molding into you
précis: In your new pottery class, you didn’t think you’d meet an attractive man named Geto Suguru there.
a geto suguru fic. | fluff | fem!reader| ft. kamo choso
(not edited/proofread. sorry!) (photos are not mine! credits to the owner/artist!)
Life was pretty—mundane.
The same old tired routine like a broken treadmill on the slowest speed possible, drove you up a wall. And not just any wall, but one where the material was made of brick. The rough textures scratching away at the surface of your skin.
Spilled words construed into paragraphs, melts your brain with each second. You simply couldn’t deny that you were in debt—mentally. You could lie to yourself and pretend that you were floating through the waves of life, but really you drowning. And that was sugarcoating. Instead, a shackle, that was chained to your ankle, weighed you down like you were nothing slowly killing you without a care in the world.
It wasn’t until Choso, your best friend, gave you praise over the experimental smokey eye makeup look on your face. His oblivious smile transitions to a slight grimace followed by a mental slap to himself when it was revealed that you were in fact, barefaced.
After that chagrined encounter, an attempt was made to start taking care of yourself and not with just the basic hygiene that you already mastered down. Maybe your best friend’s assumption was a sign from the universe to start assessing yourself—to truly looking what you allowed the world to see. But lo and behold, the false lashes, the blowed out hair, the lip gloss, the early wake ups to really start your day right, and the jewelry displayed on your skin lasted for two days.
Friday nights, we’re the only chance you could do anything but study or stay in your dorm. And what do you do? you chose to stay in your dorm and study some more. Your right hand clicks away at the pretty but poor ink formula pen as you read yet another paragraph. The words somehow start to rearrange its letters and became foreign to you that you had to make double check the front cover of the textbook. Just to make sure it wasn’t in a foreign language.
After your third time of inspecting the cover of the book and letting out yet again another irritated groan, your phone vibrates aggressively, yelling to answer your phone. Frustratingly so, you slam the book closed for good and whip your hand swiping at your phone.
“What.” You gruntled out leaning back into your chair bitter at the harsh world.
“Damn. What if I was someone else?” Choso chuckles at your greeting.
“Only you would call me at,” you peak over to your busted digital clock where Choso struggled to read the time due to the missing LEDs that made out the numbers. “One thirty-two.”
“It’s one thirty-eight. I told you to get rid of that fucked up clock a while ago.”
“Cho, why’d you call me.” Too tired to hear a nonsensical conversation, you get straight to the point getting to the bottom of why he would call you this late.
“I sent you a text five hours ago. You didn’t reply, and I wanted to make sure that you didn’t just die on me.”
“And yes it is very important. I suggest you try it out. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” He singsongs into your ear.
“Fine whatever I’ll look at it.” You sigh into your mic, your heart softening at your friend’s concern. “I appreciate you a lot.” The conversation goes on for a while before he ultimately decides that he was done for the night. He tells you to take care of yourself, and in return he receives back. Just like that the phone beeps and you’re back to where you started.
A dark room paired with the an ungodly bright screen screaming its very vibrant colors right at you.
You blink rapidly creating an effect as if you were watching through a hand crank camera. Once your visions is adjusted, the screen watches as you glare conflicted at the brightly colored website. Very loud and forcibly attempting to get any type of engagement from its audience. Well, too bad it’s two in the morning. The only thing you’re capable of engaging with today maybe is blocking Choso and putting him on time out for two days, and maybe even sending him a request for 20 dollars for wasting your time.
Mold your life and make it yours!
The tacky tagline makes your face scrunch. It was too generic, and more so a scam to even consider being legit. Your curious fingers scroll down hunting to find any more discrepancies or errors to add on to your list of ‘Why I Shouldn’t be Doing This’ to give to Choso, however, you come across another section on their page.
In a bolded black comic sans font, you couldn’t help but stare in disbelief. You can already see the rebuttal from miles away. Choso’s title smacks you right into your face, ‘Why You Should Listen to Your Best Friend More’. Your ego is kind of glad that you scrolled a bit more rather than prematurely sending him a picture of the loaded screen with a text following right after:
‘ths is the lamest shit you’ve ever sent me. did you even check your sources?’
