Chapter Text
Satoru sighed as he lay on his bed in the dark, listening to the sound of Suguru retching through the walls. Anybody could have seen he wasn’t feeling well at dinner; he didn’t touch his food despite having a physically demanding day, and he seemed even more uninterested in Satoru’s pointless questions than usual. Satoru had considered asking the other boy what the problem was, but couldn’t figure out how to broach the subject.
He listened to Suguru’s suffering for a few more minutes before pushing himself to stand up. He grabbed his sunglasses despite the sun setting hours ago, and opened his door to peek into the hall.
Suguru’s door was cracked open, like someone had left quickly without caring to close it properly. The racket Suguru was making was coming from the other corridor, so at least he managed to get to the bathroom.
Satoru made his way out of the dorm wing, walking silently out of habit. He didn’t couldn’t explain exactly why he was going to Suguru. He wanted to check on him sure, but why?
There was no fluorescent glow of the lights coming from the bathrooms as he approached, and Suguru had gone silent inside. Satoru stood still for a moment, before taking a breath and walking in. He could see Suguru kneeling on the floor of a stall that he hadn’t bothered to lock. He coughed roughly, and the sound of vomit hitting the toilet echoed briefly against the tile in the room.
Satoru winced sympathetically at the aggressive retching and gagging, something inside him tugging him forward as he listened to each sound being punctuated by a whimper or pained moan from Suguru.
Satoru has seen Suguru take on horrifying curses for months now, watching him swallow them down with almost a perfectly straight face, perfectly emulating the sense of responsibility and duty Jujutsu sorcerers are expected to show the rest of the world. But beyond respecting him as a fellow sorcerer, Satoru couldn’t stop himself from noticing the things about Suguru that would be true if they lived normal lives like normal people.
It was easy to notice that Suguru always chose to stand when taking a train ride to leave seats for the elderly, or how he always steeped his lunch and dinner teas longer than he did his breakfast tea, and the way he preferred his clothes to be slightly bigger than they needed to be to create his signature baggy style.
Most recently, however, Satoru couldn’t help but notice how he swayed precariously sometimes standing on the train, how his choice of teas shifted from green and white teas to ginger at every meal, and how Suguru’s clothes hung off of him more than they used to, the way his the bones in his wrist pop out now, and how quiet he becomes after missions.
Satoru is yanked from his musing as another rough gag echoes off the tile, punctuated by the sound of more vomiting. Suguru fell quiet at once, and one could see from outside the stall the way his posture tipped forward.
Satoru stepped towards him quickly, crossing the room in less than three steps. He pauses momentarily behind Suguru, who hadn’t even acknowledged his presence, before crouching down and getting closer to Suguru’s hunched figure.
The first thing Satoru does is reach to pull the flush lever, banishing the sour smell permeating the air of the bathroom. He sits back on his heels right behind Suguru, and their close proximity lets Satoru hear the small whines intermittently coming from Suguru.
“Shhh…” he whispers softly next to Suguru’s ear, unsure how to proceed with attempting to comfort someone. His childhood was extremely lacking when it came to anyone providing emotional support at any given instance where it may have been appropriate, so he was forced to feel forward blindly and rely on his instincts for how he should proceed.
He reaches out, closing one of his hands around each of Suguru’s wrists. He pulls gently, forcing Suguru out of the almost fetal position he had curled himself into. Satoru pulls Suguru to lie back instead, bringing the mop of sweaty dark hair to rest on his chest. He lets go of Suguru’s wrists and wraps his arms around his waist with his hands coming to rest right over his naval. Suguru’s hands come to the same spot, grabbing onto Satoru’s and grasping tightly, squeezing both of them together.
“What’s happening?” Satoru asks, his voice just as quiet as before.
“It-it hurts” Suguru chokes out, a couple tears spilling onto his face and running unchecked down to his neck.
Satoru can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his desire to help Suguru in any way possible escalating to a level that he could not possibly rationalize.
“Should I call Yaga?” He asked, acutely aware of how different his voice sounds now compared to his signature, borderline obnoxious tone.
