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Drunken dreams of the past.

Summary:

In another life.

Notes:

This fic is inspired/based off a fanart by @narutossramen on Instagram !! I also stole the title from a mdzs opening hahaha real ones know

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Satoru’s life at university was chaotic, to say the least. Between balancing half-finished assignments, skipping lectures he deemed "boring," and battling a sleep schedule that had long since waved the white flag, he thrived on chaos. Energetic but perpetually exhausted, he had earned the reputation of being that guy—the loud one who knew everyone, yet was strangely elusive when it came to actually opening up about himself. His dorm room was a mess of mismatched socks, instant ramen cups, and textbooks he swore he’d “get to eventually.” University was a game to him—a stage, and he was the lead actor. But behind the loud jokes, there was something more, something deeper.

 

It started with the dreams.

 

They weren’t ordinary ones. They weren’t the type that faded upon waking, dissolving into fragments. These dreams clung to him like static.

 

In one, he was riding a bike down a sunlit path, his hair slick with sweat and laughter bubbling from his chest. Someone sat behind him, arms loosely wrapped around his waist. He couldn’t see their face, but their voice—rich, warm, and teasing—echoed in his head even after waking.

 

In another, it was nighttime. They were sitting atop a rooftop, a half-empty box of cheap beer between them. They talked about everything and nothing, and when he woke up, Satoru swore he could still feel the cool metal of the rooftop beneath his fingers.

 

But there was one dream that haunted him the most.

 

The scene unfolded in shades of gray, like an old photograph fading at the edges. A crumbling street, the air heavy with dust and the faint scent of blood. Satoru stood a few feet away from someone slumped against a wall, their silhouette blurry, their features obscured by shadow. He took a hesitant step forward, his boots scraping against the ground. The figure came into focus: long black hair falling in tangled strands, a battered face smeared with blood. The sight punched the air from Satoru’s lungs.

 

When he woke from that dream, his chest ached, and his pillow was damp with tears. He never cried, but the dream had cracked something open inside him.

 

---

“Dude, are you even listening?”

 

Satoru blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. Beside him, his friend Shoko was glaring at him, chopsticks paused mid-air. They were sitting in the campus cafeteria, their trays loaded with overpriced sushi.

 

“Yeah, yeah, you were saying something about, uh, training? Or was it track? Honestly, you’re always running somewhere,” Satoru teased, stealing a piece of tuna from Shoko’s tray.

 

“Track practice,” Shoko corrected, smacking his hand away. “You’re so spacey lately. Are you sleeping enough?”

 

“Sleeping too much, actually,” Satoru muttered. He didn’t bother elaborating.

 

---

The world outside was cloaked in white, matching the blue-eyed male's hair. Snow fell steadily, the flakes light and feathery, catching the soft glow of the streetlamps. The streets were quiet, muffled by the thick blanket of snow that had piled up over the past few hours. Occasionally, the crunch of hurried footsteps or the scrape of a shovel broke the stillness, but otherwise, it was a serene winter evening.

 

A sharp wind cut through the air, biting at exposed skin and forcing most people to burrow deeper into their scarves and coats. The cold was the kind that seeped into your bones, lingering no matter how many layers you wore. It was the sort of day that made staying indoors feel like an accomplishment.

 

For Satoru, the weather was a perfect excuse to stay curled up in his dorm with a blanket, some snacks, and absolutely no obligations. Or at least, that had been the plan.

 

"Get up, Satoru. You're going to rot in here," Shoko had said, tugging at his arm and ignoring his groan of protest. She had an impressive way of combining indifference with determination, a trait Satoru found both annoying and oddly respectable.

 

"Why would I leave the warmth of my sanctuary for that?" he complained, gesturing dramatically toward the frosty window.

 

"Because it's called fresh air. You need it to survive," Shoko retorted, throwing his coat at him. "Besides, I need coffee, and you're coming with me."

