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The Strongest Otome Love Interest of Today
Through the slim gap in the doorway, Suguru eavesdrops on the two people in the school’s art room, crouching to remain inconspicuous. They’re gathered in front of an easel, painting on a canvas.
“It’s simple,” the lower voice, tender and sultry, speaks. “When you mix red and blue paint like this, you get… purple.”
“Wow.” The higher voice sounds out in awe. “It’s magical.”
There’s a short chuckle, dripping with egotism. “I prefer sorcery-like.”
The one whose face is obscured by the canvas is the game’s female heroine. Suguru doesn’t need to see her to know that she looks radiant as always, the setting sun’s rays catching her brunette hair in golden streaks.
The boy towering over her has a palette in hand, his hair and eyes embodying the pure colours of white and aquamarine. A heart with the number 10% hovers above him.
Gojo Satoru.
Suguru makes a face.
Gojo Satoru is the most renowned artist youth prodigy billionaire philanthropist of today. Having 20,000 grand galleries all across the globe, he also owns Nippon Paint and oversees the paint section in all the Home Depots and Walmarts. The inventor of colour theory, he made the groundbreaking discovery that red and blue, when mixed together, creates purple.
Rumour goes, however, that he has a terrible personality. Arrogant (though deservedly so) and obnoxious, he is a lone wolf—perhaps as no one can understand the depths of his intelligence. Yet.
So his game profile says.
Gojo Satoru is one of the six love interests in this dating game, Suguru included. His background is not entirely unusual—every love interest has a similarly formidable backstory. In fact, one of them is an alien time traveller. (Yeah… Suguru doesn’t want to pry.)
Each of them are impressive in their own ways to cater to the vast preferences of their heroines. But for reasons unbeknownst to Suguru himself, Gojo Satoru in particular ticks him off.
“Then, what colours make green?”
“I’ve still not found that out, unfortunately. It’s one of my life’s biggest questions—but for years, I’ve hit dead end after dead end,” Satoru replies. He softens his voice. “But I feel like I might get my answer soon.”
“Why’s that?”
“Lately… I feel that inspiration has walked into my life all by itself, in the form of a person.” Satoru looks away with a soft smile. “A girl, specifically. With brown hair. She’s in the art room now. Third easel, sitting beside me. I am talking to her at this very second.”
“Oh! Where did she go? I must have missed her.”
Smooth scenes like that especially leave a bitter taste in Suguru’s mouth—enough to want to bonk Satoru on the head. Suguru figures it’s natural to be envious of a rival, but there’s no reason to loathe only Satoru out of all the love interests. He’s not excelling over the others; they all are hovering at around 10% affinity level.
Yet, Gojo Satoru just bothers him for some reason. So much that Suguru’s been following him around, monitoring him and his interactions with the heroine. Right before this, he had been watching Satoru from the rooftop as he ate some bread in the field with the heroine. Yesterday, he dressed up in a trench coat to follow Satoru and the heroine to the movies.
He can’t help it. It’s not a crime to keep tabs on the competition, anyway.
Satoru guides the heroine’s brush across the canvas. Suguru’s irritation flares again, but as he gazes at Satoru’s focused expression, he finds himself momentarily engrossed. The way the sunlight reflects in Satoru's eyes—shimmering like the ocean on a clear day—is fairly hypnotic.
“You know, we always think that things are complete as they are. But then, we mix and combine things, and end up creating new, greater things. So, I’m always thinking about combining things, like cereal and water… wondering more we can create,” Satoru hums, expression contemplative.
“Just like red and blue equals purple, I wonder… what you and me will equal to,” he whispers, giving a finger heart.
Damn. That’s so cool.
Suguru forces himself to step back. His love event is happening in fifteen minutes at the school gym, where he’ll have Judo practice. Cussing Satoru out quietly, Suguru heads for the locker room.
In front of the mirror, Suguru meticulously primps himself up, tidying his hair bun. A dash of gel here and there—he adjusts each strand, knowing just one out of place will disadvantage him.
“You missed a spot.”
Suguru glances up to see Satoru’s reflection in the mirror. He is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed with paint stains all over, and he gestures to where Suguru’s bangs are.
“If that’s meant to be an antennae, it’s upside down.”
Suguru’s surprised—love interests don’t usually interact with each other, and he has no love events overlapping with Satoru to his knowledge.
Suguru locks his jaw. “Can I help you? I don’t think we’re scripted to meet any time soon.”
“I should be asking you that. Why were you snooping around the art room like a rat?”
Suguru blinks. “I was just wondering where the heroine was,” he lies quickly, a little ticked off by Satoru’s brusqueness. “Didn’t think it’d be such a big deal.”
“Yeah? Muttering ‘Eat cement, Gojo Satoru’ doesn’t sound like just curiosity,” Satoru remarks.
“Wait, how’d you hear that?”
“I can read lips. Didn’t you read my bio? My IQ is 1000.”
Suguru flushes. Nonetheless, he recovers quickly.
“Yeah, I said that. So what?” He hums, tone unremorseful. “We’re rivals. I’m not going to cheer you on.”
“Wow, not a speck of shame.” Satoru shakes his head. “Maybe I should tell the heroine about you.”
“Go ahead. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Suguru goes back to tidying his hair. Deep down, the mortification churns in his stomach. His whole persona is being well-mannered and chivalrous; to not only be caught insulting someone but by the fellow love interest in question is damning. If Satoru does indeed tell on him, he’s sure his affinity points with the heroine will drop.
Instead of leaving as Suguru had hoped for, Satoru steps into the locker room. He remains staring at Suguru, clicking his tongue and shaking his head every time Suguru adjusts a strand of hair.
Finally, Suguru snaps. “You gonna keep standing there being an asshole? Instead of trying to get back at me like this, I’d rather you rat me out.”
“Who said I wasn’t going to? I’m just doing both.”
Annoyance deepening, Suguru turns around—coming face-to-face with Satoru for the first time. Up close, his aqua eyes glisten like crystals under the dingy locker room lights, skin pale and radiant.
“They were right about you having a sucky personality,” Suguru scowls.
“They were right about your weird bangs. I don’t get your schtick with the hair bun—you trying to look like a grandma?”
“You’re one to talk. With that baby face and white hair, you look like you belong both in a preschool and in a nursing home.”
“Looks like our resident good student is showing his true colours.”
Eyes full of provocation, Satoru nears Suguru, their faces half an arm’s length away from each other.
