good at hiding it from you. The little moments where his weariness seeps through the cracks like light through blinds are never lost on you. After all these years, you’re not sure if it’s your place to ask anymore.

You know desire still remains between you, but what else remains is more of an unknown.

“It’s been nice,” you smile, adjusting your position to straddle him. He doesn’t hesitate to smirk, that familiar lidded expression replacing any weariness that might have slipped through. Your hands settle along his collar as you reply. “I lived beside this amazing shawarma place that I miss a lot though,” you chuckle. “Nothing here will ever live up to it.”

“Is that so?” Suguru hums, drinking in your happiness with a honeyed smirk. His thumbs rub circles into your bare thighs, inching higher with every second as though you may not notice.

“Mhmm,” you hum, your eyes crinkling at the corners in delight. “The architecture and the culture was amazing as well. I honestly wish I could have spent more time exploring and doing things while I was there.”

“Why couldn’t you?” He asks with all the subtlety of a man who isn’t sliding deft fingers over the denim of your shorts, sliding dangerously close to your core.

“Because, um-” you pause, distracted as you adjust your position straddling him. “It was so busy and I didn’t get much vacation time.”

He hums again, a thumb brushing your clit. “Is that why you returned?”

Letting out a breath as warmth pools between your thighs, you fix him with a lidded stare. “That’s a part of it,” you agree breathily. “I got a better offer and I missed everyone here.”

“Yeah?” He hums, swiping his thumb over your clothed clit again. “Who did you miss the most?”

You suck in a breath at the friction, a bratty grin pulling at your lips. “Shoko, duh.”

Golden irises flicker across your face, his expression unchanging as he hums. “Maybe I can change your mind.”

He pushes up, corded forearms wrapping around your middle as he sets you with your back laying on the couch. His lips lock with yours, his tongue exploring your mouth with confident dominance. Something about the way Suguru so effortlessly demands submission makes the heat between your thighs grow faster, soaking your panties before he’s even really touched you.

And that is something he’s always loved about his girl.

Corded forearms hold him over you as he murmurs against your lips, “let me remind you what it means to be a brat, hmm?” He grinds against you, pulling a soft moan from your parted lips.

His actions don’t mirror his words as he takes the time to work you up. His lips part from yours, methodical as he maps your skin. Every kiss is sensual, filled with a passion you haven’t felt from a partner since you ended things with him. You suppose that’s why no one ever did quite match up to your ex.

He moves like he’s worshipping you, lips traveling down your throat and collar. When he reaches your cute little pink cow print vest, he unbuttons it effortlessly with just one hand, revealing a small white blouse beneath. “Cute,” he hums to himself, pulling the vest and blouse over your head to find a pale pink lace bra. He takes a moment to admire it, his thumb brushing the material over your nipple. You grip his shoulders at the tantalizing feeling, pulling a satisfied hum from him.

“Please, Sugu,” you whisper breathlessly.

He reaches around your back, unclasping your bra as you arch for him. “Patience, angel,” he chides with a click of his tongue. “Or need I remind you that you’ve been a brat?”

“I wasn’t a brat,” you roll your eyes, earning a single cock of Suguru’s brow.

“I suppose I’ll need to show you how good girls act then,” he purrs, pulling your arms from the straps of your bra, freeing your breasts. With a satisfied smirk, he flicks a peaked nipple, his knowing gaze glimmering under the low light of the fire as you cry out in both shock and pleasure at the sudden sensation.

His eyes don’t leave your expression as he swipes the flat of his tongue over one nipple, palming your other breast with slender fingers. He sucks your nipple between his lips, swirling a tongue around the bud. You moan as he parts from you with an obscene pop! and shifts to pay attention to your other breast.

“Suguru,” you breathe out as he smooths his tongue along the plush of your breast, leaving kisses down your body. Once he reaches your hips, he dips his fingers beneath the waistband of your jean shorts, effortlessly unbuttoning them before sliding them down and tossing them aside.

“Gorgeous,” he breathes, his gaze raking across your bare stomach, chest, and legs, before coming to rest on the cute pair of lacy panties you don that match your bra. “Matching, hm? Were you expecting a reunion of this kind?”

“A girl can wanna look hot,” you stubbornly reply, earning another hum.

“She can,” he agrees, “but I hate to think of anyone else seeing such a pretty sight.” He hooks two fingers beneath the gusset of your pink panties, gliding them aside. “And so wet already,” he smirks as you shiver at the feeling of cool air on your bare pussy.

“Just fuck me already, Sugu,” you breathe, jerking your hips towards him as his fingers graze your folds, gathering your slick on them.

“I don’t remember you being such fucking a brat,” he mutters with a darker undertone, slipping his fingers between his lips to taste you. His pupils dilate, expression darkening as he swipes his tongue across his lower lip upon pulling the digits away. “So slutty beneath me, yet you think you’re in control, hm?”

You groan at his insistence to move slowly, pushing up on your elbows to reach out for him.

His eyes narrow as he catches your wrists with a click of his tongue, gathering them in one large hand and pressing them over your head against the arm of the couch. “So needy and I’ve hardly touched you, baby,” he chides, leaning over you. With his spare hand, he reaches for the cotton belt holding his costume pants up and deftly loosens it from his waist.

“What are you-?” You watch with pursed lips as he brings the material to your wrists, attempting to wriggle away before he can.

“Can’t let my needy girl go unpunished for being a brat, hm?” Suguru smiles sweetly, in that honeyed way that he makes look so easy. Once your hands are bound over your head, he ties the belt to the table at the couch’s side. When you tug on your binding, the old solid oak table wiggles under your strength, but doesn’t budge. “Cute.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can, Suguru tears a whimper straight from your throat when he meanly plunges two slender fingers into your needy cunt straight to the knuckle.

“That’s my girl,” he purrs as your head falls back and fists clench at the sudden intrusion, your walls clamping around him. So prettily laid out before him, his eyes are warm as he kneels between your thighs, yet his movements tell another story. He only gives you a moment to adjust, your abdomen just beginning to relax when he meanly curls his fingers right into your g-spot.

“Ah- Sugu!” You cry out your ex’s name, gasping and writhing with each movement. As you try to clamp your thighs shut around him, he uses his free hand to press one leg into the couch cushion, leaning his weight against your opposite leg to keep it steady. No longer able to move them, you attempt to shuffle away, the sensation clouding your brain.

Suguru clicks his tongue, his smile predatory as he looks you over- his prey. “Running away after begging for my cock now, are you angel?”

“‘S too much, Sugu,” you gasp, thighs trembling around him. It’s like he never forgot your body for a moment in the past two years, every movement coming naturally to him and it’s downright dizzying, clouding your mind and making you see white.

“Too much? Poor girl, maybe you’ll think twice before talking back next time.” His hand slides up your thigh before his palm presses down on your abdomen. You moan as pleasure courses through you, coiling in the base of your stomach, pulled taut as you teeter suddenly on the edge.

