Chapter Text
Ma (間) – The meaningful emptiness or silence between things; can feel peaceful or lonely depending on context.
Suguru
Suguru has been known to be his own person. Even when he was young, he valued his alone time. He would sit at the edge of his bed, the window just in front of him, a soft breeze hitting his hair to his face, flipping one page of his book to the next. Completely unbothered and oblivious to the rushing world outside that very same window. The only sounds being his steady breathes and the occasional noise of birds chirping from a distance. Quiet and peaceful, just as Suguru had liked it.
Whenever his parents called him down for dinner or asked him to join in on any activity that meant leaving his room, his mood would instantly drop, turning into an awkward shyness. Talking to people was Suguru’s greatest weakness. His sociability became worse after an oath he made to himself; a human life contains a time limit. Never get attached to those who could run out before you.
It’s silly. A stupid oath that means nothing—but yet, it somehow means everything.
His sister, Shoko, was his only exception. When she entered his room he didn’t sigh or get irritated, which was his usual response. Instead, he would throw on a bright smile and talk with her for what felt like hours. Not the same smile that gets thrown on to seem poised and polite, but a real smile that doesn’t feel like an obligation. She was the only one who could drag out the smile from the dark and gloomy abyss she liked to call her brother.
She understood him. Even when- nevermind.
The moral of the story, Shoko is Suguru’s world. She was there anytime things got hard, or too much. Too much for Suguru to handle, that’s for sure.
…
His sister, Shoko, was his only exception. That was until about 10 years ago. Since then, talking to Shoko has been very dry—almost foreign to Suguru. He might as well group her back in with all the other shallow people in his life.
They don’t really talk anymore, or not how Suguru was used to. Besides the occasional “Happy birthday!” Or “Merry Christmas, bro!” Shoko was just another number to Suguru. The string that once connected them becomes thin and faded, worn out from the time that has passed.
It’s almost like they are stuck in a desert with no sense of communication, no sign of the other. Only the never ending sight of hot sand and the ground breathing out twisted ribbons of heat. It may take months until anything is in reach to break that dry heat of silence in the form of a calm rain. That’s what their relationship has become.
He misses her.
It doesn’t come to his brain first, but in the deep thoughts of Geto Suguru, all he thinks about is how much he misses her. He wishes he could call her and ask her about her day. The thought of hearing her voice again warms what is cold in Suguru’s heart.
But that was years ago—before they got released to the real world, before life got too complicated.
Now, life is heavy. His memories just weigh him down, he instead needs to focus on his reality.
So, instead of reaching out, Suguru convinces himself the only thing he would do for Shoko is intrude. Intrude the life she built, the life he wished he could share with her.
Except... he can’t.
Tokyo, Japan
May 5th, 2017
“Geto-san, when do you need this article sent in and published?” One of his workers asks.
“Anytime now till 8 AM tomorrow,” Suguru smiles, making his way back to his office.
Research, discuss, write, send, publish.
Writing is Suguru’s escape. With the lack of sociability in Suguru’s blood, the only form of expression is through writing. He may not understand his feelings, but sure does he know how to write about them. In his eyes, writing transforms his meshed and unintelligible thoughts into an oasis where he can pour out his emotions. Yes, journalism comes with data analysis and rationality, but in the end something beautiful is created.
Suguru works at The Yomiuri Shimbun, Japan’s largest and most influential national newspaper. He was never fond of the idea of working at massive companies–let alone the biggest media conglomerate–but as things worked out, he managed to become the Editor-in-Chief. Even he was surprised when President Gakuganji suddenly called him into his office with a golden name plate and a practiced smile.
Suguru grimaces at the image of his crooked teeth and overgrown beard.
But in the end, Suguru enjoyed his time in journalism. So much so he even somehow found joy in the tediousness and structure of the position. Each published article feels like an addition to his never ending list of accomplishments.
He’s happy—or that’s what he tells himself.
Sometimes he dreads walking into the tall building filled with fluorescent lights, white walls, and workers with coffee-breath. More like every time. Nevertheless, Suguru has a passion for writing—almost always had a passion for writing. And that passion is what allowed him to climb up the social ladder and take his spot at the top.
It is known that Suguru is socially inept, but working in such a large company has made him realize some things about himself. He is capable with words and can speak with persisted manners, fitting right into corporate norms that makes him cringe, So why does he feel so uncomfortable?
Suguru would often tell himself he couldn’t talk to people because he didn’t understand emotions.
But that would imply he was a sociopath—which he wasn’t.
In reality, he was almost the complete opposite. He understood emotions too well, to the point that he became careful with every word. He cared so much about how others felt that he ended up holding himself back, too afraid to damage what they were feeling. As if he was one touch away from crushing a delicate origami swan just by the tone of his voice. Sometimes he felt his hands were too big to comfort others. Sometimes he felt his voice was too small to reach the ego-masked heart of the directors. Occasionally, though, he felt too tired to do any of that; reach anyone’s hearts. Purely due to the fact that he was mentally and physically drained from having his social battery slowly depleted with each interaction. Swallowing other’s problems as his own, then nipping them in the bud—exorcising it like a spirit.
Swallow. Exorcise. Repeat.
That’s the routine Suguru is used to. The routine he cannot bear to see altered. And when it does change, it throws him off completely; into a whirlpool of unorganized thoughts and unanswered questions.
The bad part about that is that anything can set it off. From a spontaneous company excursion, to simply forgetting to brush his hair.
