Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blue eyes never waver from their focus on the page under Satoru’s fingers. One taps the face that holds his undivided attention even as footsteps coax croaks and whines from warped stairs in the gloom behind him. He sniffs damp and earth out of his nose, almost blind to it, and draws the blanket pooled around him tighter. A tremble would infect him from head to toe if not for it and the thin, lumpy futon under him. Already a warm flush creeps into his cheeks, the tip of his nose. Exposed. The only warmth to be found here is his own. A spark reignites in crystal eyes no thanks to the soft, yellow glow of the single lamp afforded to him. His caretaker, Sachiko, mutters about her aching joints under her breath when she finally shuffles down the last stair and stands in the pillar of light leaking from the world above.

“Satoru-sama, have you decided?”

The rest of the pages she’d brought him—glanced over and never considered again—stack in a neat pile as if Satoru never touched them. Only one remains separate, and this one Satoru pets the face of the candidate once more before holding it aloft between his fingers.

He doesn’t turn to face her or even look at her when he says, “This one.”

Much like Suguru’s village nestled between untamed hills and mountains, the Gojo estate hides itself amongst the wilderness northeast of Kyoto. He passes a large sign advertising the Shizushi limestone cave system just up the valley a ways. It’s the sign he’s been looking for; the turn for the Gojo estate should be just past here according to his map. None of the buildings peek through the forest hunching over the road, but an attendant wearing the family crest and colors gives away the exact point where Suguru should turn. Four hours have brought him from the remote middle of Gifu Prefecture north of Nagoya all the way to the remote edge of Kyoto Prefecture far outside the historical city itself. At least it had been a beautiful four hours minus the horrendous traffic around Kyoto proper. He’s not looking forward to the return trip, hopes he can find an inn somewhere nearby and start the drive early before traffic snarls him again.

It all depends on how this first meeting is about to go, what mood it will leave him in. He’d applied to meet the widowed Gojo omega as somewhat of a joke. The matchmaking company’s profile indicated Gojo Satoru is of extremely high pedigree. Normally, Suguru wouldn’t have a chance. Especially not with a dowry that would be a few hundred million yen. Thanks to the omega’s widowed status and a sterilization procedure, it’s much more affordable this time around. Barely two million yen. Despite these factors, surely the prestigious clan won’t pick someone without clout or money or status in society. Or maybe it’s the omega himself who gets to pick since Suguru is here, invitation in literal hand. So maybe said omega has a sense of humor and picked to meet him for a similar reason: having a laugh. Suguru has no evidence that Gojo Satoru has any choice in this. But forces beyond Suguru’s control have brought him here. It must mean something.  

The attendant motions with large sweeps of their arms for him to park in a specific space. Engine finally purring to a halt, Suguru resists the urge to slump against the steering wheel. A dull burn already seeps into the muscles of his lower back. Best not encourage it. When he rises from the open driver door, his legs tingle. A few strokes of his hands—the left bare and the right gloved in black leather—smooth out any wrinkles in his dark navy kimono, neatening the layers from sitting for so long. His mouth quirks at the same attendant rushing over to try and shut the car door for him and usher him away from the road. The day is as mild here as it’d been in his village. Spring is early, still. If not for Suguru’s long hair spilling mostly free down his back, a shiver would play with the nape of his neck. No screams of cicadas fill the air yet. Only some crows hunting for nesting material give the occasional caw. Crisp air filling his lungs with a deep breath, Suguru lingers near his car, though. A raised eyebrow considers the lack of other vehicles parked in what must be a guest area. He’d anticipated waiting with the other alpha suitors and having to go through the farce of posturing and shoulder jostling. Maybe this won’t be a waste of his time.

A different attendant, a young female beta with eyes that never glance above Suguru’s chin, accepts the hand off from the parking attendant. She bows to him before leading the way up to the estate’s entrance. There are fewer amenities like a post office or even restaurants here than in Suguru’s village. This place is not lived in. No dogs bark with children at play, no family members seek the warmth of the spring sun spilling over the perfectly cultivated gardens. They pass closed shoji panel after closed shoji panel along the porch that wraps around the main building. An antique left in situ for strangers to admire. If not for the residual tang of Gojo alphas scenting their territory, Suguru would think no one lives here at all. A flash of white across a garden separating segments of the house draws amber eyes away from the attendant leading him deeper into the estate.

A head peeks out of a shoji door nudged open. Despite the distance and the blooming sakura swaying in the breeze between them, Suguru recognizes the face he’s only seen on flat paper. Dressed in a sky-blue kimono, Gojo Satoru checks if the hallway around him is clear. He is as silent and pale as an apparition, ethereal almost. Suguru pauses in the middle of a stride just to behold him like a wild animal that doesn’t know it’s been spotted. Satoru holds still for a breath more, maybe listening for approaching footsteps, before slipping out of the room and siding the shoji panel shut. In that brief moment, Suguru catches what looks like a kitchen behind Satoru before the omega sneaks away. Suguru lags behind his guide even more with yet another quirk of his mouth. What sort of mischief has he unwittingly witnessed? Despite Satoru’s widowed status, customs insist alpha suitors meet eligible omegas only through a silk veil. And the Gojo clan is everything traditional and more. Suguru considers this all with a hum and his gloved hand cupping his chin. They’ve not even met yet and already Suguru’s curiosity rises.

Satoru is long gone when the attendant murmurs for Suguru to continue following her. They’re walking in the same direction that Satoru has fled. Meandering porches encasing the garden that had separated them finally meet just as the attendant bows to him and slides a panel open, gesturing for him to enter. He’s not surprised at all to find Satoru already there, sat in strict, straight-backed seiza but looking outside. Not even a twitch ripples through him as the elderly woman beside him announces Suguru’s arrival. No veil, no protection of any sort separates them. The kotatsu Suguru lowers himself to serves as the only barrier. Satoru’s parents aren’t even here. Suguru keeps his confusion and curiosity mellowed into a neutral smile—the sort of expression captured in his photo for the matchmaking company. While their chaperone offers and prepares tea, Suguru clears his throat. The frozen forest creature in front of him has no thought for him. Blue eyes care only for the swaying of trees and sakura buds peeking open in the garden.

Their elderly minder grumbles Satoru’s name under her breath. Still nothing, barely even a breath from the omega heir. 

Suguru keeps his smile soft and mild when he says, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Geto Suguru.”

His voice breaks whatever spell spring has over Satoru. Blazing eyes zip right to Suguru as if the outside world stopped existing. That gaze darts one-two-three down his body from his eyes, to his chest, to his hands looped loosely around a steaming teacup. Satoru’s intense inspection of him lingers on his gloved hand just long enough for Suguru to catch it. Of course the photo he’d submitted didn’t include such a detail. He already has the short-and-sweet version of the story prepared when Satoru’s attention crawls back up to his face.

Their gazes meet through dead air. Satoru does not yield.

A corner of his mouth twitches.

“Did my parents make you wear that?”

“Satoru-sama!”

Neither man reacts to their chaperone scolding Satoru for addressing him directly. Satoru’s voice is barely more than a thin whisper. Full of personality and attitude but brittle as if from overuse. Or underuse. Mind caught on that detail like a fish on a line, Suguru finally smells him across the kotatsu: earth and something damp drowning out the mild sweetness of him. All the while, Satoru never breaks their stare. 

Eyebrows twitching together for barely a second, Suguru asks, “Wear what?”

Satoru ignores the withered glare their minder aims at him to gesture at Suguru across the kotatsu.

“A kimono.” He gestures to himself with the same careless flop of his hand. “This thing? Not my choice. If it were up to me, I’d be in something comfortable. But you can imagine how often I get to choose anything.”

Suguru’s confusion melts into amusement. Corner of his mouth twitching much the same as Satoru’s, he drawls, “I enjoy the process of wearing kimono and keeping the tradition alive, although I tend to only wear them for special occasions or when I’m home. Unless I’m working in my garden.”

Before the elderly beta minding them hisses another objection, shouts ring out from somewhere in the estate. As she frets and eventually bolts to leave when other servants beg for her assistance, blue and amber never leave each other. They spare not even a glance for the old woman pushing herself to her feet with a groan and her quick, shuffling footsteps. It’s only once the voices of so many people fussing fade into background noise that either speaks.

“I wonder what could have happened that would need the attention of so many.”

Satoru relaxes from his seiza, slipping onto a thigh with a snort and another flop of his hand.

“Just a little prank, that’s all. Vinegar and baking soda are messy to clean up but won’t leave any lasting damage. Should keep her busy for five minutes, maybe more.”

Ah, so Suguru had indeed witnessed some mischief Satoru set into motion. So they could be alone together. Curiouser and curiouser. Suguru half expects the omega to rise and boldly join him on this side of the kotatsu. Anything is possible since tradition has clearly been snapped like a stray twig and thrown by the wayside. Satoru relaxes but does not drop his guard, does not make any move closer. 

Suguru opens his mouth to tease Satoru—are you 15 or 25?—but the omega speaks first.

“What are you doing here?”

Satoru’s voice fades in and out for those few words but his tone is curious, skeptical. Outside, a cloud moves out from in front of the sun. A beam of direct sunlight floods the room, and only now do blue eyes break their stare to squint and flutter. Satoru even lifts a hand with a quiet grunt to shield himself from the rays. Suguru catalogs all of this—the purple tinge under Satoru’s fluttering eyes, the weakness of his voice, how he’s so pale he’s almost translucent—for later speculation. There’s no guarantee they’ll ever meet again. They’re not here for a friendly chat, after all.

A fine eyebrow cocks up at Satoru.

“That much should be obvious.”

But Satoru shakes his head hard enough for white bangs to bat his forehead.

“Don’t be dull, that’s not what I mean. What are you hoping to get out of this?” He gestures to himself. “I’m not sure how honest my parents were while advertising me, but they had to at least disclose this is my second marriage. I’m not a shiny, new toy on the shelf. So unless you’re into used hand-me-downs, I’m not sure—”

“I’m looking for a partner.”

