Chapter Text
Suguru
S: WE'RE SOUL ALONE, AND SOUL REALLY MATTERS TO ME
THAT'S A SONG LYRIC DUMBASS
I'M NOT STUPID
S: NO. I MADE IT UP
SHUT UP. I'M WALKING IN RN!
THAT'S NOT EVEN A GOOD IDEA FOR A PERFUME CAMPAIGN
S: YES IT IS.
AND YOU'RE THE PERSON WHO HAS NO IDEAS
I HELPED YOU WITH EVERYTHING
I HAVE SET UP A FULL CAMPAIGN PROPOSAL BY MYSELF
BYE
S: YOU SURE?
BYE
An office job wasn't for you. You know it, and everyone else knows it, you'd assume. The lady at the front desk doesn't smile at you the same as all the other employees. Was it your age, your… eccentricism? Surely opting for burgundy maxis as opposed to black suits didn't objectify you as an inexperienced, intern-adjecent girl. No, you were a woman, and you had been working here two years! And few people even bothered to look you in the eye!
Working your way from the ground up is borderline impossible. Maybe you should opt for the pants, if it meant people would give you basic respect. God knows you need the raise— barely being able to cover Tokyo rent (albeit, on the more posh side of the city…) and having barely anything leftover is tiresome. You're getting desperate to prove yourself, and hopefully this next campaign gets you on the map.
Your shoulders slump as you step into the elevator, press the button for the top floor, and wait for the doors to close behind you. When they do, you notice that you're alone and let out a groan of exhaustion at the elevator music. Two years of early rising never gets any easier. As pretty as the sunrise is, waking up to pure sunlight in the late morning was just as beautiful, if not more so.
The glass of the elevator reflects the mauve haze into refractions that illuminate the shiny steel and marble of the interior. This huge building has become your second home, the establishment that takes up eight hours of your day.
This kind of architecture, and they can't afford to pay you more? New shoes would be nice. Geto had to glue the heel back on for you, and the backs dug uncomfortably into your heels and left them bleeding by the end of the day. He had offered to buy you new ones, but you had far too much pride. And he probably couldn't afford to do so, either. He made even less than you did at his old job, and he was now in between employment. But you two roomed together, regardless— after all, he was half the brains for this campaign. You'd never admit that to his face, though. P
All that aside, proposing a good marketing approach to a perfume launch provides the opportunity to climb the corporate ladder, a shot you would not miss for the world. Nothing stood between you and that raise, God damn it.
The floor stopped moving from beneath you, and the doors slid open smoothly with the sound chime of the bell. It was morning rush, when all the productive morning people showed up a good half hour before deadline to get started early. It was nearly impossible to drag yourself out of your warm bed on such a crisp April morning, but money was more enticing than sleep. With a determined step, you push past people entering the elevator, muttering polite hellos that don't echo back. Your heels painfully jut into your skin, making your jaw fall slack for a split second before you compose yourself and manage an expression of only slight discomfort. Just a few minutes of walking, you urge yourself. One damn foot in front of the other, and then you can get your presentation together at your desk.
Turning the corner, past the bathrooms bustling with coworkers, you sigh in relief at the sight of the carpeted cubicles. You have never been so excited to sit down. Only a few more steps, then you can sit—
Your feet fly out from under you, slipping on the now visible wet marble that fucking squeaked as you go airborne, feeling yourself about to fall flat on your ass.
Shit, shit shit—
You don't hit the floor. You hit something hard and warm, and one that smells vaguely of leather and aired-out cologne. An arm wraps around your middle, squeezing, while another hauls you up by the armpit before you're standing upright again. The yellow cleaning sign on the floor seemed to taunt you. Along with the plenty of pairs of eyes staring at you with vague morning amusement.
You whirl around.
And scowl.
Higuruma wipes his hands on his suit like he's touched something dirty, looking down at the fabric as if to see if you left a stain. Of course he was around. It just had to be Higuruma.
He looks up at you then, through lowered brows. And with a smug smirk on his dumb face.
He spoke, then, a gravelly tone that told of how much coffee he had already consumed this morning. "You dropped something."
