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In what is definitely Satoru Gojo's voice: "You've reached Suguru Geto! Leave a message!"
In what is definitely Satoru Gojo's voice: "You've reached Suguru Geto! Leave a message!"
no subject
...it isn't that suguru doesn't understand the desire to protect. were the girls to appear on this train, they would become suguru's priority; he would place himself between them and satoru, would take whatever steps he deemed necessary—but attempting to hide them? asinine. it would only serve to weaken the very partnership that could protect them.
but maybe suguru is the only one to concern himself with such things. maybe this is what makes suguru inconvenient.
and thus it is satisfying, on some level, to both see and feel the way satoru pulls taut. it shouldn't be; suguru is too sensible for such childishness, and yet his smile solidifies even as he hears the telltale sound of footsteps nearing the far door. satoru's student tips the scales in an interesting way? leaves satoru with far more at stake, were this partnership to fall apart and sukuna to decide to strike. suguru does not wish for a such a thing; his single stipulation is, as always, at the front of his mind, but therein lies the problem: suguru has always stood to lose more.
now they're standing on more equal footing, but satoru continues to act as though he has the high ground.]
Maybe I should have been keeping a better eye on you, [is suguru's almost playful response. his tone is light—but there is pointed undercurrent, of sorts, that grows more pronounced as he adds:] I remember our vow.
[vow. nothing any potential eavesdroppers will find strange, given their, ah, marital status—and certainly nothing madam vermeer is likely to overhear as she sweeps into the room, her son right on her heels. unpleasant company, so far as suguru is concerned; they remind him of those monkeys with far more money than sense, but this, too, is a game that suguru is all too familiar with. it's why he pushes his seat far enough back from the table to stand, straightening his attire while cutting satoru a look from the corner of his eye.]
Are you going to introduce me, dear?
[petnames were never them—which is, of course, precisely why suguru chooses to use one here and now. only satoru will recognize this for what it is, but he can hardly complain; he was the one to choose this game.]
no subject
Satoru masters the art of pretending to be married as quickly as he masters most things. On the surface, he's the very picture of a somewhat polite man — not entirely, as the Madam and her son were charmed by his teasingly impolite comments earlier, but enough to indicate that he was taught manners somewhere along the way — rising only a beat after Suguru.]
My husband, Reverend Father Geto. Suguru, [Satoru addresses him by his name instead of adopting Suguru's new and, admittedly, provoking style of using petnames] this is Madam Vermeer and her son.
[Satoru has already gone through all of this — the embraces, and then later, the more formal bows that became handshakes, so as soon as he's spoken this introduction, he takes his seat again — last to stand, first to sit, stretching the limits of manners. This, at least, allows him to watch the servants who enter the room with tea, cups, and sugar, Satoru notes with relief; it gives him a brief break from remembering the smile on Suguru's face as he made that comment about their vow.
Because the fact is: Satoru masters just about everything he tries, but that isn't to say he does so effortlessly. To the those who don't know him — everyone on this train, save for one person — he may appear to pick up skills with ease, but that isn't the truth of it. Satoru has worked hard on many of his abilities, and not all lessons are easy to digest and adopt, even if he manages to come out on top every time. This situation is a perfect example of something that may, on the surface, look perfectly natural to the Madam and her son, but it steeped in effort beneath Satoru's easygoing facade.
There was an accusation laced in Suguru's words, almost as venomous as the unusual emotions that Satoru feels aimed in his direction. Suguru's words, and the petname that caps them off, were meant to be barbed. Satoru's feels the sting of dear still, as he finally looks up and sees that the Madam is sparing Suguru the hug she forced upon him, likely due to his attire and apparent occupation.
Satoru's innate response is to argue against what amounts to an accusation, in a way he might have argued with Suguru long ago — loudly, with bluster, burying the lede of his overall point, which would be that he obviously remembers the vow and has adhered to it, otherwise he'd be suffering the consequences. It takes a lot of restraint not to fall into those old habits; it takes even more restraint not to laugh again, or change this from a civil teatime into something that would be sure to irritate everyone, not just Suguru.