“Geto Suguru, model student, president of the student council, Judo club, cultural appreciation club, handsome guys club and community service club. He saved three toddlers, four extinct animals, Bill Gates and a random guy called Gege from a fire at 7-Eleven. All the girls love him because he’s respectful and kind,” he lowers his voice tauntingly, repeating Suguru’s bio word for word.
“Is he, though?”
From the smug look in Satoru’s eyes, Suguru can tell without a doubt that Satoru’s enjoying this.
Suguru reduces the distance further, glare boring into Satoru’s skull.
“You were rattling your mouth off about your great red and blue equals purple invention to the heroine. How about we try it on you?” Suguru hisses.
“Wow, scary. You going to rough me up?” Satoru snickers, his goading expression only intensifying. “I’m sure she’ll love a violent guy like you.”
“And I’m sure she’ll love a guy who provokes people for no good reason.”
Suguru doesn’t break their stare-off, gazing deep into those sea blue eyes. They resemble what the waters in the most far-out Okinawa beaches would look like.
“Hm? I don’t remember telling someone to ‘eat cement’, though.”
“You sure are sensitive. Cement’s a delicacy in some countries.”
Their noses are nearly touching. Suguru can feel Satoru’s warm breath on his lips.
“And what countries are those?”
“Wherever dumb people live. Get over it.”
Perhaps it’s because they’re too close that it’s hard to maintain their glares. Satoru’s gaze keeps drifting down every now and then, and Suguru belatedly realises what he’s looking at:
Suguru’s lips.
With some bewilderment, Suguru leans back—and his own eyes betray him, wandering to Satoru’s lips too. They seem soft; his lower lip is slightly more pink than his upper lip. There’s the faintest hint of dryness.
Then Suguru looks up to meet Satoru’s eyes. Unlike before, they’re large and deer-like, no antagonism to be found.
They both jerk back as if they’ve touched a live wire. In the lingering confusion, his cheeks warm, Suguru notices the time.
He’s almost late for his love event. Satoru was probably trying to hold him up.
“I’m not going to miss my love event because of you,” Suguru grits. “Go throw a tantrum somewhere else.”
Suguru runs to the gym. As he starts his warm-up, right on cue, the heroine shows up. Her warm smile is enough to unwind Suguru from the tense (and odd) encounter minutes ago. The scene goes as planned: Suguru introduces the heroine to a few basic moves, guiding her step by step. Then, he demonstrates his own prowess.
Move after move, he completes all of them gracefully and with an impeccably controlled show of strength. Suguru composes himself after his routine.
“Suguru… That was amazing,” the heroine says.
Suguru flashes his most charismatic smile as he’s practised—slight curl of the lips, look down, a low and short chuckle.
“Heh. It’s nothing. You did well too.”
“What made you decide to pick up Judo?” The heroine softly asks.
“Well… When I was one year old, my parents passed on in a truck accident. I was left to raise my newborn adopted younger sister; her parents also died in a truck accident. I found her at the accident scene and I swore to protect her with my life.”
“While my peers were playing on the playground… I was out working,” Suguru wistfully says. “I had no chance to attend kindergarten. After my 9 to 5—I worked in investment banking—I’d rush to the convenience store for my shift. Because of that, the other kids would bully my sister. They’d harass her, saying her 5-year-old brother was doing illegal underage labour; they even called the police on us several times.”
“It was tough,” Suguru softly admits. “So I picked up Judo to fight off all the police officers and those kids. I guess you could say I did it to protect my family.”
He turns—the pivot calculated to an exact angle to emphasise his jawline.
“All this time, I’ve been fighting alone. But with you… I think I won't have to fight alone anymore.”
Once Suguru sees the bashful smile on the heroine’s face, he almost celebrates right then and there in triumph.
+3% affinity points. Nailed it.
They part ways soon after, the heroine returning to her classroom. Suguru heads to the showers, now full of renewed confidence—mentally replaying every of his flawless inflections and subtle head tilts. That was peak love interest material.
When he steps out of the showers, hair damp, he spots Satoru leaning casually against wall.
“You’re still here? You really have a lot of time on your hands,” Suguru says, towelling the last of his hair. “Go ahead and tell her; I don’t care.”
“Don’t think I need to.” Satoru pushes himself off the wall. “Your finishing line was so corny that I’m pretty sure you’d never win. ‘I won’t have to fight alone anymore?’ What, you gonna drag the heroine into your wrestling matches now?”
“I don’t wrestle, dumb ass. I do Judo.” Suguru glares, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “I hope you never find out what colours make green.”
Satoru gasps like Suguru just kicked his dog. “You take that back!”
Suguru walks off. Behind him, Satoru’s voice follows like a persistent mosquito.
“I thought you were an ass, but that really took the cake. Can’t believe nobody besides me has a clue of your shitty personality.”
Satoru’s words don't get to Suguru this time—he’s far too buoyant after the success of his event. The next one is a free-for-all, happening in five minutes: the heroine gets to choose who will walk her home. Suguru’s sure he’ll get it.
Disregarding Gojo Satoru’s incessant yapping, Suguru quickly heads to the school gates in excitement, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He peeks back, only to freeze.
In the courtyard, the heroine stands with one of the other love interests. Black hair, chiselled jaw, broad shoulders—he’s the icy childhood friend. He takes her backpack and they walk off towards the rear gate.
Suguru deflates.
“God damn it,” Satoru mutters from behind him. “I waited and didn’t grab dinner in case she’d pick me.”
“...I thought I had it in the bag,” Suguru whispers, slumping against the gate. “She looked so happy with me just now.”
“With a line like that, you think she was impressed?”
Suguru ignores the jab, too caught up in the weight of his disappointment. His stomach gurgles and he sighs, straightening up. Guess he’ll head home and eat his leftovers from yesterday.
“Hey. Want to eat KFC with me?”
At Satoru’s voice, Suguru turns to squint at him. “You were trying to pick a fight with me one minute ago.”
“Yeah, and you deserved it.” Satoru nonchalantly angles his chin to the KFC right by their school. “So, what about it? It’s boring to eat alone, so I guess I’ll settle with you.”
“Hah. It’s no wonder you’re a loner,” Suguru snidely huffs. “Why do you think I’d eat with someone who was taunting me to hell and back? You think I’m that pathetic?”
Suguru marches down to the restaurant.
“Even if this didn’t happen between us, you think I’m that dumb to eat with you? You must have forgotten that we’re rivals.”
