Chapter Text
Satoru’s headache was edging on a migraine. He’d woken up with an incurable, throbbing pain behind his eyes and in the back of his head this morning, one so violent that he almost considered staying home. His maid even suggested it over his morning tea (with four sugars, per usual), but he had said no like a fucking idiot because he didn’t want to miss practice today, lest he have to run laps again. But maybe he should have. Because then he wouldn’t be sitting at his lunch table, head in his hands, listening as the rest of his teammates terrorize poor little Getou-san.
“You should smile more,” Naoya preens, ruffling the omega’s hair. To his credit, Getou-san is still standing firm, remaining seated, sandwich safely in his hands while glaring a deadly scowl at Naoya’s direction. “It might make your face prettier.”
“I hope I’m hideous to you,” Getou-san snarls back, taking a gaping bite. “And quit touching my hair.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re flirting with me, Sugu-chan,” Naoya snickers, moving to sit next to him. Satoru watches in exasperation as Getou-san full body turns away. His rabid dog of a friend, Utahime Iori, is absent for today. She’s on her heat leave, if the length of her missing school is any indication. That’s another reason why Getou-san was such an easy target; he’s so obviously an omega, but he’s never gone for his heats. A late bloomer. Which probably means that his scent is messed up, which also probably means he’ll have fertility issues, which probably means that whatever alpha wasn’t warded off by his fucked up scent will probably ditch him sooner or later. A sad thing, really, to be destined to never be mated. Even Satoru wasn’t in a rush to bite someone and have five little pups to all live in the Gojo compound, but he could still admit that that kind of life sounded…lonely. Sad. Disappointing.
“I’d rather cut my tongue out than flirt with you.” Getou-san promptly says.
“C’mon, Sugu-chan—if not me, then who? You’re not as awful looking as people say. Just come give me a kiss.”
Yet another reason why Getou-san is treated the way he is—he’s…well, he’s ugly. Or, at least, that’s the general consensus. Satoru thinks that that’s not entirely true. From far away, Getou-san is pretty—well, if you just see his back, that is. He has long, silky black hair. It has to be down below his shoulder blades, at least. It’s thick, too, and would probably look a lot better if it wasn’t always in a bun. And he’s got a nice-ish body, too, if he wouldn’t hide it underneath all those baggy clothes—Satoru’s seen him in gym class. He’s got some chub here and there, but overall, he’s got potential, and a rather muscular build.
But his face. There’s really nothing that anyone can do about his face, unless there’s make up involved. His lashes are too flat, his eyebrows too bushy, his eye bags too dark. Even his teeth are too big, the bottom row a little crooked. And those freckles…ugh. Satoru can’t even imagine those hideous things on his face.
He feels bad for Getou-san. He really does. People are always gonna make fun of him. Nobody’s ever going to want to date him, let alone mate him.
And the sad part is, he doesn’t even think he knows it. The only reason he’s snappy at Naoya is because he hates everything Naoya is—annoying, brutish, and alpha. Not because he’s everybody’s last choice in an omega.
What a pity.
His best friends, however, are another case. Truthfully, Getou-san has three best friends—Utahime-san, a hissy, prissy bitch, but a beautiful one, and therefore pretty sought out; Haibara Yu, a small, mousey omega who everyone knew was pretty much claimed by Satoru’s teammate, Nanami; and Shoko Ieiri, an alpha who’s stuck by Getou-san since their elementary years. To be honest, Satoru thought at some point that she’d take pity on him and they’d mate. But as the years go on, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Probably for the best.
They’re all prettier, all more well off than him. If Satoru could bring himself to care, he’d almost feel bad for Getou-san.
He drags his eyes away from the pathetic display across from him and turns his attention back to his lunch. He asked the chef for something simple today, something easy on the stomach—a rice bowl, with a few added veggies simmered down to their sweet cores. Satoru’s a thing for sweets; his dad thinks it’s unbecoming of him to like something so childish, but honestly, Satoru couldn’t give less of a shit. His dad’s, like, ancient anyway, so who cares what some stodgy old alpha thinks?
He takes a bite, his head still pulsating as Getou-san practically shrieks something about personal space. Ugh. He really should’ve stayed home today.