Which would be replied by a text and an attachment at the exact page your looking at currently from Cho:
‘you’re even lamer for assuming that I don’t check my shit.’
Regardless, your eyes hardened at the text, a bit skeptical. And considering the fact that being skeptical was a skill that you needed nowadays, you scrolled even further down to read the reviews. Huh. Four stars and higher. Okay, a point for them. However, as soon as the skepticism leaves you, it rushes back in when you notice that all of the them, which was only four, were anonymous.
Weighing out your options, you sheepishly make your way back to the comic sans font, and tilt your head. Maybe it was the exhaustion influencing your mind or the immediate guilt seeping into you for thinking that Choso was setting you up, but you let the bolded comic sans imprint into the wrinkles of your already tired brain.
College Students: $0.00 (No hidden fees or taxes!)
Defeatedly so, you roll your eyes at your damn best friend who did nothing but discreetly tell you that maybe it was time to go out and do something for your mental health. The small lock icon sitting right by the website’s url reassured you just a tiny bit, and suddenly, you find yourself moving your cursor towards the apply button.
Five minutes later, after rechecking and making sure you typed your name out (missing a vowel in your name for a year on your most used app that used the point system was embarrassing enough) you contemplate for a few more seconds before hitting submit.
A confirmation code immediately pops up on your phone. Nonchalantly, you click on the link verifying that it’s you. It takes you to your preferred browser, having you pick out the pictures containing a crosswalk. You sink in your humiliation when the captcha pops up again because you carelessly missed the crosswalk on the top right side on the previous test.
You applaud yourself once you ace the second test, and there it is. The final page before you start a session. The page where you finally can call it a night, and worry about all of this until your fist day—
Today.
Your first class is today. At six in the evening.
You find yourself dumbfounded, and the only remedy to curing your state? Sliding down into your seat with your palm hitting your forehead. Well, there goes planning ahead, not that you were going to do any planning either way.
Your broken clock receives no attention from you. Seeing that your deep fried brain wouldn’t be able to read the missing LEDs anyways. As your tiredness consumes you, you get up from your seat carrying your weight onto your bed, and tell yourself that you had a long day ahead.
A pottery class at six, and cursing out your best friend at nine.
—
When you walk in, the first thing you notice was how compact the room looked. The instructor, you assumed, had greeted you, telling you that you came earlier than the call time. You expressed that you wanted to get a feel of the room. As a beginner, you believed that it was best that you came with your questions being answered. But really, you came an hour early throwing some not so nice names at yourself in your beat up car, and then force yourself to go inside because you couldn’t even think about wasting your expensive gas.
The windows were cracked open, the natural lighting casting on the already fired and glazed works sitting on the shelves near the door. It was impressive to think how clay can look almost so identical but yet made uniquely from another if done multiple times. Excitement brewed in your chest as you saunter towards the artwork your instructor had invited you to look at.
There were some poorly designed bowls that made it feel like you were looking at your next two hours. The next sets were much neater —better application and technique. The novice bowls were usable, however they still had flaws that would interfere with its function.
As your eyes skim through the case displays and the shelves, your eyes hooks onto a whole new section. If there was an award for The Best Pottery Student, this student would definitely sweep the floor. It confused you to see perfectly modeled clay, forcing your brain to imagine cracks or dents like the other artwork you saw prior to the current display case. The glaze was done perfectly, the colors popped enough to not clash against each other but rather to suite the neighboring color. If you were to look at different angles, moving from one position to another, all sides would look identical. However, what you did notice was the scratches of letters that made them looked more humanly made on each and every one within that section.
S.G
Which weirdly impressed you even more.
“I see you’ve found interest with this section.” Your instructor calls out from behind you. “Made from my best student. They’ve been coming here for three-ish years? You’ll meet them tonight.”
