Chapter Text
When Satoru is jolted rudely from his sleep by the grating sound of a child’s wailing, murder is the first thought that crosses his mind. He’d stayed up late the night before studying for an upcoming exam in his Abstract Algebra course and had just barely managed to fall asleep around 3am. The professor was a complete asshole who expected you to study everything, even topics he’d never touched on in class. The man’s ratemyprofessor score had been a 0.5/5, but Satoru’s senior schedule hadn’t given him much choice in the matter. So it was with much trepidation that he’d signed up for the course, unknowingly resigning himself to sleepless nights for the rest of the semester. As such, Satoru cherished every hard-earned minute of sleep he got and was not above killing anyone who disturbed it.
The child begins to wail even louder, and Satoru blinks rapidly as he reaches a hand blindly towards his nightstand, fumbling across its surface for his phone. His eyes are still crusted over with sleep, barely aware of who he is let alone his surroundings. Satoru brings the phone up to his face, turning it on and subsequently cursing as he’s blinded by the glaring light of the screen.
After blinking away the colorful spots in his vision, Satoru squints down at the glowing screen, making out the time. 4:55am. He has an alarm set for 6am.
“I’m going to punt that runt into the sun,” he snarls, throwing his covers off and stomping towards the bedroom door, tripping haphazardly over piles of dirty laundry along the way. Satoru’s only wearing an oversized hoodie and briefs, and the side of his cheek feels slick with drool but at the moment he couldn’t care less what with his head aching as if it’s about to collapse in on itself. Satoru shoves open his front door and makes a beeline for the complex next to his, rapping with barely concealed fury at the door.
The wailing lowers for a moment, before coming back full strength as a screech and Satoru flinches as the ache in his head grows. He glowers at the door, tapping his foot impatiently while waiting for his inconsiderate neighbor to answer.
Now, Satoru likes to think of himself as a generous person, always looking out for those less successful, intelligent or good-looking. But there’s only so much he can take at 5am on the day of an exam that could make or break his painstakingly cultivated 4.0 GPA. So when a second child begins to howl alongside the first, he understandably gets a little upset.
“Open the fucking door,” Satoru snarls, slamming his fist against the heavy wood. How the hell no one else has come out to give the tenant a piece of their mind is beyond his comprehension. The person living in this house must either be a celebrity or god to be allowed this much leniency.
The door suddenly opens while he was lost in his musings and a soft yellow light spills out, once again blinding him in the darkly lit hallway. Satoru quickly brings a hand up to cover his eyes as they adjust, recoiling from the noise that spills out as well.
“Finally,” Satoru grumbles, rubbing his eyes before turning his glare upwards. “What gives, assh-,” his voice fades out into a squeak as he lays eyes on the most beautiful man he’s ever met in his life.
Lit from behind, he looks like an angel brought forth from one of Satoru’s most sinful wet dreams. The man’s face is characterized by a strong jaw that narrows into a sharp chin. Between slender, dark eyes sits a crooked nose, as if it’s been broken before but that only adds to his rugged appeal. There’s a cascade of ink black hair trailing down his back, while a couple strands hang artfully in front of his left eye. He’s shorter than Satoru by an inch or two, barely noticeable really, but what he lacks in height he more than makes up for in width. The man is well built, Satoru eyes the barely concealed power in the breadth of his shoulders as well as the swell of his chest underneath his shirt, and can’t help the way his eyes linger on the mans low-slung sweatpants, revealing a trail of dark hair leading down to the barely hidden bulge in the crotch. The large barely hidden bulge. He’s suddenly seized by the whorish urge to shove his face into it and take a huge whiff.
“Can I help you?”
Satoru had opened his mouth to respond, but the deep gravel of his neighbors voice instantly dried his throat so all that came out was an undignified squeak. In his defense, he’s running on 6 hours of sleep total for the week.
The mans already impatient face shutters even more, brows furrowing in irritation. “Look, did you need something or . . .?”
Satoru blinks his eyes rapidly, panicking as he tries to think of something. He wipes his sweaty hands across his hoodie, cursing his short-sighted outfit choice as he unsuccessfully tries to avoid staring at the man's chest.
“L-loud,” he finally manages to rasp out.
Instantly his neighbors expression morphs into something more apologetic, “I’m so sorry about that, I recently moved in and my daughters haven’t adju-,”
Satoru’s sexy fantasies immediately screech to a halt. “Daughters?”
The man tilts his head, “Yes, two of them.”