And just as quickly as it gathered, it dissolves, just like that. Your head whips up, foggy and confused at the lack of movement on Suguru’s part as he languidly licks the fingers he’s pulled from you, leaving you to fall back from the edge of your climax with nothing but disappointment and your pussy pulsing uselessly around nothing.

When you spot the the man’s expectant gaze, you pout. “I’m sorry, Sugu,” you pant, tugging on your restrained hands. “Please let me cum?” You bat your eyelashes prettily up at him, black bangs falling just at the edge of his vision as he watches your reaction.

“Now sweetheart,” he purrs, “do you really think a simple ‘sorry’ cuts it after the attitude I got earlier?”

You pout up at him, bucking your hips up in a pathetic form of begging for his attention.

Ever a patient man, Suguru leans towards you just slightly. “I know the moment I give you what you want, you’ll be throwing attitude my way again.” He leans back, tilting his head as he admires your writhing form whining for him. “So we’re doing this at my pace, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not what he wants to hear. He leans over you, a thumb brushing your lips. The digit glides across them, soft and supple, before he pushes into your mouth. His voice is low, dark, when he speaks. “I asked you a question, pretty girl.”

Swallowing hard, you have no other option but to reply around his thumb. “I understand,” you murmur, muffled as you obediently suck on the digit.

He slips his thumb from your lips, tugging on the lower one as he does so. “Good girl,” he purrs. Sitting back, he uses that same spit-slicked thumb to rub circles into your clit. Your eyes flutter shut, head falling back against the arm of the couch as pleasure builds once more in your lower stomach. “Look at me,” he purrs as his opposite hand bends one of your knees and tosses your leg over his shoulder.

Your eyes flicker open, dazed as the ceiling greets you before you manage to fixate Suguru. “That’s it, just like that.”

As you obey once again, his fingers glide through your folds and slowly press inwards. His movements are kinder now, less intense and more as though he’s working your body up slow and steady. He curls his fingers, timing his movements as he circles his thumb in slow strokes around your clit.

Moaning Suguru’s name, you struggle to keep your eyes on him as the euphoria of pleasure takes over. He kisses your ankle, never once taking his gaze off of you as he pulls you right back to the edge, steady and constant. He doesn’t even leave you anything to cling to, sitting between your thighs with a watchful expression.

You’re left only able to cling to the belt restraining your hands, nails digging into the silky material beneath your fingers. Whining as you struggle to hold onto anything, all the while losing yourself in the fog of indulgence, you find yourself unable to keep your gaze on your ex any longer. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you buck your hips up to chase the thread threatening to snap.

But Suguru is mean.

He pulls his fingers back, and before you even have time to whine, he’s slipping them between your lips. The taste of you floods your mouth as your eyes flicker open, dazed.

“Poor girl,” Suguru coos, lowering your leg from his shoulder to lean over you. He pulls his fingers from you with a satisfying pop! and gently drags the spit-soaked digits along your jaw. “So needy, aren’t you?”

“You’re being mean, Sugu,” you grumble, your chest rising and falling from being left right on the edge yet again.

“Mm,” he hums, leaning down to kiss you with such sweetness that you would never know just how dominant and punishing he’s being all over talking back to him just a little. “Maybe,” he agrees against your lips. “But you’re being so sweet now, I just can’t resist that pussy anymore.”

Your eyes flicker down to the space between you when he leans up just enough to free his cock from his pants. Thick and long with pre-cum dripping from the hardened tip. Warm as it falls to your stomach, you’re too pre-occupied with the tantalizing sight of Suguru. With his cock angrily twitching, he leans up to pull his pirate shirt over his head with crossed arms in that slutty way he loves to do, revealing a toned form you haven’t seen in years.

Nearly two years and he’s still stunning. Like an adonis among men, sculpted for you. For your pleasure, for your adoration.

For your love.

It never really left.

You know it.

He knows it.

You love him.

He’s sensual as he strips your panties down your legs and tosses them to the floor. The warm glow of flames highlights the peaks of his abs, muscles he’s worked hard to keep. You’ll certainly make the most of admiring them.

“This is all for you,” he murmurs, lowering himself so that he hovers over you. He unties your restrained hands, letting you finally cling to his shoulders. His cockhead glides through your folds, rough as he coats himself in your juices and brushes your clit.

“Sugu,” you breathe, letting out a saccharine gasp. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his slender hips.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. “My gorgeous girl.”

He pushes in past the first ring of resistance, the stretch tingling as it settles between pleasure and pain. With each twitch of your brow, the raven-haired man reads your expression, waiting for your adjustment in the minute flicker of your eyes. You’re still an open book to him, as easy to read as you are to please when it’s by his hand.

Or his cock.

He uses this to his advantage, moving slowly as he allows you time to adjust. “You’re doing so good, baby.” His voice is a whisper in your ear, his breath warm on your neck. A shiver runs up your spine, pulling a whimper from your throat as he eases in to the hilt, filling you up as you cling to his shoulders. “I know, I know,” he soothes when your nails leave angry red lines down his muscular back.

“So big,” you gasp between pants. Your gaze is fixated straight through him at nothing in particular, completely fucked out from being worked open and now split open.

“You’re taking me so well, pretty girl,” he praises. His tone is a purr as you relax and he begins to move. “Look at you,” he murmurs, pulling out to the head and slowly pushing himself back in.

For a moment, everything about his movements is sensual. He peppers your neck in languid kisses, savoring the feeling of your fluttering walls around his shaft. The sound of flames licking the air to your side is a romantic backdrop to a desperate reunion between two lovers who never quite got over one another. It’s sensual, and you can feel his love.

He bathes you in his adoration, baked into the very core of his being as he moves, his pace picking up with the rate at which he breathes. Even he can no longer hold back, starting with one slam of his hips and one wet slap of skin on skin in the silence of the old lodge. His pace quickens suddenly, chasing an orgasm that you’ve been tilting over the ledge of since the start of the night.

“Shit, angel. So good for me,” he breathes.

Your moans are a mantra in the air. His name, gasps, pants, begs. Anything that your muddled mind comes up with. Your orgasm looms over you like an incoming wave, the white edges of the swell threatening to blind you as you see white when it crashes suddenly over you.

Your nails dig into Suguru’s shoulderblades while your legs lock around him, keeping him in place as your walls pulse around him. He groans at the sensation, shifting forwards and back as much as you’ll allow as he chases his own climax, but it’s not enough.

“Just relax for me,” he murmurs softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead sweetly before he sits back on his knees. Pulling your ankles from around him, he pushes your thighs up until your knees reach your chest, folding you damn-near in half. Surging forward, his long dark lashes flutter as he chases his orgasm.

Your head falls back against the arm of the couch, overstimulation causing tears to prick in your eyes. Wordlessly, your jaw hangs open in exhaustion and pleasure.

“Where do you want me?” Your ex grunts, strained.

“Inside.”

He moans. Loud and unapologetic as he finds his release, spilling within you and painting your walls white. He slows, matching each thrust with the pulse of his twitching high, until he comes to a stop.