Looking down, you see your purse, abandoned on the wet floor. A receipt and a few pens had fallen out, stark against the marble. You grunt and squat down, getting your shit together and slinging your bag back over you shoulder, Looking up, you see Higuruma, who's still looking down at you. His hazel, downturned eyes were accompanied by bruised-purple eyebags.
Good. He didn't deserve sleep.
Or maybe he had been up all night perfecting his campaign, and maybe it would be better than yours. Fuck, you had to go over your slides.
He talked again before you could, making your mouth open and close like a dimwit fish. "Need any help there, or?…" The trail-off of his words… ugh. You practically seethed. Your new expression made him laugh, a low-coiled register that raised goosebumps from your skin.
With the most malicious scowl you could muster, you stand and take a step towards him. The floor squeaks, making you look down, ripping your composure along with the gesture. Your flush cheeks that you can tell are mottled with an embarrassing redness heat even more. Biting your lip, you allow your cool to slip. "Says Naobito's little bottom feeder. Don't get so cocky. That campaign of yours surely isn't going to win the vote by you just groveling."
"And your meek plan of fun colors and affordability? Apparently, you think we're stepping down from the luxury industry. You don't know what Naobito wants— how do you think you're going to win?" Higuruma adjusts his tie, burning your skin with the way he glares at you down his nose. He takes a few steps toward you, getting closer, closer…
Then he walks past you, brushing your shoulder. A caress, a promise. A seal of his fucking victory. "Can't win everything, can you? Hopefully you lose this job, just like you lost that boyfriend of yours."
Oh.
How fucking dare he.
Yeah, Naoya had been an asshole of a man. He had yelled and thrown fits and occasionally hit you. The lowest of the low, and breaking up with him had never felt so freeing after you got over yourself and the messed-up psychology of it all. And now Higuruma was bringing it all back up. Causing this reflux of memories that swam in your head with taunting fervor.
You spin around, stomping after him. Resounding clicks of your heels signaled your approach. Higiruma stilled, slowly turning.
You didn't think twice. Just wanted to prove this man wrong, so, so wrong. He can't be so perfect, so good at everything. "I have a fiance, asshole. That man I dumped was a hell of a lot worse than you could ever imagine. So go suck up to Naobito some more and just try to beat me. I'll see you at the top."
His smug expression dropped ever-so-slightly. "What—"
And then you were the one to shove your way past him, to your cubicle at the end of this meandering carpeted aisle of squares.
But you didn't sit at your cubicle. You circled around, aiming for the bathroom.
And, breaking down in tears behind the stainless steel stall door, all you could think about was the face of the man who had ruined your every night for three years straight.
And the fact that you really didn't have a fiance, because of course you didn't. You weren't Higuruma. Or anyone else functioning enough to have a healthy relationship.
What a rival Higuruma was. The man had everything you didn't.
That beautiful fiance, for one. Even worse, she was successful— that woman practically ran the event-planning industry by crushing everyone under her heels. You saw a few photos of her on Higuruma's desk: couple numbers that made you choke on your laugh. Seriously, she's picture-perfect, sure, but could you get any more corny? At least you had some leverage now to make fun of him.
Now it was time to focus on the important aspect of your life. You accept the fact with a sniffle. Time for this damn campaign, and how to calm your nerves enough to perfect it.
—
The campaign, gratefully, went about as smooth as it could have been. If anyone noticed your swollen face or red eyes from crying, nobody said anything. They listened respectfully, peppered you with a few questions that made you squirm, and dismissed you with polite smiles that could either pass as positive or Get this hopelessly hopeful girl out of here immediately.
Higuruma was leaning against the glass wall beside the door as you left. The purse on your shoulder was still damp, and it's been three hours. The memories of Higuruma were still fresh enough of wounds to induce the white-hot anger that stewing on the experience had induced. He smirked. "Went well, I assume?" Eyes flicking to you, you notice something. The slightest drop of his smile, the slightest furrow of his dark brows. "…Or not?"
"Don't tell me you're worried about me." You grumble under your breath, making to move past him.
His hand on your wrist stops you. "They didn't like it that much?"
You sigh through your nose. "Shut up. They actually liked it very much. Stop praying on my downfall and go woo them with your grace or something."