Satoru’s mouth hangs open for his next word, but it does not come. The sneer at his lips and in his nose softens ever so slightly when all Suguru offers him is a shrug and the same, mild expression.

“For the past five years, I’ve been the…” His mouth squirms for the right word, a word that will not overstep what he is to his girls. “I’ve been the guardian to two girls who lived on a farm in my village. There was a gas leak, and their parents passed away. The only family left to take care of them was… negligent and absent at best. And if the authorities were to take them, they would be separated. So our village lied to the authorities and the girls lived with me. They graduated from high school this month. I’ll be helping them move into their dorms at university in Nagoya the first week of April.”

“What, so you’re lonely?”

Suguru pays the edge of ridicule in Satoru’s voice no mind. It’s not his choice to be sitting here, spending time with stranger alphas liable to say or do anything to woo him. This is a conversation they wouldn’t be able to have under normal circumstances. Suguru wonders not for the first time about the nature of Satoru’s first marriage and the details of how it’d come to an end. Questions that mean nothing if this is to be the only time they meet.

Suguru lifts his chin ever so slightly and admits with no shame, “I am. I suppose I could meet people the new way, dating and what not. But my parents were traditionalists and would have arranged a marriage for me if not for the life I lived. They’ve passed on, so this is the only path I know of to get what I want.”

“You were a detective,” Satoru points out. A grin twitches across his mouth. “You know, you’re the only alpha under 50 who applied to meet me. My parents probably didn’t want me to add you as a candidate, but that’s honestly why I did.”

Well, at least Satoru had read the paragraph or so the matchmaking company wrote about him. All his work and education history and physical statistics spelled out as if this were a job he were applying for instead of a lasting relationship. What Suguru would consider important about himself had no place on such a sterile form. Satoru doesn’t seem interested in sticking to stiff formalities. And their time to speak freely is slipping through their fingers.

Suguru nods.

“I was, but I’m retired, now. It wasn’t work that was conducive to marriage and starting a family, so they never had the chance to find a mate for me.”

Satoru squints at him.

“You know I’m sterile, right? I can’t give you children, if that’s what you want.”

Suguru nods, but says, “I’m aware. And that’s not what I want.”

“What do you want?”

Suguru’s gaze drops to his undrunk tea, considering. Why not be honest? If Satoru is going to risk so much just to speak plainly, why not indulge him? They may never see each other again after today anyway.

Blue eyes are right where Suguru had left them when he says, “I live in a remote village in a modest home. I have no money, no fame. I grow my own food. I’m looking for someone who wants that sort of life. Someone who wants to share my quiet life with me and eventually love me. That’s what I want.”

He expects Satoru to snort or sniff or roll his eyes. This is why Suguru falls back on his traditional upbringing and just lets the matchmaking company do the finding. What progressive omega wants to hear all this? It’s hopelessly romantic and old-fashioned.

But Satoru’s squint relaxes as much as it can in the bright sunlight still bathing them. His gaze stares through Suguru rather than boring into him. The commotion in the kitchen has died down to a low murmur. Their minder will be back any moment now.

“Do you have pictures of your house?”

Suguru’s head twitches back at that, blinking a few times. Satoru still stares through him, far away.

“… Sure.”

Phone slipped from the cloth purse containing his keys and wallet, Suguru pulls up said pictures and slides the device across the kotatsu. Satoru snatches it up before Suguru pulls away. Their fingertips barely connect with a shock that Suguru can’t be sure is real or imagined. Silence neither crushing nor tense settles over them. Only the tap of Satoru’s nail as he swipes through photos interrupts said stillness. Suguru watches the omega come back to himself slowly through each picture that passes under those blazing eyes. Something like melancholy draws Satoru’s expression down. He looks so young, so tired, before his careful mask of indifference snaps into place once more. When he slides Suguru’s phone back, his hand retreats so that no contact is made.

“It looks nice,” he says softly. “Peaceful.”

Footsteps pound on the hardwood of the porch just outside the room. Their moment is over.

Lowly to not give them away, Suguru says, “It is.”

Their chaperone conducts the rest of the meeting. The old beta grills him on his education, his background, how he means to support a mate. If Suguru is chosen to proceed there may be an exchange of courtship letters and gifts depending on the clan head’s decision. Given the absence of said clan head, the lack of a veil, and skipping the introductory letter they ought to have written to each other, Suguru doubts any of these traditions will actually come into play. It’s somewhat of a disappointment. A part of him had been looking forward to writing letters. Oh well. Perhaps skipping these traditions will lighten Satoru’s burden. The omega spends the rest of their meeting far from this room, staring outside like nothing else exists.

A week later, the matchmaking company contacts Suguru to set up a second meeting with the Gojo heir. Suguru makes sure to take pictures of the sakura trees coming into full bloom in his village.

“Might we sit outside for this meeting?”

Suguru has only just stepped into the room, hasn’t even sat down yet. Sachiko’s instinctual objection charges the air around them before she even opens her mouth. If it were up to Satoru, they’d certainly be outside. Even if the sunlight gives him a splitting headache and forces him into a perpetual squint. Even if the indirect caress of the sun is more like nails in his skin. Satoru is pretty sure he’ll come away pink from this second meeting with the strange alpha no matter what. Suguru has shown up in yet another simple kimono. This one is dark olive instead of navy so deep it looked black. This one compliments his eyes and tan skin better. The glove on his right hand is still a mystery.

Satoru knows he’s staring too much again. So either the sun or his own excitement will tinge him pink. He’d thought for sure his parents would strike Suguru from the pool of candidates once he made his choice clear. They didn’t even bother meeting him. But no rejection came. Satoru didn’t even speak to the other two alphas his parents personally invited back a second time. His breath would have been wasted on them. So he allowed the greasy stares from both old men to leave smudges on him. Suguru’s stare—with those amber eyes that twinkle, so alive unlike his flat photo—is welcomed and met. Satoru almost feels alive in his presence. Like the past seven years of hell never happened.

“Ehhh, I don’t… Well…”

It would be rude to deny a guest such a simple request. Especially a guest with a status higher than hers. Satoru bites the inside of his cheek to not grin at manners and propriety warring on his caretaker’s face. 

Pointing back the way he’d come, Suguru suggests, “Another servant walked me past a garden with benches and shade. It would be a shame to waste this beautiful day, wouldn’t it?”

She relents with red creeping up the back of her neck but guides Satoru with a firm hand to sit beside her. The rules are bent, not broken. It is the same sort of mercy she shows him when she brings extra soup, extra tea, anything warm when the chill of his lonely, dark prison becomes too much. She eyes him full of suspicion, though, waiting for something to happen like last time. There’s no evidence that Satoru had caused the grade-school science project disaster in the kitchen two weeks ago. Someone had simply, carelessly left bottles of rice wine vinegar perched on the edges of various counters. Only for them to tip over and spill onto strange trails of baking soda all over the floor. How it had happened, no one will ever know. She’d been more keen to deny Satoru’s request to use the bathroom before meeting Suguru this time. So the least she can do is let them sit outside if they’re going through the charade of this monitored visit. 

They’re barely sat for a few minutes, long enough for Sachiko to prompt his alpha suitor to talk about himself, when shouts ring out through the complex.

“Fire! Fire!”

Satoru keeps his expression muted, innocent for him, when Sachiko races towards whatever new disaster that’s unfolding. The general chaos almost swallows her bellow for everyone to calm down, for someone to call the fire brigade.

Suguru has a similar expression of innocence for all of a second before he lets out a snort. Satoru tries to keep the wonder out of his eyes, but he knows his entire face lights up.

“What did you do?”

 Suguru shrugs. A breeze plays with the single bang too short to pull back.

“A staff member was smoking when I arrived, and he threw his cigarette on the ground when he was finished. I abhor littering, so I thought to dispose of it properly for him.”

Satoru has no chance of smothering the grin that cracks across his face. It almost hurts, stretching his face like this. He remembers so clearly the last time he’d smiled with unbridled joy—carving his own path to freedom, gory and broken but finally free. Clearing his throat already going scratchy, Satoru taps down some of that feral joy. Those keen, amber eyes might see something Satoru doesn’t want to reveal. Not yet. He is an animal on display, pacing a cage, but the key to his cage sits before him. He can’t scare Suguru off.

“How noble of you.”

Suguru hums, “Perhaps I should have made sure it was properly snuffed out. My mistake.”

A single bark of laughter escapes Satoru before he slaps a hand to his mouth. If anyone hears him cackling like this and comes snooping, they’ll be found out. Or at least he’ll be reprimanded once Suguru is gone. Maybe punished with no dinner for his disobedience. It’s almost worth it to watch Suguru’s broad shoulders twitch with his own laughter. Satoru wants to risk it all, and so stands with a jerk of his head.

“The nearest fire station is all the way at the bottom of the mountain, so they’ll probably be busy with that for a while. Let’s walk.”

Fine eyebrows twitch up, but Suguru rises to stand without an objection. They’re almost the same height, although Satoru allows himself a smirk when Suguru has to look up ever so slightly to meet his eyes.

“Do you hate that I’m taller than you?”

Every alpha has their pride. Every alpha has a line in the sand they won’t allow crossing. This is Satoru’s only chance to figure out what sort Suguru is. It’s important; once he leaves this place, he never wants to come back.

Amber eyes give the briefest of roll, blink and you’d miss it, and he says, “A handful of centimeters is immaterial.” He steps past Satoru but pauses rather than leading them any farther. He gestures to the empty space beside him. “Are we walking or not?”

Satoru takes the space offered rather than falling into step behind Suguru. Where he’s supposed to be. The porch wrapped around the main building of the estate is wide enough for them to not touch. They brush shoulders and upper arms regardless, the yellow and green of Satoru’s kimono standing out against the dark olive of Suguru’s. Satoru wills his flinch at every contact into nothing more than a twitch. Being this close to an unrelated alpha after so many years alone does something funny to his stomach. Horse-like, reactionary panic wars with excitement inside him. Suguru says he was raised a traditionalist, but what traditional alpha walks so close and doesn’t posture over an omega that refuses to yield? Who is this man? Satoru wants to push him more. It’s important.