His hair is slick, stray strands coming from his neatly put together half-bun as sweat slicks the strands sticking to his face. His hands splay beside your head as he holds himself up over you, his hair tickling your chest as he shuts his eyes and lets his head hang. His breaths come in pants.

He still looks gorgeous.

Reaching up with a shaky hand, you caress his cheek. It’s sweet, too sweet. He smiles. “I missed you, angel,” he whispers in that sultry tone you’ve grown to adore. His head lifts, warm as he regards you. With one hand remaining in place to hold him up, he swipes the tears that spilled, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the apple of your cheek.

“Missed you too,” you breathe, unable to hold your hand steady as it drops to your stomach.

After catching his breath for a moment, Suguru pulls out, coated in your shared release. “Shit,” he murmurs, lifting his head to evaluate the lodge. “One moment,” he mutters, getting to his feet and making his way to what you assume is where he and Satoru used to stay when they visited years ago. He returns with a fresh towel, gently cleaning you up.

Satisfied with your cleanliness, he wraps himself around your naked body, pulling you against him as he sits you both up in front of the fire and pulls the Digimon blanket that had fallen aside back over your bare bodies.

There’s a serene feeling woven into the way he soothes gentle circles into your skin. You fit against him so perfectly that a part of you wonders how or why you ever left to begin with.

But long distance was hard.

And this serves as a reminder that everything happens for a reason, really.

Your connection to him feels stronger than ever as you cock your head to look up at him and before you can even say a word, he’s already slipping out from under you, one step ahead.

“I’ll get you some water, pretty.”

You purse your lips, lifting into a smile. “Thanks, Sugu.”

“Here,” he hands your blouse over from where it was discarded, followed by your panties and shorts. Leaning down to place a chaste kiss on your lips, he warmly smiles. “Wouldn’t want my sweet girl getting cold now, would we?”

You giggle, tugging your shirt and shorts on, opting to go commando in favor of putting on your very wet panties.

Suguru tugs his boxers, pants, and pirate shirt on, padding gracefully across the one-bedroom lodge. You lose sight of him as he turns into the kitchen, turning your attention to the flames with a content yawn, when someone knocks at the door.

You grunt as you push to your feet to see who’s at the door, pulling it open to find-

What the fuck?

You blink as a little blonde girl stares up at you, no older than seven. Your lips inadvertently purse, your brow furrowing.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?”

She fiddles with a little toy phone in her hands. “Looking for my papa,” she murmurs, her gaze more intense than you would expect from a girl so young.

“Oh!” You purse your lips. Something about the situation has unease creeping up your spine, but you can’t possibly deny some poor little girl an escape from the cold. “Come in, let me get you some water.”

Pulling the little girl inside, you gently direct her to the couch by her shoulder. “Wait here,” you instruct, waddling to the kitchen with sore thighs and tight knees.

Suguru smiles warmly as he awaits the water from the sink to cool, the tap turned all the way to one side. “Couldn’t resist joining me, hm?” He teases, tugging you against him to leave a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.

Giggling, you pull back to face him. “Actually um-” your giggly demeanor fades as you struggle to search for some sort of explanation. “This little girl just showed up at the door, said she’s looking for her dad,” you shrug uncertainly.

Your ex’s eyes widen, horror-stricken as he tears from you in search of something.

“Suguru?” You call as you chase after him.

He’s already kneeling before the little girl, who’s excitedly kicking her feet as she extends her arms towards the man. You watch the interaction curiously, attempting to connect the dots.

You know well she isn’t his by blood at the very least, he certainly had no kids two years ago, so she must be adopted. You can understand his hesitation to mention such a thing as well, but he still shoots you an apologetic look as he shifts his focus to the little girl.

“Where’s your sister?” He queries, opening his arms to allow the little girl to hold him.

“With Uncle Gojo. He said you were here.”

Suguru pauses, the air heavy around him as you watch him blink, his brow twitching. He pulls back, settling the little girl atop the couch once more with what you recognize as a faux smile. He still harbors all the charm and kindness you expect from Suguru, but the pull of his lips is tight. “Let me get you some water, we can head back to Uncle Gojo in a moment,” he relays his plan to her, giving her a sweet pat on the head.

The little girl kicks her feet out again as Suguru evenly rounds the couch, wrapping a protective arm around your waist that doesn’t match his easy energy. He leads you into the kitchen, casting a cautious glance over his shoulder. Satisfied with whatever he finds, he moves closer to the tap, still running, going through the motions of keeping his word to the little girl.

With the water concealing his voice, he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s not my daughter,” he breathes, the darkness within his tone catching you off-guard. You shiver, tilting your head up to get a better look at him. “She doesn’t know Satoru’s last name.”

“So…?” You murmur your confusion. “Couldn’t she just have learned?”

“No, she can’t know.”

You shake your head, facing Suguru. “That’s ridiculous, Sugu. Are you saying she’s like… a ghost or something?” You chuckle, though your confidence wavers when his expression doesn’t falter. “Suguru, can we be for fucking real right now? Ghosts aren’t real.”

His lips twitch downward, his eyes averting momentarily. Conflict swirls within golden eyes, his confidence no longer easy. “That’s not my daughter,” he doubles down on his statement. He lacks the graceful ease with which everything comes to him, but his conviction remains strong.

Uneasiness stirs in the pit of your stomach as you glance back towards the little girl. “So… you just wanna leave her, or…?” You shrug your shoulders, unable to find a solution when you’re still stuck on Suguru implying this is some sort of imposter or ghoul.

He hesitates for a moment before his gaze lands on the back door beside the fridge. “Yes,” he decides. “Leave the tap, come.”

He doesn’t give you much of an option, his arm tight around you as he thrusts you both through the door, leaving the tap on to mask the sound of the peripheral shutting.

“Wait, but what if that’s-”

“It’s not,” Suguru states dryly.

Barely a step out the door, you stop dead in your tracks and clasp your hand around his sleeved bicep. He turns to face you, a wary eye kept behind you. “Are you just trying to scare me?” You whisper-hiss, your fingers curled tightly around his arm. His shimmering irises, lacking their honeyed kindness, fixate on you. “Ghosts aren’t real. We can’t just leave her!”

The silence stretches only for a moment as he examines your frustrated concern. Sighing, he straightens and runs a hand through his mussed locks, adjusting the pull of his half-bun. “I’m as confused as you are,” he admits, “but that’s not my daughter.”

“How can you be sure?”

He gently pulls himself from your grip, taking charge of the situation. “Angel.” He faces you, his gaze boring into yours as he takes your hands. “I need you to trust me. I know my daughter, and that’s not her. Even if it was, Satoru would never send her up here alone. Let’s just go join everyone again and I can explain everything.”

Your shoulders softly rise and fall with your breaths. Even if you’re skeptical at the thought of leaving a child unattended, he does have a point that Satoru is the type to do what he can to keep others safe. Sending a child up to this lodge on their own in the dark would be irresponsible and for all his goofiness, he isn’t dumb. “Okay,” you agree, taking a step towards him as you let him lead the way through the autumnal brush.