He steps in and holds the door open for Satoru.
Satoru grimaces. “Can you have some dignity and finish your angry spiel before going in?”
Suguru doesn’t respond, his focus already shifting to the menu. In his defence, it’s been far too long since he’s had fried chicken.
—
The KFC is small but bright, its yellowish lighting casting a soft glow over the plastic seats and laminate tables. Suguru digs into the bucket of crispy, golden chicken without ceremony, tearing into the skin with a ferocity that even surprises himself. It’s been ages since he’s had an indulgent meal like this—so much that he could almost forget that he’s sharing a table with his so-called rival. Suguru rarely eats out, saving money where he can.
Across the table, Satoru lounges in his chair in an annoyingly idle pose. He stuffs his face with the fries, smacking away Suguru’s hand whenever he tries to reach for the soggy, most flavourful ones. So much grace from someone who likely has a private chef waiting on him at home.
Suguru uses the opportunity to gather more intel on his rival, beyond his public profile. Satoru’s tragic backstory is that he’s felt deeply disconnected from everyone because they put him on a pedestal for being the great genius he is. He hopes someone can treat him like a normal person of average intelligence. (Boo hoo. How pitiful, being such an amazing prodigy.)
In line with his avant garde tastes, he only watches indie movies because mainstream cinema is too commercialised and hence “corrupts” the sincerity of the films. (God, how pretentious.)
He also likes Digimon. (This is fine, since Suguru likes Digimon too.)
“Man, of all the backgrounds you get, you’re poor? Every other love interest is filthy rich,” Satoru sympathises as he gobbles up his chicken.
Suguru squints. “So? The heroine isn’t narrow-minded like you.”
“I’m not looking down on you for it,” Satoru replies. “The protag is in debt, isn’t she? How are you going to deal with it if you win her heart?”
“You act like people who aren’t rich just perish or something,” Suguru mutters. “We’ll make it work.”
“Yeah, when you’re eating instant noodles every day and fighting off debt collectors, I’ll see if you can still be so confident.” Satoru slurps his soda. “Whatever. On the 1% chance you actually win, I’ll sponsor your dates next time so the heroine won’t struggle so much.”
“Are you into cuckolding?”
Satoru scoffs. “Figured someone as dumb as you wouldn’t understand. I’m doing this because I love her.”
“Well, you better start putting aside some money then.”
“You’re really confident when you’ve got no reason to be. All that wrestling must have hurt your head somehow.”
“Dumb ass, I told you that it’s Judo.”
It’s 8 p.m. by the time they leave the KFC restaurant, the night breeze cool against their skin. The warm glow of a nearby lamppost catches the silver of Satoru’s hair. For a brief moment, Suguru finds himself staring, struck by how unnervingly beautiful Satoru looks in the soft light.
As Satoru walks away, Suguru calls after him. “Thanks for the meal!”
“Yeah, whatever.” Satoru waves lazily. He pauses after a few steps and turns back.
“By the way, stop stalking me,” he calls out. “If you want to know what interactions I’ve had with the heroine, just come up and ask me. You’ve been following me for the longest time now and it’s giving me the creeps.”
Suguru’s face flushes with embarrassment.
—
With the ring of the bell, chatter erupts in the classroom, students heading back after a day of classes. Suguru gets up and slowly gathers his belongings.
In the hallway earlier, Suguru passed by one of the love interests—another light-haired one like Gojo Satoru. Perhaps Suguru stared a little too long at him, but he realised something was off with him. Suguru couldn’t pinpoint what the issue was—not his face, nor his voice, not his attitude. It just felt like every atom of him was moving too much, like his body wasn’t quite anchored to reality—or at least, Suguru’s reality.
He puzzles over it again till a shadow falls over him. Suguru looks up to see Satoru looming, hands shoved into his pockets with an irritating smirk.
“Wow, I didn’t see you slinking around me all morning again. It’s been a whole week,” Satoru remarks. “You sure listen to instructions well.”
“You said I could ask you directly about the protag if I wanted,” Suguru replies, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t want to meet you any more than I need to.”
Deep inside, Suguru feels a small flicker of happiness at Satoru’s presence. They’ve been having lunch together for the past week, with Satoru generously treating him. Some might call Suguru a sell-out, given how he’s overlooking Satoru’s initial provocativeness, but a free meal is a free meal.
They head out together to grab lunch, the mid-afternoon sun glaring into their eyes.
“So,” Suguru starts, shoving his hands into his pockets, “did you have any interactions with the heroine today?”
Satoru grins, clearly eager to brag. “A trip-and-catch. Not too shabby, huh? She tripped, I caught her, she blushed, and I told her I’d always be there to catch her if she fell.”
Suguru’s stomach twists unpleasantly. The brief joy he’d felt vanishes, replaced by a sharp pang of annoyance.
“Well,” Suguru counters, “on the bus, she fell asleep on my shoulder by accident.”
Satoru’s expression sours instantly. He scoffs. “That’s all? You’re acting like you did something amazing. I saved her from a life-threatening injury.”
“I respect her enough to not treat her like a damsel in distress,” Suguru shoots back.
“Wow. So you’re suggesting I just let her fall to ‘respect’ her?” Satoru retorts.
“Maybe she could have caught herself in time,” Suguru nonchalantly states.
“That’s bold, coming from someone who creepily enjoyed her lying on your shoulder.”
Suguru bristles. “I didn’t want to wake her.”
“Yeah, sure. So if I fell on your shoulder, would you let me sleep there too?” Satoru demands, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Admit it. You’re just a freak.”
Suguru scrunches up his nose. “I would do it for anyone—just not you.”
Satoru huffs. “Same here. If you tripped in front of me, I’d 100% let you fall. Actually, I’d give you an extra kick down the next flight of stairs. One foot right to that plump, curvy…… uh, ass of yours.”
“You want to go, Gojo Satoru?!” Suguru snarls, grabbing Satoru’s collar.
“Sir, this is a KFC. Could you argue outside?”
They turn to the underpaid employee behind the KFC counter, giving them a deadpan look.
“Right, sorry.” Suguru lets go of Satoru. “I’ll get the three-piece meal, please. What do you want?” He glances at Satoru, then spots the promotional poster to his left.
“Oh—there's 50% off for the second two-piece meal. Would that be cheaper by chicken?” Suguru takes out his calculator to do the math.
“You did this the last time too,” Satoru groans. “Just get whatever you want and stop trying to scrimp. You’re making me look bad.”