 

And that was how he found himself trudging through the snow, his breath puffing out in visible clouds as he half-listened to Shoko grumble about midterms and poor life choices. The cold nipped at his face and fingertips, despite the gloves he’d hastily thrown on.

 

As they walked, the smell of roasting chestnuts wafted from a nearby stall, mingling with the crisp scent of winter. Satoru’s stomach growled softly, but it wasn’t food he wanted. It was something warm, something that would thaw the chill creeping into his chest.

 

By the time they reached the small coffee shop tucked into the corner of a quiet street, Satoru was more than ready to escape the cold. The shop was cozy, its windows fogged up from the warmth inside. The scent of cinnamon, chocolate, and freshly brewed coffee greeted them as they stepped through the door, the bell above chiming softly.

 

“Get me a black coffee,” Shoko said, shoving some cash into Satoru’s hand. “I’m grabbing us a table.”

 

Satoru sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approached. The thought of a hot drink—something rich and comforting—sounded better than ever. Maybe a mocha, or a latte with extra whipped cream. He wasn’t picky, as long as it was warm enough to chase away the lingering cold in his fingers.

 

Satoru was only half paying attention as he approached the counter. A young man with sandy hair and an easygoing smile greeted him from behind the register. “I’ll take a mocha and a black coffee.” Satoru said, glancing briefly at the menu.

 

The barista punched in his order and added, “Coming right up.”

 

“Thanks,” Satoru replied distractedly. He turned away from the counter, his eyes wandering over the shop’s warm interior as he tugged off his gloves.

 

“Name?”

 

The voice was different. Deeper, smoother. Satoru blinked and turned back toward the counter, already beginning to answer.

 

“Shoko, and—” He froze mid-sentence, the words dying in his throat as his gaze locked on the person now standing there.

 

Time seemed to slow.

 

The man was striking. Long black hair tied back in a messy bun, with a few loose strands framing his face. His earrings caught the light, and his piercing, hazel eyes seemed to look straight through Satoru's blue, crystalline irises. Warm earth crashing with endless sky.

 

“Satoru,” he managed, the name catching awkwardly as it left his mouth.

 

The barista smiled faintly, and the snowy haired male felt the weight of the moment shift. "Ah, that’s a nice name.”

 

It hit him like a freight train. The voice, the warmth, the familiarity. It was him, for sure. He was convinced that this was the person from his dreams.

 

Satoru stared, his brain scrambling to make sense of it. The barista tilted his head slightly, confusion flickering across his face.

 

“Do I… know you?” Satoru blurted out before he could stop himself.

 

The hazel eyed laughed softly, a low sound that sent a shiver down Satoru’s spine. “You look kind of familiar. Do you go to the university nearby?”

 

Satoru nodded dumbly. “Yeah. You?”

 

“Same,” the barista said. “Small world, huh?"

 

Satoru’s hand tightened around his wallet, the leather creaking under his grip. “What’s your name?”

 

“Suguru,” the barista replied, sliding the receipt toward him. “Suguru Getou.”

 

The name landed like a thunderclap. Suguru. It unlocked something in the other—a flood of emotions he couldn’t name, memories that weren’t memories.

 

Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. The name echoed relentlessly in Satoru's mind, like the faint memory of a song he couldn’t place, yet felt etched into his very bones. Who was it? Who was that? His chest tightened as a strange, almost aching familiarity clawed at him. 

 

His pulse quickened. The barista’s smile had been ordinary enough, polite even—so why did it feel like he had seen it a thousand times before? It wasn’t just déjà vu; it was sharper, heavier, like a dream he’d long forgotten forcing itself to the forefront of his mind. The more he tried to grasp it, the more it slipped through his fingers.

 

Why does this feel like a name I shouldn’t have forgotten?

 

The name whispered through him again, louder now, like it was trying to claw its way out of the void. Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. His head throbbed. Who are you?