Suguru replaces his hand on the small of your back once more, using it to lead you away from the lodge. He keeps his stride even so as not to stir up any unwanted attention, simultaneously keeping you at ease with his casual confidence to handle a situation that hasn’t quite settled in for either of you.

Twisting to look over his shoulder, Suguru begins his explanation once he’s certain he’s out of earshot. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner about my daughters,” he begins. “I was…” his eyes, still honeyed, cast a glance over your figure, undying hunger settling within molten gold. “Preoccupied.”

Your cheeks warm, unable to prevent a small smile from pulling at your lips, hidden under the veil of darkness as you focus on watching your step. “It’s fine,” you shrug, “I think we both were,” you giggle. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

Suguru hums in agreement, his hand sliding from the small of your back around your waist.

“I didn’t expect you to have a kid when I got back though, admittedly,” you confess with a hint of sheepish candor.

“Mm,” he hums once more, thinking his words over with careful precision. “It wasn’t a part of my plan,” he concedes, keeping his gaze on the line of trees before you. “But things change.”

You cast a glance up at him, but the stoic mask he keeps plastered on leaves little to be gleaned.

“I have two daughters. Nanako and Mimiko. I adopted them a bit over a year ago.” He casts a wayward glance behind you, “that poor impersonation, whatever it is, was playing the part of Nanako.”

A shiver runs up your spine at his implication. You’ve kept yourself together since the little girl’s arrival mostly out of denial, because monsters, ghosts- they’re nothing more than tales intended to scare children.

So, you play along.

“Right,” you skeptically agree, still under the impression that this is a prank of sorts. “And she can’t know Satoru’s last name, becauuuuse…?” You leave the floor open for him.

His lips twitch as he reads your suspicion, but he presses on regardless. “I know you haven’t kept up with him, but have you followed what Satoru’s been up to recently?” He inquires.

Unsure how this is relevant to Suguru’s children, your brow furrows as you shake your head.

“Satoru didn’t have a choice for his future. He was always meant to be the heir of his parents’ company.” Suguru explains, eyeing your confusion through his peripherals. “Do you know what Gojo Corporation does?”

“No,” you naively shake your head.

Nodding slowly, your ex inhales, long and slow. “They have a for-profit monopoly over a majority of the hospitals in the country. It’s why the cost of illness and injury is so great.”

The revelation feels grimey. It clings to your skin, crawling uncomfortably beneath the surface. “That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing Satoru would want to be a part of,” you comment, recalling how your friend puts up a front of nonchalance, but frequently puts everyone else before him.

“It’s not,” Suguru agrees, his fingers curling into your waist as his disdain leaks through. “He’s been trying to figure out something he can do to fight back against his parents. I keep telling him to leave, but he’s been reluctant to resign. I think he feels responsible for trying to improve the quality of life within the hospitals, regardless of how anyone sees his involvement.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility,” you murmur, still uncertain how this pertains to Suguru’s daughters.

“It is,” he agrees, lifting a hand to block a branch from brushing your arm as light flooding through windows alerts you to being back near the main cabin. “It weighs him down far more than he cares to admit.”

Your brows furrow together as you consider Satoru, nothing but bright cheeriness, struggling with turmoil he’d never let another soul see. “That’s so shitty,” you murmur.

He hums in agreement, smooth and grave. “I got moved to the youth psychiatry wing of the clinic around the time Satoru first became aware of how bad the problem is,” he explains, casting his gaze to the side as he considers a timeline. “A year and a half ago, give or take.”

You nod, giving him a signal that you’re listening.

“The girls’ mother was sick, their father out of the picture. They were struggling, just on the cusp of being old enough to understand their surroundings. I saw them once a week, every Tuesday.”

As he recounts the events, the dots begin to connect, ‘i’s being dotted and ‘t’s crossed as it all comes together. “Their mom died,” you breathe, bringing a hand up over your mouth.

He eyes you, though he doesn’t confirm or deny. “The girls had been doing well. Their grades went up, they were smiling more, their mom was doing alright, given the circumstances.” He lists the facts plainly, keeping his gaze forward. “Then out of nowhere, their appointments were cancelled by child protective services.”

You can only watch, your eyes flickering across his features as his easy demeanor cracks. Within the fault, his weariness becomes apparent. His dark circles suddenly seem accentuated as he focuses on the earthen ground beneath you. He steps over a stray root that you don’t see, knocking your feet as you trip. He moves quickly in spite of his fatigue, lifting his other arm to catch you and hold you close.

“Careful, angel,” he purrs teasingly, as though the weight of your conversation has no effect on him. He flips between moods like a switch, his demeanor shifting immediately. “I knew, the instant it happened. I knew she was gone, as sudden as it seemed.”

He stops before the cabin, the cool air chill on his skin. It relieves the heat of guilt, the sweat beads on his hairline having dissipated within the embrace of the fall breeze. You turn to face him, grateful when he pulls you into a strong caress. His fingers comb through your hair as he speaks, though you’d think it’s a comfort for himself, rather than you.

“It’s like I said. Some days are easier than others. This one hit hard. Those girls didn’t deserve that, no child does.”

You hold him tightly, the stiffness of his spine apparent beneath your fingers.

“I had plans with Satoru that night. I might have cancelled on anyone else, but I figured he wouldn’t mind if I was a bit distant.” His hair tickles your forehead as he shifts. “I think that day was the moment he realized he couldn’t sit around and watch anymore, though. I didn’t know what was getting to him, but he was angry. Wore it with a smile like it was no big deal, you know how he is,” he pauses, digits curling into your skin. “By some happenstance, her bill came across his desk. She had been unable to afford treatment due to a price change that Satoru had been backed into a corner by his father in order to approve. It wasn’t his fault, but he was beating himself up over it.”

You don’t have to ask. Just as you’d gasped through your fingers earlier, your deduction solidifies itself as fact.

“It was her,” he gravely states. Whether he hesitates, or he’s simply at a loss, you can’t be certain, but the air is silent. The smell of pine wafts through the air, accentuated by a distant doughy aroma that seems to come from inside.

Crickets murmur their songs to the stars in the sky, chirping along to the flickering lights above. You can’t hear anything from within the cabin, the group likely dissipated into small ones like they tended to back in the day.

“Maybe it was impulsive of me, but I used my connections to find the girls. It eased some of his guilt, to know that they weren’t alone,” his voice rumbles within his chest, low and shockingly calm given the looming threat of… well, you’re not quite sure what. Monsters? Ghosts? “I don’t regret it, though. I love those girls like they’re my own.”

Your heart wrenches for them both– them all–, twisting into a knot within your chest. “I’m so sorry, Sugu.”

He shakes his head, a movement you feel rather than see.

“So- wait, why can they not know Satoru’s last name? I didn’t even know his company owned the hospitals around here,” you voice your confusion, met with a hum.