Satoru’s days are kind of…boring. Nobody else really gets him. That sounds bratty and brooding, but it’s true—Satoru sometimes feels like he’s in a world where only he’s real, and everyone else is just a figment of his imagination, pushing and pulling, bending to his whims simply because of his influence and his family’s power. He kind of wishes he was like them. Somewhat normal. Then maybe it wouldn’t always feel like a thousand eyes were on him, like he was some sort of unattainable being. Twistedly, he wishes that he’d be bad at something. Just once. Just to know the taste of failure. Just to feel it between his fingertips, and then never have it again.
Even now, in the gym at practice, nobody really compares to him when playing basketball. Nanami gets close, even with his stupidly emo bang that conceals his face, hiding away his sour face, but he’ll never truly be on Satoru’s level. Nobody is. Always number one without trying, in academics, in sports, in relationships, in everything.
Every day is the same. Nothing is new, nothing is nuanced. He just wakes up, he eats, he showers, he goes to school, he studies, he eats, he studies, he works out, he goes to practice, he goes home, he eats, he sleeps. There’s nothing there to break up the monotony. He almost selfishly wishes that something bad would happen—that he would get home and find out that his father finally kneeled over.
God, that’d be something.
But of course, there are downsides to that as well; then he’d be the new Gojo head, and he’d rather keep being young and free, eighteen and with the taste of cheap college alcohol and sweet omegas ready for the picking already on his tongue. He can’t wait until senior year is over. Then he’ll go the most prestigious school, fuck the more prestigious omega, and have the most prestigious kids the world’s ever seen.
I should’ve stayed home. It’s a thing he thinks about a lot. Truthfully, he’s too good for this place, for all these fucking people.
Yaga blows his whistle, suddenly snapping Satoru out of his peeved thinking, words and ideas bouncing around in his brain like spoons against metal pans. He blinks himself out of his stupor, white eyelashes fanning across his face. He’s still standing around the net, just absentmindedly shooting free throws, but that part of practice is probably over.
The rest of practice is just the same, another dance of monotony with the same boring steps with the same boring music. Satoru runs faster. Satoru dribbles better. Satoru scores the most. Satoru shoots the best. Satoru just…excels. It’s the same as it always is. Number one in sports, number one in academics, number one in omega’s hearts, number one in wealth and prestige. It’s a fairly sarcastic problem to have, but Satoru just wants to have something make him feel human again. He wants to make sure his family hasn’t secretly killed the real Satoru and replaced him with himself, some sort of weird, superhuman clone.
He hates having thoughts like these, and hates having them at school even more. He should’ve stayed at home. He really, really should have. He’ll start his spiral again, about how disgusting it is that he doesn’t really feel things, about how much he inflates his own ego, about how much he hates but also craves being the best.
“Sugu-chan!” Naoya’s voice suddenly booms out across the gymnasium. “You came to watch me practice? Really?”
He came to practice? Satoru furrows his brows, staring down at the basketball he’s holding. His question is answered as soon as his blue eyes scan around the room. There, walking in with bunched shoulders and an irritated face, stands Getou-san. In front of him is probably the reason why he’s here in the first place—Haibara-san, absolutely beaming in Nanami’s direction. The little omega is adorable, even Satoru can admit that. It must be rough for Getou-san to be best friends with not only one, but two literally perfect omegas. But why’d he even agree to come here in the first place? Geez, Getou-san just doesn’t know when to quit, does he? It’s almost like the poor guy wants to be heckled by Naoya,
To his credit, Getou-san completely cold-shoulders Naoya as Nanami shuffles over to Haibara-san and grasps his hand in his.
“Sugu-chan, I know you’re not ignoring me,” Naoya coos, a cruel, amused grin creeping up over his face.
Naoya’s kind of a prick. Satoru silently reflects from his spot on the bleachers, watching the two’s exchange as the rest of the people from practice filter out. Why does Naoya pick on the little omega so much? Sure, Getou-san’s an easy target. But he’s still done nothing to anyone except for being standoffish and weird. It feels a little…targeted. Oh, well. That’s not Satoru’s business.
Getou-san completely ignores him, choosing instead to stare intently at Haibara-san’s backpack with his arms crossed. It’s pathetic, honestly. How Naoya always seems to go for those who don’t really know how to defend themselves because everything he’s saying is true, even if they can’t help it.
Naoya’s just mean spirited like that. He just…feels a little pity for Getou-san.
He stands up, his usual floatiness carrying him across the shiny, waxed gym floor, and puts the basketball back on the rack in a dazed state. He’s so tired. His headache is beginning to come back with a vengeance, a low and subtle ache at the base of his skull. He can’t wait to go home and just sleep.