Wishing he could pocket his hands or do something with them, anything, Satoru drawls, “You know, this is all going a lot easier the second time around. When my family was arranging suitors the first time, I hated all the steps and rituals and stupid bullshit I had to go through. This time, it’s like they don’t even care.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Suguru admits beside him. “I’m only familiar with what we see in movies and such, but I’m sure some of it is exaggerated. What rituals?”

Satoru clears his dry throat and rasps, “Where do I even start? All the gifts and stupid mind games. Some alphas didn’t even want me to look at them.” He starts counting off on his fingers. “Can’t enter a room before them even though this is my house, can’t eat or drink before them, have to write every drooling moron a thank you letter for the crap I didn’t want or need.” His next breath catches on his reed-thin voice, and he coughs into his fist a few times. “Oh and the worst part: the inspections.”

“Inspections?”

Satoru scowls.

“Yea, have to inspect the goods you’re buying. Have to make sure I’m as untouched as my pedigree promises.” A wild shudder runs through him at the memory of so many hands on him. He had no idea how much worse it could be. Would be. “Some of them remained respectful, but most of them took it as a taste test opportunity.”

Satoru continues walking down the porch but no longer brushes against Suguru. He reaches a corner before realizing the alpha has stopped, staring at him with a frown that makes his face even more fox-like.

“What do you mean by that? Taste test?”

Satoru scoffs, turns around, and puts his hands on his hips.

“Do I have to spell it out? They were groping me. I had my clothes on, sure, but it didn’t really matter. They usually insisted on it during the second meeting, too. Why waste their time courting me if some other alpha put their hands on me and took the only thing they wanted?” Satoru throws his arms out, careless, and grins at Suguru. “There’s no point to that this time. You know someone owned me before you. And it wasn’t like he kept me in mint condition sealed inside my box.”

Disgust drags its belly across Suguru’s mouth.

“I didn’t know such a thing was customary.”

“You wouldn’t,” Satoru says lowly but not unkindly. “And why would you? You’re not an omega. It’s just something that happens. It can’t be helped.”

Suguru’s mouth is still tight with displeasure.

“You couldn’t refuse?”

Satoru scoffs, “Only if I wanted a pop across the mouth for stepping out of line. And before you ask, yea, the suitors were allowed to discipline me if I so much as toed out of line. So I had to be on my best behavior.”

He would have rather fought them off than allow them anywhere near him. But that was the deal struck between him and his parents: submit to being sold to the highest bidder in exchange for attending school. Thanks to a loophole in the law, it would have been perfectly legal for his family to keep him at home. To keep him stupid and pliant. So when he’d turned 13, middle-school age, he’d struck a bargain. He would cooperate and go willingly with whatever alpha bought him if and only if they allowed him to attend a real school. For a little while, he could pretend he had a normal life. The moment he graduated, that game of make-believe ended. Thinking about all those suitors and their lecherous hands… It’s nothing compared to what would happen to him. If only he could go back in time and tell himself it would only get worse. What would be the point in that?

Anger plucks a tendon in Suguru’s neck.

“It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Satoru says almost as a question. Unfairness has been his entire life since the moment he was born. 

Sigh more like a growl, Suguru insists, “Then you should be allowed to inspect”—he nearly spits the word out—“the alphas courting you. Or it shouldn’t be done at all.”

Satoru’s mischief perks up at that. His grin is sharper than he intends.

“Oh really? You want a stranger groping between your legs just because they think it’s their right? You’d subject yourself to that? Seriously?”

“It shouldn’t happen at all. Or at least not without permission.”

Satoru turns all the way around to face Suguru. They’re out in the open—even though most of the staff is probably focused on the fire and containing it. Anyone could walk by and see them talking openly, directly. They shouldn’t be doing this at all, let alone what Satoru is suggesting.

“So? You’d give me permission?”

Suguru’s frown lines remain deep, aging him. The thunderous expression calms into a grey-bottomed cloud when he widens his stance and lifts his arms, palms cupped towards the sky.

“I said I was looking for a partner. If I wanted to own another living creature, I’d adopt a dog. Inspect me if it pleases you.”

If it pleases him? Satoru could laugh himself silly at such an idea. What pleases him doesn’t matter, has never mattered. Everything is a trade—bartering for mercy or food with good behavior or his body depending on who owned him at the time. His body that has never belonged to him.  

Satoru’s foot shuffles back barely a half step. Suguru’s determination digs uncomfortable fingers into his gut. This isn’t how he’d wanted their conversation to go. These stolen moments alone together are so precarious. It’s important for his survival to recognize what anger looks like on Suguru’s face and how he handles it—internally or externally. But he doesn’t want this. Well, not like this, anyway. He can’t deny Suguru is a beautiful man. Satoru has never met anyone like him. Mischievous. Genuine in his kindness. Innocent and naive don’t exactly fit what Suguru is. Satoru doesn’t feel like he needs a scalding bath after Suguru looks at him. 

Suguru is pure in a way Satoru never was, never could be. He doesn’t want to taint that purity and yet…

Suguru does not flinch under the hands that land on his upper arms only to sweep down to the crooks of his elbows. No growl warns Satoru to stop, no sourness rolls off of Suguru to reject him. This close and without a kotatsu between them, Satoru smells him—dusty silk, earth, the spicy musk of a man. It is far from unpleasant. The layers of Suguru’s kimono make him formless, but they cannot disguise the strength lying there. This is even more the case when, with a breath tripping over his parted lips, Satoru directs the firm pressure of his palms to Suguru’s chest instead. Satoru does not mistake the softness of silk for sloth. Suguru may be retired from his detective work, may no longer pursue criminals through games of cat and mouse, but he has not left his body to waste. He does twitch once with Satoru’s hand following the hidden curve of his right pec. The same side that he wears a glove over his hand. 

Satoru’s hands continue their exploring when he asks, “Why do you wear a glove on your right hand? Is it a prosthetic?”

They’re close enough for Satoru to hear Suguru’s throat click when he swallows. When had the distance between them dissolved?

“An accident,” he says softly. “It was the case that forced me to retire.”

Stepping around Suguru and dragging his palms over the alpha’s sides, Satoru hums. Suguru’s back is just as solid as the rest of him. Silence falls over them when Suguru offers no additional details. So either disfigurement or maybe a burn if not a prosthetic. It doesn’t matter either way to Satoru. He’s made it clear what sort of condition he’s in. They make a good pair, Satoru decides right then. A pair of dolls thoroughly played with. If they see this through, maybe Suguru will tell him how life has played with him and broken him. He sucks in a little, sharp breath when Satoru once more grazes his right side. Satoru recognizes the reflexive flinch of memory rather than live pain. When Satoru makes a full circle around Suguru and stops in front of him, amber eyes are closed. They open only once Satoru’s hands settle on his hips. There’s really only Suguru’s lower body to inspect.

“Well?”

And maybe if Satoru were still a bloodthirsty 18 year old hungry to take his bite of flesh the same as the rabid beasts that chewed him up… But he’s not. He’s not like them. As tempting as it is to take the power Suguru offers him, he doesn’t want it. Not like this. So Satoru looks away first for the first time and takes a step back. His hands drop uselessly to his sides. He won’t soil Suguru like others have done to him.

“If you’re looking for a partner then…” Satoru struggles with himself and throws his hands up, turning around to give his back to Suguru. “If you want a partner, then I’m not doing that. A partner wouldn’t do that to you.”

Silence for a breath. Or two. Or three.

“Gojo-san—”

“Ack, don’t call me that,” Satoru snaps with a hand scrubbing through the air like he can wipe that name out of existence. 

Silence again. 

And then gently, “Satoru, then.”

His name has never sounded so soft. Softer than it has any right to be. 

Satoru is so caught up that he barely feels the electric static sensation of another living creature standing close behind him. Close enough to touch. Suguru doesn’t.

“I hope that you’ll call me ‘Suguru,’ too.”

“Suguru,” he says with his voice quitting on the first syllable. Clearing his throat, he tries again, “Suguru.” Pivoting, he turns back around to find them as close as when he’d inspected Suguru. “What were you going to say?”

There’s no need for them to be this close. If it bothers Suguru, he says nothing and not a muscle twitches to create more space.

“That I appreciate your consideration. And that I wish others had shown you the same mercy.” His smile is devoid of pity and judgement. The moment Satoru’s mouth twitches back, unable to hold the sentiment but taking it to heart, Suguru offers up his phone. “Here, before our chaperone comes back. I think I can hear a siren coming. The sakura trees are blooming in my village.”

Even when Sachiko does find them just in time for Satoru to return Suguru’s phone, he burns those images into his mind. They join the likes of the cozy, tidy rooms of Suguru’s house and the rows of vegetables in the garden. Satoru walks through them like a memory long after Suguru is gone. He yearns to be there in the sun. Tonight, locked in his coffin-like room and hungry except for the onigiri Sachiko sneaks him, Satoru adds new details.

That Suguru had started as a beat-cop with the person who would also eventually become his partner as a detective, Shoko. That Shoko was the one who saved him during the accident that injured him and forced him into retirement. Apparently, they’re still friends. She operates a yonige-ya in Nagoya—the business of helping disappear those who want to start a new life. Most of her clients are domestic violence victims. Or single omegas wanting to pass themselves off as betas to bypass the Omega Protection Act that makes it illegal for them to live independently from a spouse or family. If only Satoru had known of her years ago. 

He drifts to sleep adding the elderly farmers who are Suguru’s neighbors and the occasional child born to those who stayed. Suguru apparently uses his spare time driving all the children down the mountain to the nearest city, Gujo, where the schools are. It saves them from riding the local bus and gives him something to do when it’s not time to harvest the rice fields. It truly is a simple, quiet life, and Satoru inserts himself around the corners and just behind open doors to watch Suguru play out his hours and days. He’ll be in these rooms and amongst the trees and green soon, most likely. Suguru is the only reasonable choice as a mate. Satoru doesn’t even remember the names of the other two alphas. 

They don’t see each other for the third time, the last time before the Gojo clan will produce a contract to offer a suitor, until April is half over.