“The girls’ mother used to practically curse the Gojo name. I can’t blame her for it, but…” he shakes his head again, and you can picture his troubled expression, stoic aside from the little crease between his brows. “It doesn’t feel good to keep it from them. I think some part of me hopes Satoru will come out on top of his parents’ business and turn things around,” he murmurs. “Turn his name into something they can see as positive, rather than the name their mother cursed before she died.”

The weight of his confession presses down around you, that unpleasant crawling sensation returning. You hold him tightly, the movement of his bones beneath his skin seemingly louder than it should be as he leans into you when you opt not to lay any judgement out before him.

“I’m sorry, Suguru.”

He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head in response, taking a pause to enjoy the sensation of having you within his arms again. “I’m sorry to throw this on you so suddenly. I know we’ve just reunited, and this isn’t exactly first date material.”

“Good thing this isn’t our first date then,” you airily tease, lightening the mood just an ounce as his chest rumbles beneath your cheek.

But a sobering thought brings you back to reality.

“So… Wait, if that can’t be Nanako, then…” you pull back, confusion glimmering alongside the reflection of the steadily rising moon within your pupils.

He considers your words for a moment, though your sentiment is reflected in his eyes. “Let’s just go inside,” he decides, his expression hardening, hiding the vulnerability he didn’t hesitate to show you.

He steps up to the front door, tugging on it, only to find it locked. Humming in surprise, he twists the knob a couple of times before opting to knock.

But the only face that greets you is that of silence, leaden and dreary.

An involuntary shiver runs up your spine as pieces of a puzzle you don’t mean to solve begin to come together.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you state aloud, somewhat unintentionally as you both stare at the door, dumbfounded.

You expect Suguru’s usual conviction to ground you, but uncertainty is woven into the very thread of his tone. “No, they’re not,” he agrees, casting a glance towards the windows, but sheer white curtains are drawn across each of them, unable to see much besides shadows– of which there are none.

At least, you’re pretty sure there aren’t. Something pale seems to linger behind the curtains, still as a board, but shaped peculiarly human. You blink, scrutinizing the shape, but it’s gone when your lashes touch your cheek.

Now even your mind is playing tricks on you, you swear.

Suguru flips his attention behind you in search of the imposter, and with a firm– albeit gentle– grip, he takes your bicep and makes his way around the side of the house.

“Is there a back entrance?” You ask, your voice wavering with fear as everything settles uneasily in the pit of your stomach.

“Of sorts,” he sighs. “Into the cellar.”

“Oh. That’s…” You suck in a breath through your teeth. “Horrifying.”

Suguru hums in agreement.

“I don’t think I like this place. Why couldn’t we just rent a timeshare?”

He doesn’t reply to that either, humming again as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He starts a brisk pace around the side of the house, leading the way beneath a small wooden balcony. Opposite the house is a massive drop-off, a gulch of sorts with a steep hill covered in dying grass. You move closer to Suguru in an effort to keep away from it, following his lead as he stops at a set of two wooden doors. They’re angled downwards, chipped cedar wood still holding strong after years’ worth of wear.

The raven-haired man approaches them, leaning down to brush a hand over the lock and chain holding them together. The steel is long-rusted, having likely not been open in years.

Keen golden eyes lift, evaluating your surroundings and searching for the fiend masquerading as his daughter.

You follow suit, cautiously jogging away when you spot a pile of logs along one side of the house. It must be what Satoru is using to keep the fire inside lit, or at least the overflow for it. But the wood isn’t rotting, as it would be if it had been here for a while, which means that somewhere around here-

Hope floods your chest as you spot the telltale reflective red paint of the head of an axe lodged into a stump. With two hands, you pull back on it and wrench it from the trunk, returning to Suguru’s side.

Praise falls from his lips like second nature, a sultry little “good find, angel” setting alight a fire between your thighs.

Even ghosts can’t quell your horniness, apparently.

That’s a problem to address another day.

You hand the axe over, opting to let him splinter the doors. Sure enough, with each ear-wrenching thwack of steel into wood, the doors begin to give way. You whip your head to either side in search of anything suspicious that might have been alerted, letting out a breath when you’re met with the still nighttime air, when–

“Why didn’t you come in the front door?”

You scream at the sound of a voice coming from above you, staring straight up to find Satoru leaning over the balcony above with a strangely earnest grin.

Suguru whips his head up as well, the axe dangling from his hand. Strands of stray hair fall over his forehead alongside his signature bangs, sticking to the sheen of sweat on his brow. “What the hell, Satoru?” He grunts, holding a hand up to the doors. “You couldn’t have let us in?”

“Nah,” he quips. “It’s Halloween, let me give you a little scare,” he waves his hand, brushing off his best friend’s disdain. Met only with narrowed eyes and heated glares, he pouts and groans. “Fine, I’ll meet you at the cellar.”

He disappears within the cabin, the sound of the door shutting behind him echoing in the gulley behind you.

“Asshole,” you mutter, turning back to the doors that Suguru has cracked open through sheer force. You take the first step inside, eager to get out of the cold and away from the looming threat of– well, something.

Suguru stays close behind, never more than a step away as he follows you down into the cellar. A few bottles are missing already from the racks, the light left on by whoever was last in here. Your ex quickly finds his place beside you as though if he lets you go for even a moment, you might be ripped from his grasp.

“What’s that?”

“Hm?” Turning your attention to Suguru, you follow his narrowed gaze to a spot on the white blouse you bore. On the front of one shoulder, a blotch of something dark and wet stands out against the pale material of your shirt. “I’m not sure,” you murmur, stretching the cotton taut to get a better look at it.

“Are you bleeding?” Suguru all but leaps into action as he begins checking you over, doting on you in an overwhelmingly possessive fashion.

“Sugu,” you hold your hands up, taking a step back and gripping his wrists. “I’m fine,” you murmur, dropping your hold on him. “I’m not sure where it came from, though,” you stare at the blotch in the dim light, sharing an apprehensive glance.

You don’t have long to dwell on it when the door opposite the ones you just broke into swings open, revealing Satoru. “C’mon up,” he beckons you, spinning on his heel jovially and disappearing out of sight.

Suguru trepidly starts after Satoru. The wooden stairs leading back up into the main living area creak underfoot as you make your way up. The fire paints shadows across the wall that you expect to match the cadence of movement of your friends, but you’re met with an empty room. The cozy feeling of the cabin seems to be sucked right out of the space without the bustling and chatter of the group, and you let out a breath as Suguru equally tenses beside you.

You both sense it. Something is off.

You don’t expect Kento, Sukuna, Hiromi, and Choso to be at the center of the party. It wouldn’t shock you to find them off doing their own things, but Shoko, Toji, and Shiu aren’t the types to turn in early or disappear on their own.

If nothing else, it shouldn’t dead silent aside from the crackling of fire through thick air.

Suguru takes a step towards you, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist. His muscles ripple against you as his gaze flickers from the front door to the stairs that lead up to a multitude of rooms with windows, mapping the exits out as though he hasn’t been here before.

Add that to the list of things that don't exactly put you at ease tonight.

Fuck this cabin.

“In here!” Satoru calls from within the kitchen.