“Come show your alpha some love, baby. You know you want to. Who else is going to?”
“Stop it,” He hears Haibara-san’s sweet voice chide. “Leave Suguru alone.”
“Oh come on, Haibara, I’m just trying to help him out,” Naoya sneers. “How else is the thing going to get an alpha?”
“He’s not a ‘thing’,” Nanami growls. “The way you talk is very dishonorable.”
“It’s fine.” Gojo finally hears Geotu-san stand up for himself, even in just a small, infinitesimal amount.
He drags his feet towards the exit, his usual prideful step long and elegant, just as he was taught, passing by Naoya. He briefly crosses right in between him and Getou-san, who is still doing his best to shut out Naoya and his words, despite Haibara-san and Nanami standing in opposition to him.
He decides, finally, that this is too painful of a show to witness. He can’t keep watching poor little Getou-san being obliterated and lacerated by the words of someone who can’t even change in front of the rest of the other alphas. As he passes Naoya, he gives him a slight, playful shove on the arm. “Leave him alone,” He chides, but with that small front of a smirk that says, ‘come on, man. Go home.’
Luckily, Naoya respects Satoru. He is team captain, after all. If he doesn’t do as he says, bad shit might ensue. Gojo expects Naoya to just fuck right off. That’s what he would’ve done, anyway. He’s waiting for Naoya to laugh it off, to hike up his backpack and go on his merry fucking way. But no.
Even though he’s very clearly in the way of the two, the dickish blond just stares at Gojo for a second, a blank, cold and cruel going straight through him and at Getou-san. Like he doesn’t even register Gojo as anything other than an opposition to what he wants.
Like a predator.
The look even makes the hair on Gojo’s arms rise at the subtly tensed body language of another alpha. It’s like he’s trying to decide whether or not to pounce, mouth pressed closed. The only thing that’s keeping him from taking a defensive stance out of pure instinct is the fact that he can feel Getou-san’s eyes on the back of his head. Despite his rather prissy and self-centered attitudes, he knows that making the omega even more uneasy won’t help any sort of situation.
But then, in a snap, Naoya goes right back to smirking. Like the whole…weird tension never happened. “Whatever,” He sighs loudly. “Sugu-chan will come to his senses soon if he ever decides he doesn’t want to die a virgin.”
“Dick!” Haibara-san quips, but Naoya just laughs and laughs as he goes about his merry way. The uneasy feeling doesn’t die as he walks out of the gym, practically slamming the door open when he leaves. Satoru, strangely, still feels the need to tense up. “Are you okay, Suguru?” He listens to Haibara-san fret.
And even though he doesn’t really care, he still flicks his gaze in their direction—just to make sure everything’s fine. Satoru can’t help that he’s unfortunately a dominant alpha. It’s just instincts telling him to make sure everyone’s alright.
But Getou-san is just as stone-faced as always. He watches those deep, woodsy brown eyes tear away from his own blue eyes. “I told you I’m fine,” He says, monotone and calm, worlds different from how he was at lunch. “Naoya just likes to get under my skin.”
Satoru turns to leave—his job is done. He did his good deed of the day, so to speak. How poor little Getou-san doesn’t have to be tormented for the rest of the day. Poor, poor little Getou-san—maybe one day someone will find a diamond in all that roughness. But it doesn’t look like that’ll happen any time soon.
“He’s just being a jerk. You’ll find an alpha,” He hears Haibara-san grunt as he walks out the door, still feeling the sharp stare of Getou-san on his back.
“Yeah,” Getou-san says back, hollow, distant. It makes Satoru’s stomach twist in pity. “One day.” He closes the door before he can hear anything else. Today’s been…weird. Out of the norm for Satoru, that’s for sure.
He really should’ve stayed home.
˗ˏˋ ★ ✰ ˎˊ˗
Suguru’s wrist is cramped from how fast he’s writing, from how fervently he’s letting his emotions spill over onto his notebook paper. It’s almost sad, the urgency at which he writes—but he can’t help it. He got saved today. (Not that he really needs saving, he’s very capable, but it’s nice to be cared about sometimes.) But not only that, he got saved by that stupidly gorgeous Gojo Satoru. The one he’s had a silly fucking crush on ever since he was in junior high and got sat behind him in their History class.