He turns to the staff. “Can you get us the 12-piece Krispy Value sharing combo?” He strokes his chin, looking over the promotional menu. “And the ‘Are you the strongest fried chicken because you’re KFC’ blah blah spicy chicken add-on too. For drinks, I’d like two ‘My tears when I got dumped in front of a KFC’ soda special.”
“That’s too much to eat,” Suguru protests.
“Bring it back home for your sister then,” Satoru states. “Stop grumbling when I’m the one who’s treating.”
They chat about school and homework, Suguru doing his best to ignore how Satoru manages to eat like a tornado yet remain somehow immaculate—probably some charm effect for love interests. Suguru digs through the bucket for a chicken breast once again, quietly leaving the juicy chicken thighs for Satoru.
“I wonder what the next big love event is,” Suguru says between bites. “It’s Christmas, right?”
“Shouldn’t it be Halloween?” Satoru replies, licking his fingers.
“That was cancelled,” Suguru reminds him. “The teaser was too raunchy or something, and the government ended up cracking down on the studio.”
“Oh, right. It’s because of that damn gangster guy. Why’s he walking around shirtless all the time?” Satoru grouses, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, then I guess the next big love event would be Christmas.”
“The number of points you get for the Christmas date is insane. I hope she picks me,” Suguru says.
“Christmas is all about fancy dates. Why would she pick you when you’re broke? You’re just gonna invite her to a picnic of canned beans and cup noodles at some shady ass park.”
Suguru steps on Satoru’s foot under the table. Satoru yelps, kicking his leg away dramatically, and ends up tipping his chair in the process.
Suguru cackles at him. “You’re supposed to be some undefeatable prodigy. How are you this weak?”
Just then, he glances at the analog clock on the wall. He widens his eyes.
“Oh shit! I forgot—I’ve got a love event at four,” Suguru exclaims. “I’m going to be late!”
“What love event?” Satoru climbs back up onto his feet.
“It’s a necklace retrieval thing. I’m supposed to bump into the heroine while she’s looking for it. Then I’ll do some cool cartwheel into this alley to grab it and walk her home while showing off my parkour.” Suguru rattles off the details, already mentally determining the quickest route to the alley.
There’s no way he can make it.
“If I miss it, the merman’s probably going to find the necklace since his event’s right after,” Suguru frets.
Satoru grins. “Too bad. Guess you’re out of luck.”
He crosses his arms loosely behind his head. “To keep things fair between us, I’ll skip my love event later too. It’s a coincidental run-in at the shopping mall—an arcade date. Probably earns the same amount of points as your event.”
“...Can’t you just give me money for a cab? That way, you can do your event and I can do mine.”
“Sheesh, how entitled can you be? Why would I help you when you’re my rival?” Satoru scoffs, shaking his head in disdain. “See, I’m sure I can miss one love event. Doubt it’s the same for you.”
Satoru packs up the rest of the chicken, handing the bag to Suguru. “Here. Since you’re free, you can walk me home instead. I’ve got a new Street Fighter limited-edition game we can play.”
Suguru grumbles, sliding out of his chair reluctantly. Deep down, his chest stirs with a wave of happiness.
“Why would you buy multi-player games if you have no friends?”
“Shut up.”
Despite Satoru walking ahead, Suguru catches a glimpse of his smile.
—
Satoru’s house, true to his wealthy background, is impossibly extravagant. It’s a sprawling mansion with a long gated driveway and perfectly manicured gardens. The servants are at Satoru’s beck and call, escorting him and Suguru in without a word. Inside, the polished marble floors, large crystal chandeliers and other grand furniture make Suguru feel awfully out of place.
Satoru’s room is, however, a stark contrast to the posh interior. The walls are plastered with faded indie movie posters and he has a whole shelf crammed with Digimon collectible figurines and other knick knacks. It’s surprisingly down-to-earth.
When they start playing Street Fighter, Suguru quickly learns that Satoru is irritatingly good at gaming as well. His timing is perfect and he chains together combos that leave Suguru’s Chun Li character helpless on the screen. Despite his best efforts at button mashing, Suguru can’t keep up. Round after round ends with Satoru’s victory, Satoru obnoxiously gloating in Suguru’s face. Suguru ends up elbowing him in the stomach.
Still, it’s nice to see Satoru happy. No matter their bad blood and how cliched Satoru’s backstory is, Suguru can sympathise with not being seen for all that you are. It must be isolating to be known as an art prodigy and nothing more—rather than someone who’s admittedly great at Street Fighter, weirdly likes eating his chicken skin separately, and is nice enough to treat his love rival to a meal.
The heroine is supposed to be the only one who loves him wholeheartedly, finding goodness in even the worst parts of him. Suguru doesn’t think he could do that. Satoru ticks him off in many ways—he’s classist, constantly calling Suguru poor; he quite clearly gets off on being inflammatory; he can be awfully tactless. Rather than adore all of Satoru, including his negative traits, Suguru thinks he likes him in spite of them.
Afterwards, they choose an adventure story game about two best friends fighting monsters together. As the long storyline unfolds on the screen, he notices Satoru’s blinks get heavier—and soon, Suguru feels a weight on his shoulder. It takes just a minute more for him to hear a soft snoring.
See? Satoru didn’t believe him, but Suguru doesn’t discriminate in his kindness. As annoying as Gojo Satoru is, Suguru doesn’t say a word, allowing him to sleep on his shoulder.
—
Through the smudged glass window of KFC, Suguru watches the heroine talk with one of the love interests, the time traveller, in the opposite café; they had ended up coincidentally right opposite them. The time traveller brushes a crumb from her cheek, and she blushes, looking down at her hands.
Across from Suguru, Satoru is squinting at his reflection in the napkin dispenser, pushing his bangs up to examine his lack of forehead. He ends up messing up his hair, so Suguru reaches over to tidy it for him.
“This guy’s an alien, right?” Satoru asks, looking out at the café.
“Yeah,” Suguru replies, leaning his chin on his hand as he watches the time traveller smile at the heroine. Once again, there’s an oddness in his appearance that Suguru can’t quite describe.
“He was napping in the judo gym the other day,” Suguru continues. “I had to wake him up so I could close up.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that? The guy sleeps everywhere. My butler told me he was sleeping in our garden last week; they called the cops on him but nothing happened because plot armour.”
“I heard he’s a thousand years old. Maybe that’s why he sleeps so much.”