“It’s incredible work. Ironic to have a beginner and an advance student together no?” You slightly turn your head over your shoulder to look her. A smile appears on her face. The Sun slowly hits her brown warm eyes, deepening the sincerity in her words.
“How do you think he got his own section?”
He?
“I’m sorry—“
“He, like everybody else, started off impatient. Didn’t know the tools, the different clays, the dangers, the process. He thought he could learn and execute everything in one session.” The passion in her eyes burns through you.
“He attended consistently. Never missed a class for his first two years, and atlas!” She gestures towards the display of clay in front of you. “He managed to create all these pieces. Aren’t they wonderful?”
The door cries before you had the chance to answer. “Of course they’re wonderful, I was taught from the very best.”
Your head swings towards the door you once entered from. To save yourself from embarrassment, you let your jaw hit the ground mentally. A tall and very attractive man stands before the two of you, and you couldn’t help but roam your eyes on the sickening good looking man. A black compression shirt made his upper body way more prominent, and you swear you almost drooled on yourself. You could see the curves and veins in each muscles, it was like candy to your eyes. Just him tightening his grip on his backpack strap just a wee bit, would make you go feral at the sight.
His eyes were naturally flirty. They were dangerous. With one look into them he could have you doing anything he wanted. His demeanor reeled you in, as if you were a snake and he, a flute player. His song attracted you immensely, and there was absolutely nothing you could about it but realized one thing.
Oh, you were definitely cursing Choso out after your class.
Now, don’t get yourself wrong. You are not sixteen and in high school anymore. In fact, you still have that self respect instilled in you when your ex of two years revealed that the two of you were not in a relationship. Ultimately waking you up from a rose tinted dream and back to reality.
However, you could appreciate the natural work of an attractive man. The efforts a man has put in to take care of himself shouldn’t go unnoticed. Despite that, shame starts to grow in you when you realized you did not even put half of his efforts to show up refreshed for today’s class. You glance down at your old t-shirt and an old pair of pants to match, afraid that you would stain it with clay.
It was going to be a long two hours.
—
“Yes! Now gently pull your hand outward. Ugh! You almost had it! Let’s try again.” The windows were now closed leaving just the three of you in the classroom. Isolated from the outside in a room of two strangers felt awfully weird, but you thank whoever was listening that if wasn’t a full classroom. According to your instructor, people are too busy to even think about pottery on a Saturday night. The thought of alcohol burning down their throats or just staying in to relax their tense minds was more appealing than the playing with the adult version of play dough.
You had to admit that you were enjoying your session. The dangers of silica, and the constant clay gloves that didn’t allow your hands to breathe was a different feeling for sure. Except for the comments your teacher made every time you had a failed attempt. Each time she said something rather loudly as if she was doing it on purpose, you quickly look up to Suguru, who introduced himself earlier, and realized that he was stuck in his own world—or so you thought.
A simple vase. That’s all you needed to make. It was basically just a longer version of a bowl, how bad could it be? Underestimation was a cold killer, and you quickly realized just how complicated clay can be especially without any experience beforehand. You sit in regret cruising yourself out for being too stubborn and wanting to go the extra mile by making a stupid vase instead of an easier option—a bowl. However, it wasn’t just your stubbornness that pushed you to make a case, your intentions behind it was to clearly impress the attractive man sitting just three yards away.
The wet clay moves below your hands. Once in a while, you’d squeeze the material to get that odd clay sensation exploding around your fingers. From time to time, you’d have to blow a distracting strand of hair away from your face. You scrunch your eyebrows out of concentration believing that it would boost your performance to do well—and it kinda does. You slowly push down on your clay to prepare for yet another attempt at you vase.
Your fingers are placed properly slowly bringing up your wall to a taller height. You begin to move your fingers trying to mimic the walls of a cylindrical vase. Of course, you weren’t as delusion as what Choso makes out. Making an urn vase was the equivalent way of you shooting for the stars. But when asked what you wanted to make tonight, you glanced over at your advanced level peer’s display and a spark lit a fire in you.
