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"You look lonely."
The words catch Suguru off guard. He jerks his head up, pulls his gaze away from the stupid broken vending machine. "Satoru. You're back."
"You know you're not alone, right?" Satoru asks.
Suguru almost laughs a little at that, because it's ridiculous. "Yeah, okay."
"I'm here, Suguru."
He does laugh, now. It's a bitter sound. "Are you?"
Satoru's face falls. "You're mad."
"Not at you." He kicks the bottom of the vending machine, half-heartedly. "How'd the mission go?"
"Same old," Satoru says with a shrug. Sticks his thumb out to point at the machine. "Want me to stick my arm in there for you?"
Suguru laughs again - genuine, this time, and it's the first time his chest has felt this light in six days. "I missed you, asshole."
"I know. I missed you too."
"Six days," he says, turning to face Satoru. "What's up with that? That's the longest you've ever been gone. Figured you'd be back sooner. Y'know, since you're the strongest, and all that."
Satoru visibly tenses. "We're the strongest. And it was abroad, so mostly travel, but the cursed spirit ended up being way bigger than we anticipated, like, way bigger, and-"
Suguru's zoning out, looking back at the soda can that's half leaning over the edge of its shelf, lit up fluorescent blue. It had been about to drop when the stupid bar jammed. That was the last of his change, too. He briefly wonders if he can make the machine spit his coins back out, if he punches it hard enough.
"-ten hours straight, I swear to god, and then it exploded and there was goop everywhere," Satoru says, apparently not done rambling. "And then I slept for the whole of the next day. It was crazy."
"Sounds fun," Suguru says, and leans his forehead against the cool glass, lets the drinks and snacks inside fade into a colourful blur. It reminds him of being a kid and falling asleep while watching brightly coloured cartoons. Shapes swirl and morph into a sea of primary colours. God, what he wouldn't give to go back.
Summer's heat is feverish this year. It's making him lethargic.
"You sure you don't want me to stick my arm in there?" Satoru asks, placing a warm hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. It should be comforting, but the heat feels oppressive.
"It's not gonna come out," he replies flatly, and stands up straight, making Satoru's hand fall away. He digs in his pockets for more coins, only to be met with lint and an empty gum wrapper. Shit.
"It will if I blow it up," Satoru says.
"They'll probably sue you for property damage," Suguru points out, and turns, leans his back against the glass. "Forget it. I'm not that thirsty."
Satoru gives him a look. "You look like shit. Have you been sleeping?"
"Gee, thanks, Satoru."
"Have you?"
Suguru falters. "Not really. Not well."
"Me neither," Satoru confesses quietly. "It's hard when I'm not with you."
"Yeah," he says. Stares at the floor.
"Suguru. I'm sorry."
He looks up at Satoru. Looks at his eyes - bright blue, like the sea, like the light in the aquarium, like the last time he felt happy. God, they were so happy.
"I'm sorry I haven't been around," Satoru says, and his eyes are sad. "I hate it, too. I'm so tired. And I want to be here, I want - I want to be with you, want to be here for you. And when I am, I'm so-"
He's crying.
Suguru stares. Fuck, this isn't how he thought it would go. In his mind, the inevitable fight - some dramatic confrontation - involves him breaking down, him sobbing and screaming and making Satoru stay. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Satoru wipes his eyes, looks annoyed - with himself, maybe. "I'm at my limit. I'm so exhausted, Suguru. And I know you're hurting. I am too. And I want to talk about it, but when I'm not on missions I'm - fucking collapsing into bed, or-"
"Please don't cry," Suguru says stupidly - hypocritically. He's crying too, now. "It's okay."
"It's not okay," Satoru says. "Look at you. God. What can I do?"
"It's not your fault," he says, trying to convince himself as much as Satoru. It's not, it's the higher-ups, it's the stupid, fucked up system, but half of him wants to blame Satoru, because - he doesn't know. It would be easier, maybe.
"Just tell me what I can do." Satoru smacks his forearm against the vending machine. The soda can drops down with a loud thud. He squats. Pulls it out. Hands it to Suguru.
Suguru stares at the can in his hand. Stares up at Satoru. The condensation is blissful against his burning skin. "I don't know."
"Then," Satoru says, softly. Softer than he ever speaks. "Let's just talk. Let's just go lie down and we can talk until we fall asleep."
His heart feels a little like someone cut his chest open and stuck their hand inside and grabbed it, squeezing it in their hand like it won't kill him. "I miss you so much."
Satoru steps towards him. "I know."
"What if it gets worse?" Suguru asks.
"What if it gets better? What if everything works out?"
"That's a naive way of thinking."
"Not naive," Satoru says. "Hopeful. You can't just give up. We have a future. A good future."
"I don't know," Suguru says. The cold metal of the soda can is making his fingers numb. He switches it to his other hand.
"You're my best friend, Suguru. Nothing scares me more than losing you."
"What about me?" he asks, raising his voice. "What about me losing you?"
Satoru takes another step forward. "You won't."
"I already am." Suguru stares at him. Can't make eye contact. "I already am. You're never here."
"I'm sorry," Satoru says. "I know. I'm sorry."
"I miss you," he says again. Hates how pathetic he sounds.
Satoru hugs him, and he breaks down. Hugs back, clings on as if Satoru will disappear forever if he lets go. Sobs into his chest, like he's imagined doing so many times.
"I'm so sorry," Satoru whispers against his ear, one arm around Suguru's back, the other hand cradling his head, holding him close like a child.
Suguru wants to spill out every thought, every feeling, wants to beg him to never leave again. It's too much, all it is too much, so he ends up screaming into Satoru's chest, instead. He screams until his throat is raw and aching.
"It's okay," Satoru says, and it's so, so desperately not okay.
Time loses its meaning a little. It could be five minutes, could be an hour, before Satoru picks him up effortlessly, carries him back to his room. He sets Suguru down on his bed. Turns the fan on.
"It's a mess in here," Suguru mumbles, his voice hoarse. He hasn't had the energy to pick up the clothes littered across the floor.
"Don't worry about it," Satoru says, already picking things up, folding - badly, refolding.
"You don't have to do that."
"When did you last eat?" he asks, ignoring him.
The sun is finally starting to set, painting the room in orange and gold. Soon, the air will cool.
"I don't remember," Suguru admits. "Not today."
Satoru makes a face. Something between disapproval and concern. "I'll make you something."
"You don't have to," he says again.
"I want to," Satoru says. "I'm here, now. Let me take care of you."
Suguru can't argue. Doesn't want to, anyway. He wants Satoru to take care of him. That's all he wants. "Will you hold me? When you're done?"
"Of course," Satoru answers, without a second of hesitation.