 

And why did it feel like losing them had once broken him? 

 

“Satoru? Are you okay?”

 

Satoru blinked. He hadn't even realized he was staring into nothing, the café’s ambient chatter and clinking of cups faded into a dull hum. “Yeah, sorry. Uh, nice to meet you, Suguru.” 

 

“You too, Satoru.” By the time Satoru returned to the table with Shoko, he felt like he was walking on autopilot. She raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing as he sat down. The snow outside blurred together in a dance of white as Satoru turned the scene over in his head.

 

“You look weird,” The brunnete remarked. “Did something happen?”

 

Satoru didn’t answer. His mind was still stuck on Suguru, on that voice, that face. He rubbed a hand over his neck, trying to shake the disorientation.

 

The barista at the counter called out, “Satoru and Shoko!”

 

He jumped, startled by the sound of his name. Shoko gave him an amused look. “Well, go get it, space cadet.”

 

Satoru stood and made his way back to the counter. This time, Suguru was the one holding out their drinks.

 

“Here you go. Mocha for you, black coffee for Shoko, right?” Suguru said, his lips curving into a faint smile.

 

“Yeah,” Satoru replied, his voice softer than usual. He hesitated for a moment before blurting, “Hey, uh… do you have a phone?”

 

The black-haired male blinked, surprised by the abruptness of the question. “Yeah?”

 

Satoru fumbled for his phone. “Can I… get your number? You know, in case I want to order ahead or something.”

 

Suguru’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but he didn’t comment on the obvious excuse. “Sure.” He took Satoru’s phone, entered his number, and handed it back.

 

“Thanks,” Satoru said, clutching the phone a little tighter than necessary.

 

“No problem,” Suguru replied, his smile lingering. “See you around, Satoru.”

 

“Yeah,” Satoru muttered, feeling a strange warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee in his hand. As he turned back toward the table, he caught Shoko watching him, her smirk practically radiating mischief.

 

“New friend?” she teased when he sat down.

 

Satoru didn’t answer, staring at the number now saved in his phone. Suguru Getou. The name echoed in his mind like a mantra.

 

For the first time all evening, the snow outside didn’t feel so cold.

 

---

That night, the dreams came back with a vengeance. He was standing in a bustling street, surrounded by the noise of the crowd. The world felt distorted, as though he was walking through it with a sense of detachment. His gaze shifted to the figure who stood across from him, his expression unreadable, his eyes filled with something the white-haired male couldn’t place.

 

The scene shifted, and suddenly, they were standing in a dark, ominous alleyway. The air was thick with tension, a weight Satoru couldn't shake off. The figure looked at him one last time, a brief flicker of something softer in his eyes before it was replaced with cold indifference. His mouth was moving, he was saying something that the other male couldn't quite catch.

 

Then, without warning, they were facing away from each other, the distance growing between them with every passing moment. Satoru reached out, but his hand grasped only air. The world around him seemed to crumble, shadows swallowing the light, and Satoru felt the sharp sting of something unresolved, something unfinished.

 

Satoru woke with a gasp, his chest heaving. He stared at the ceiling, the dream replaying in his mind like a broken record.

 

“What the hell is happening to me?” he whispered. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he grabbed it without thinking.

 

Suguru: Hey. Hope I didn’t freak you out earlier. You seemed… distracted.

 

Satoru stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. Finally, he typed back:

 

Satoru: You didn’t. Just tired. Let’s grab coffee again sometime.

 

The reply came almost instantly.

 

Suguru: Sure. Let me know when.

 

Satoru set the phone down, his mind racing.

 

He didn’t know what was going on, but one thing was clear: Suguru wasn’t just a stranger.

 

He was something more. Something Satoru was determined to figure out.

Notes:

I hate rhem

Also do y'all think I should make another part? If yes, should it be a continuation of this chapter or a time skip to where they figure out who they were in the past and it's just disgusting emotional fluff