Chapter Text
Fibers of works-long-lost float throughout the thick, stagnant air of Satoru Gojo’s studio. A piercing blue eye catches sight of a particularly interesting strand as it dances past his face, almost mocking in his frustration. His eyes trail down to the floor where yet another canvas lay, only a few uninspired and disinterested brushstrokes litter the otherwise perfect surface. The harsh overhead lights make his studio feel more akin to a jail cell, coupled with a lackluster passion for his craft, this is Satoru’s own personal hell.
His eyes continue to drift around the studio, landing on the large window on the north side of the room. His feet carry him towards it, the heels of his rather expensive boots clicking against the cold wood. Outside there is a bustling city scene, illuminated by neon lights and littered with young couples sweeping each other off their feet, driven by booze and the promise of an unforgettable midnight rendezvous.
Satoru watches everything from his studio window. He pops the window open, feeling the breeze of the night sky blowing beneath his jacket and the sounds of the city filling his ears. Loud music can be heard from miles around. Once upon a time, early in his career, Satoru used to leave the windows of his studio open while he worked. He used to sing along and let the melodies guide his every brushstroke, flowing from the soul of the singer straight through his fingertips. Synesthesia, they call it, where one’s mind can turn sounds and songs into colors and shapes. Satoru had a special knack for the craft, painting everything from Mozart’s symphonies to jazz tunes performed by street performers outside his window.
These days, however, he’s lost that spark. Something feels empty and meaningless in new music, and he has practically wrung out every drop of creativity that he had for the older stuff.
Satoru sighs as he swings his legs out of the window, breathing in the life of the city, hoping to catch the scent of what it’s like to be young again. He slowly lowers himself onto the fire escape, shutting the window behind him. The clanging of the metal steps below his feet melt into the background noise of pedestrians whistling for cabbies, women’s laughter, and cars practically flying along the asphalt.
As Satoru reaches the bottom, he looks up at the window of his studio, as if he were memorizing it. Slowly his attention gets drawn over the sky, taking in every detail that surrounds him. There are no stars out, as the light pollution from neon advertisements overwhelms the darkness needed to see them.
Satoru walks down the street, listening for something to jump out at him, but every bar seems to sound the same. Drunk patrons loudly singing karaoke off-tune. A blister to the ears, surely. Blocks and blocks of the same thing, vendors shouting to sell their sweets to passers-by with the munchies, loud bars, and street performers desperately searching for a soul to give them a dollar. After a solid half-hour of walking, Satoru nearly writhes in defeat. He opts to duck into a dark bar, hoping that a quick couple of drinks clears his mind enough to throw something onto a canvas.
The bar is almost everything that he expects it to be. Dark, lit only by the mild glow of mock kerosene lanterns overhead, and furnished with rustic-themed wooden tables and chairs. There’s a stage where a live set usually plays, but tonight it appears void in favor of some light classical music coming through the speakers.
“How are you tonight, sir?” The bartender says as Satoru slides into an empty barstool.
Putting on his usual charm, he smiles as wide as he can before responding, “Wonderful! I was wondering what fruity cocktails you guys specialize in.”
The bartender smiles back, resting his palms on the bartop, “Tonight we have a few specials going on, one of which happens to be a strawberry mojito. Would you like to try one?”
Satoru cocks his head, “Sounds great. Can you tell me who I have the pleasure of being served by tonight?”
The bartender lets out a lowly chuckle, “You can call me Itadori for now. Yuuji if you tip me real good!” Itadori positively beams.
“Say, Itadori, does there happen to be a live show tonight? I would love to hear some better music while I enjoyed my time here.” Satoru asks.
Itadori glances back at Satoru, seemingly contemplating the request. “I think you’re in luck. A new performer is playing tonight, I believe. I can’t remember his name, but I heard that he should be really good!” Itadori says as he slides Satoru’s finished drink across the bar. “Would you like to start a tab?”
“Yes please, that would be wonderful.” Satoru replies, taking a sip of the admittedly delicious drink.
Satoru is looking around the bar for inspiration once again, soaking in the details of the ambiance. Crystal clear glasses clink against thick-lacquer mahogany tables as patrons chatter and swoon over one another’s accomplishments. Satoru could pick out at least four tables where the people were very obviously on a first date and at least another two where they were celebrating some sort of work achievement.
People-watching comes to a close as stage lights pop on and a woman walks on stage.
