Saw moonie’s tweet and i remember going to this tiny bar hidden under whiskey shop with a live jazz performance Now i’m thinking of gofushi where young pianist Megumi and Satoru who keeps coming to this bar just to hear him play.

“Hakushu 18 for me,” Suguru says, leaning towards the swooning waitress, she’d think she’s getting drunk on these handsome men and the tempting scent of perfume and cigar from the long haired man, “make it neat.” Satoru, on the other hand, is occupied with something else.

“And one lemonade please. And two mixed nuts for me, thank you,” he says before quickly leaning back to free his line of sight, eyes trained to one and only one person in the dim-lighted bar. On the corner of the intimate establishment, little corner is lit up,

yellow hue showers the back of a youth and the black piano he is playing. Beyond the chatter of the patrons, soft tunes of jazz dance in the air, produced by those lithe and light fingertips, and it seems, even without a drop of alcohol, Satoru is getting intoxicated.

“You need to stop staring,” Suguru grins as he kicks his friend, they have been sitting here for an hour or so by now and the man still stares at the pianist like a lovestruck teenager. “No, I think you need to shut up,” Satoru groans before he buries his face in his palms,

“God, Suguru, he’s beautiful. He’s magnificent.” Oh, he IS lovestruck, enough to make his heart clench painfully, enough to make them come back to this bar every Friday night where said youth performs weekly, and definitely enough to make Satoru holds his pee of

one lemonade and two elderberry soda he chugged down until the pianist goes on break. He doesn’t even know when did he drink all those liquid, he must have done it mindlessly while staring at the young man probably half his age.

So when he finally relieves himself, washes his hand, and pushes open the loo door to go back so he wont miss any single second of him performing; he nearly had a heart attack to run into the black haired beaut.

“Oh,” the youth crashes unto him lightly, and by reflex, Satoru quickly grabs unto his arm to stable him. Yes, he’s been admiring him for quite a while, and yes he had countless experience of romance, but somehow when it comes to this particular person, the cassanova Satoru is

reduced to a mere shy, starstruck fool, never even thinking to talk to the boy. (It’s quite romantic this way, he insists) So when said youth looks up to him, recognition in his eyes and cheeks that are gradually warming, and says: “it’s you”; his heart stutters.

“It’s you.” He says back, he’s rather surprised he does it quite calmly. The two bodies stay close for couple of more seconds, before the younger abashedly breaks eye contacts and sadly pulls away. “Sorry,” he says before stepping aside.

“No problem at all,” Satoru smiles before pushing the door once again, intending to go out with the smell of honey and lemon in heart and strings of words to spill to Suguru. But before he could do so, the youth suddenly speaks up. “Uh, you come here a lot,”

The front area of the washroom is quite cramped, fitting only one sink, so when Satoru steps back in, it’s inevitable to stand close, his body towering the pianist. He remembers him. “Well, of course,” the younger says, quickly adding, “I mean…”

Seems like he voiced his thoughts. God, not only he’s beautiful and talented, but he’s also incredibly cute; “how nice, that the pianist I adore remembers me.” And it proves him right even further when even his ears grow visibly red.

“You like my playing?” “I love every tune. And I like how graceful you are,” Satoru wonders if he’s being a little too forward, “is that okay for me to have a name?” “Fushiguro. Fushiguro Megumi.” He, Megumi, answers in a heartbeat.

“Megumi,” Satoru tries how it tastes on his tongue, it was perfect, “I’m Gojo Satoru, lovely to make your acquaintance.” He stretches his hand for Megumi, and when the smaller hand greets his, he takes the beautiful, slender finger to his lips in a small kiss.

That was smooth. But when Satoru gets back to Suguru, he snatches away his whiskey and drinks the amber liquid in one gulp. “Wh— what the hell?” “Sorry, it’s the adrenaline rush,” And Suguru has to hear the lengthy, detailed description of the (fated!) exchange.

And then if from then, Megumi makes it clear that he looks back to check on Satoru from time to time; he’d just have to internally swoon and externally smiles his bestest one. “Suguru, I think I’m in love.”