Outside, the time traveller brushes the heroine’s hand again, his expression warm. He then takes out a box and opens it to reveal a diamond bracelet.
“Damn, I’ve got a love event right after this,” Satoru remarks, picking his teeth with a toothpick. “How am I supposed to beat that? Should I run to the store and buy a ring?”
“I don’t think it’d matter,” Suguru says—suppressing a slight bristle. “I doubt either of us will be her final choice. Your affinity’s twenty-one percent; mine’s twenty-two. The others are over forty.”
Satoru straightens up, his brows furrowing. “Oh, shit. I wasn’t keeping track.”
“You’re not being very conscientious.” Suguru shakes his head. “Not that it matters. Have you seen the other love interests close up?”
“Nope. Why?”
Suguru hesitates, his gaze flicking back to the glass window. “They feel… different. Like they’re not two-dimensional.”
Satoru frowns. “You mean their personalities are more interesting? What—you think I’m boring?”
“No, I mean literally. They look sharper… more high definition.” Suguru purses his lips. “I don’t know how to explain it. Kind of like I’m a drawing and they’re more of a live-action?”
Satoru stares back wordlessly. Suguru sighs in frustration. “Just go take a closer look at them next time and you’ll understand. Especially that gang leader; he’s ridiculously attractive.”
Satoru folds his lips, visibly annoyed. “Hah. And I’m not?”
“Why are you offended? I’m just saying they look different from us, like they’ve got more pixels. Both of us can’t compare to their looks.”
“You’re rude as hell,” Satoru grunts. “I like the way you look.”
Suguru flushes faintly, looking away. “I never said I personally didn’t like how you look.”
He falters, lowering his voice. “You know, it’s kind of weird to say things like that to me.”
Satoru shrugs, and an awkward silence settles between them. Eventually, Satoru breaks the silence with an aloof remark.
“You know, I think I get what you mean. They’ve all got English names; why don’t we?”
“That’s a good point. And we’ve got surnames too, unlike them,” Suguru agrees. “I wouldn’t mind having an English name, but I don’t think I know how to pick a good one.”
“Well, you can just take words that are most similar to your name,” Satoru says. “Geto Suguru. Hm…”
Satoru mulls over it. “There’s no word that sound like Geh, so the closest would be gay, I guess. Suguru kind of sounds like sugar. How about Gay Toe Sugar?”
Suguru stomps on Satoru’s foot under the table, making Satoru scream.
“And your name can be Go-fuck-yourself,” Suguru answers nonchalantly.
As Satoru nurses his wound piteously, Suguru looks at him, trying to think of an English name. He’d probably have a grand one—perhaps those biblical names, or those of Greek Gods—given how otherworldly he looks at times.
“Gojo…” Suguru lists out a few English names starting with G off the top of his head. “Greg. Gilbert. Gibby.”
“If you ever have kids, please don’t name them.”
“Let’s try with your first name instead.” Suguru studies Satoru thoughtfully. “Satoru. S… Steve.”
Satoru makes a face. “What the hell.”
Suguru can’t hold back his laughter. “Don’t be so picky. You don’t need a cool name; it’s not like you’re that gang leader.”
At this, Satoru’s eyes narrow, his gaze sharp. “Are you in love with him or something?”
Suguru shrugs, deliberately teasing Satoru, “You have to admit he’s good-looking.”
Satoru scoffs loudly, leaning back into his chair and arms flopping dramatically to his sides. “See, this is why they say ‘nice guys finish last’. A guy can be thoughtful, handsome, and charming, but cue some gangster who rides a motorcycle and wears a leather jacket, and he ends up getting all the attention,” he blabbers petulantly.
“Stop whining; you’re being a huge loser. Why does it bother you if I think the gang leader’s hot, anyway?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a huge loser. Huge loser wants to go home now.”
Satoru ignores Suguru’s question and gets up from his seat. He takes off his jacket and tosses it at Suguru.
“Wear it before you step out; it’s cold.”
—
Unable to find a good English name for both of them, Suguru and Satoru end up choosing to stick to their current Japanese names. Suguru doesn’t mind—he thinks it’d especially be a shame if Satoru were to go by an English name instead, given how nice his Japanese one sounds.
Gojo Satoru. His first name means ‘enlightenment’—fitting for someone as capable and intelligent as Satoru. His surname sounds grand and important as well. Together, it feels like the name of someone who might just be the most powerful being in the universe—yet is goofy and annoying at times.
It sounds familiar, for some reason. Like Suguru has heard it in another lifetime.
—
The oddness of the other love interests continues to bug Suguru, so much that he decides to investigate further. After weeks of observing them closely, scrutinising their appearances, he comes to a startling realisation.
“I don’t think we belong here,” Suguru says, breaking the silence. He’s in Satoru’s bedroom, curled up beside him on the beanbag chair.
Satoru doesn’t look up from his Nintendo Switch. “You think so?”
Suguru raises a brow at Satoru’s nonchalance. “You look like you’re not surprised. Did you already know?”
“Sort of. I was planning to bring it up to you this week, but I wanted to get more evidence first. You were already on to it, anyway,” Satoru explains. “What finally gave it away for you?”
“I was watching the gang leader this morning and realised his nose bridge doesn’t disappear at certain angles like ours. He’s got nipples, too.”
Satoru lowers his Switch, his expression sullen. “If you like him so much, go be the heroine and ask him to eat fried chicken with you.”
Suguru laughs heartily. He did it just to get a rise out of Satoru. It’s true, though; it was strange how the other love interests’ features remained unnaturally consistent from every angle, their bodies exhibiting details that he and Satoru lacked.
“It’s not just him. Everything around us—the world, the environment—is more vivid and high-definition than we are.”
Suguru reaches over to wipe a crumb of potato chip off Satoru’s cheek. “I’m kind of relieved. I thought you’d call me crazy.”
“You used to stalk me, so this isn’t all that crazy.”
Suguru elbows him lightly.
“The question now is: how do we get out of here?” Suguru’s voice dips, serious now. “A dating game ends when a love interest is picked, right? Do we have to get picked to get out of the game? That would mean only one of us can escape.”
Satoru hums thoughtfully. “It’s possible. Or maybe getting picked means you’d be stuck here as the heroine’s lover.”
“But what if we need to get picked to escape? There’s no way we can catch up with the others; their affinity scores are too high and the game ends in January.”
The thought makes Suguru’s stomach twist. He’s more worried for Satoru than himself.