Now that he looks more closely, Satoru sees the signs of age. There’s silver lining the man’s temples as well as the stubble across his jaw, crinkles at the corners of his eyes and it looks as if there’s a layer of softness over his stomach, all tastefully revealing his age. Satoru’s horrified to realize that it doesn’t dampen his attraction to man.
“My daughters are having a hard time adjusting,” the man continues after an awkward pause. “I let all the others on the floor know, but when I came by your door you didn’t answer.”
Probably asleep, Satoru muses to himself.
His new neighbor reaches out a hand, introducing himself. “My name is Suguru Geto, I moved in yesterday with my two daughters. Pleased to meet you.”
Satoru grabs Geto’s hand, shivering at the calluses lining the older man's palm. The width of it practically dwarfs his own. “Satoru Gojo,” he mumbles.
Geto squints his eyes, “Are you a student?”
“I go to the University nearby,” Satoru answers, carefully avoiding eye contact by looking at the older man's forehead.
Geto’s face immediately falls, “God, I’m so sorry you must’ve been up late studying and here my girls are waking you up at the ass crack of dawn. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”
You could fuck me stupid, Satoru thinks hysterically. “Nothing comes to mind,” he squeaks instead.
“Are you sure? I feel really bad, back when I was in college I know I would’ve killed someone if they interrupted my sleep.”
The older man braces his forearm against the door frame, somehow managing to look down at Satoru despite the two of them being practically the same height. Geto raises his other hand to cup his chin as he thinks, casting a critical eye over Satoru’s frame. The movement causes the fabric of the older man’s shirt to stretch tight against the muscles of his chest, and Satoru feels himself heating up, but he can’t quite tell if it’s because he’s horny or feverish from pulling too many all-nighters.
“Are you hungry?” he asks suddenly.
Satoru simply blinks at the abrupt change in topic, twisting the hem of his hoodie anxiously without responding; his bare legs are starting to feel cold in the night breeze.
“You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in ages,” Geto observes. “A strong breeze could fling you over.”
Satoru bristles at the perceived slight, “I eat plenty.”
Geto raises a brow, “Probably convenience store food, at best.”
Satoru purses his lips; the older man is right but he’d never admit it, simply clamping his mouth shut and refusing to answer. Money isn’t the issue for him, time is. And the fact that sometimes when everything becomes too much, Satoru just . . . forgets to do things. Like eating.
Geto sighs, crossing his arms across his chest, a move which only serves to accentuate his pecs even more. “Tell you what, I’m making miso soup tonight, why don’t you join my daughters and I for dinner?”
Satoru purses his lips, picking at the fabric of his hoodie. He’d be lying if he said the offer wasn’t tempting, he hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in ages, but Satoru’s pride refused to bend. From the amused look on Geto’s face, he knew as well.
“You’d be doing me a huge favor,” Geto offered. “I also bought a strawberry cake the other day but it’s way too big for the three of us to finish on our own.”
Satoru absently chewed on the skin of his inner cheek, the offer finally enticing enough to accept. “I guess if you really need me to . . . I can come. If I have the time.”
Geto smiles at him softly, crows feet at the corners of his eyes deepening with the movement. He reaches a hand out and ruffles the hair on top of Satoru’s head and he swears it feels almost like a brand, the way he feels the touch throughout his whole body. “Good boy.”
Satoru freezes in place at the words, something inside him shifting. Geto continues talking, hand still on top of Satoru’s head, but he doesn’t hear the words coming out of the older man's mouth. Satoru’s mind is caught in a pleasant haze that he just barely manages to stand through, Geto’s hand grounding him in place. His lips are surprisingly plush, Satoru notes absently. I bet he’s a great kisser.
“Does that sound good to you?”
Satoru furrows his brow, “Wha?”
Geto tilts his head, “For dinner, is 7pm a good time for you?”
Satoru blinks, not quite understanding the question but Geto looks like he’s expecting an answer. “Yes?”
Geto’s face splits wide into a grin, “Perfect, I’ll see yo-,”
“Geto-san! Mimiko threw up again,” a young girl's voice calls out from behind.
Geto turns to respond, “I’ll be right there Sweetheart! Do not let her eat it again, Nanako.”
The older man turns back to Satoru, who by then is slowly clearing away the cotton in his head. There’s an apology written on Geto’s face, “I’ll see you tonight at 7, alright? I’ve got to go now though, it was nice meeting you!” He turns around then, closing the door behind himself and leaving Satoru alone in front of his apartment in nothing but a hoodie and briefs. It’s a long time before Satoru manages to collect himself enough to return to his own apartment.