This time when an attendant leads Suguru into the Gojo estate, they don’t pass him off to Sachiko. A shoji panel slides open to reveal Satoru waiting for him. Only Satoru. The attendant ushers him inside, bows, and then leaves without another word. Suguru opens his mouth to tease Satoru—what mischief are you up to this time?—just as the omega rises from the kotatsu and actually approaches him. Today’s invitation had only mentioned the meal they’re supposed to have together. If they’ll be eating without prying eyes, Suguru has no complaints. Mimiko and Nanako are happy and taking their first steps towards adulthood and independence in Nagoya. Still, for the past five years, Suguru hasn’t eaten a meal alone. He’d forgotten how quiet it is and has since outgrown that silence. It’s stifling.

Satoru is close enough to touch. A part of Suguru that is more difficult to deny with each meeting wants to close that gap once more. Even now the mere impressions of Satoru’s hands on him through a kimono raise all the little hairs on him to the point of pain. He’d ached the rest of the day after that meeting. During the moments he allows himself to imagine Satoru in his house like the omega has always been there, they’re not often separate. Satoru is always within easy reach, will close any gap between them without suggestion or prompt. That’s what Suguru wants most of all if he’ll be the one. He wants Satoru to desire him in return.

They’ll have met three times now, and Suguru is not blind. Satoru stares with a baseline intensity, yes, but the way those blazing eyes always zip right to him when he enters a room is unmistakable. Even now Satoru gives him an appreciative up-down-up-down glance. Maybe he likes Suguru’s burgundy, almost blood-black kimono. That gaze has never been coy nor shy when aimed his way. Satoru has even yielded to him once. Maybe not realizing it, but Satoru doesn’t strike him as the type to do anything he doesn’t want to do—given a choice. Not without being dragged kicking and screaming, fighting the entire way down. Thinking in ‘ifs’ is dangerous when nothing is certain yet but… Suguru hopes that if they’re to be together that he never has to force Satoru to do anything. It’s not a reasonable hope. He just doesn’t want to cause Satoru any more strife.

Satoru’s mouth twitches in what Suguru is slowly starting to recognize as a smile. Satoru has laughed in front of him now, so he is capable of moments of joy. Something haunts him. Suguru has seen it plenty of times while working cases with Shoko. In Satoru’s case, Suguru would be willing to bet it has something to do with his previous marriage. His deceased mate. And now understanding the courting process better and how unpleasant it had been for Satoru, Suguru is also sure there’s no love lost between them. Still, he’d like to hear Satoru tell the story. These meetings are supposed to allow them to get to know each other. If they’re unmonitored, Satoru should speak freely.

“Good morning,” Suguru says with them still close enough to touch. His right hand twitches at his side, but he forces it still.

“Hi,” Satoru croaks back. He coughs into his fist and tries again, “Sorry, tickle in my throat. Hi, good morning.”

Suguru makes a point of glancing around the room.

“No Sachiko-san today?”

Satoru shakes his head.

“Traditionally”—blue eyes roll—“our parents would be here with us so our families can share a meal together before the wedding.” Satoru’s mouth falls open to continue talking, but his face freezes. When Suguru offers nothing more than a cocked eyebrow, go on, Satoru’s mouth slowly closes only for him to chew on his bottom lip for a few breaths. “Um… I guess I should tell you that you’re the only candidate they’ll offer a contract to.” Their eyes meet, and Suguru’s stomach does something funny when Satoru almost as quickly looks away. “You were my pick from the start. I didn’t consider anyone else.”

Suguru can deny his instincts no more. Obvious and slow like with a wild animal caught in a trap, Suguru lifts both hands to reach for Satoru. He sees it coming, stiffens despite blue eyes burning holes into Suguru’s hands. The tiniest flinch still echoes through Satoru when Suguru squeezes him by the upper arms. The lilac kimono someone has dressed him in hides how thin Satoru is. Not frail exactly but… Something is wrong. Something just out of step. Every time Suguru leaves, he wishes he could take Satoru away from this place. Soon, he won’t have to wish anymore. He already knows he’ll sign the contract and pay the dowry. He’d set the money aside after meeting Satoru the first time. 

Suguru’s thumbs pet Satoru through his kimono when he murmurs lowly, just for them, “I know you don’t have a choice to do this. It’s either me or some other stranger.” He sighs and squeezes Satoru again to coax those bright eyes back to life and out of distant introspection. “You have my loyalty and devotion. I will always try to do right by you. I will not neglect or abandon you like… others have.”

Satoru’s mouth squirms, and for a split second, Suguru worries he’s said too much. But a snort slips out of Satoru next, and he just barely bites back a grin.

“Save the vows for the wedding,” he chuckles. Satoru’s expression remains light, almost happy, and he opens his mouth to say something else.

A soft knock on one of the shoji panels closes the door on that openness in Satoru’s eyes and the way he smiles. He nearly jumps out of Suguru’s hands. Said hands hover for a split second in empty air where Satoru had stood as the omega returns to his place at the kotatsu. With another sigh, resigned for now but determination lurking beneath, Suguru takes the place opposite Satoru as attendants enter the room to present their early lunch. 

He expects an intricate kaiseki meal that will bring attendants in and out of the room constantly to serve them the next course. It would fit the Gojo clan and their opulence. Mercifully, or perhaps not wanting to spend more resources on Satoru’s arrangement, the attendants lay out a meal more fitting for a decent restaurant: tsukemono, miso, rice, and grilled eel. The symbolism behind the eel is not subtle, and Suguru muffles his snort into a hum. Symbolism and simplicity aside, all dishes are prepared and arranged beautifully in lacquered boxes and bowls. It’s still something Suguru could have cooked himself. Satoru’s face remains carefully blank through all of it. Although he lifts his chopsticks and murmurs his thanks for the meal, he doesn’t eat much more than a few pickled vegetables and a sip or two of miso. Suguru waits until the muffled patter of intrusive footsteps quiets to nothing to speak.

“Is eel too fatty for you?”

 Satoru startles at his voice, barely a tremble.

“Hmm?”

Suguru nods to Satoru’s mostly untouched meal. Only the pickled cucumbers, miso, and a lump or two of rice are absent.

“You’re not eating.”

“I’m not hun—” Satoru’s mouth snaps shut and screws up, frustrated. “Yea, I don’t like eel. It smells good marinated like this but…”

Suguru scoops up his own little bowl of tsukemono and offers it. The pickled radishes and most of the carrots are gone.

“I don’t like cucumbers. Well, not when they’re pickled. And I prefer the cucumbers in my garden anyway. They taste better than store bought.”

He’s ready for rejection. For Satoru to snort or scoff and insist he’s not a child or doesn’t need to be coddled. Even omegas have their pride. Instead he glances back and forth between Suguru’s neutral face and the lacquered bowl. He’d started to say a moment ago that he’s not hungry, but Suguru doubts that’s true. Probably just an excuse on speed dial, blurted without meaning it. His girls had acted much the same until they began to trust him, began to trust that no harm or ridicule would come their way. So Suguru nudges his hand closer, take it. Despite the leather of his glove blocking direct contact, Satoru’s fingers brush against him when he accepts the offering.

“What sorts of foods do you like to eat?”

Satoru shrugs, still staring down at Suguru’s bowl now in front of him.

“Anything really. It’s fine.”

Suguru sets his chopsticks down with a pointed look.

“Satoru…”

Now a huff bursts out of Satoru’s nose with a tiny roll of his eyes. Fluttering lashes almost conceal it.

“I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me, it’s fine. I didn’t eat this the first time, either.” He gestures to the eel, even knocking a finger into the lacquerware to nudge it farther away from him. “My parents serve it on purpose. It’s symbolic.”

“Ironic,” Suguru drawls.

“Right?”

Some of Satoru’s openness from earlier returns. He even scoops up Suguru’s remaining tsukemono and eats it.

“I like strawberries.”

Suguru pauses at the quiet confession with eel and rice halfway to his mouth. Satoru isn’t looking at him again, but when the silence stretches, he meets Suguru’s waiting gaze.

Swallowing, Suguru nods.

“One of my neighbors grows vegetables year round in her greenhouse. I’ll ask if she has any runners left to spare. The ground should be warm enough for them in a few weeks.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Suguru hums, takes one last sip of miso, and sets the rest of it down beside Satoru’s empty cup.

“I know. I want to.”

Satoru remains quiet but present as Suguru finishes eating. Their eyes meet every so often over the kotatsu. Suguru is thankful Satoru isn’t far away, isn’t staring through him. Laying his chopsticks down one last time, Suguru is ready for Satoru to speak. He’s been watching, waiting for a moment to say something. Suguru reads the atmosphere clearly.

“Yes?”

Satoru blinks and purses his lips.

“These meetings are supposed to be about us getting to know each other, but you probably picked up on the fact I’m not really supposed to talk to you directly. Or even talk about myself, really.” Suguru hums. Satoru chews at his bottom lip for a breath or two. “Is there… anything you want to ask me? Anything you want to know before it’s too late?”

In truth, he wants to know everything about Satoru. If he prefers tea or coffee, what his favorite season is, does he know how to swim? All that and more. Everything. They’ll have plenty of time for Suguru to learn. 

“Will you tell me what happened to your first mate? I assume he passed away, but…”

Satoru’s gaze drops like a stone. His mouth twitches through a few unknowable emotions before a hand reaches up to smooth over the uncomfortable wiggle. Suguru wishes they were sat next to each other without the barrier of the kotatsu. Satoru may flinch at hands reaching for him, but he’d handled their shoulders and arms brushing against each other just fine last time. It would be easy to rest their arms together. If only to give Satoru some point of contact to keep him rooted to reality.

“Satoru?”

Hand dropping as if someone has smacked it down, Satoru tucks both into his lap under the kotatsu.

“He… died of grief.”

Suguru frowns at that.

“How so?”

Satoru sits up straighter with yet another emotion twitching at his mouth. It almost looks like a smile.