Satoru sets his Switch aside and stretches back lazily. “If that’s the case, then it’s out of our hands. No use fretting over it. Let’s just keep searching for clues to up our chances of getting out of here.”
Satoru speaks with an effortless confidence, completely unbothered by the weight of their predicament. Suguru finds the tension unwinding from his shoulders.
That calm, almost flippant attitude from Satoru used to upset Suguru when they first went on missions together, but over time, it became a wall of reassurance Suguru relied on. Driven by perfectionism and his valiant need to save everyone, Suguru lets his anxiety and overthinking get the best of him sometimes.
Wait.
Missions?
—
In the weeks after, Suguru dedicates hours each day to scouring libraries for any clues. He pores over history archives, religious texts and even fictional novels to find out more on parallel worlds, reincarnation, and transmigration into other universes.
Some suggest that the transmigrator must fulfill the storyline’s requirements, reaching its natural conclusion to escape. Others contain accounts of people choosing to remain in their new reality, carving out lives for themselves and never looking back. A few morbidly claim that the only way to return is through death.
If the way out is through death, would it be best for them to wait out the course of their lives here? What if time doesn’t pass in sync in their world? If it turns out that becoming the chosen love interest is their only escape, Suguru thinks he could raise Satoru’s affinity points above the rest by letting Satoru do his love events as well. But what if it’s the opposite?
No matter how Satoru tells him not to fret, Suguru can’t help it. Suguru glances at Satoru, who is sitting across from him in the library, lazily spinning a pen between his fingers. The sunlight filtering through the library’s windows catches in his hair, making it glisten like silver. His ethereal features, the way his blue eyes sparkle even when they’re cast downwards—it’s lovely.
It’d be nice if they could both escape together. Suguru doesn’t know what their relationship is in their original world—if they are even from the same universe—but he hopes they could meet each other again.
“Do you think we know each other outside of here?” Suguru asks, his voice quieter than usual.
Satoru looks up. “Maybe. From the start, looking at you always made me feel weird. I never felt that way looking at anyone else here.”
“Felt weird? How?”
“Uh, I don’t really know how to describe it. I guess you just stood out to me.” Satoru thinks to himself. “Oh yeah, it also got on my nerves whenever you flirted with the heroine—though I never got bothered seeing the other love interests do it.”
Suguru chuckles. “Wow, it’s the same for me.”
“Maybe we’re enemies.”
“Sworn enemies,” Suguru agrees with a light hum. “Maybe we both like the same girl in our world.”
Satoru sighs. “That’d suck. I was hoping we’d at least be friends.”
He checks the time on his phone. “I have a mandatory love event in a while. Gotta go paint the heroine in the art room.”
Suguru slumps. Lately, they haven’t been able to spend as much time together; Satoru has been pulled into more events ever since his storyline began overlapping with the heroine’s new art club arc.
As Satoru rises, Suguru instinctively reaches out and grabs Satoru’s hand. “Do you have to go?”
The words come out before he can stop them. Embarrassed, Suguru lets go immediately.
Satoru blinks at him for a moment. Then, he breaks into a cheeky grin.
“You know,” he says, parroting Suguru’s own words from an earlier conversation, “it’s kind of weird to say things like that to me.”
Suguru wants to cuss him out, but he goes quiet when Satoru pats his head. His touch is tender and leaves a tingling, comforting warmth along Suguru’s skin.
“The system might think something’s up if I keep missing the mandatory events,” Satoru says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll wrap it up quickly, so wait for me. I’ll meet you at the entrance at seven.”
—
So, Suguru waits at the school entrance, leaning against one of the pillars with his hands tucked in his pocket. He looks up at the vast night sky, clouds drifting lazily across; between them are dots of stars, despite the light pollution that should come with residing in a city.
One of the large clouds looks like a dragon, white, sinuous body winding through the sky. He laughs as he pictures him and Satoru perched on its back, the sight somehow familiar. Maybe they’re dragon tamers in their reality.
If he and Satoru truly turn out to be the worst of enemies in their world, Suguru hopes they can make up and become friends.
The first droplets of rain interrupt his thoughts, pattering softly on the pavement in front of him. Soon, it grows heavier, the sound swelling into a gentle roar as it falls against the school roof.
Looking around, Suguru catches sight of the heroine taking shelter under the courtyard storeroom’s awning. It’s likely a love event—certainly not Suguru’s, though, since he doesn’t have an umbrella. He hopes one of the love interests comes quickly before the heroine catches a cold.
Thinking about it, maybe it’s Satoru’s love event. It’s late; the other love interests might not be in school anymore.
Suguru stretches out a hand, catching the rain in his palm, feeling the coolness over his skin. Just as he considers leaving on his own, he hears footsteps behind him.
“If you’re thirsty, just ask me to buy you a drink. You don’t need to drink rainwater.”
Satoru steps up beside him, flipping open a dark blue umbrella. He holds it over Suguru’s head. Caught off guard by the gesture, Suguru instinctively takes a step to the side.
Satoru clicks his tongue. “What are you doing? Stand closer. You’re going to get wet and catch a cold.”
The soft press of Satoru’s hand on Suguru’s hip nudges him under the umbrella fully. Their eyes meet as they walk out into the rain, and Satoru grins.
“Can’t compete with you fairly if you start coming to school with snot all over. Yuck.”
“Shut up,” Suguru says, though he can’t help his grin. With some reluctance, he points out the heroine waiting at the courtyard storeroom.
“Hey, you should go help the heroine. She doesn’t have an umbrella.”
Satoru glances over.
“She’ll be fine. I saw the merman and the ice guy on my way here. Unlike her, you’re not popular—you’ve only got one guy waiting on you.”
Before Suguru can say a word, Satoru quickly twists to the side while still holding the umbrella over Suguru’s head.
“Don’t punch me. I’m going to collapse and you’ll get wet,” Satoru hurriedly warns.
“You’re such a weakling,” Suguru laughs.
“You’ve got the strength of a gorilla! Don’t blame me for being scared.”
The soft patter of raindrops over the umbrella mingles with the sound of their shoes against the puddles. Their shoulders are touching now, the scent of rainwater and Satoru’s cologne mingling in the air.
Suguru gets it now. He gets why people love these little tropes despite how cliched they are, because they still make the heart flutter no matter how cringey they may feel.
They walk a few more steps in silence before Suguru speaks, his voice softer than he intended.
“Hey, Satoru.”
“Yeah?”