Your dream is quickly shot down when your instructor suggests that you should start small first. She prioritized completion rather than quantity as she believes that it boosts morale and confidence with in her students. She did catch that hesitant look in your eye, and furthermore, she quickly tells you that you could always paint it to your liking.
She was real optimistic when your fourth failed attempt happened in front of her. “You’re learning quick, remember now this is not a one class thing—“
Her word fades out as you enter a deep stare looking right at the wonky vase. The sweat forming on your temples are wiped off by the back of your forearms. It was staring to get serious for you. For an academically intelligent student, the concept of understanding just how much harder your peers have to study just to keep up starts to click in your head. You feel the need to give up, however your ego is telling you to continue on.
The pictures on the wall were definitely taunting you now. Each student stood proud at their creation, letting their instructor snap a quick photo. The same eyes that showed genuine glee and enthusiasm—were the same eyes that made you feel as though you weren’t doing your as much as them.
Just a few feet away in his own station, Suguru sits with an already dirtied apron and hands colored with kaolin clay—the most difficult kind of clay to work with. All it took was one look, and he already knew what he wanted to mold. A bowl, a tea cup, a plate, a pitcher, a damn urn vase, he could do it all. In fact, he pushed himself to focus more on the details and sharpening his techniques instead of quantity. Something your instructor preached. He favored quality, and by the looks of it, he was improving rapidly.
At your fifth attempt, your instructor had announced that’s she’d be back. If you could recall, it was something about getting dinner for her family or something. You watch at the familiar sight, the walls growing taller with each squeeze, feeling the wet clay thin between your fingers.
Unbeknownst to you, Suguru watches closely. For a second, he catches that concentrated wrinkle in between your eye in which he mimics. The his eyes slowly slide down to your hands. Your pretty fingers swipe at the clay, attempting to control the material underneath, it obeys your command and slowly like you mastered earlier, the walls start to form, and then he sees it.
As the walls come up, your hands swiftly move trying to save the thinning clay from collapsing again, however, like you’re pervious trails, the walls cave in.
Your lips let out a sigh of defeat, and the ache in your back that you didn’t even know you had, lies your body into the back of your chair. The scraping of Suguru’s chair doesn’t phase you. In fact, you forgot he was even there. You assumed he was getting up to gather more supplies as it was a constant pattern throughout the class. What he did instead, was calmly cleaned his station up using proper procedures, washed himself up a bit, and put his work on the rack where the rest of the ready to fire clay sat.
He grabs the top of his chair and drags it over to your side. This time the dragging noise catches you off guard. To make sure you weren’t hearing things, you double take at him, feeling the burn of shyness making it difficult for you to function.
His long hair in a half up half down hair do cascades on his figure. You take one look at his face, and immediately regrets settles within your bones and into your body. A teasing smile with his eyes ready to flirt when the opportunity arrives. You were done for.
“Having trouble there?” You whip your head towards the source of the sound. “Excuse me?”
The sounds of the fans whirring take over. You watch as he stops his chair, three feet away from you. You couldn’t tell if the temperature in the room dropped, or your body has started to betray you.
He nods pointedly at your inexperienced hands. “I’ve been watching you for a while. While I admire your resilience, you won’t succeed unless you acknowledge your mistakes.”
Accountability.
Tch. What a fucked up way to tell you that you’re pretty shitty at something you’re doing for the first time in your life. This time instead of shying away from the man, you look him dead in the eyes.
“You don’t think I don’t know that?” Your question challenges his patient.
“I don’t doubt that you’re pretty smart. I do, however, think that you feel the need that everything has to go your way.” His patience was winning.
Ouch. You scowl at him, but that same present smug smile taunts at you.
“We met an hour ago, what could you possible know about me?”
He leans forward, his palm of his hand rest on the chair between his spreading legs for balance. His heavy lidded eyes x-rays though you, making you pull away in shock. You’ve never had someone intimidate you while also be as magnetic as Suguru. While he pushes, you pull away—but not on purpose.