He still stares down and away while explaining, “I was… a few months pregnant. But I lost it.” He glances up lightning quick. “The baby.” Down again. Satoru tilts his head just so, looking far away with his lips pursed tightly. “He came to visit me in the hospital after that and just… died. A broken heart, maybe.”

Suguru could chalk Satoru’s evasive eye contact up to his own grief over the unborn child. Years of experience tell him otherwise. Satoru does not tear up, does not sniffle. He smells the same as always, omega sweet and the strange earth-damp scent that blankets him. The room doesn’t sour with grief. No love lost. Something else lurks beneath the murky waters of the past. Now would be the time to press Satoru for the whole, unadulterated truth but—

“He smelled like shit.”

Suguru blinks hard at the edge in Satoru’s voice. Blue eyes finally stare back at him, fierce and sharp.

“Oh?”

A snarl twitches in Satoru’s upper lip and nose, but he pinches his mouth flat again.

“I hated the way he smelled. Like walking past an open sewer in the street. I could never breathe around him.”

As if to make up for it, Satoru’s shoulders rise with a deep inhale and exhale. He shakes some of the anger out of those thin shoulders next. Somewhat collected again, he lifts a pale hand, hooks fingers in the tight layers of his kimono about his neck, and tugs to reveal perfect skin.

“We were only mates on paper, by the way. I healed every time he marked me.” Relaxing all the way once more with another deep breath, Satoru offers him a flick of a smile. “I like your scent.”

There it is again. The way Satoru looks at him only when they’re alone, only when it’s safe. Suguru slowly releases his suspicions and allows them to loiter in the back of his mind. He’ll find out the whole truth eventually. Pushing now will only force Satoru to remember the man his body and soul had rejected. Besides… he would rather earn Satoru’s trust and confidence so that maybe the omega will just tell him everything. In time. They’ll have all the time in the world to learn and trust and love one another once Suguru brings him home. Satoru will hopefully never have to see this place and relive so many unpleasant memories again.

Amber eyes sparking above the smile tugging at his lips, Suguru says, “I’m glad.”

Chapter Text

Supposedly, Western marriage traditions say it’s taboo for the groom to see the bride’s dress before the actual wedding ceremony. Suguru is thankful their culture lacks such superstition. Because despite the annoyed wrinkle in Satoru’s mouth and nose, he is rather beautiful in the heavy, white wedding kimono. He shines like some heavenly creature with the morning sun raining down on him, sparkling. Even if the wataboshi carefully balanced on Satoru’s head makes him look like a rice paddle.

Suguru wonders if they’re the same pieces from the first wedding but would rather cut his tongue out than ask. Surely that would be bad luck. His own thin-striped hakama and black haori are on loan from the Gojo clan’s wedding planner. Because of course they retain someone just for this rather than hire a company to manage everything. A sigh that draws glares from his parents bursts out of Satoru as he comes to stand beside Suguru, photographer already set up and waiting on them. The Gojo clan seems just as desperate as them to hurry this process along, taking formal photos the same day as the ceremony. 

“Can this be over yet?” Satoru grumbles low enough that only Suguru hears him. 

Suguru leans his head slightly closer and murmurs back, “Hold on a little longer. It’s just this, then practicing the ceremony, then the actual ceremony, and then lunch. Then it’s over.”

Satoru snorts.

The elder Gojo alpha coughs into his fist where he stands beside his wife. The rest of Satoru’s family will join them after the ceremony. No one is here for Suguru. He’ll have his turn when he takes Satoru home tomorrow. Their marriage is already on file with the municipal office in Gifu. Today is only a ceremony. They participate and keep their grumbling to themselves if only to get through it faster.

Satoru making a little face at each of the three sake cups they drink from is the only moment during the whole ceremony where time slows down for Suguru. Out of direct view from his parents and with the shrine maiden indifferent, Satoru allows himself a moment for dramatics. He sticks his tongue out and grimaces around it. Suguru bites the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. This is his wedding. It’s supposed to be serious. He nudges Satoru’s leg next to him where they kneel side by side. Satoru nudges him back. Just past the curved edge of the wataboshi, Suguru catches Satoru smiling. Suguru keeps that smile in the forefront of his mind through scripted vows and offerings and prayers until the ceremony finally ends.

“Congratulations.”

It’s more of a murmur from the elder clan members than an exclamation. With one last bow to Satoru’s parents, the wedding planner leads them all from the shrine back to the Gojo estate. Everything needs to stay on schedule. Satoru separates from them to change into a different kimono for the reception. Suguru watches him go, not expecting Satoru to steady the wataboshi on his head only to peek back over his shoulder. Satoru’s family marches on to where lunch is laid out and prepared, so it’s safe for him to flash Suguru another smile. It’s small and quick to dart back behind a mask of neutrality. If Suguru were younger, such a stolen glance might take his breath away. Instead, that breath bubbles out of him as a few warm chuckles. 

Satoru eventually reappears in a yellow kimono with red chrysanthemums embroidered on the sleeves and length. He slips fingers under the collar to tug and coax some space between his neck and the layers tied around him. 

“Promise me something, Suguru.”

The wedding planner isn’t far behind. She’ll usher them through the estate in a moment.

“What?”

Satoru stops trying to regain his personal space from the kimono and huffs, “Don’t make me wear these things. I’d rather walk around naked than wear a kimono.”

Murmuring so no one else hears them, Suguru teases, “What about a maid outfit instead?”

Satoru sputters at that and Suguru’s cheeky grin. As the wedding planner takes the lead, this way, Satoru pushes Suguru square in the middle of his back. He stumbles a step but catches himself, amusement giving his grin teeth.

“Don’t push your luck,” Satoru scoffs. The pink in his cheeks betrays his faux upset.

Grin reeled into a smile, Suguru’s voice is warm with promise when he says, “We’ll buy whatever clothes you want to wear, don’t worry.”

Suguru doesn’t look behind him when Satoru’s footsteps fall silent and lag behind. After five paces or so, they scramble to catch up. Suguru shortens his stride until Satoru is beside him rather than behind him. As they walk closer to where lunch is being served, murmuring voices reach their ears. Suguru isn’t looking forward to the hollow conversations. He’d much rather skip all that straight to the part of the evening when he and Satoru can be alone and say whatever they want to each other, no audience.

Beside him, Satoru sighs, “This is already going so much better than the first wedding.”

“I imagine so.”

But Satoru waves his words away, continuing, “No, you don’t get it. You’re playing your role and being respectful. The first time…” Satoru’s mouth wrinkles with disgust and anger. “He just didn’t want to wait. He didn’t care if my family saw him grope me or discipline me. He didn’t care about being quiet either.”

His own mouth going tight at the corners, Suguru sweeps his gloved hand behind Satoru to cradle the space between his shoulders. A tiny jump ripples through Satoru, expected, but no sourness in his scent nor a growl nor a hand rejects that touch.

“I don’t believe in posturing like that. Humiliating you just to show everyone in the room you’re mine is…” Suguru’s mouth folds up again. “Repulsive. There are more respectful and subtle ways to do that if he felt the need.”

“Such a gentleman,” Satoru teases.

If anyone makes a face at them stepping into the room together and Suguru gesturing for Satoru to sit first, he ignores them. Let the Gojo clan gossip in each other’s ears and think whatever they want. It saves Suguru from wasting his breath on empty platitudes. If he could, he would shield Satoru from the glares aimed his way from every corner of the room. Why they hate him so doesn’t matter to Suguru. Satoru doesn’t belong to them anymore. They can’t hurt or control him ever again. The simmering possessiveness in those thoughts has Suguru shuffling on the cushion under him. He may be a gentleman as Satoru had teased. He’s an alpha, too. And he stares down anyone whose gaze lingers on Satoru a second too long with a razor-thin smile.

Halfway through the meal, Suguru takes stock of what Satoru has eaten and what remains untouched on his lacquered tray. He gets as far as passing off miso and sashimi before Satoru speaks up.

“You know, my first husband didn’t let me eat anything after the ceremony.”

One of Suguru’s eyes twitches at that.

“Cruelty for cruelty’s sake,” he mutters.

An attendant brings out the next course, grilled sea bream. Satoru digs into his without hesitation and builds a little discard pile of bones whenever he encounters them. Although he has nothing to do with it, seeing Satoru eat something with gusto plucks a prideful string in him. They’ll have to circle back on their food conversation from their third meeting. Suguru would rather not find out through trial and error what Satoru will eat. Food isn’t the only thing on Suguru’s mental list of preparations to bring Satoru home. It’s not like the Gojo clan is going to send them back to Suguru’s village with a care package. Satoru needs clothes, toiletries, a cell phone, and whatever other bits and bobs to make his new life comfortable. At least a level of comfort Suguru can provide unlike others. Suguru’s mouth sours every time a thought about Satoru’s deceased husband sprouts like a weed in his mind. He’d rather not think about the nameless, faceless man at all. 

Satoru won’t let him forget, however.

After an aunt questions Suguru on his professional background and the conversation drops, Satoru nudges him.

“You’re actually playing nice with these vultures. You know they don’t really care about your answers, right?”

“It’s only polite.”

Satoru snorts under his breath before removing the peel off another orange slice. Suguru has already handed over his fruit.

“Yea, but you’re choosing to be polite. After he was done eating, my ex just grabbed me and walked us out of here instead of making useless small talk with my family.”

Suguru reaches his limit maybe half an hour later. A cousin has partaken too much of the sake passed around and gossips about Satoru from across the room. How much grander the first wedding had been—even if everyone murmurs to themselves about how rude the alpha had been. Or how the alpha’s family should have been the ones to take Satoru in after the death. He belonged to them, should have been their problem. No matter the strength of Suguru’s death glare and how other family members around the drunk cousin avoid said stare, he keeps rambling. All of this is just loud enough for everyone to hear but not boisterous enough to shush him. Satoru stares down at the cup of tea that’s gone cold between his hands. He’s here, eyes sharp and not far away. So he hears every word spat his way as he takes a drink.

“He’s an embarrassment to the whole clan. It’s like buying a horse with a broken leg.” Red-faced, Satoru’s cousin slumps into a family member next to him, spilling sake on the low table, but continues, irate, “What self-respecting alpha would want a lame horse? Should have put him on the funeral pyre with Toji.”