“If we both don’t get picked during the Christmas event, let’s hang out.”
Satoru turns to look at him. He breaks into a smile, eyes tender with joy.
“Alright.”
—
The clock ticks towards six, each passing second tightening the knot in Suguru’s stomach. The house is silent, save for the occasional creak of the wooden floor and the dripping pipe in the bathroom. His sister is out for a sleepover and hence, Suguru is left alone to dwell in his nervousness.
It’s Christmas. In the living room, Suguru scrutinises the freshly cooked spread he’s prepared on the kotatsu. It’s a modest meal meant for the heroine, nothing extravagant, but everything is tailored to Satoru’s tastes—savoury dishes with just the right kick of spice, and sweets that melt in your mouth. Honestly, he couldn’t remember much of the heroine’s preferences.
The candied fruits are still cooling on the tray, their glossy tops catching the warm light of the kitchen. Suguru adjusts the plate for the third time, his hands restless. Two wishes repeat over and over in his mind: please don’t pick me, and please don’t pick Satoru.
The chances of them being chosen are low, given they have the least affinity points. But the heroine sometimes randomly chooses them for love events, possibly out of pity. Satoru’s recent busy schedule is precisely because the heroine had, out of the blue, decided to join the art club, hence making Satoru’s route more dominant than before.
Suguru picks at his nails. Just five more minutes.
The moment the clock strikes six, Suguru hastily checks his phone. There are no new text messages from the heroine.
He wasn’t picked.
Suguru takes a slow breath in relief. He’s not in the clear yet, though—he doesn’t know if Satoru was chosen. With heavy hands, Suguru drafts a text to Satoru.
Right as he clicks send, the sharp chime of the doorbell interrupts him. Swinging open the door, he stops short.
Satoru stands outside, dressed in a sleek, white dress shirt and pleated, dark brown trousers. His white hair is styled towards the side, silver watch adding a touch of sophistication to him.
He looks dashing, as if he just stepped out of a modelling shoot.
Suguru feels his heart swell in happiness. The words slip out without thought.
“You didn’t get picked.”
“Yeah. Too bad, huh?” Satoru holds his arms out, showcasing himself with a grin. “How do I look? Better than that big nose gang leader?”
“How’d you get here so fast? I just texted you,” Suguru says instead, ignoring Satoru’s question. He wants to say Satoru looks stunning, but all it’ll do is boost Satoru’s ego.
Feeling a little self-conscious, Suguru quickly checks his clothes for any creases. Suguru dressed as well as he could too, but with his modest background, the best he could do was a crisp shirt and slacks.
“I figured she wasn’t going to pick either of us—well, definitely not you—so I had my driver send me over beforehand,” Satoru fills in.
“What fancy place were you going to bring her to?”
“This rooftop lounge at Tokyo Tower; it’s got three Michelin stars. Grab your phone and let’s go—”
Satoru stops mid-sentence when he notices the spread laid out.
“Give me a minute,” Suguru says. “I’ll put away the food.”
Satoru holds out his hand as Suguru gathers the dishes.
“I changed my mind,” he says, quieter this time. “Can we eat here? I’ll bring you to a better restaurant next time.”
Suguru blinks, surprised by the gentleness in Satoru’s tone.
“Alright.”
Suguru and Satoru settle cozily under the kotatsu, Satoru diving in once Suguru gives permission to. His dinner spread is nothing fancy: steamed rice, grilled fish, chicken katsu, rolled omelette, and simmered vegetables, complemented by a pot of miso soup. He’s sure it can’t compare to the fancy dishes that would have been served at the restaurant Satoru booked.
But from the way Satoru’s eating—stuffing his mouth full of whatever he can have, complimenting every single dish with gusto—Suguru feels like he’s done a decent job.
For dessert, they share the log cake Satoru bought, made by a world-renowned pastry chef. Suguru nearly keels over when he hears the price. They chat and laugh while a classic Japanese variety TV show plays in the background.
With all his heart, Suguru hopes that they’re from the same reality, so that he can find Satoru again.
When the dishes are cleared and the leftover cake is in the fridge, they sit beside one another under the kotatsu to watch a Christmas movie. The picture flickers intermittently on Suguru’s clunky TV, colours muted and static lines crossing the display. Their hands are right beside each other; Suguru can feel Satoru’s fingers brushing against his every time he shifts.
Suguru’s heart is pounding loudly in his ears. His nervousness is up to his throat, but he can’t stop thinking about all the things he’ll regret if this game ends and they’re separated.
So, he reaches out and clasps Satoru’s hand.
Satoru doesn’t pull away. Instead, with an immediacy like he’d been thinking the same things, he takes Suguru’s hand in his and laces their fingers tightly.
“It’ll be funny if we’re really enemies outside,” Suguru chuckles. The warmth of Satoru’s palm stings sweetly on his skin, while the firm press of his rough fingers feel grounding.
Satoru grins, squeezing Suguru’s hand. “Well, there’s no point thinking about it now since we’ll never know. And it’s not the end of the world even if we’re enemies. We can just call a truce when we’re out of here.”
“If it’s really something we can’t get over—like you tortured and killed my parents or something—then we’ll just live with it awkwardly,” Satoru surmises. His gaze drops to Suguru’s lips, a blatant flicker of longing in his lovely blue eyes.
Satoru clearly wants to kiss him. Suguru wants to kiss him too.
“What if it’s worse? What if I’m your mother?” Suguru asks.
“Don’t ruin the mood,” Satoru deadpans.
Suguru’s laughter spills into the air. Letting go of Satoru’s hand, he grasps Satoru’s face and pulls him into a kiss.
—
Too sore to get out of bed the next day, Suguru ends up missing his mandatory love event with the heroine. It’s a date at the amusement park; Suguru had prepared all they needed beforehand, because he himself was excited to go.
To make up for it, Satoru suggests they can go there on a date together instead. In the meantime, they can have their own love event once more in bed. Suguru tells him to fuck off.
—
The climax event happens on a random day in January. Suguru and Satoru are seated in a corner booth in the usual KFC, arguing over which part of the chicken tastes the best, when an explosion comes from outside.
The windows shatter inward and the ceiling tiles crumble as chaos erupts. Suguru and Satoru leap to their feet after wiping their hands of grease, their instincts kicking in as screams pierce the air. In this ending scene, all the love interests gather to fight the debt collectors pursuing the heroine; then, the love interest with the highest affinity points saves the heroine and confesses his love to her.