“Judging by the way you handle your clay, you’re very impatient. You rush too much, you feel the need to get things right on your first try. You push yourself to do more than what’s expected, not to impress yourself, but to get the needed validation you think you need from others.”
Each word slips right into your ear, and transfers into your brain. Your eyes were ecstatic. Wavering under the stare from his own eyes. He manages to bubble up anger within you, not from being a jackass, but reminding you of the internal problems even you knew that you had to fix.
“All while you try to balance either being happy with yourself or calling yourself hurtful names.” He smiles at you as his body slowly moves back into his original position.
The blink you have him sent a message of disbelief.
“I saw you in your car before the call time.” He slightly tilts your head clearly amused and intrigued by you. “I promise I won’t tell.”
While Suguru, watches you take in what you said, he slowly realizes that maybe he was a bit too harsh. The silence that came from you went for a bit too long that it kind of scared him. Right off the bat he marked you down as someone who had to defend themselves because really who else was willing to take that role?
As your body starts to match your posture with the curve of the splat of the chair, Suguru lets out a breath of regret, and suddenly the spinning wheel slows down and then to a complete shock.
He walks over to his station, grabbing a piece of his work that he completed just earlier and walks right on back towards you and places it on your table.
“I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, considering the fact that you didn’t make it.” You look over absent-mindedly to see what he had placed down.
“But when I saw disappointment in your eyes when you found out it wouldn’t be possible to do on your first day, I decided to make you one.”
Being soft was probably one of your downfalls. You remember forgiving a kid back in elementary for stealing your lunch money. Another time, you forgave your cat sitter for losing your family’s cat after they forgot to close the front door properly. You even forgave your ‘ex-boyfriend’ who obviously did not care for your feelings.
Thankfully, Suguru was not one of them.
When the silence still consumes the both of you, he ironically curses himself out. “I apologize for being a dickhead on your first day. I hope this doesn’t affect your attendance on the future, or your personal opinion on pottery.”
“If it helps.” He starts to move his hand on the top of his chair, ready to drag it back to his side of the room. “I also think that you’re a quick learner. You’ll have it in no time.”
He turns around defeated. His hands are ready to pull. He takes a step forward and tugs gently at the chair, but somehow it was stuck to the ground. With an already bruised ego, which is something he rarely felt, he looks back ready to be humiliated by the odds that are stacked against him. Instead, he finds your clay coated hand gripping the closet chair leg to you.
“I’m sorry.” It escapes your lips calmly. His eyes stare in wonder. What were you apologizing for? Like a mind reader, you gave him and reply with, “for getting clay on your chair.”
You give a friendly smile. “We can call it even.” A grateful smile molds onto his face.
Ten minutes later, your hands are back ready to conquer what was seemingly your current problem—hand crafting your stupid vase. With a little help from Suguru, you were able to get the walls to your liking, towering over your previous attempts.
“You got it.” He watches your pridefully as you surpass the height from your previous attempt. He suggested that you try not to overestimate the clay. As well as to adjust the pressure to ensure that the walls don’t thin out.
“Shit!” You curse out when you feel the walls yet again faltering under your touch. “This is complicated. I don’t know how you do it.”You quickly glance at Suguru’s display case to your right, causing him to chuckle at you.
“Don’t say that. You’re already doing it.” He gestures at your fallen tower. “You just have to learn to understand clay. I had just as much trouble as you.”
Suguru looks at you longingly without your awareness. He’s never met someone as stubborn and passionate as you. As much as he watches your trials and errors entertained, he slowly admired your endurance—especially the fact that he would’ve never attempted molding a damn base for more than five times.
“Oh c’mon, we both know you got this, pretty girl.”
Did he just?
You chose to ignore the pet name, thinking that you misheard him due to the frustration zooming in your head. As you wipe your sweat, he smugly smirks at your coincidentally red face, and reverts his eyes back to your hand.
“Are you a visual learner?”
“Yeah.” Your foot assist you by spinning the pottery wheel once more. “I learn visually. Worse case scenarios, I need to be interactive when finding a solution.”