With an uneasy gait, you and Suguru match one anothers’ pace as you cautiously round the corner.

Satoru is the only one to be found, loose strands of snowy locks cascading down over his face. Wispy, they block a modicum of his vision, though he’s never seemed too bothered by it.

“Where is everyone?” You ask, watching as Satoru tears open a bag of popcorn. He sets it in the microwave, hitting the faceplate once before the machine comes to life. It’s the only sound outside of the flames behind you that penetrates the still air.

“Mmmm,” Satoru pops a single kernel in his mouth. You wrinkle your nose at the sound of it crunching between his molars, though he just shrugs. “A couple of people went outside, some are upstairs. Dunno.”

Suguru cocks a brow, otherwise remaining unreadable. “Outside?” He parrots. “We just came from the lodge, there was no one there.”

Satoru just waves his hands through the air, turning to stare eagerly at the microwave. “I dunno. Maybe they went to their cars.”

Suguru hums skeptically.

The cabin is still when the microwave cuts out in far too short of an interval for popcorn. A few measly kernels popped, but all Satoru has really done is warm the bag. Still, he pulls it out, pulling at the corners to peer inside. You can only watch as he childishly pouts, replacing the bag inside and hitting a button to send the microwave to life again, as though by opening the bag he hasn’t already ruined it.

It’s… odd.

Off.

You imagine it’s off in the same way that Suguru seemed apprehensive about Nanako.

Though this time, the perturbation is shared.

“While we wait for everyone to get back, why don’t we play a game?” Satoru offers.

Cautiously, Suguru tightens his hold on you. Likewise, you hold onto him as well. Your fingers grip his flowy shirt tightly, balling the material in your fist.

“What did you have in mind?” Suguru replies, forcing warmth into his tone as though any ounce of skepticism might not fully placate whatever it is playing the part of Satoru standing before you.

Could that really be the case?

Are ghosts real?

Is this a ghost taking the shape of your friend?

Is your friend… dead? Is this his body?

The thoughts become dizzying, and you cling harder to your ex, the anxiety closing in around you.

It’s in that moment, feeling horribly unwell, that you notice something that you almost wish you didn’t.

By the white-haired man’s feet sits the smallest of anomalies. One little speck of crimson to tell you something is off.

Another drip. It hits the floor beside the first, marring it in a stained devilish red that betrays a secret. Your gaze rises from the pooling blood up to Satoru’s hand, hanging right above the evidence. Along pale skin, you watch as cardinal liquid drips slowly from under his sleeve down the crevice of his ring finger, falling to join the ranks of that which pools on the wood under-foot.

Slowly, you tilt your head to the side, your eyes catching the small blotch on your blouse as you connect the dots.

Your fingers dig into Suguru’s flesh under his cotton shirt. He tilts his body protectively towards you, shooting you a questioning look.

Waiting for an opening to point out the blood, you remain still. “There’s gotta be something around here to play,” Satoru shrugs, bringing his bloodied hand up to rub at his eye. Inadvertently, he smears vermillion liquid across the apple of his cheek, though he doesn’t seem privy to it.

Looks like you don’t need an opening at all.

Suguru stiffens beneath your fingers. “Why don’t we go take a look?” He cautiously offers, his ability to remain casually calm a godsend in this moment as you rattle at his side.

“Sounds good!” Satoru– or whatever he is– agrees. “I’ll finish this popcorn and meet you by the fire.”

Suguru flashes a smile at the white-haired man, wasting no time in getting both of you out of there. He practically jogs up the stairs with you under his arm, heading down the long hall to the first door on the cabin’s second floor and silently swinging it open. You’re never more than a step behind him as you voice your concerns while you watch him peer into each room in search of your friends.

“Sugu, ghosts aren’t real.”

“I want to agree with you,” he trepidly murmurs, casting a glance over his shoulder at your fearful and disbelieving frown. “But I’m not so sure anymore.”

Your voice is shaky as you repeat yourself. “They’re not real,” you breathe.

Turning towards you, Suguru palms either side of your face. “Sweetheart,” he breathes. “Now’s not the time to panic. Hang in there, pretty girl. Let’s just find our friends and get out of here.”

His hands leave a cold tingle on your skin as he slips away to continue opening doors. Growing more jittery by the moment, you slide across the carpeted floor to join Suguru as he opens the second to last door.

And god.

You wish you hadn’t.

Blood bathes the room. It runs damn near from floor to ceiling, like the river of blood from The Shining. Not a soul was left unmarred, if the pile of bodies at the center of the room is anything to go off of. Blonde strands dyed a dark and sticky crimson, glasses shattered at the foot of the bed, a jersey shredded and tossed off to the side.

The worst part of the scene isn’t the blood. It’s not the spilled intestines or the stray limb with a knife in-hand. It’s not the gun loosely held in limp fingers or the bullet hole in a skull. Shiu’s, you think.

It’s the fact that you can’t tell if all of your friends are here.

Mangled doesn’t quite do the scene justice.

Horror-stricken, Suguru is frozen too.

Bile rises in the back of your throat. You dry-heave, barely able to keep the contents of your stomach down. “I’m gonna be sick,” you mutter, nausea rocking your body as you tip into Suguru.

He’s not in any better of a state, unevenly catching you as he stumbles against the frame of the door.

Your vision blurs as your body attempts to fight the shock and adrenaline that courses through you. A horrifying sensation of being on the verge of passing out with some sort of killer on the loose forces you to blink as your weight bears down on your ex. Clinging tightly to him, you blink harshly in an effort to overcome the nausea and tears blurring your vision and sending your heart into overdrive.

Clinging tightly to the moulding of the door, Suguru’s jaw clenches as he tightly holds you. “Hang in there,” he murmurs, pulling you away from the gruesome sight.

He takes one last look at the scene once you’re safely settled along the wall, shaky breaths penetrating the air behind him as he catches a glimpse of once-white locks before shutting the door.

“They’re all dead,” you whimper shakily, warmth trailing down your cheek.

“Shhh,” he gently shushes you, his expression hardened. You wonder if this is the face he wears before his patients. One that expertly hides his own turmoil, as though you can’t feel the unsteady thump of his heart beneath your palm.

“Was– I saw–” You stammer through words, each one choking you as you lift your head to look at Suguru kneeling before you.

“I know,” he soothes gently, “I know.”

“Shoko, and Kento– Toji, Shiu, Cho–” you choke on a sob, covering your mouth in an attempt to avoid drawing unneeded attention to you.

“I saw Satoru too,” he grimly adds, casting a glance over his shoulder towards whatever exactly it is that awaits you just down the stairs.

“Satoru?” you whimper, confused. “Then what’s–?”

“I don’t know,” Suguru keeps his voice low as he replies. “Whatever it is, it isn’t using his body. Just his likeness.” There’s a modicum of relief within Suguru’s tone, one that entangles itself with guilt as he doesn’t dare untangle the web of emotions he’s found himself tangled within. Between relief that his girls could be okay and guilt that everyone is gone– that some monster is pretending to be his best friend– he can’t spend the time he needs to unpack that.