Time changed Suguru quietly. The years that go by have made him more reserved, more careful with himself and others. The little amount of people who once felt close, now feel distant and unfamiliar. Change unsettles him because it reminds him that nothing ever truly stays the same.
Even in his Bunkyo apartment, everything is in order. On its own, there’s nothing bad about that—but it gets dangerous when small stuff like too many dishes or lots of laundry sets him off and suddenly that small eye of disorder blooms into a storm of disorganization.
He stays in Bunkyo because it is relatively close to their headquarters in Chiyoda, but he prefers the calm and intellectual atmosphere over the bustling city. Suguru often finds himself walking through its gardens, like an archive of history instilled into tiny flower buds just waiting for him to analyze.
Maybe he would walk them with someone in the future.
But then again, this is Suguru we’re talking about.
The Suguru that barely knows any emotions other than his twisted version of happiness with bits of guilt, anger, and sadness quilted together.
The Suguru that can’t function properly if one thing changes.
The Suguru that never looks back to the past because it is ‘too complicated’ emotionally.
There is just Suguru, and that’s how it's always been for the past nine years. And that’s how he plans on keeping it. Having someone intrude on his perfectly crafted life would surely make him uncomfortable.
…
Missile Threats of North Korea, the title of the article Suguru is overseeing. He used to have a knack for analyzing political issues not associated with Japan. It gives him insight to the otherwise gray world around him. But now that the title is staring up at him in big black text, it comes back to him.
“Looking good?” The worker asks, smiling brightly at his work. Suguru was staring at the title on his computer for so long he forgot to actually read the article.
“Give me a second,” Suguru says, pointing his index finger up. He skims through the article quickly, often skipping words or filler sentences. His mouse moves quickly, marking certain phrases for review. “This should be good,” He says looking back at the worker, “Just check some of the things I flagged, then you should be good to send it over to Nanami-san.”
“Okay!” And the younger man is on his way, leaving Suguru alone again.
He remembered when he once had the same giddiness and respect for those ranking higher. But now that he reached the top of the hierarchy, all he sees are useless bastards that use big words to cover up their greed. He saw people he respected put on their corporate masks just to manipulate them. Don’t get him started on the ones who practically had their jobs fed to them with a silver spoon. He absolutely despised them.
It’s probably due to the fact that he had to work hard for everything. He remembers the sleepless nights he had scrambling to mass produce articles. Now, thankfully, he hasn’t seen any more sleep-deprived writers. But Suguru never had anything handed to him. The only thing he was handed was a pen and a smile and used that to get around in life. Be that as it may, his parents were never to be blamed. They fought tooth and nail just to get him and his sister a suitable life, even if it wasn’t the most desirable.
Suguru never complained.
In fact, he looked up to his parents for even giving him a life–though that in itself was a touchy topic for Suguru.
Regardless, Suguru downright loathed each individual that rode free thanks to the patronage of their many connections. But that’s how the journalism world worked. Unless you were like Suguru with an insane amount of natural talent, the only road to success would be bribes or legacy–both of which Suguru never had the option of implementing.
“Social Darwinism,” he muttered to himself. A discredited 19th-century ideology that misapplied Charles Darwin’s theory of natural selection to human society; wealthy are innately superior while the poor are inherently “weak”. He told himself he never believed in this English-manipulated theory as it opened the door for their own imperialism, racism, and inequality. Despite his initial rejection, he saw it happen firsthand in his own country–in his own workplace. All the same sleep-deprived employees were weeded out to bring in the nepo babies and their rich families strolling behind them, ready to hand out golden tickets.
“Damn monkeys,” he said to no one in particular, rather all of them as a whole.
“Good afternoon to you too, Geto-san,” Kento said, two coffees in hand. Suguru perked up to see the blonde-haired man walk into his office.
“Did you get–”
“Black coffee. Cream, no sugar,” Kento interrupted, “I think I’d remember after the hundredth time of you scolding me for putting sugar in your coffee.”
Suguru huffed, sounding nothing like a laugh. Kento placed the coffee on his desk and shuffled around the back.
Suguru…tolerated Kento. He was one of the very few people that didn’t piss him off. Maybe he was a sucker for respect, but Kento gave him the recognition he wanted without seeming to butter him up.
Was it slightly condescending? Definitely.
But did it also give him a bit of happiness? ...No.
Suguru classified it as happiness, but it was practically the state of being not-unhappy.
“Gakuganji-san wants to get rid of him,” Kento says. Suguru looks up confused,
“Who?”
“The one who wrote the article you’ve been looking at for the past five minutes.” Suguru realizes he’s been stuck on the title page ever since Kento walked in.
“Why?” Kento sighs, a jaded expression forming on his already fatigued face.
“He said that he found a new interviewee that apparently helped publish a work for Gojo Satoru.” Suguru’s brow furrowed.
“Huh? Who’s that?” Suguru asks. He’s never heard that name before.
Kento groans running a hand across his face,
“The most popular male model of our generation?” He pauses, “Oh wait, I forgot you know absolutely nothing about pop culture.”
Suguru scoffs.
“I do…I just choose not to care about specifics.” He recollects his thoughts, “Wait so, Gakuganji-san wants to fire someone because someone else knows this top model?”
Kento nods.
“I hate those monkeys.” Kento swings his head around. Did he hear him right?
“What?”
“Nothing,” Suguru dismisses, realizing he did in fact just say that out loud. Kento just shakes his head, making his way out of the room.
“Whatever. Enjoy your coffee Geto-san.”
I still hate those monkeys.