“Okay.” With that he lifts up from his seat, and drags his chair. “Wait—What are you—“
“Relax pretty.” He sets his chair behind you and sits. “I’m just teaching my equal how to make a vase. As long as she’s okay with it.”
No words came out of your mouth. You felt his body heat radiating towards you, and yet chills race down your arms and back. Your skin suddenly becomes sensitive, as if it was yearning to be touch by your attractive and advanced fellow pupil. Butterflies roamed in your innards distracting your brain from even thinking of a reply to give him. You didn’t even have to look back to see his signature sultry eyes and his stupid enrapturing cocky smile. It pissed you off so bad to know that he could back up his own cockiness, but currently go were too nervous to speak.
“I need a verbal answer.” His eyes were on your still face. He knew that he was doing things to you, and he, just like you, liked it.
“Hmm?” He commands softly at you when you give no reply. “Is it alright if I teach her a thing or two?”
“Yes.” You pipe out, a soft but certain answer. However it was not enough for him. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t quite hear you.”
For someone who mouths off a lot, it was interesting to see how quiet you were when you were aware that you were not the assertive one. For years, you had the need to argue back or be the one with the upper hand. So when Suguru showed you patience, it was the first time you felt at ease. You didn’t have to prove your worth to him—he accepted you as you are.
“I’m okay with it.”
You waited patiently for his next move. Like a physical countdown, you hear his chair scrape towards the back of yours. Little shocks of electricity run down the back of your shirt. His legs were the first of him to touch you. He asked you if this was too close to your liking to which you reply if a quick no. You felt his chest huh your back, and that’s when the breath you didn’t know you were holding finally releases.
The arms you were ogling at the the start of your class ended up being the same arms engulf your body. Despite the muscular and rough shape to his hands, they were careful with its surroundings compared to yours.
“We can stop at anytime. I won’t argue with you.” If there’s one thing Suguru hated, he hated ruining his chances with the pretty girl that ended up at a place by chance. He was a greedy man, he’ll admit it, but he was greedy with respect.
He tests his luck by placing his chin on your right shoulder. You do not complain, you actually relax a little and he feels your body loosen up a bit.
Carefully, with his hands overlapping yours, he guides them carefully. Your fingers make contact with your soon-to-be-vase, caressing it into its desired shape. Even with his hands making you feel the difference already, your mind was too focused on Suguru. His heart beat was basically knocking on your back, a surprisingly rapid rhythm that matched yours.
Suguru lifts his eyes to your face then back down to your hands. “You know, this is supposed to be teaching you not sidetracking you.” He teases.
“If it’s making you too nervous then I’ll stop. You’ll just have to tell me.”
“I’m fine. I swear.” You croak out afraid that you’ll lose contact with him.
“Okay. I’m trusting your word”
The two of you sit comfortably in each others warmth. You finally feel yourself calm down to the point where you actually know what’s going on. It actually put it in perspective for you on how skilled Suguru were with his hands and fingers, and how experienced he was with clay.
Your vase was done in eight minutes. When Suguru starts to slow down the wheel, your lips form a pout realizing that he has to pull away in order to get the finished project prepared to be fired and glazed.
When the wheel completely stops, you admired the work that the two of you created. Suguru starts to pull back, and suddenly your body feels cold from the lack of warmth his body provided yours with.
“See.” He leans back in his chair. “I knew you could do it.”
He receives a smile from you. “I appreciate it Suguru.”
“Anything for you, pretty girl.”
Your instructor comes back three minutes later, apologizing for being gone for too long. Suguru had moved away from your station for two minutes ago, and he was now washing up the bits and pieces of clay on his supplies to avoid them from hardening and ruining them.
Your instructor went over the procedures on how to throughly clean and residue left over. You quickly scraped off wet clay on your wheel and threw the unused clay back to the ‘reuse’ bin. The tingling of Suguru’s body was lingering on your skin. You’d share sneaky glances when you’d pass by each other, and he’d tease you with his comments from time to time.