“Hi everyone, thank you for coming out tonight. I’m Iori Shoko, the owner of this fine establishment. I know our live show is starting a little late tonight, but I had to make some connections to make it happen,” The woman speaks into the microphone, donned in a black turtleneck and clean slacks. Satoru begins to wonder if she looks familiar before she announces, “Please welcome our very special guest, Suguru Geto!”
Satoru’s jaw feels like it’s about to hit the floor. He definitely knows that man. Maybe he knows Suguru a little too well.
He watches in awe as Suguru struts across the stage, guitar in hand and a calm, composed stature. Satoru knows that he’s done this hundreds of times before. He’s seen the articles, headlining tours, albums, you name it he’s done it.
“Don’t mind me if I’m a little bit rusty, I’ve been out of practice lately.” Suguru says as he sits on the barstool in front of the microphone.
Shoko looks into the crowd before continuing, “Hope it’s a good show! Have a good night, everyone!” She leaves and then there’s just Suguru on the stage.
Satoru watches intently as Suguru adjusts himself, barstool creaking under his shifting weight. Strong fingers strum against the guitar strings before starting into a song. Black strands of hair fall out of Suguru’s bun as he leans forward, lips pressed up against the microphone.
“ She falls, the look of disillusion- fresh upon her quickly fading eyes. Across the room the guilty party turns and leaves their story- woven on the coattails of a ghost- ” Suguru sings, melancholy notes leaving his lips as if he’s beginning to pour his soul out on the table.
Satoru listens intently, as he knows this is not a song that has ever reached mainstream media. He figures that this is a song that has never been released, period.
“ We wonder- we question- why are you gone? The stains are steamed- the walls receive a perfect coat of white- to cover up the homicide. The family grieves- the memories remain- the years washing away- we question the outcome, the fairness. We wonder what will happen to us.”
The words reach Satoru’s soul as they pour from Suguru’s lips. His obvious intent. For the first time in over a year, Satoru sees colors dancing around in his mind. However, they are unlike anything that he has ever depicted from a song before.
“ We struggle to let go in anger- we ask aloud- why are you- woven on the coattails of a ghost? ”
Satoru wants to close his eyes, to envision the ghost on its journey, the pain, the sorrow, but he is so enamored by the pure magic going on in front of him.
“ Woven on the coattails of a ghost- woven on the coattails of a ghost- woven on the coattails of a ghost- woven on the coattails-”
Suguru finishes out the song, a slight smile hanging on the edges of his lips. He pauses for a second, looking like he was searching for words to say before shaking his head and starting to play the chords for his next song.
“ Whispered something in your ear. It was a perverted thing to say- but I said it anyway.”
This is the beginning to a song that Satoru definitely recognized. It was a song that Suguru wrote and sang to him in college, their song.
“ Made you smile and look away- nothing’s gonna hurt you baby- as long as you’re with me you’ll be just fine. Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby- nothing’s gonna take you from my side.”
Suguru’s eyebrows twitch together and his eyes crinkle up like he’s in pain. Satoru can’t help but watch and melt into the bartop, intensely listening to every single syllable rolling off of Suguru’s tongue.
“ When we dance in my living room- to that silly 90’s R&B- when we have a drink or three- always ends in a hazy shower scene.”
Satoru’s chest hurts when the memories of his and Suguru’s past flood his thoughts. He remembers Suguru’s calloused fingertips running along his sides, warm lips on his, spiked with the scent of cheap whiskey. He recalls clashing of teeth and tongues, turning Suguru’s cheap college apartment shower into a scene straight out of a romance movie.
“ Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby- as long as you’re with me you’ll be just fine. Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby- nothing’s gonna take you from my side.”
Satoru thinks about how ironic it is, really. Suguru left. He hurt Satoru more than anyone else ever could, and yet he sings about how Satoru would be okay so long as they’re together? Pathetic.
More memories haunt Satoru as Suguru keeps singing.
“ When we’re laughing in the microphone and singing-”
Shitty drunk karaoke nights.
“ With our sunglasses on to our favorite songs.”
College homecoming, the sun was too bright for Satoru’s eyes, so they chanted stupid mid 2000’s hip hop songs wearing cheap sunglasses. It was one of the best days of Satoru’s college career.
“ And we’re laughing in the microphone and singing- with our sunglasses on to our favorite songs. Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby, nothing’s gonna take you from my side.”
This time as Suguru ends the song, he chuckles before speaking into the microphone. “Alright guys, I think I only have one more song in me tonight. That last one hurt a bit.”