There’s no time to blame himself anyway, as Satoru’s voice calls out for you.

“Did you find something?” The look-a-like calls out.

“How’s Snakes and Ladders?” Suguru replies so confidently that you wouldn’t know just seconds ago his entire world had shifted on its axis.

“That’s great!”

“Be down in a moment!” Suguru moves quickly across the top floor with a familiarity that has you reminded that he’s been here before, on more than one occasion. He returns with a worn box of the game in-hand, playing along with the monster’s sick little game as he offers you a hand.

“I don’t know if I can–”

“You can,” he interrupts, letting out a breath. “Because we have no other choice.” His words are gentle in spite of their firmness. He swipes a careful thumb along your cheeks. “We’ll be okay.”

“Why didn’t it kill us?” You whisper urgently, eyeing the stairs in case of an unwanted guest.

Without any time left to contemplate, Suguru offers his hand. “I don’t know,” he admits. “One of us has something it wants, I suppose. That, or one of them wronged it.”

He lifts you to your feet, shooting a wayward glance over the railing that separates the upstairs from the downstairs, allowing you to see the monster lingering at the edge of the kitchen. Something about the way it stands there is stiff, awkward, like it’s waiting for something.

Because it is.

The front door creaks open and Nanako walks in. She skips up to Satoru, their bodies both glowing an eerie blue as they merge together into one, the apparition wavering as it keeps the shape of your friend.

“It’s a ghost after all,” Suguru mutters, moving briefly out of sight as he takes a moment to allow you both to digest that you now have to figure out a way to kill a ghost.

Every horror movie concerning ghosts flashes through your mind, but something becomes abundantly clear as you consider how they defeat the ghosts in those.

One; this isn’t a movie. You have no fucking clue how to deal with a ghost, because barely an hour ago, they weren’t real.

Two; salt and exorcisms feel as though they’re probably fake.

Also, you would feel really stupid throwing salt at it if that didn’t work.

And three; this thing is a killing machine. One wrong move and it’ll be your intestines spilled across the hardwood floor.

So that leaves you with two conclusions.

Ghosts are real.

And you have no. Fucking. Clue. How to handle this thing.

“Any ideas?” You whisper to your counterpart.

He shakes his head. “We’re running out of time,” he hums, frowning, though he’s left with little to no options but to concede and play some childish board game with a ghost parading as his closest friend. “Come on,” he beckons you along with him.

Your movements carry more hesitation than his as you hang back a short distance, standing atop the final step as you watch the apparition turn towards Suguru with bright eyes. Blood is still smeared across its face, as though despite having just seen itself from another angle– you think, at least– it didn’t notice from faux-Nanako’s eyes.

It eagerly makes its way to one of the couches with a skip in its step, allowing you and Suguru to sit opposite it in a faceoff that you wonder if it sees as such.

Does it know that you know?

Does it have unfinished business?

That’s a way to defeat a ghost, though you can’t say you know what sign you’re searching for in a phantom.

A shiver runs up your spine as you meekly take a seat beside Suguru, shifting into him in search of comfort. He gently pats your back, remaining stoic and steady. His confidence aids in grounding you, making this whole situation feel a little bit less like your mind conjuring a sick nightmare.

Still, you pinch yourself to be safe.

“I’ll be red!” The apparition happily calls, pulling a small token from the box as it flips the checkered board open.

Suguru’s eyes narrow at the spectre’s choice of color given its chosen face. You share his apprehension as you lean forward to take blue, and Suguru takes green.

You want to think that the phantom chose to be Satoru as he’s the easiest to imitate, but now you’re not so sure. Something about the way the spirit carries itself makes you think otherwise. The board games, the oddly enthusiastic behavior, even the way it didn’t seem to know how to microwave popcorn– it all paints a strange picture of what– or who– you’re dealing with.

You have a suspicion, but you’ll reserve judgement until you have more to go off of.

“You can go first,” Suguru offers, sitting back against the couch as he feigns ignorance towards the ghost.

Faux-Satoru’s eyes light up as it takes the dice and rolls, moving its piece to a ladder allowing it to advance five steps. “Your turn!” It jovially returns.

Each of you go through the motions, taking your turns in a strange stand-off that narrows down your suspicions on who you’re dealing with.

The apparition has a child-like glee that Suguru gleans as well, when he tests his theory by asking if it would like some ice cream. It’s not like Satoru would say no either, but the phantom’s response resembles that of a young boy, not a troubled adult hiding behind a mask.

Having come to the same conclusion as you have, Suguru slips into a persona that sends chills down your spine. He sits upright, his spine straightened as he faces the apparition with warm understanding.

“I’m happy to get you ice cream,” he begins, clasping his hands in his lap, “but I’d like to know first who I’m dealing with.”

It happens again. The blue glow, a little waver that gives away the true identity of the spritely visitor before you.

“What do you mean?”

Again, Suguru radiates only warmth, an open honesty held within the way he presents himself. Even you feel as though you could confide anything in him.

“We saw you,” he admits, “when my daughter came through the wall.”

The spirit doesn’t blink. It stares, its gaze boring holes into you, as though Satoru’s regular gaze wasn’t intense enough. A shiver runs down your spine as you try to remain still, in case any movement might anger it. The seconds pass, each one seemingly longer than the last as you await a reaction. Even the lick of flames seems to dull, leaving space only for the bubble that the three of you remain in, teetering dangerously close to a pin.

At last, the troubled soul relents, and in place of your friend, is a little boy. No older than eight, he kicks his feet out from where he sits atop the couch. He almost makes it difficult to imagine that he could be such a vicious killer, yet the proof sits only one floor above you.

“Junpei,” Suguru states plainly at the sight, his mask falling in place of something more somber.

You cock your head with saucer-wide eyes, unbelieving that he recognizes the child that killed your friends.

“Hi Dr. Geto,” the little boy replies. His black hair is long, a portion of it hanging over one eye, a striped shirt adorning his frame. An eerie glow shines from the boy’s spritely appearance, no longer material within your world. You’d wager a bet that he can swap between states as he pleases based on his ability to kill.

Choosing his words wisely, Suguru takes a breath between each exchange. “I’m sorry to see you in this state.”

Junpei holds his hands out as he looks down at them, pale and translucent. He sets them at his side, clinging to the cushions beneath him. “You told me I’d find friends here.” His feet still from kicking out beneath him as he stares down at the patterned carpet. “But the only person here is you. And him. You lied.”

The little boy’s brow furrows as he scrunches his eyes shut. He raises his hands up to either side of his head like even in the afterlife, pain still ebbs in his mind. Cautiously, you tear your fearful gaze away from the child to eye Suguru.

There’s no longer an ounce of fear held within your ex’s eyes, though. He’s nothing if not bleak in expression, as well as tone. “I didn’t think anything I told you was a lie when I said it, Junpei.”

