Chapter Text
Satoru lay in his bed surrounded by filth, curled up in a pathetic little ball as if he were a child with a nightmare. He hadn’t left his room in days, and he doesn’t plan to. He curls up tighter, clutching the blanket to his chest. He isn’t even doing anything, why does it feel like he can’t breathe? He wheezes and coughs, the inability to do something as simple as breathing making him panic. The tears leak from his eyes as he passes out again, alone in that dirty, tiny room.
“Seriously, Satoru is late again? It’s not like him to be late so many days in a row.” Suguru mutters, flipping his phone open. He gets on the tram alone, making his way to Jujutsu High. Even while waiting outside the wooden gates of the school, checking his phone for any texts from his white haired best friend, there’s no sign that the boy is coming. He sighs and enters the school grounds. The first period passes, and Satoru is still a no-show.
“Not here again?” Shoko asks Suguru.
“No, he’s not. It’s been two weeks and he’s only texted me like… 5 times.” Suguru scowled. He turns to Shoko, noting the cigarette in her hand. “It’s not like him.”
Shoko sighs, bringing the cigarette to her mouth and taking a drag. She’s much too young to smoke, but it’s not like she has parents here to stop her. She offers it to Suguru, and he leans down to take a longer, more gentle drag. He exhales the smoke, watching it circle and vanish as he looks away. Their lunch break ends, and Suguru and Shoko make their commute back to that old and bare wooden classroom.
Suguru’s mind wanders as they walk in silence. What could Satoru be up to? Was he given a confidential mission? Was he ill? They enter their classroom again and sit through more agonisingly slow lessons. The entire time,Suguru’s mind is overtaken with his worries about his dear one and only, and he makes up his mind to take a short detour home, stopping by Satoru’s dorm room to check up on him.
—
Satoru wakes up blearily, shakily pulling a hand up to his forehead to brush his damp hair off of his forehead. How did he get so warm…? The last thing he remembers was being cold, bundling himself up in that sweaty cocoon. He distantly hears himself whimper, though he’s not all there. Everything sounds far away…
A sharp paint shoots through his head as he tries to orient himself. He lowers himself back down onto the pillow, the sweltering heat inside his stuffy dorm room is so unbearable. His duvet is all bundled up the wrong way, his pillow is sticking to the back of his neck, his body doesn’t feel like his own- he feels his headache pound harder, he must be ill. Waves of nausea slowly hit him, and he turns on his side only for absolutely nothing to come up. He’s so tired…
He falls asleep again, so miserable. Only… he can’t. He can’t sleep. Sleep is his only refuge from the sorrow and darkness burrowing in his mind, but it seems his body is too exhausted from sleeping, so he’s stuck being awake. He doesn’t even know what time or day it is, god, does he even remember his own name?
He curls up in a fetal position, a blanket laid against him and another clutched in his arms. Satoru’s sure he can’t take much more of this, and a familiar gleam of metal catches his eye from his bedside table.
Satoru must’ve been in a daze. He must’ve dissociated because he does not remember even making it to the bathroom. He looks down at himself, and this time he does throw up. Luckily he’s right next to a toilet, but nothing comes up but bile. God, when was the last time he ate? He spits into the toilet bowl, pulling back and trying not to look down at the violent scene he himself created. The red smeared across his arms, hands, and clothes are just a cruel reminder of how fragile the poor boy truly is. After much effort, he reluctantly pulls his head down to inspect the damage he caused.
The lines are semi deep, he hadn’t hit anything vital. But there was blood, and there was a lot of it. They were scattered across his forearm and both of his upper thighs, but he does what needs to be done (which for Satoru is just wetting them to “clean” them, and bandages himself up) and heads back to bed. He puts on a long sleeve tee despite the temperature of the room, and crawls back into bed, staring into space. He doesn’t know how much time has passed before there’s a knock on his door.
—
After the last period bell rings, he bolts out of the classroom and speeds down to the convenience store next to Jujutsu High, and picks up a few things. A simple cup noodle, miso soup, an assortment of Satoru’s favourite candy, and a few medications just in case his counterpart is unwell. He also bought a small wolf plushie for him, because he knows Satoru loves collecting them after never having any toys as a kid. After he pays, he enters the Jujutsu dorms, and hesitantly knocks on Satoru’s door. He hears no movement, or even any sign he’s in the room. Maybe he is on a secret mission… He knocks again, louder this time. He tries the doorknob, and he finds it unlocked. Silly Satoru, always forgetting to lock his door.
He walks into Satoru’s room, and feels his heart physically deflate. The room reeks of sweat, must, and vomit, and the room is so hot and stuffy. There’s plates of half eaten food piled up on his desk, and there's a trashbin next to Satoru’s bed. He must’ve been feeling ill after he ate, Suguru felt that when he was at his worst as well.
Suguru’s come to the conclusion that Satoru is either sick or struggling mentally. He’s really hoping for the first option.
His eyes travel up to the bed, where usually a white, fluffy mop of hair peaks out from under the duvet, but instead he finds a greasy head of grey barely visible under the crumpled blanket. He puts a hand on what he assumes to be the younger man's shoulder. Satoru flinches at the contact, inching closer to the wall to try and escape his hold. Suguru pulls back immediately, taking a deep breath before lightly speaking to him.
“Satoru… it’s Suguru. It’s just me, okay?” He murmurs to him, his voice sounding loud in the quiet of his room. Satoru shifts slightly, probably just making himself comfortable. He lets out a groan under his breath, is Satoru in pain? He gently pulls down the blanket surrounding Satoru’s head, and Satoru whines and tries to burrow his head back under. Suguru keeps the blanket where it is, ignoring how his heart is aching.
“Satoru, let me see your face, okay? That’s all I want to see.” He assures him gently, it’s clear to Suguru that Satoru is sensitive and out of it. Satoru meekly uncovers his face, and Suguru feels sick to his stomach seeing his lover in such a state. Satoru’s eyes are bloodshot and wet, and the dark circles under his eyes match his own, and that’s a level of sleep deprivation Suguru doesn’t even want to think about. Satoru’s cheeks are flushed, and he looks so pale, and that’s saying something because he’s always been pale as hell. Suguru presses the back of his hand to Satoru’s sweaty forehead, and Satoru seems to have a fever. A high one, at that. Suguru clicks his tongue, looking into Satoru’s eyes sympathetically.
Not only is Satoru sick, he's also depressed.