Through the dust and debris, the debt collectors swarm the restaurant. The gang leader is already in the thick of the fray, defending the heroine who stands injured behind him.
“Satoru, stay close to me,” Suguru intones. Suguru knows he himself can keep up, but Satoru is another story; he’s a painter with no fighting experience at all.
Suguru’s punches are instinctive, honed through years of martial arts training and beating up policemen concerned about his welfare. He sends his knuckles straight into a thug’s stomach, the force sending the man staggering back. Without missing a beat, Suguru dodges a swinging pipe from behind and sweeps another attacker’s legs out from under him.
When Suguru turns to check on Satoru, he’s taken aback by the sight. As a goon lunges at Satoru, he sidesteps effortlessly and twists the man’s wrist with an almost lazy grace. He finishes with an elbow into his chest and the debt collector crumples, coughing for air.
Suguru frowns. He knows they all have plot armour, but being this good at fighting when you’ve only ever painted is ridiculous. Yet somehow, it feels familiar.
Suguru snaps back to attention just in time to catch a bat aimed at his ribs. Just as he kicks the man away, he notices a shadow loom behind Satoru with a glint of steel.
It happens in a split second. Suguru’s body reacts before his mind catches up. He throws himself between them, catching the impact across his side with a sharp, searing pain that sends him to his knees.
“Suguru—”
In his dizziness, Suguru hears the thug hit the ground before making out Satoru’s panicked expression above him. Suguru’s lucky that it was a bar rather than a blade—else, he’d certainly be in worse condition.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” Satoru breathes. He clenches his jaw. “God—why the fuck did you do that?! I was fine!”
It’s the first time Suguru has seen him lose his composure.
In Suguru’s hazy vision, he watches as Satoru’s expression turns livid after checking his bruise. He’s placed gently in a corner, and then, he hears several sickening cracks one after the other. Satoru returns to him and carries him up bridal style.
“You’re always like this,” Satoru grits out. “Protecting me when you know I’m stronger than you.”
The words hang between them, Satoru stopping in surprise at how naturally they slipped out. Suguru manages a weak chuckle, his lips curling despite the pain.
“I’d hazard a guess that we aren’t enemies.”
“Might be better if we were. What idiot goes about protecting the strong?”
“Maybe you aren’t as strong as you think,” Suguru breezily replies.
Satoru sets Suguru gently onto a chair in the KFC, the chaos outside now a distant blur. Eventually, the gang leader takes down the remaining goons. The dust settles as he and the heroine stand in the centre of the ruined KFC. Above his head, the affinity meter ticks to 100%. He kneels down and takes the heroine’s hand.
“Too bad it’s not you getting confessed to, huh?” Satoru smugly says.
“That’s why I’m settling for second best.” Despite his attempt at joking, Suguru can’t help his sadness from showing.
“I guess this is it,” he breathes. “I hope we’re right that this is the way out of here.”
They watch as the gang leader declares his love, his voice low and tender. The heroine blushes, her expression softening as she accepts his confession.
Satoru’s fingers tighten around Suguru’s hand, warm and grounding. Suguru glances over, the serious look on Satoru’s face uncharacteristic.
“Hey,” Satoru starts, his voice quieter than usual. “Whatever happens, I want you to have this.”
He pulls a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and presses it into Suguru’s free hand.
“During those events where I was supposed to draw the heroine… I spent the time drawing you.”
Suguru blinks in surprise. The paper feels fragile between his fingers. He wants to open it, but just then, the sound of wedding bells reverberates through the air.
Game Over.
Suguru’s breath catches as the world begins distorting around them. The colours blur, the edges of the KFC folding in on themselves and the roads quaking. Suguru can feel it all slipping away.
“I hope I see you outside, Suguru,” Satoru says, his voice low and downcast amid the chaos.
Suguru swallows hard. “Yeah.” He leans closer to nestle their noses. “If we don’t… I’m glad we got to meet each other here.”
Satoru gives a faint smile. They share one last kiss, the moment so tender while the world falls apart around them. How bittersweet of their strange, fleeting existence to finally come to an end.
—
Suguru wakes with a sharp gasp, the air around him thick with residual cursed energy. His head pounds like he’s surfaced too quickly from a dive. Memories rush back to him in confusing bursts—the curse, the otome game, and Satoru.
Right. They were on a mission to eliminate a special grade curse. It was unlike anything they’d seen—born from the collective rage of fangirls who poured their money endlessly into a gacha otome game, only to draw the cards they didn’t want. Because of its unique origin, the curse behaved erratically, wailing odd phrases about five-star cards and special love events.
In the midst of their battle, the curse had lunged at Satoru, begging him to be their lover. Suguru instinctively threw himself in the way to protect Satoru. When he opened his eyes, he was in the surreal world of the otome game—the curse’s domain.
Wincing, Suguru rises to his feet, searching for Satoru to find him on the floor some metres away.
“Satoru.” Suguru briskly staggers over to him. “Are you okay?”
Satoru gets up, rubbing his head. “Yeah. What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
They stare at one another and erupt with laughter. Relief washes over Suguru, settling warmly on his shoulders. Thank God they made it out. So, they did know each other; they’re even closer than Suguru could have imagined.
“You know, this is your fault,” Satoru sighs, dusting his trousers. “You jumped in the way to protect me when I could have taken that hit just fine. I ended up not being able to exorcise the curse, since I had to follow you in and save you.”
He gently guides Suguru closer with a hand on his back. “How’s your stomach? Does it hurt?”
Suguru shakes his head. He stares up at Satoru who’s busy rubbing Suguru’s side, making sure there’s no bruise.
“So, should I take it that you like me? Or was that just in the game?” Suguru hums with a small smile.
“Just in the game.” Satoru picks at his ear. “I was practically programmed to like someone else, but I ended up wanting you. What do you think?”
“Who knows? You might have settled for second best, just like I did.”
When Satoru’s eyes narrow, Suguru laughs, nudging him down to kiss him. With all the time in the world now, Suguru takes it slow, gently nipping at Satoru’s lips. Satoru rests his hand on Suguru’s waist and pulls him closer.
When they part, Satoru’s gaze drops to Suguru’s hand. “Hey, what’s that in your hand?”
Suguru looks down and notices the folded paper he’s been clutching since waking up. He lights up in realisation.
“It’s the drawing you gave me. How’d it make it out with me?”
In anticipation, Suguru unfolds it.
“...You should stick to Jujutsu.”