He knows it’s dumb. He knows that Gojo-san probably doesn’t even think twice about him, nor would he ever. Suguru isn’t stupid. He knows what he looks like. He knows he’s ugly, and that his appearance wards off ‘potential suitors’, as his foster mother would say. That’s why he’s never really done anything to try and make that crush a reality. Yu says it’s stupid, that he should just go talk to the tall, muscular, handsome alpha, but Suguru knows that it’ll only end in heartbreak. Yu just doesn’t understand. Nanami-san pursued him. Yu is pretty, smart, soft-spoken, and polite. Yu’s allowed to have a scent and to talk to alphas. Suguru’s just not like that.
So Suguru will drink this moment in. Besides, alphas are usually mean and ruthless. He’s sure Gojo-san is similar, despite how beautiful he is. Suguru isn’t really fond of them at all. He’s not even sure why he’s fond of this one. But he doesn’t really care, either.
His stereo is softly humming some love song from the ’90s, something gentle and warm. It makes Suguru feel even more gooey inside as he writes about the encounter and all the overpowering emotions and swells of excitement that rushed him.
He’s usually prickly. He’s usually a bitch. He likes being known as touchy. But sometimes…well, he’s only human, and only an omega. Sometimes he just can’t help the sweetness that bubbles inside of him, all innocent and kind, thinking of those blue eyes as they turned to make sure that Suguru was okay. How he stood in between him and that stupid, stupid Naoya brat until he backed down and left. How wonderfully tingly it made him feel, from his scalp to his toes.
It makes him feel childish and stupid to have a crush. But he’s allowed to be a little stupid, isn’t he? He’s always wanted to have that sort of life. A family. A real one, not the pathetic excuse for one he has now, and not the one that gave him up at birth because he was an omega. No, he wants real, unconditional love. He wants children, he wants a husband. He wants to be swept off his feet. He wants to be wooed. He wants to be romanced, adored. Told sweet nothings to, proposed to, have a beautiful grand wedding and liver happily ever after with the love of his life. He knows that kind of stuff doesn’t happen to omegas like him. But still. A guy can dream, can’t he? After all, it’s not like Gojo-san would ever go for him. He was just being…alpha-ish. And besides, he was probably doing it more for Yu’s sake than Suguru’s, to show off. No one would ever try to do that for him. He knows he’s not crush-material.
“Suguru!” His foster mother’s voice shrieks from downstairs. “Zenin-san is here! You better get your ass down here now!”
His stomach drops and his smile falters over the glowing pages of his diary and the sweet notes of the music.
Naoya’s here.
Reality begins to seep in as Suguru straightens the ugly, formless dress that he has on and tightens his ponytail. He turns off his stereo, closes his diary. Caps his pen. Scrapes up whatever courage he has leftover from school today, and, with one last deep breath, strides out of his bedroom with his head held high.
Suguru’s technically being promised to Naoya as one of his concubines when he turns eighteen. It doesn’t matter that he wants to go to university, it doesn’t matter that he absolutely hates Naoya with every cell in his body. His foster mother needs money and needs him out of the house. Naoya needs pups, and Suguru’s very healthy, very fertile. The doctor confirmed it herself.
But because he’s essentially been the Zenins’ in everything but paperwork since he presented at thirteen, he’s never not been on suppressants, keeping his heats calm enough to go to school with and sharing absolutely no scent. He’s not allowed to talk to alphas that aren’t him, either. Not that he particularly follows that rule. Shoko’s been his best friend since he can remember. Most of the time, whenever he has those rare moments of briefly thinking he’s beautiful, she’s the culprit. Shoko’s probably the only reason he’s made it as far as he has—he loves her more than there’s room in his heart.
She thinks Gojo-san’s a little…egotistical, and incredibly alpha-ish, but doesn’t particularly feel any sort of way about his little crush.
As long as I’m still number one, She always says.
As if. Is always his response.
But neither Gojo-san nor Shoko is here to protect him from the beast of a boy sitting in his living room, all too relaxed and all too self-satisfied, sitting on his couch, eyes roving up and down Suguru’s body. As if appraising him. How much of a good fuck he’d be.
It’s taking everything in Suguru’s power to keep from snarling.
“Suguru. Sit down.” His foster mother demands, pointing to the love seat directly across from Naoya. “You know the rules.”
Don’t be a slut. Don’t be foolish. Don’t be trashy. Be sweet.
Yeah, he knew the rules. He paints on a fake smile, nodding demurely.