Satoru’s hand jerks as if he’d stuck his fingers in an outlet. Some tea sloshes over the rim of the porcelain cup to drip in his lap. The air around them sours with fear and hatred. If it were anyone else, Suguru would cover his nose to escape it. Blazing eyes closed and shoulders rising with a deep breath, Satoru sets the cup back down. His wet hand fists on the table beside it while the other claws into the silk length of his kimono. A drop of tea hangs heavy and precarious off his clenched jaw. Suguru has a handkerchief in his pocket. It would be easy to offer it to Satoru to let him clean up. 

Without a groan of effort, Suguru rises to his feet and pets his gloved fingers along the shelf of Satoru’s shoulders. The tremble in them stops at his touch.

“Come show me where a bathroom is.”

All murmuring screeches to a halt when Satoru stands. Suguru directs him with the same hand towards the hallway.

“Oi! Where are you going?”

Suguru’s hand takes Satoru’s shoulder to prevent him from turning around. Glancing over his own shoulder, Suguru’s unamused stare startles the drunk cousin where he’s stumbling to stand. As if amber eyes zap him, he loses his footing and falls on his ass. Dishes left on the low table rattle. Other family members scramble to escape the chaotic spray of sake from his dropped cup.

The elder Gojo rushes to his feet, barks, “Kenji, that’s enough,” before turning his ire on Suguru. “Although I too would like to know what exactly you think you’re doing.”

Satoru tenses like a spring ready to snap. Suguru nudges him a step forward. Locked knees resist that force, but a squeeze from Suguru’s hand encourages him. It’s okay. I’m here. Satoru shuffles a step towards the hallway.

Pivoting at the hip and shielding most of Satoru, Suguru asks, “Are we not free to leave?” The elder Gojo matches him stare for stare with his teeth clenched. He has no real power here. Not anymore. “Am I not free to do what I please with my mate? He’s mine, after all.”

The elder’s growl spills between his bared teeth, and he jabs a finger in their direction when he snaps, “Both of you will leave my house first thing tomorrow morning.”

That was already the plan. If Suguru didn’t hate night driving and if tradition didn’t dictate they remain here the first night, they’d leave right now.

“Gladly,” Suguru says with a smile that draws his eyes into thin slits of gold. He turns a much cooler stare down his nose at the cousin who has since sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Guiding Satoru the rest of the way out of the room, Suguru adds, “Oh, someone should clean that up. The tatami might stain.”

The shoji door slides shut with a satisfying, final click of wood on wood. Suguru keeps Satoru in front of him until the drone of rising voices is unintelligible. Safe from the nonsense and viper tongues, Suguru steps into place beside Satoru, and together they wander deeper into the estate. When Satoru’s hand brushes his, he counts it as a mistake. But Satoru’s pinky hooks his, almost pleading, so Suguru tucks his bare hand around Satoru’s. It’s not a mistake. Satoru squeezes his hand until his knuckles pop. That vise grip relaxes almost immediately. Saying nothing and not even glancing Suguru’s way, Satoru doesn’t let him go until they stop in front of a door with a handle and hinge rather than a shoji panel. Oh right, he’d asked Satoru to lead them to a bathroom.

It’s only once Satoru is gone and with a solid surface separating them that Suguru releases the tension he’s been holding in. Rage churns like a storm in his stomach. It crawls up his throat with acid claws, but he cages the roar of it behind his teeth, growling. At his sides, his hands flex a few times, leather whining against itself. They’d feel better around Kenji’s throat. If he were younger, if the circumstances were different, if he didn’t think a physical attack would cause problems despite their marriage and the contract… Sucking in the hot salt of his own anger clouding the hallway, he paces in front of the bathroom like the animal inside him wants to. He wills it down, calm, before lifting his left hand to stare at his palm. Satoru had touched him, reached for him so easily. On his own. Suguru takes a deep breath, another, another, and slowly lowers his hand. It aches a little from Satoru squeezing him.

When Satoru reappears, he closes the bathroom door only to lean on it, arms crossed over his chest. Suguru’s heart sinks into his stomach for a split second. Blue eyes zip to him, and a little smile unfurls like a frond under them.

“I’ve never seen anyone stand up to my father like that.” He looks away first, and a shiver strums through Suguru. “Even my ex, he just ignored anything my father had to say.” A corner of Satoru’s mouth twitches down. “Well, he ignored what everyone had to say, I guess.”

That has to stop. He can’t take the thinly veiled comparison. 

Suguru offers his left hand and says, “Walk with me.”

Confusion wrinkles between Satoru’s silvery eyebrows, but he takes Suguru’s hand all the same. Same as all the other times, they walk side by side in somewhat comfortable silence. Suguru would rather not have this conversation in the guest room that is designated as his—theirs—for the night. If he can’t make Satoru understand or if Satoru won’t understand, he’d rather not try to sleep beside his new mate with bad air between them. Their wandering brings them to the garden where they’d met for the second time. With the sun setting and their rural, mountainous setting, the temperature out here will drop fast. It’s now or never.

Suguru guides them to a bench, sits them down, and keeps hold of Satoru’s hand.

“I need you to do something for me, Satoru.”

Satoru looks up from their hands still gently joined, frowning.

“What?”

Suguru’s thumb pets the lines in Satoru’s palm as he says, “Eventually, I’d like to know the story behind your first husband and why someone saying his name gets such a rise out of you.” Satoru’s mouth flies open almost faster than Suguru can stop him with his gloved hand bolting up, palm facing out. “I want you to tell me when you want to. Not because you think you have to or that I’m owed an explanation. There’s a time for everything.” He holds a smile until Satoru’s mouth closes with a hesitant nod. “That being said… I don’t think you mean to compare me to him, but whenever you bring him up, that’s how it feels. Like a comparison.”

He can’t stop Satoru this time. Fist smacking into his thigh, Satoru rocks into Suguru’s personal space and insists with his voice failing a little, “You’re nothing like him! I didn’t mean it like that.”

Without thinking, Suguru reaches for Satoru’s shoulder too fast. Satoru jumps and sits up straight again, not quite leaning out of range. His hand in Suguru’s barely twitches, at least.

“I know you don’t mean it that way. Didn’t I just say that?” he teases.

A breath rushes out of Satoru’s nose, not quite a huff, but he gives a single, sharp nod. His gaze flits and darts around, dog-like in its nervousness. Suguru holds Satoru’s hand with both of his, squeezing. That draws blazing eyes his way again.

“This is my first wedding. Hopefully my only wedding. All of this is new to me. I can’t erase him or the things you’ve been through. I just want you to experience this and all the other new things with me. Can you do that for me, Satoru?”

He nods but says, “I guess I didn’t realize I was doing that. I don’t usually talk about him at all. Waste of breath.” His fingertips peek under the hem of Suguru’s glove, seeking skin. The burn scars there look worse than they feel, and if Satoru detects the papery texture of Suguru’s skin, he doesn’t shy away. “I’m… sorry?”

“Thank you, Satoru. That’s all I needed.”

Once more, Satoru’s mouth twitches to return his smile. Slowly this time, Suguru’s bare hand untangles from theirs joined on his thigh to reach for Satoru’s face. Satoru perks up but holds still for the curl of Suguru’s knuckles that trace the curve of his cheek. He even allows Suguru to cup his cheek, thumb petting the purple tinge under a bright eye. 

Corner of his mouth tugging up, Suguru wonders out loud, “You don’t always flinch when I touch you.”

Satoru looks away as his mouth squirms. It just presses his cheek more firmly into Suguru’s palm. 

“That’s… something you’re gonna have to get used to.”

Ah, if only Satoru would allow a kiss, too. Even on his cheek, his hand. Something. It’s just another thing Suguru hesitates to allow himself to think about. To imagine. He knows himself and the resentment that could build up from too much flinching, too much rejection. It’s not Satoru’s fault. Someone had tried their hardest to break him, and this is just how Satoru has glued himself back together. Suguru should feel thankful his new mate allows physical contact at all. So with a sigh bottled into a quiet exhale instead, Suguru’s left hand retreats. He would hate to overstay his welcome.

Satoru squints at him, searching his face for something.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you.”

Oops.

Suguru allows himself a sheepish laugh and smile, nose crinkling. He just barely stops himself from rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ah, is it that obvious?”

Satoru’s lips quirk, fighting a smile perhaps.

“You were staring at my mouth.”

Suguru squeezes Satoru’s hand between both of his again and laughs, “Sorry. I won’t without your permission, of course. I don’t even know if you’re attracted to men.”

Satoru’s face remains relaxed, neutral, but he floods their breathing space with sweetness. Interest.

“I am.” He squirms on the bench beside Suguru but doesn’t take his hand away. “You’re kinda corny, you know?”

“Is that a bad thing?” Suguru drawls. Satoru’s wiggling and the flush starting to creep into his ears suggest the opposite.

“Could be worse,” Satoru says with a careless shrug. His gaze turns dodgy again, but he admits all the same, “I think I like it. Maybe.”

Satoru will stop him if he doesn’t want this. The little glances he keeps throwing Suguru through white bangs in his eyes certainly mean something. He’s still pumping the air full of cloying sweetness, come hither. Slowly to give him plenty of time to object, Suguru cradles Satoru’s hand in his left and lifts it. Same as when he’d caressed Satoru’s cheek a moment ago, the omega perks up. It’s a much more promising reaction than a flinch. Suguru’s grip on him can barely be called that. All Satoru has to do is raise his hand and he’ll be free. But he doesn’t. He watches with lips parted as the hilltops of his knuckles and Suguru’s bowed head meet in the middle. Amber eyes stay up all through the brush of lips over Satoru’s knuckles, ready to retreat if he reads even a modicum of displeasure.  

The silence holds for a few breaths once it’s over. Suguru guides Satoru’s hand back to his thigh and sits up straight, watching. Waiting.

A shiver ripples through Satoru with pink finally staining his cheeks, but he snorts, “You know what? I take it back. You’re very corny.”

