It’s late, but not quiet. Satoru leans against the counter, long legs crossed at the ankles, casually sipping on an energy drink he stole from Suguru’s stash. You’re at the stove heating leftovers. Choso is a few steps behind you, arms crossed, eyes sharp and watchful—like he doesn’t quite trust the energy in the room. For good reason. Because Satoru hasn’t stopped talking since Choso walked in.

“Y’know,” Satoru says, eyes lazily dragging over your shoulder, “I still can’t believe it. Choso of all people.” He laughs under his breath, cocking his head at Choso. “You? Letting someone touch you? You must’ve been soaked in desperation.”

You bristle, but Choso says nothing—his silence darker than usual. Satoru had found you asleep in Choso’s lap a couple days ago and like a dog with a bone, he’s refusing to let it go. You're caught between them, tension simmering for days.

Satoru smirks. “You’re quiet. Usually you’ve got some dramatic hacker line. ‘I can crash your IP in ten seconds,’ blah blah…”

Still nothing. So Satoru turns to you instead, grin turning wicked.

“You remember when you used to come to me with your problems?” he says lightly, almost fond. “Always knocking on my door first. Back before Choso grew a personality.” You shoot him a glare, but he just holds up his hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I’m just saying. We had a thing. Didn’t we?”

Your face burns. Choso shifts closer, presence solid beside you now, not touching—but almost. “Shut your mouth, Satoru,” Choso grinds out, lips pressing together.

Satoru clocks it instantly. “Aww,” he coos, tilting his head. “He doesn’t like that. Choso, buddy, don’t tell me you’re jealous.” He leans forward, stage-whispering, “She used to sit on my lap, y’know. Long nights, shared cigarettes. You remember that, right, sweetheart?”

Satoru’s grin widens when Choso’s shoulders tense, his onyx eyes narrowing. That got under his skin.

“I’m just reminiscing,” Satoru says sweetly. “Besides, what’s the big deal? Unless you think you’ve got something to lose.”