Higuruma's eyes darken, the smirk returning on his dumb, stupid face. His tall figure shrouds the vision of the meeting room behind you as he takes a step to cover the doorway and block your vision of the council in the room. "Or something?"
Ripping your wrist from his grip, you just walk away, not bothering to say another word. You need your break right about now. And somebody to rant to about… well, everything.
Good thing your roommate was currently between jobs and probably on his fifth hour of article-skimming right now. Or maybe he was job searching like he should be. Computer science jobs shouldn't be that hard to find, right? And Geto would get it done. He always did.
Whipping out your phone from the recesses of your purse, you open messages with a shaky thumb. Run-ins with Higuruma cause your body to cease normal functioning for whatever reason. Cons of an enemy, you assume.
Your heels still dig into your skin. Maybe you should ask around for a bandage or something. Matter of fact, shoving toilet paper between the contact might make things a bit more functional. You'd probably begin bleeding any minute now. Wincing, you finally sit at your cubicle with a second to yourself. That you'd now spend recounting everything bad that has happened to you today.
Geto
TODAY COULD NOT GET ANY WORSE
S: CAMPAIGN DIDN'T LAND?
ABOUT TO GO TO AN INTERVIEW. WISH ME LUCK. SORRY
IT DID. MAYBE... COULDN'T TELL
BUT HOLY SHIT HIGURUMA IS SUCH AN ASSHOLE
S: THAT GUY WHO JUST LIKES TO GET CLOSE TO THE OPERATIONS GUY?
WHAT HAPPENED
HE BROUGHT UP NAOYA
S: FUCK HIM
RIGHT?
IDK TODAY'S JUST SUCKED. MAJORLY.
OH AND ALSO
S: ????
I TOLD HIM I HAD A FIANCE BECAUSE I GOT MAD. AND HE HAS ONE! SO LIKE IDK I JUST SAID IT
S: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT
I SAID I DON'T KNOWW!
WHATEVER... MAYBE HE FORGOT OR DIDN'T CARE
S: HOPEFULLY
IF HE CATCHES YOU LYING HE'LL KNOW YOUR LIFE IS JUST MISERABLE
WELL I HAVE YOU
SO
S: AW. HOW SWEET
THE WAIT FOR THIS THING IS FOREVER.
IS IT FOR COMPUTER STUFF
S: OBVIOUSLY
IDK WHERE THE INTERVIEWER IS
WAIT
HE'S COMING
OK BYE
BYE GOOD LUCK GETO!
Well, that didn't necessarily make you feel any better. But it did partially like some of the edge off. Maybe that'd be all you'd need to push through the rest of the day. You only had a few papers and some review to look over, and then you'd be free. Free to go home and wallow in your self pity.
Maybe it was time for you to get back out there in the dating world. When it comes to abusive relationships, six months since splitting felt like both three days and three years of separation. You had no thoughts on the matter of how single you were until Higuruma said something. It sparked something deep in your gut. So maybe you should try, just a bit.
But you also didn't really care for romance anymore. That part of you previously toiling with fulfillment was now stagnant. It didn't need tending to, and didn't need consoled. You didn't want anything romantic, simple as that. It just wasn't a thought in your head. Work, money, bills— that's what made up a strong majority of your mind.
Until him. Now you found your fingertips itching to grab your phone and redownload some old dating apps.
That thought makes your lip curl, though. Dating apps were horrid; you had never, ever experienced anything remotely substantial on those apps. Every guy on there was a dick.
You just need to push through the day and get home. Home, to where you would maybe invite some friends over and rant to until past midnight, like most weekdays somehow turned into. Only three more hours—
"So, where's that fiance of yours?" taunts a low voice, grainy with coffee-consumption. "He's gotta be patient as hell to put up with someone like you."
His hands are on your seat. So casually braced on the top— like you were true work buddies. As if. Clenching your fists in your lap, you maintain your composure well enough to grit out a response. "Like me? Do expand on that, Higuruma."