Suguru’s smile is playful, but he wonders if anyone has ever shown Satoru such tenderness. He squirms and huffs like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Like Suguru’s affection is confusing but not unwanted. Some slivers of innocence remain glimmering amongst the gloom of Satoru’s past. Suguru would like to gather them up despite their sharp edges and embed them in his heart. If Satoru will let him.

Rising to his feet and drawing Satoru up with him, Suguru murmurs with a warm look, “I prefer the term ‘romantic.’” Satoru snorts again but follows without a fuss. “Why don’t we grab some spare clothes from your room so you can change? I’m sure you’re more than ready to get out of that kimono and relax.”

He doesn’t mean anything by it. Nothing suggestive or sultry. Even if Satoru were not prone to flinching or shying away from him, they wouldn’t consummate their marriage tonight regardless. Not in this house where the walls have many prying ears. So Suguru’s stomach drops at his mistake when Satoru freezes and the slack between their joined hands grows taut.

“No, uh, it’s okay, I can just wear a yukata that’s in your room. We keep extra in the guest rooms. For guests.”

Suguru blinks at that. He frowns at the way Satoru won’t look at him. So not a misunderstanding but something else… It creeps in the shadows around them. Something Satoru doesn’t want him to know.

Turning fully around but not releasing Satoru’s hand, he asks, “But aren’t there things you want to bring with you? I know we’ll need to buy you some new things, but—”

“No, I don’t want anything here,” Satoru blurts.

Beneath the slight sour of Satoru’s panic, Suguru smells it again. Something not of Satoru but something that clings to him. Wet earth. Damp. Moss or mildew. It has never made sense and continues to confound Suguru. That confusion is slowly crystalizing into suspicion.

“Will you take me to your room? I’ve never seen it.”

“There’s nothing to see.”

Satoru shutting him down and glaring at him almost takes Suguru’s breath away. Satoru’s hand in his squeezes hard enough to make his bones click. A tang like spoiled citrus overcomes the inviting sweetness that had blanketed them moments ago. Not quite rejection but certainly a defense—nails in Suguru’s skin, a warning.

Jaw tense but eyes pleading, Satoru says, “I’m pretty good at ignoring commands from alphas. So don’t try it.”

“A partner wouldn’t do that to you, Satoru.”

Satoru’s voice catches on the little breath that punches out of him. Like Suguru has struck him. The death grip he has on Suguru persists, persists, persists. And then relaxes all at once. If Suguru were to open his hand, Satoru’s would fall. So he doesn’t let go, just pets his thumb over the knuckles he’d kissed.

“I don’t…” Satoru swallows hard, grimacing through some emotion. “I don’t want you to see it. I don’t know what you’ll say or-or if it’ll change how you feel, I—”

“It won’t,” Suguru says firmly but not unkindly.

He shuffles a step closer. Relief like a drink of water on a sweltering day washes over Suguru when Satoru copies his shuffle. He’s sour with misery and yet still seeks closeness. What condition could his room possibly be in to make Satoru react like this? Suguru squeezes his hand.

“I chose you. Whatever you don’t want me to see, it won’t change how I feel.”

“You don’t know that,” Satoru insists bitterly.

“Then prove me wrong.”

The grimace twitching at his lip flattens with enough effort. That far away look Suguru hates kills the light in blue eyes that stare through his chest. Satoru takes a step back, tugging on their clasped hands.

“This way.”

Suguru figures out where they are when he recognizes the kitchen where Satoru had pulled his little prank to buy them some privacy. Their joined hands lead him just past it to a pantry of sorts. Satoru steps into the shadows to pull a thin cord dangling from the ceiling. Light from a single, bare bulb floods the room and casts harsh shadows. Suguru could spread his arms and touch both walls with his fingertips. He takes in stocked shelves, cupboards, a vacuum, and a racket used to re-fluff futons. 

“I don’t understand.”

Satoru’s free hand gestures to the floor. Suguru blinks and makes sense of what his eyes had glossed over.

A trap door.

“You heard what my cousin said. That my ex’s family should have kept me when he died. After he died and I… lived in a mental hospital for a few years, they wouldn’t take me. The Omega Protection Act makes it illegal for us to live alone. But my family really didn’t want me back either.”

Blue eyes bore into him, but Suguru can’t meet them now. He won’t turn the rage and hatred setting his eyes ablaze on Satoru. He barely hears Satoru over the roar in his ears.

“I already served my purpose, and they didn’t have a use for a sterile omega they couldn’t sell off again to produce heirs for another family. But it would look bad if they let me die on the streets somewhere so…” Satoru tosses his hand towards the trap door again. “That’s where they kept me. I only left to use the bathroom. And to meet you, I guess.”

Throat tight, choking him, Suguru grunts, “It’s a crawl space.”

“There are caves all through the mountains here. There’s a little cavern under this part of the house. Before the estate was electrified, it was used to keep food from spoiling.” Suguru’s hand is limp, and so Satoru’s slips out of his when he steps towards the door, reaching for the indent carved into the wood. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Satoru already bends down in the tight wrappings of his kimono to pull the door open. Suguru drops to a knee so fast it bangs into the floor. The bright zap of pain doesn’t even register to him. Suguru maybe grips Satoru’s wrist too hard to stop him. But a flinch doesn’t echo through him. Blue eyes are as flat as his voice, almost dead when they look up at Suguru. The squinting, the earthy smell of him, the rasp in his voice. It all comes from this awful hole in the ground.

“I’ve seen enough.”

Bare hand gentlying its grip on Satoru’s wrist, they rise back to their full heights together. Suguru’s gloved hand fists itself so tightly his nails would dig into his palm if not for the leather. A caress to that hand, dulled through the glove, startles Suguru back to himself. Satoru presses his mouth into a thin line while watching Suguru breathe hard like they’ve run and run until their legs want to give out. A shiver serves as an outlet for the rest of Suguru’s rage, and he takes both of Satoru’s hands in his. 

They watch each other under the dusty, pale light of the pantry for what seems like an eternity.  

Suguru breaks the silence with a strained, “Would no one have mercy on you?”

Satoru’s mouth screws up as he fights with some emotion. The pantry reeks of their combined misery.

Struggle mostly under control, Satoru gives a single-shoulder shrug and says with a wince, “You? Maybe?” The smile he flashes Suguru crumbles instantly like wet sand that refuses to hold a shape. “I wasn’t going to tell you about this. I didn’t want you to know.”

Amber eyes slide back to the trap door. 

“I’m sorry, Satoru, but I needed to see this.” Some life has returned to those blazing eyes when Suguru meets them again. “I would have always wondered why you act like sunlight hurts you or why you smell like… well, a cellar. I never would have guessed this but…” Suguru shakes his head. It’s his turn to stare through Satoru and far away. “A part of me knew something was wrong. I just hoped you’d eventually tell me when you were ready.”

Their hands tangled between them shift so that Satoru is the one holding onto his limp fingers. Satoru’s thumbs pet back and forth over his knuckles. Sweetness on the air breaks through Suguru’s despair in time for his eyes to focus and catch Satoru leaning into him. Blue eyes close just as their cheeks graze, too close to even see each other. Satoru’s body heat rolls off him, he’s so close. Oh, how cold and dark it must have been under their feet. Lonely. Resisting the clench of his jaw, Suguru leans his head to nuzzle Satoru back. The tiny, muffled sound in Satoru’s throat is felt more than heard. Suguru commits it to memory as Satoru leans back out of his personal space.

Eyes blinking slowly like he’s just woken up, Suguru murmurs, “Why did you do that?”

“You were upset.”

“Not with you,” Suguru quickly points out.

“I know.” This time, Satoru’s smile holds for more than a split second. It slips away when he casts a brief glance to the trap door. Like it will spring open like a gaping maw and swallow them. “I never want to see this place again.”

“You won’t. I’m not a morning person, but we’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.” He squeezes Satoru’s hands. “I promise.”

With a nod, Satoru pulls them out of the pantry.

“Should we go to your guest room now?”

Night has fallen quickly in the valley. Still chilly even at the end of April. A breeze whips at them on the exposed porch, and despite the sleeves of his haori, Suguru’s skin comes alive with goosebumps.

With his gloved hand unoccupied, Suguru gestures down the length of the porch.

“Lead the way.”

The ceremony and formal lunch with the Gojo clan had already drained Suguru significantly. The emotional roller coaster of a conversation they’ve finally stumbled off of leaves him blinking heavily. It’s too early to go to bed just yet. The futon—just one—isn’t even laid out yet when they enter the room. A kotatsu and cushions are set up where the futon will be. The tube TV sat on the floor has nothing good on, so Suguru settles on a baseball game. If only to pass the time. They ought to eat something for dinner since breakfast will probably be had on the road.

Satoru excuses himself to the nearest bathroom to change. Suguru takes the same opportunity to shed what he’d worn for the wedding—all day, really—and sits wrapped in a grey yukata. The sleeves are long enough to cover the burn scar on his arm, although he wears the yukata loosely enough to give a peek of the same scar spread across the right side of his chest. He leaves his usual glove tucked into the pocket of the bag he brought, tunnels and plugs from his ears safely zipped in an interior pocket. Surely the spare clothes he’d brought just in case will fit Satoru. Otherwise, the omega will be stuck in a yukata for the whole ride home.

Satoru remains in the bathroom long enough to welcome worry within Suguru. Just as he’s about to search the sprawling halls, Satoru returns with his hair wet and his own grey yukata tied rather loosely around him. He dumps the obi and kimono and the layers under that all on the floor with no regard for the expensive silk. Suguru can’t really blame him. It’s just another way the Gojo clan exercises control over him. Never again after tonight.

Satoru drops heavily onto the cushion opposite Suguru only to lay his head on the table. The polished wood must be mercifully cold against his face that the bath water has kissed pink.

“We should eat before going to bed. I’d like to make it through and out of Kyoto before we stop anywhere tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Satoru murmurs with his cheek smashed to the table.

