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It’s quiet in the walls of their apartment.
Weird, because it’s a little too quiet.
Don’t get him wrong, Suguru loves the peace that comes with a silent and empty apartment as much as the next guy. This would be a prime opportunity to get cracking on some of his assignments early. Or even start one of the books he brought from the library the other day. He could even call his mom, not being able to recall the last time he sat down and had a conversation with her.
The fact is, Suguru has no problems filling up the silence of his home.
Well, he wouldn’t. If he knew that he was actually alone.
But he’s not.
Suguru knows for a fact that his roommate is home. He knows this because if Satoru had left for his classes by now he would’ve said bye to Suguru on his way out, seizing every opportunity he could to brush close and knock their shoulders together, where pale and slender fingers would scratch at the base of Suguru’s neck causing tingles up Suguru’s spine, exploiting his departure as an excuse for physical contact.
But that hasn’t happened today.
So.
Suguru knows that Satoru is home, which isn’t an odd fact in itself, but if he skips his classes and feels like staying in, he's usually in Suguru’s general vicinity. Satoru would usually bug Suguru to do something together, like watching a shitty movie for the sole purpose to make fun of the characters on-screen (“How couldn’t her friends tell? It’s literally just a blonde wig!” “Suguru, we should wig you for a day to see if people recognize you,” “I’m literally not doing that”).
Other times they’d both be doing their own thing but tangle up in each other somehow—Suguru leaning against the back of the couch with his feet propped up, one hand scrolling through his phone and the other buried in a flurry of white hair, making patterns across Satoru’s scalp, who’s head would occupy the space between Suguru’s legs, with the boy in question looking at something on his own phone.
But Satoru seems to be in his own room keeping to himself, which is enough to make Suguru curious. He gets up from the spot on his bed and pads down the hallway to Satoru’s room, knuckles rapping against the door.
“Satoru, you in there?”
No answer. Suguru gently prods the door open and adjusts to the darkness of the room, since the curtains are drawn, giving Suguru an inkling suspicion as to what’s going on. Focusing on the curled-up lump of blankets in the middle of the bed, he shuffles forward and perches himself on its side.
“You okay, Satoru?”
The lump lets out a groan as it turns over. Satoru lowers the blankets to his chin and blearily opens his eyes, red and inflamed. “Ngh, go away.”
His heart aches when he sees the rawness written across Satoru’s face. Leaving no time to waste, Suguru crawls forward on the mattress and angles himself so he's eye level with Satoru. Reaching forward, he places his palm across Satoru’s face, urging his eyelids shut.
“Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Rest.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Satoru replies.
“But I want to.” And it’s true, Suguru does.
More often than not, Satoru has a hard time admitting when his eyes are bothering him. He’s struggled with sensitivity issues his entire life, something that Suguru only found out about his roommate a few months into living together. Sometimes his blackout glasses aren’t even enough. When he’s constantly pouring himself over his laptop for assignments into the early hours of the morning, harsh screen lighting too much for his sensitive eyes.
The first time it happened, Satoru tried to shrug it off. Feigning nonchalance when Suguru parroted concerns about the state of his eyes.
Back then, Suguru had pestered Satoru until he admitted it, that his condition was something that would never go away, only managed. And sometimes he’ll deal with the consequences. Back then, all Suguru wanted to do was help his newly formed friend, seeing how it obviously had Satoru in pain.
Now, Suguru is used to coming into the darkness of Satoru’s room, blackout curtains shut, with the boy hiding himself from any source of light to not further irritate his eyes.
In the present, Suguru uses his free hand to push away the strands of hair haphazardly across Satoru’s forehead. Gently, the rough pads of his fingers trace across his scalp, creating tiny soothing circles.
Satoru lets out a cute little hmm in response.
Taking that as encouragement, Suguru slinks his hand across Satoru’s spine, giving the back of his neck a little push so that he can guide Satoru’s face into the curve of his throat.
Satoru lets out a muffled sound, hot breath tickling Suguru’s neck.
“What was that?” Suguru asks.
“I said—what, what do you get out of this?”
Suguru wonders what he means, so he asks, “What do you mean what I get out of this?”