This was definitely going to be your new favorite hobby from now on.
It was already nine at night by the time you laid on your bed. There goes your plans for yellimg at Choso. The cool air hit your exposed skin, and the darkness consumed your sight leaving you to stare at a dark ceiling. As quiet as your dorm sounds, with the occasionally swooshes from the wind, your thoughts were blaring in your head.
Your body yearned for Suguru. Your hands raced down the opposing arms trying to recreate what Suguru introduced to you. Your bed lacked the comfort and familiarity of Suguru’s chest. You felt you stomach squeeze at the thought of losing Suguru’s company.
And for that you most definitely have to yell at Choso the next time you see him.
—
As you park, the sputtering of your car dies down. Taking in your appearance in the rear view mirror, it looked like you actually had time to sleep. You carefully look around your radius to ensure that no one was around to see your private pep talk with yourself, and when you see that it’s empty, you give yourself a satisfied nod.
The car window was open, letting the fresh air pass through your vehicle. The sun was starting to clock out for the day, and the warm beams kiss your skin, but it wasn’t enough to match Suguru’s.
You start to walk down to your class, kicking the small pebbles along your route, and avoiding cracks and lines imprinted in the ground. As you turn the corner, you almost bump into a person.
Suguru Geto.
He smiles down at you fondly. His famous ultra eyes meet yours, and he couldn’t help but feel relieved. “I’m glad to see you today.”
“I’m very glad to see you tonight too.” You tease his verbal error earning a soft head shake and a laugh from him. “Here, let’s walk together.”
Although the classroom wasn’t too far, the two of you appreciated the company that you both offered to each. With no explanations, it was only him who could tune your body to be one with your mind. No stress, no complaints, and no putting yourself down was present.
Just you and Suguru.
When the two of you reach the door, he insists politely that you enter first, as you grabs the handle to pull the door open. Before you enter, he stops you, and fixes a strand of hair and pushes it behind your ear.
“Thank you.” Your eyes wrinkle in adoration at his affection.
“Anything for you, pretty girl.” He references to the last pottery session.
The first thing you notice was the natural lighting. It sprayed across the room, touching anything behind the shade of the windows. You feel Suguru move closer to you, and as you scan the room amazed at fhe golden hour, that’s when you see it.
On your station, an urn vase sits on your table. A beautifully arrangement of colors even better than the ones Suguru has up on display stained the vase. Unlike the projects Suguru has made, this one felt like it had more effort into it. Identical consistency all the way around and very uniquely his own work given only for you.
But that wasn’t all. It’s already being used for its functionality.
A set of fresh lilies are bunched up in the middle of the vase’s opening. It touched your heart a bit to see the floral decorations be placed in a hand made gift and gifted to you. Suguru watches delightfully as you your jaw drops, and your beautiful eyes sparkle with excitement.
“Who are these for?” You shout at the pretty gift.
He rolls his eyes playfully at your humbleness. “Who else did I give the vase too, silly?” You let out a squeal, and walk towards the vase. His heart squeezes when he catches you admiring the vase way more than the lilies.
“Did you really buy these for me?
“The freshest bouquet of lilies there are.” Your excitement makes his heart swell. “I love both of them so much Sug!” You run from your station and give him a manful hug.
“I don’t know how to thank you.” You confess, sad that you wouldn’t return the favor.
“Well there is one thing you could do to make up your debt.” Your eyebrows raise at the offer. “What would that be?”
“Let me display our vase in my collection. I haven’t fired it yet.” He throws his head towards the unfired clay vase. “I wanted to engrave our initials before I do.”
“Yes! Anything to make it up to you.” Your heart is weirdly disappointed to hear his offer. The two of you walk over to the unfinished project, and carve your initial as away. “Oh and one more thing,” he doesn’t move his eyes away from you.
“Go on a date with me.”
You bite your lip, trying to hide your excitement. Your hands move to engrave the repetitive initials bound to you.
“Anything to make it up to you, Suguru.”
Maybe Choso didn’t deserve any tongue lashings from you at all.