He chuckles, huffing a breath. His presence scorched your being. It lit you aflame. "Well," his tone lowered to a whisper, one to evoke attention, "you seem tough to wrangle. Curt… rude, frankly… and quite moody, huh?" You hear him lean closer by the wrinkling of fabric. His cologne invades you… sandalwood and musk? Shivering, you try to pointedly lean away from him. He continues talking, apparently never content to shut his mouth for once. "I don't see any pictures of you and this guy. 'Ya sure he exists?"
"Why do you care so much? Mind your own business; aren't you engaged, too? Maybe worry about that, or keeping your job by getting back to work." You snap. You don't care if your attitude feeds into his perception of your curtness. He deserves every ounce of annoyance for how he makes you feel— like you can't think, can't think of anything except for him all over you… fuck. No, not in that way. He's engaged. And an asshole. And he doesn't even like you.
He stiffens, then pulls back, patting the back of your chair. Free from his air, you inhale sharply, feeling the impossible thinness of the atmosphere get to your head. "Alright." He replies. "Does he exist, though? Like, what's his name?"
"You never answered my question."
"Forgot to, since you were so busy following it up with various insults. Yes, I have a fiance. And I care because I'd just like to meet the guy. I could learn a thing or two from someone so infatuated with you of all people. So— does he really exist?"
Growling, you grab your earphones in an attempt at subtle dismissal. "Please just go away."
"It's your turn to answer my question." He coos.
Shoving in one earbud, and abandoning the other, you snap the case closed and turn to look at him. His smirk is undeniably snarky, like someone who just got the fish to bite. Your furrowing brows lower your lashes, blurring your vision of him because you would rather die than actually look upwards at the man. "Of course he exists. I'm engaged, why would I make something like that up?"
He shrugs lazily, beginning to turn around on his feet. "Validation? Seriously though, I look forward to meeting him."
Shaking your head in confusion, you turn back around. "In what circumstance?"
You can hear the smile in his tone without having to look at him. "The term gala, of course. He'll be your plus one, right? I wouldn't imagine it being anybody else."
Shit. Of course you forgot about that. The gala was in just a few months' time: a celebration of past projects' success and future plans for the company. It wasn't fun, just a gathering of majority mid-life married couples there for champagne and mingling. Though he event was mandatory. That'll suck— and now you have to figure out how to get out of this lie without letting Higuruma know how depressing your life is.
You just smirk in your seat, dismissing the fact that he can't see your face. As he walked away, you just called out right back to him. "Right."
—
"This is bullshit!" You yell, waving your hands around in the air in defiance. "Why would he care enough to even test me?"
Shoko sighs and slams the pause button on the remote. She's clearly over your complaints (which have been constant over the past two hours). Half-glaring at you, she tries to finalize your feelings and end the conversation to get back to her show. "How should I know? I don't even know who this guy is."
"Yeah, I keep my work life and home life separate." You grumble, settling further into your laying position on the couch.
"Clearly not." Calls an exasperated Geto from the kitchen, close enough in the cramped apartment to not constitute yelling.
Now it was your turn to glare. "Shut up! Let me pity myself."
"For your choice at making up some stupid lie?" Shoko points. "I mean, I could dress up as a dude if you wanted. Not sure it'd work, though."
…
You sit up, theatrically gasping. "You're right!"
Gojo laughs, a cackle ringing out from the kitchen with Geto. "What?" Then you hear the sizzle of something burning. "Shit, shit!" He shrieks. Then Geto's footsteps, a pan thrown in the sink…
"You fucking suck at cooking." Geto denounced. He walks out of the kitchen with a plate of food that looked good enough. Collapsing on the chair beside Shoko's, he beckons for the remote.
"No! I want to watch this. It's good, I promise!"
Gojo makes a face of disgust as he peers around the corner with a mountain of food in his hands. "No, I don't wanna watch that. Put something else on."
You frown. "Can we get back to my predicament?"
They all just look at you, finally bonding over a short moment that makes them all burst out in laughter.
"It's not that funny! Come on, guys— please—"
"Sorry, sorry," Shoko gasps, clutching her chest. "Just talk. It's been hours of it, but still."
"Er, you said you had a plan?" Gojo points at you with his fork. He was seated on the floor in front of Geto, who had a foot kicked up on Gojo's shoulder. The latter didn't show any signs of minding.