Bitch. He growls inwardly as she walks out and into her office on the other side of the house, leaving them alone for the time being.
“Hello, Zenin-san,” He starts out, sitting on the edge of the loveseat, just in case he needs to make a run for it. It’s always smart to be aware of your surroundings. “How are you?”
He frowns. “I thought you weren’t allowed to talk to other alphas. Besides Shoko, anyway.”
Shoko had been their first big fight. Suguru refused to give the woman up, going so far as to threaten to kill himself should he be forcibly separated from her. He wasn’t bluffing, either—he detailed exactly how he’d do it, exactly how they’d find him. She was his best friend. His life line. He couldn’t part from her. He just couldn’t.
What’s he talking about?
“I’m not,” He hums, low and calm, quiet and omega-like. He keeps his eyes on the floor, just how Naoya likes.
“So then why the fuck did I have fucking Gojo telling me to leave you alone?” He snarls, blond hair falling in his eyes. In another life, if Naoya was kinder, if he was more understanding and thoughtful. Suguru thinks he could be beautiful. After all, the Zenins are renowned for their power and beauty. It’s a shame such inward ugliness suppresses that last gem in Naoya. “Have you two been around each other? I thought you’ve been wearing more revealing clothing to school. Is it for him? You want him to think your hideous face is pretty?”
At that, Suguru blinks, eyes shooting up to angrily square in on Naoya’s own venomous glare. “What?” He hisses in disbelief, arms wrapping even tighter around his waist. “No! And I haven’t been wearing anyth—”
“Well, I’m going to tell you now, just so you don’t get heartbroken over it later,” He growls, fist clenching where it rests on the back of the couch, powerful scent smothering, filling the room with poison. “Gojo won’t bother with you. He probably only said something because it’s pathetic watching you squawk and get beat down over and over again. It was just pity.”
The words get caught in his throat, the ugly feeling of shame creeping over him. How dare Naoya take something so personal, so pristine in Suguru’s mind and turn it into something ugly and belittling. He knows, realistically, that Naoya’s words are true.
But that doesn’t make them any less difficult to swallow.
He hates Naoya with a burning, simmering passion. He hates anyone who wants him to feel helpless under their thumb, because Suguru is not helpless. But now’s not the time to unload all of that onto him, or anyone for that matter. He’ll just sneak out to Shoko’s and go scream about it to her in her room later.
So, he just grits his teeth and takes it. Stores that anger, that rage away for later. Later, later, later. “Yeah,” He grimaces. “Yeah, I know.”
“As long as you do,” Naoya huffs. “Your birthday can’t come fast enough. You walk around with your head too high. A month at the Zenin estate will fix that.”
Suguru just nods, simmering and boiling with anger. Later, later, later. It’ll always be later.
“Goodbye, Sugu-chan.” Naoya grunts before getting up and marching his way out of the front door, with Suguru staring at the floor all the while. Oh, god. He was going to lose it all to this man. His first everything—his first kiss, his first date, his first time making love, his first marriage, his first baby. And every single one of those afterwards.
The thought is going to make him sick.
He really, really needs to go see Shoko.
˗ˏˋ ★ ✰ ˎˊ˗
Satoru doesn’t really talk to Naoya much after that. It’s odd, stilted. Satoru just can’t shake the bad feeling he has around him off. Naoya’s always been a little annoying, a little infuriating, a little stuck up, a little…well, you get the picture. But after that stunt he pulled after practice, Satoru just hasn’t been able to see him the same since.
Truthfully, he doesn’t mind it. The guy was kind of a twat anyway, so Satoru’s virtually getting no losses out of any of this. He’s taking this as a well-earned treat.
Good motherfucking riddance, is his official statement on the matter.
But of course, things can never be as simple as they appear.
Exactly one week after Satoru stopped whatever weird power trip Naoya was flexing over Getou-san, the bastard slides his lunch try directly in front of Satoru’s lunch box. The action makes him pause, his chewing slowing.
The fuck? He thinks, a singular fluffy, white eyebrow raising ever so slightly.
Naoya, the prick, just shoves a large bite of his curry into his mouth and proceeds to talk through it. “You know Sugu-chan?”
Satoru’s frown deepens. Jesus. Is the poor thing the only object in Naoya’s mind? Satoru swallows his sandwich, eyes drifting back down to his phone. He’s reading about the latest Digimon movie—it’s embarrassing, sure, but if no one sees his phone, is it really that bad? The answer is no.