The silence blanketing the room is suffocating. It claws out from the dark shadows of the room and coils around each of you, an anaconda threatening to strike. Still, Suguru seems unaffected. He blinks slowly, evaluating his words carefully.

Quite literally life or death.

“You know,” Suguru begins, getting to his feet. Horror takes hold of you, preventing you from moving as you’re frozen to the spot in terror. You can only watch as Suguru takes a seat alongside a little boy that was once his patient. “Vengeance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” His expression is warm as he offers comfort to the lost little boy. “Did it make you feel better, killing them? Killing Mr. Gojo?”

Junpei peers up at Suguru from under his hair. You hold your breath as he does so, almost expecting the child to say it was, to be more than just a vengeful spirit, but a malicious one.

But that time never comes. You let out a breath as the little boy shakes his head, and watch as Suguru does what he’s best at.

“No, I suppose it didn’t,” he chuckles, something akin to understanding threaded through his tone. You purse your lips, a crease forming between your brows as you try to place your ex’s sentiment, but they’ve moved on before you have time to think it through.

“You told me I’d find peace,” Junpei remarks, strain in his tone as though even in the afterlife he still feels pain. “But everything still hurts,” he murmurs, tears welling in his eyes. “I couldn’t get away. No matter what I did, you and Mr. Gojo and the hospital rooms were everywhere.”

Suguru’s golden irises are dulled by the grim setting. The orange glow of the flames don’t seem to reach either him or the young spirit caught somewhere in between.

“I still believe you can find peace. Friends, too,” Suguru states, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he regards Junpei. “Had you asked me yesterday, I would have said ghosts don’t exist,” he states, “but as you can see, adults aren’t always right. We’re still learning too.”

The fire crackles beside Suguru as you watch the somber exchange take place. There’s a terrible twisting sensation wringing your heart out as they both accept their faults.

“I can’t promise you that I’m right,” he admits, “but I don’t think you’ve reached your destination. There might still be another world out there that you haven’t seen yet. Somewhere with friends and all the movies you could ever watch.”

“Even my favorites?” Junpei asks with a seemingly renewed sense of hope.

“I hope so,” Suguru smiles warmly.

“Do you think…” The air seems to shift, the tension lifting as the little boy finds some sense of footing, no longer holding onto his anger. “Do you think it’ll be gone? In that other world?”

Your gaze flickers between the man and the boy sitting on the couch across from you, a piece of the puzzle missing that Suguru seems to hold in his hand.

“Your cancer?” Suguru queries, causing your heart to twist for the poor misled boy. “I hope there’s no sickness, wherever you end up. None at all.”

“I can… spend forever with my friends?”

Suguru nods. “That’s my hope, Junpei. That’s what all the stories say.”

The boy’s hair drapes over his face like a curtain as he stares down at the carpet. At the blood that coats the carpet from each time he’s shifted between the waking world and that of the dead, shedding the coat of crimson once staining his skin. Satoru’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” the little boy speaks up.

It’s not enough. It never will be.

But whatever beliefs he clung to that kept him as a shell of himself in a world in-between weren’t fair to him either.

Life is unfair.

Apparently, so too is death.

“I should go,” Junpei murmurs, drifting straight through the couch as he takes otherworldly steps towards the window. Suguru rises to his feet, watching with a dismally heavy expression. The boy pauses just before the curtains, as though he’s reached some sort of door or passage outside of your realm. He glances back at Suguru, his gaze flickering towards you briefly. He lifts a hand, waves, and just as your fingers twitch to wish him goodbye, he’s gone.

As he passes over to the other side, a breeze knocks the fire out, plunging the room into darkness. A billow of smoke coats the air in ash, leaving behind a sour canopy. It coats the air, your throat, your skin. Every piece of you feels uneasy.

“Suguru?” You cautiously call out, growing uncertain in the growing darkness as the smell of decay and iron meld with that of ash and soot.

“I’m here,” he replies grimly, his therapeutic reassurance long dissipated from his silken voice. It leaves behind a hollow husk of his sultry behavior, a man barely a shell of himself.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your phone, setting it face down on the table as you illuminate the room with the harsh cool glow of a flashlight.

Suguru hasn’t moved, hunched in defeat as he stares at the spot where his former patient stood. You take slow steps forward, cautious as you approach him. His shoulders have fallen, those dark circles beneath each eye seeming more like voids, completely bereft of his easy confidence. It’s not the sort of look that a single long night leaves behind, it’s the kind so deeply ingrained and built in that it fits him like a jacket. Tailored to him, hidden behind layers upon layers of walls.

You should have noticed it the moment you saw him.

Should have noticed the way his hair seems thin, dull. The way his gaze shifts at times as though something else has captured his attention. The way he’s lost weight. Still muscular, just thin.

When he continues to stare straight ahead, you place gentle pressure on his shoulder to urge him to take a seat, following suit yourself.

His heavy exhale is all that penetrates the silence as he sinks into the cushions, leaning forward on his elbows. His head hangs, hair cascading over his shoulder as stray strands from his half-bun fall haphazardly over his skin.

“Do you wanna talk?” You open the floor to him.

He takes a moment to breathe. The air is heavy as he does so, the light from your phone barely illuminating his weary features.

“I always thought I was doing right by these kids,” he states. “Most of my patients are sick, or their parents or friends are,” he explains, allowing the tables to flip so that for once he can be the one who finds relief in speaking to someone. You don’t have a degree like he does, but you do have something no degree can ever provide.

You’re the one person on earth who understands him through and through.

“It’s not easy to navigate a child’s mind once they understand they’re dying. That they’re five or six, and their life is coming to an end before it’s even started.” He doesn’t move, the muscles along his back rippling as he breathes, slow and unsteady. “I thought it was the right thing to do, to make things seem less scary, even if my promises were empty.”

At last, he sits upright, staring blankly at the spot where he’s certain blood will begin seeping through the floor any moment as it soaks through the wooden flooring, seeping through the spruce wood that separates you from your friends.

What’s left of them.

“It’s my fault, what happened to all of them.”

Leaning your weight against him like a blanket of comfort, you shake your head. “It’s not.”

“It’s something I’ll have to live with,” he points out. “Failing Junpei, failing them all.”

“Maybe,” you agree, “but you don’t have to live with it alone.”

He stiffens under the implication of your words, as though shouldering his pain is a burden he can’t dare to offload on another person.

But he can’t hold onto that thought. Not when it’s that sort of despondency, that doubt, that brought this situation to light to begin with. It’s the very same sentiment that led a vengeful child into your life in the first place. He can’t be next.

His weight slumps back against you, a shaky breath breezing over your knees as he gives in. No words are necessary to feel his gratitude. He simply melts into you, and you into him, finding comfort in the suffocating circumstances. “What would I do without you?” He sighs, allowing you to shoulder his burden as he comforts you from the chaos in return.

Twisting your head, you press a kiss to his temple, soothing his eyes shut with a flutter of raven lashes.

In spite of the frigid darkness enveloping you, it doesn’t seem to touch your skin, and you stave it off of his.

Your lives are forever changed, but your solace exists within one another.