“I mean, like, why do you do this every time—come in here to help me?” Satoru clarifies.
“Why wouldn’t I? You’re in pain and I want to help.” Because it’s that easy. He never wants to see Satoru hurting, not if Suguru can do something about it.
This causes a brief silence. Suguru swallows, suddenly doubting his actions, “Are you uncomfortable? Do you not want me to?”
At that, the boy buried in his neck lets out a frustrated noise. “It’s not that.”
Suguru doesn’t understand, so he prods further, “Then how come?”
Satoru lifts his head from the spot where he was nestled comfortably against Suguru’s warm throat, blue red-rimmed eyes boring into his purple.
Eye contact with Satoru is something Suguru will never get used to, no matter how many times it happens. It’s intense and all-encompassing. Suguru’s never been fond of swimming, but he thinks wouldn’t mind drowning if it was in the specific shade of Satoru’s cerulean.
“Like, my eye fuckery happens often—and for a long time at that,” Satoru glides his tongue across his teeth, contemplating his next words. “You don’t get annoyed?
Suguru is genuinely puzzled. Annoyed?
“Why would I get annoyed at something you can’t control? It’s not like you’re making me do this. I’m here ‘cause I want to be.” And Suguru hopes he was clear. He doesn’t know what thoughts Satoru was entertaining in his pretty little head, but he never wants Satoru to think anything he does annoys Suguru. Much less a condition he can’t control.
Satoru hasn’t said anything to that. He’s still looking at him. Suguru pushes.
“Hey, talk to me, ‘Toru. Why would I get annoyed?”
“It’s just—I can’t understand why you’d want to be around me when I’m like this? I’m useless and can’t do anything. Because my genetics decided to fuck me over and make me sensitive to the one thing that’s literally everywhere,” Satoru huffs out, and Suguru’s eyebrows furrow. He can’t begin to fathom the amount of things wrong with what Satoru just said.
“Hold on, wait. You are not useless,” Suguru states. “What made you even think that way?” Because he wonders if someone somewhere down the line has put this thought into Satoru’s head, because he can’t imagine it coming from him.
He can feel the motions of Satoru’s fists clenching where they’re still buried against the blankets
“When we were figuring out what was wrong with me, with my eyes. My parents, they—“ Satoru pauses as if steeling himself, “They said what good is having a child when he can’t do anything? When I can’t go more than a few hours of being outside in the light or looking at a screen too long? That I would never amount to anything with my condition.” He scrunches his nose when recalling the memory.
With every word Satoru spoke, Suguru’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, tighter and tighter. Something suffocating. God, he thinks. How could anyone let Satoru think that, much less when he was a child?
Satoru is looking down now, avoiding eye contact. As if he’s ashamed of what he just admitted and that now Suguru sees him in the same way his parents do.
“Satoru,” Suguru starts, curling a gentle hand under the boy’s chin to get his gaze back on him. “You are not useless. Not to me, not to anyone. You are not your condition. It’s just something that you deal with. You are everything and more despite what your parents told you,” Suguru says with an assuredness to his voice. Because it’s true and he needs Satoru to know that. To trust that.
Satoru lets out a breath but otherwise doesn’t react. Suguru wonders if he believes him.
“You’re everything, Satoru, to everyone. To me.”
If Suguru wasn’t committing every detail of Satoru’s shock-ridden face to memory, he would’ve missed the slight tremble of his lip.
Suddenly, he feels a pair of arms thrown around his neck, welcoming the familiar weight nestled against his throat.
“You asshole,” Satoru weeps into his skin, overtaken with emotion. He can feel where Satoru shivers slightly against him.
Suguru huffs a laugh into Satoru’s hair. He snakes his arms around Satoru’s waist, pressed onto his own. “You believe me?” Suguru asks.
There’s a wetness on his neck from the tears that managed to escape Satoru, but Suguru can feel his smile nonetheless, where Satoru has taken real estate against the column of his throat. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you, Suguru.”
Suguru’s heart feels like it just melted into goo. He feels warm with the amount of fondness he holds for this boy. A feeling that's forever expanding. Suguru himself, then and there, thinks that he's drawn to the redness in Satoru's eyes when he's the reason for them.
“You’re everything to me too."