"So," You begin, sitting up. "I need either Gojo or Geto to come with me as my plus one to the corporate gala in, like, a few months. It'd just be for the night— and you wouldn't even have to be there the whole time... I don't know, I just want to rub my success in Higuruma's face somehow."
"Success?" Gojo cocks his head.
Your brows furrow, disappointed he caught it. "Well, you know. Because you both aren't… ugly."
"I'm tickled." Geto grins.
"Shut up!" You snap, face heating. "Come on, Geto, just come."
He rolls his eyes. "I'll think about it, how about that."
"I don't wanna go!" Gojo raises his hand. He talks around a mouthful of food. "I'd rather not."
"Well, one of you has to."
Shoko interjects. "Are you sure I'm out of the picture? I mean, you said fiance, not boyfriend or husband."
You look up in contemplation. "I mean, you're right. But I think it'd be nicer if it was some big tall guy that could intimidate him."
"Why do you want that so bad, anyways? Do you think he's hot or something?" Shoko jabs. She lowers the volume of her show, still keeping an eye on it at the same time.
You shake your head immediately. "No!"
"Liar." Geto grumbles. "But lets talk about something else. Anything else, even this shitty show."
A growl comes from Shoko. "It's good!"
And the volume was turned up again, drowning out all your thoughts (with the addition of Gojo's loud commentary and Geto and Shoko's dejections).
The gala's in two months, you think. There's time to find something concrete.
—
Your bedroom door creaks, illuminating your dimly-lit room. The candles flicker in Geto's wake as he strides over to and collapses in your bed right aside you. His skin is warm against yours, a blanket of security as his left side softly brushes against your right. "I have a plan for you."
A strand of his hair is in your face, and you blow it away. "And what's that?"
"I'll find you a fiance."
You were to sleepy to show your immense surprise. "What?"
He sniffles drily. "I'll find some people and set you up on some… dates. One of them has to be willing to pretend to be your fiance."
"But why?" You ask. You didn't really comprehend what he was saying. You turn your head, looking at him in the yellow candlelight. His nose is crinkled slightly— a tell. "…It could just be you."
He smiles, turning his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are bright. "Just trust me. I've got your back, okay? I'll get you out of this stupid lie."
You just stare at his face for a moment.
…
"Whatever." You mumble, pushing his shoulder lightly. "Now lemme sleep."
His smile widens. He sits up, leaving your bedroom. You adjust your pillows, moving to lay on your side. Nuzzling your head in the pillows, you smell Geto's cologne. And you wonder why he was really doing all this. What did he really mean? Like, blind dates?
Higuruma's face pops in your head. He sports a taunting smirk that makes your insides boil with rage.
Whatever. As long as you got to wipe that smirk off his dumb face.
—
"Tomorrow?" You blurt into the screen with a dumbfounded tone.
"Yeah?" Geto responds through the microphone. "Is that a problem?"
You grumble quietly to yourself, stumbling on the half-constructed cobblestones down the street of your office building. The gardens were your favorite shortcut to take, although the paths with heels made to be an interesting walk every day. The flowers and butterflies made up for it, though, especially with spring in full bloom. "Well, no, I just thought I had a while. Like, didn't I tell you it was in two months?"
"It's best to be prepared." He quipped. "Tomorrow, six in the evening. I'll text you a bit later with the address."
"Are you getting me kidnapped?" You laugh drily.
You hear him sigh through the microphone. "Yes, I'm getting you kidnapped."
You stick your tongue out, not bothering to care he can't see nor hear it. "Okay, great. Get me away from this damn job."
A breathily laugh rings out. "Alright. Love ya."
You whine, seeing your office building come into vision ahead. "Yeah, love you too."
Tomorrow, you'd go on a date with some guy. You trusted Geto to make good decisions, but how well did he know you and your type? You had only been with a dick as long as Geto had known you. So he doesn't know any good points about who you typically are attracted to.
But you had no other choice. It was happening, whether you liked it or not. And maybe this would be good for you. It was a leap in getting back into the world without dating apps and making your own decisions in who to like. Obviously, that had not worked out well in the past.
Yeah, maybe this would be good for you.