Well, as long as there’s no one else around to tell me otherwise, anyways.
“I guess,” Satoru mumbles. He doesn’t know a lot about Getou-san. He knows that he has a couple of classes with him, and has since junior high, because despite everything else that Getou-san has against him, he’s fairly intelligent. He knows that Naoya’s weird about him. He knows that he’s reactive like a firecracker, and in other situations, he’s as serene as a forest. He knows what everyone else says about him. But nothing more than that. Relatively speaking, it’s not a lot.
But he doesn’t explain all that to Naoya of all people, who looks a little deranged right now.
Satoru goes back to his sandwich.
“Yeah. It’s kind of sad how he’s basically undateable.”
Satoru wouldn’t say that, but it isn’t untrue, either. “Sure. If that sort of thing’s important to you.” It’s not to Satoru, that’s for sure. He’s never accepted valentines candies, always crumpled up every love letter. It’s pathetic. None of it makes him feel…anything, really. It’s all impersonal. It’s all superficial. Would any of those people still like him if he didn’t have his looks? His money? His social standing? No. No, they wouldn’t. But he understands why they do it. Like he said; it’s just enough of an equilibrium to make him not care.
“I bet he’d like it if someone tried to win his heart,” Naoya continues, sucking in a breath. “I’ve heard he’s depressed about it.”
“Okay,” Satoru drones. What the hell does this have to do with him, and why does it have to interrupt his Digimon time?
“I heard he’s a little sweet on you,” Naoya casually shrugs.
Get in line, Satoru sighs to himself. Although it does kind of sucks that Suguru’s pining after him. He should know that it’s nothing personal. Satoru just doesn’t do that sort of thing—‘dating’.
“Would you be open to having a little bet with me?” Naoya practically purrs.
That catches Satoru’s attention.
A bet? For what?
Satoru’s always been a betting man. He adores a good challenge. It’s a vice of his—but it’s always a thrill, the daunting threat of failure.
He’s interested now, and he can tell Naoya picked it up.
“A bet?” Satoru grumbles, silently putting his phone face-down on the table.
“A bet.” Naoya smirks, nodding. “If you can get Sugu-chan to fuck you, I’ll give you my car. But if you can’t, you have to let me be team captain.”
Satoru weighs the options. Naoya’s car isn’t exactly special, and it’s not like he can’t get a brand new one the day he inevitably gives it to Satoru. He’s not particularly attached to the role of team captain, either. Sure, it’s fun, but it doesn’t give him that rush like it used to. Now, it’s just another medal he can wave around in people’s faces to flaunt his unlimited power and ability.
And this bet certainly is a challenge. Getou-san seems so resistant to every kind of alpha out there. He certainly wouldn’t be happy with Satoru flirting with him, and how would Satoru ever even begin to pretend to be in love with someone who looks like he does, let alone sleep with him?
It’s just unfathomable.
It’s perfect.
He gives his own noncommittal shrug. “Sure.” He sticks his hand out for Naoya to take, which he does. They shake, just once, firmly, and then pull apart.
“There’s going to be a party this weekend at Ieiri-san’s house. He’ll be there for sure. They’re practically attached to the hip.” Naoya takes another massive bite of his food. “You have until his birthday.”
That’s oddly specific, Satoru tilts his head slightly. But it’s none of his business, he guesses. Naoya’s weird perversions about the little basket case are his own problems, not Satoru’s.
“Okay. Sounds like a plan.” He replies, finishing his sandwich quickly.
“Good.” Naoya hums.
Satoru goes back to his reading—Digimon’s intense stuff, don’t blame him. And it’s been something near and dear to him since he was a kid. The nostalgia gets to him sometimes. It’s just his guilty pleasure, and everyone has those, don’t they?
But eventually, his mind wanders.
He looks up from his phone once or twice, just to glance at where the bull-headed omega sits, shoulder-to-shoulder with Ieiri-san, the two of them speedily talking about something. Probably the party.
Getou-san laughs at something she says, nose scrunching up and silently moving his shoulders.
Hm. Satoru thinks to himself. Failure might be closer than he expected.
Oh, well. That’s what he wanted, isn’t it? Now he waits until this weekend, a quick break from the monotony. He won’t say it, but a trill of excitement runs through him at the thought. It’ll be a party to remember either way, that’s for sure.