Suguru plays his guitar again, “I think most of you should recognize this one”. He sits up straighter and shakes the hair out of his face.
“ Gone a little far- gone a little far this time with something. How was I to know- how was I to know this high came rushing? We’re on the borderline- dangerously fine and unforgiving.”
This is most definitely an acoustic version of one of his popular songs. Satoru recognizes those words from the countless reruns on the radio, commercials, social media posts, everything.
“ Possibly a sign- I’m gonna have the strangest night on Sunday. Here I go- quite a show for a loner in LA. I wonder how I managed to end up in this place- where I couldn’t get away.”
Satoru wonders the same thing. The magnetic pull of Suguru’s set has him planted in his seat, but the thought of being in the same room as Suguru once again should send him running.
“ We’re on the borderline- caught between the tides of pain and rapture. Then I saw the time- watched it speedin’ by like a train- like a train.”
Listening to Suguru sing this live, slow and steady, rather than how upbeat it sounded on the radio made it feel more real. Like this was how the song was meant to be sung, not the version pushed out to the public.
“ Will I be known and loved? Is there one that I trust? Starting to sober up. Has it been long enough?”
Has it been long enough? Satoru lets that one soak in. It’s closing in on ten years since he last talked to the man, and he still feels the magic that is Suguru.
“ Will I be known and loved? Any closer, close enough- I’m a loser, loosen up- setting free, must be tough. Will I be known and loved? Is there one that I trust? Starting to sober up. Has it been long enough? Will I be so in love?”
Satoru knows that this song was written about someone else -potentially by someone else- but he can’t help but put himself in Suguru’s shoes. The way Suguru sings, it’s like he’s touching every corner of Satoru’s mind.
“ Any closer, close enough- shout out to what is done- R.I.P. here comes the sun- here comes the sun. Gone a little far- gone a little far this time with something. Rudi said it’s fine- they used to do this all the time in college- and we’re on the borderline.”
Suguru repeats the chorus of the song once more before closing out. He thanks the bar patrons and gets off of his barstool. Claps can be heard all around the bar, drowning out the sound of Satoru’s thoughts.
Satoru’s feet move before his mind does, leaving his half-drank mojito on the bar. He weaves in between tables and people standing, probably bumping into chairs and knocking platters over. Not like it matters to Satoru, he’s just searching for inky black hair and the addicting smell of Suguru.
Finally, after pushing his way to the back of the bar he sees him, standing next to the Shoko lady and talking. Suguru is facing away from him, but Shoko catches sight of Satoru, which draws Suguru’s attention.
Suguru turns around, mouth open like he was mid-sentence. Satoru’s eyebrows are pinched together, panic alarms going off in his brain, but his feet find a way to press on.
He throws a smile on as he approaches, “Suguru! I thought I’d never see you again, buddy!”
Suguru smiles back, warmly. “I could say the same to you, Satoru. It’s been a while.”
The warmth radiating from Suguru’s expression eases Satoru’s rising anxiety. In Satoru’s mind, it’s like nothing ever changed.
“It has been a while! Something like- ten years? Maybe more? But who’s keeping count, am I right?” Satoru chides, holding his hand out for Suguru to take. Like old times.
Suguru looks at Satoru’s outstretched hand, then flicks back up to his eyes. Deep violet meeting a crystal blue lake. “Satoru-”
Satoru drops his hand, “I’m sorry. That was a little too forward. Seriously though, it’s great to see you again. It’s great to hear you again. I always knew that you were an amazing musician, but wow, that was…”
Suguru drops his expression into something more solemn and soft, “Thank you. I prefer doing smaller gigs like this from time to time anymore. Pop up sporadically throughout the world unannounced, and just play something from the heart. That was my real dream when I said that I wanted to make music my livelihood. How’s the art thing going? Heard you landed a couple masterpieces in some museums and now you’re living a rich man’s wet dream.”
Satoru laughs, “About that- would you like to get coffee sometime? There’s so much I want to talk to you about.”
Suguru looks away, a torn expression spreading across his face, “I don’t know…”
“Come on, Sugs. Just once. I want to hear about how lavish you’ve been living all these years.” Satoru presses, pulling out the old nickname for the added effect.
Suguru sighs, “Okay, fine. Just once.”
“Score! I’ll see you Thursday at noon, sweetcheeks. I’ll meet up with you at the cafe down the street from here.” Satoru says as he blows a kiss in Suguru’s direction before high-tailing it out of the bar.