Not eveything comes easy to Satoru, even if it does come to him in the end.
Madam Vermeer is, naturally, surprised to find that Satoru's husband is a man of the cloth, and maybe a little suspicious, too. She looks between them; Satoru looks at her son, who shuffles back and forth on his feet.]
We were married before he was ordained. [Sometimes a calling comes knocking long after sweet nothings are whispered in the middle of a night; sometimes you go to bed with a person one night, only for them not to return the next. Isn't that how it goes?] I take my marriage vows very seriously, so I stuck with him, even though it meant certain limitations.
[He lilts his tone on that last word. Madam Vermeer's son finds this amusing but tries to hide it. Madam Vermeer herself is a little more scandalized. Maybe she's beginning to feel like she dodged a bullet in losing the chance to marry off her son to Satoru.
It is, of course, a rebuke for Suguru's earlier comment, as much as it is a disruption to polite tea talk — he's broken no vows. His students were always off-limits. And Suguru, for all his polite demeanor, is managing to strike the chord he wants with his diction.
But Satoru isn't sabotaging this meeting, even if he's already thinking about the cost, something he should have better-considered before texting Suguru. Hence, he plays off his comment with a chuckle, as though he was misunderstood.]
I mean his work hours. They keep him out late, especially now that he's spending so much time at the clinic.
[Every single word is spoken with effort; every single word looks like ease.
Only one person in this room has concerned himself over someone who is ill, and Satoru tries not to allow his thoughts to venture in the direction of Nobara agian, but they do. And then again: he thinks of Suguru speaking with the nurses. Suguru on her network post. Suguru following her trail.]
no subject
which is the crux of this matter, really, because here is suguru, sacrificing more of himself, of his values—and for what? for what? for satoru, whose reason for being here remains a mystery that he did not, does not, feel the need to share. and yes, sure, some variation of this worked for them, once; this does not work for them now, for there is no friendship to fall back on.
but suguru's options are limited; he has little choice but to accept the role that satoru assigns him, which is why he mumurs his own greetings, both allowing and listening for satoru to flesh out this scene. satoru is the director; suguru is the lead watching for cues. this is far more tiring than it was a decade before. the thrill that was not knowing what satoru would say, what satoru would do—even when satoru would take things too far, suguru's exasperation was tinged with the sort of fondness that, when given enough time, superseded everything else. they were a team.
and they do work well together, all things considered. satoru still offers the (ridiculous) explanation that suguru needs; suguru still rolls with it as opposed to bucking against it, managing a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh in the brief pause that follows. of course he understands satoru's true meaning? which is annoying, in its way; satoru's limitations are nothing, in the grand scheme of things, but satoru always was better at taking than giving.
(maybe you've forgotten what it's like to work with others. suguru told him this—and suguru remembers what followed, but in this moment, this is what suguru thinks of: satoru, coasting. satoru, failing to recognize the value of suguru's cooperation.)
but as madam vermeer's eyes jerk back to suguru at the mention of his visits to the clinic—no doubt wondering how close he comes to the infected on a daily basis—he just barely inclines his head, playing the part of the humble, dedicated priest.]
It's easy to overlook the caretakers, isn't it? They help others, but they often have no one to help them. A noble sacrifice. [the briefest pause, as though he's thinking of all those hard-working, nurses, before he continues with:] I offer them what comfort I can.
[and with that said, he raises his head just to catch satoru's eye, a smile once again playing about his lips. as though satoru is the apple of his eye; as though his presence is a blessing.]
Which does leave us little time together—but thankfully, my husband has always been such a selfless partner.
[ah, yes. satoru the selfless. another trifle of amusement as the lady and her son finally make their way to their seats, servants pulling them out for them—but as suguru also sits, making sure to only do so after the lady is well on her way to being situated, he adds:]
Of course, he's been doing his part, too. [or, well, as suguru reaches for his napkin before a servant can begin pouring his tea—] Or so I'm told. He's too modest to tell me himself.
[something, something, no communication whatsoever.]