Suguru shakes his head roughly “No- no don’t.” He insists, going even more limp against Satoru’s chest. Satoru can feel Suguru’s stomach roiling angrily under his hands through the angry growls tearing through the boy’s abdomen.
“Is this from absorbing curses?” Satoru asks, only to be answered with an echoingly loud sob from Suguru.
“I don’t know why I can’t do it—why I can’t do it and—my technique hurts so bad that I can’t even—afterwards I’m so—and everyone else can just—“ Suguru cries, catapulting Satoru even deeper into a situation he wasn’t very sure how to deal with from the start.
He leaned forward slightly, so his mouth was level with Suguru’s ear. He’s silent for a moment before speaking.
“Earlier, when I said I wanted to be a fish deep down in the ocean, it was because down there, there is zero light.” He pauses, listening to the pattern of Suguru’s breathing even out slightly.
“Sometimes, with the eyes, any amount of light will burn bad enough that I can’t see anything. It stings like hell, and the migraine that goes with sometimes is even worse.” He says, unsure why he felt like admitting that right now was the right thing to do since he had never been incline to share that with anyone before.
It seems like he made a good call though, since the tears falling on Suguru’s face slowed considerably.
“I think I’m done” he rasped, breaking the silence that stretched in the dark bathroom, his throat likely raw from stomach acid.
“Okay, do you wanna go back to the dorms?” Satoru asked, wiping Suguru’s bangs out of his face from where they were plastered with sweat.
Suguru nods, and Satoru lifts him to stand. Suguru grimaces once on his feet, and Satoru braces a hand against his chest and back to help support him. He waits a second, before adjusting his grip to all but carry Suguru out of the bathroom.
They eventually get back to Suguru’s dorm where he collapses on his bed, but he doesn’t seem to be contorting in pain anymore, which Satoru takes as a good sign.
He jams the door with a shoe so he doesn’t get locked out, and quickly runs to his room to grab a washcloth and his water bottle. He goes back to Suguru’s room, letting the door shut fully, and kneels in front of the bed taking the cap off the bottle.
He pours some onto the washcloth so it’s just slightly damp, and uses it to wipe Suguru’s face and neck off again. The water is room temperature, but he offers it towards Suguru anyway. He shakes his head, but Satoru leaves it open on his nightstand just in case. He then reaches over and grabs the trash bin from under the desk, bringing it to the spot on the floor right under Suguru’s head.
Suguru opens an eye, glancing down at the bin. “‘M not gunna-“ he starts, but Satoru cuts him off.
“I know. But just in case” he says, and Suguru closes his eyes again instead of arguing, so Satoru assumes he made a good call.
He rises, standing over Suguru’s sleeping form. He turns to leave, but hearing Suguru whimper stops him dead in his tracks.
He turns back, looking at Suguru’s face. He doesn’t look horribly uncomfortable, but Satoru can point out the places on his body that are a little more tense than usual.
He kneels back in front of Suguru’s bed, extending a hand forward. He falters momentarily, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment like he was about to get caught doing something he shouldn’t even be thinking about. Pushing through the sudden unwelcome emotion, Satoru places a hand on Suguru’s head, moving it back and forth in a soothing motion. Suguru sighs, the tension in his face abating slightly for the first time since they got back from their mission. Something in Satoru gives at the sound, like the first root of a plant breaking out of a seed that had been planted somewhere deep inside his soul.
He stands, climbing over Suguru and sitting on the bed between him and the wall. He silences the budding voice in his head yelling at him to stop, to leave, to remember who he is and what he represents. Instead, he reaches for Suguru again, adjusting the blanket so it’s covering both of them. He gently wraps an arm over Suguru’s waist, able to tell that the roiling his stomach was doing earlier had calmed down significantly.
He rested his head against the wall, content to sit awake in case Suguru woke up and needed something. He’d have to ask Suguru about it eventually, maybe to convince him to talk to Yaga.
Satoru’s gaze falls to Suguru’s back where the ridges of his spine have become measurably more visible, and he has to force himself to look away. He’d talk to Yaga in the morning himself if he had to. But for now, staying the night couldn’t hurt.