Suguru reaches across the kotatsu with only a slight hitch of hesitation before his fingers pet white hair. Satoru hums but otherwise makes no objection. Suguru strokes the same locks until they’re dry and soft between his fingers. He only stops at the knock on the same closed panel they’d slid open to enter the room. Two staff members enter with dinner: ramen for the commoners, although everything tastes high quality. Suguru murmurs his thanks for the meal as they leave quietly, taking the loaned outfits with them. It’s at least something warm Satoru seems to enjoy without making a face or picking things out of his bowl. He’d started to shiver under Suguru’s hand—either from the chilly night creeping in or something else, Suguru will never know. He doesn’t want to break the peaceful silence between them, but something Satoru had said in the pantry pesters him like a fly aiming for his eyes.

Setting his porcelain spoon down, Suguru waits for Satoru to look up and stop eating.

“Something wrong?”

Suguru takes a deep breath.

“I don’t mean to bring this up, and I won’t after this. Earlier you said something about living in a mental hospital after your ex passed away.” Satoru grimaces. “Not now, but some day, will you tell me what happened?”

Satoru’s grimace softens but doesn’t completely smooth out as he pokes noodles around in his bowl. It holds his attention rather than Suguru’s patient stare.

“It’s a real mood killer. Are you sure you want to know?”

“Not right now,” Suguru gently reiterates. “I know you don’t want to tell me at all. But it’s important. I want to know what happened to you, Satoru. All of it.”

Blue eyes have some hollowness to them when Satoru glances up. Years of detective work almost have Suguru taking it for the look of a killer—empty eyes, dark and blank. The eyes of a wild animal unconcerned with your mortality.

“You sure about that? Might change your mind on how you feel about me.”

“I’m sure, and it won’t.” Suguru lifts his chin to meet the challenge in Satoru’s stare. “Don’t forget I was a detective, not a cop stationed in some quiet neighborhood helping cats stuck in trees. I’ve chased murderers, rapists, the worst Nagoya had to offer.”

A silvery eyebrow cocks up at him.

“And you came out clean on the other side?”

Besides the baseball game still playing on low, silence coils tightly around them. Suguru holds Satoru’s stare the same as every other time. He has his own stories he could tell—the horrible things he’d seen, the occasional horrible things he’d done. The… circumstances that had brought Mimiko and Nanako into his home. All in the name of protecting others and the greater good. Early in his career, he’d made peace with the difference between saving people and being a good person. Rather than shy away from Suguru’s intensity, Satoru perks up and glances over him as if seeing a new angle of him.

Licking salt off his lips, Satoru says slowly, “I don’t… I don’t know when I’ll want to tell you.”

“That’s fine. Tell me when you’re ready.”

The tension between them refuses to disperse and instead lingers like haze. Even the arrival of three staff members to take their finished dinner away and set up the futon does not clear the air. Suguru catches Satoru eyeing the single, extra large futon. It’s meant for two. He waits for the footsteps of the staff to fall silent and then some before assuaging Satoru’s obvious nerves.

Rising from the kotatsu, Suguru crosses the room and flicks back the comforter made up nice and neat on the futon. He sits down and makes himself comfortable while setting an alarm on his phone for 5AM. Not without a grimace, but the sooner they leave, the better. That done, he turns towards Satoru who hasn’t budged from the kotatsu but has probably watched Suguru settle down. Thin shoulders hunch slightly under Satoru’s loose yukata. Suguru reads the atmosphere plainly.

Holding out his scarred hand, he says, “Turn off the light and come here, Satoru.” When blue eyes only stare at him, a bit too wide, Suguru curls his hand towards himself. “Nothing is going to happen.”

Satoru jumps so hard his thigh slams into the bottom of the kotatsu. He hadn’t allowed the staff to fold it up and put it away. And Suguru is not about to let him sleep slumped against it.

Satoru’s mouth crooks in a grin, but his eyebrows pinch together.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re sleeping together on the futon. But nothing is going to happen. We’re just going to sleep.”

Satoru’s jaw clenches a bit as his gaze slides from Suguru’s face to his outstretched hand. He blinks hard a few times at the sight of skin instead of leather.

“When did you take your glove off?”

“While you were bathing. Now come here.”

Satoru’s nervous stare returns to his face.

“Never seen you without your ear thingies either.”

An eyebrow cocks up at him.

“You’re stalling, and it won’t work. I’m not going to touch you, Satoru. So come here and sleep next to me.”

It’s something he won’t budge on. He’s not going to take Satoru home and play the game of avoiding each other when it comes to bedtime. The room Nanako and Mimiko had shared is a guest room now, but Satoru won’t be sleeping there either. They’ll sleep in the same bed. His bed. Suguru understands the violence Satoru had most likely suffered under his first husband. If the bastard truly did drag Satoru away from the wedding festivities the moment one hunger was satisfied, Suguru doesn’t doubt he quickly indulged the other sort of hunger man and beast alike share. Satoru will find none of that violence in him. 

Softly, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Satoru’s upper lip twitches in an aborted snarl.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Suguru’s smile remains soft and mild.

“Good, you have no reason to be afraid of me.” His hand curls again. “I’m tired, and I’m sure you are too. Come.”

The hard way Satoru stares at him, like he can will Suguru to change his mind, tugs at the alpha’s heart. 

“You don’t like to be held? I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”

Voice leaking into his sigh, Satoru scrubs both hands through his now dry hair and jumps to his feet. The TV turns off with a click and the whisper of static electricity dissipating on the glass. It only takes two steps to bring Satoru to the light switch which he flicks off without warning. Suguru leaves his hand stretched into the darkness while he waits for his eyes to adjust. While he waits for Satoru to finally give up struggling and just come to bed. Satoru’s footsteps are almost silent on the tatami floor. His natural sweetness mixes with the sourness of panic. Not enough to flood the room and make breathing difficult. But enough for Suguru to hold his tongue and just wait. 

Quietly somewhere above him, “I haven’t slept next to someone since… In a long time.”

“You have to trust I’m not going to hurt you. A partner wouldn’t hurt you, right?”

Satoru’s next exhale stutters through his lips or nose. Enough light leaks into the room for Suguru to make out the grey silhouette of him but no details. Satoru’s outline vibrates like he’s shaking.

Fingers that have gone cold at the tips bump into his in the dark. Suguru guides him down with that touch but no more, hand retreating the moment weight shifts beside him. The comforter is already swept back, making room for Satoru to sit and get comfortable. They bump into each other and murmur apologies. Satoru turning onto his left side, giving his back to Suguru, comes as no surprise. Suguru tries not to let it hurt. Instead, he remembers their moment in the pantry when Satoru had scented him unprompted. Just because Satoru knew he was upset. Satoru doesn’t always flinch when touched. Suguru reminds himself of that over and over as he relaxes where he lies on his back. The Gojo estate is silent around them except for the occasional wood beam giving a crack as the temperature drops. They’ve only been lying here for five, ten minutes when Suguru can no longer ignore Satoru trembling beside him.

Rolling onto his left side, he murmurs, “Are you cold? You’re shaking.”

The futon is large enough to leave a respectful gap between them but not much else. They’d brush against each other if either of them were to stretch or splay out. Despite the empty air between them, Suguru feels when Satoru forces himself still. The grey blob of him shuffling and rolling around so that they face each other comes as a pleasant surprise. No one sees Suguru’s eyes going a bit wide. His right arm remains relaxed and bent between them. Satoru’s breaths ghost across one pillow to the next, playing with Suguru’s hair hanging over his forehead. The rest fans out on his own pillow behind him. 

He just barely stops himself from startling when Satoru’s hand finds his scarred one under the blanket. 

Just above a whisper, “Why is this important to you? It doesn’t matter if we sleep in the same bed.”

Suguru tangles his fingers with Satoru’s despite their attempt to explore the texture and firmness of his ruined skin. 

“Do you remember what I said when we first met? When you asked me what I wanted.”

“A partner.”

Suguru nods but just as quickly says, “That’s right. I also said that whoever I marry, whoever my mate is, I want them to eventually love me. And love to me involves physical affection and being close.”

“But not sex apparently.”

Suguru hears the roll of Satoru’s eyes. He untangles their hands only to seek Satoru’s cheek. He finds it, knuckles bumping into it. Satoru even accepts his tenderness after an initial flinch. 

“If I forced myself on you, what would happen? How would you feel about me?”

Quiet for a spell. Suguru’s heart pounds in his fingertips like he doesn’t already know the answer. 

“I’d hate you,” Satoru promises in the small space between their heads. “I’d hate you forever.”

“As you should. Your permission matters, Satoru. I know you don’t trust me yet. But I’ll earn your trust, if you let me.” With one last caress, Suguru tucks his hand back under the blanket to scoop Satoru’s up once more. “Your trust and your love. That’s what I want more than your body. If I wanted sex that didn’t mean anything, I’d just pay for it.”

When silence drags on and Satoru’s hand slips away, he’s ready for the omega to turn around and face away from him again. Instead, Satoru shuffles slightly down the futon, loops an arm over Suguru’s waist, and tucks himself under the alpha’s jaw. Not quite in his throat, not enough space and trust for that. But each breath Satoru takes warms the hollows of Suguru’s throat. Needing no further invitation, Suguru’s hand helps itself to Satoru’s hair. The curve of his jaw scents and nuzzles Satoru’s bangs, his forehead. Another soft, small sound escapes the hiding place Satoru makes for himself. 

Smiling into white hair that tickles his lips, Suguru teases, “You stopped shaking.”

“You’re warm,” huffs against his collarbones. 

“Mmm,” Suguru hums, amused, before brushing his lips in a featherlight kiss to Satoru’s forehead. “Try to sleep if you can. Good night, Satoru.”

Satoru’s face nuzzles what skin it can find with a soft, “Good night, Suguru.”

Satoru twitches and startles in his arms all night. Any movement or change in breathing earns a reaction. Just before Suguru’s alarm goes off, he wakes first and finds Satoru finally soft in sleep. He enjoys the sight in the low light for all of five minutes before the alarm ruins it. Luckily, he’ll have plenty more mornings after this one to see Satoru so peaceful and carefree.