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Geto Suguru would call himself a lot of things. Thoughtful, precise, and above all else: tidy. Which is why he certainly does not appreciate the snot clogging his nose ever since he woke up this morning, forcing him to leave a trail of used tissues wherever he goes. Normally, only Satoru would be capable of causing such an unseemly mess – but today, Suguru just can’t help it. Each and every time he blows his nose, the mucus seems to spawn again out of nowhere, almost like one of those pesky non-player characters in Satoru’s goddamn video games.
With an unsightly pile of tissues littering his desk, he curses as he fails to coax his hands into bringing more words onto paper. He needs to finish this report as soon as possible , unless he wants Yaga to expel him. He’s already three days behind – a negligence he simply cannot tolerate any longer. It needs to be done, and it needs to be done now . Every additional minute he spends lounging in his chair, he becomes more anxious and the thoughts grow louder.
But… but… why does even his own body betray him? Hell, his hands shiver so much that he barely manages to hold his pen – and despite all his efforts, the letters still wobble and waver in front of his eyes. Every line varies in steadiness and width. It’s a terrible scrawl he himself can hardly even decipher. Vitriolic shame pricks his neck, gnaws at his vertebrae. And, hell, why is every single cell of his skin so sensitive ? Everywhere his clothes touch his body, it burns as if he had slept in stinging nettles.
His uniform might as well be made out of pure lead with how much it’s dragging him down right now – not to mention the way his headache pulses with every heartbeat, making him want to faceplant into the oak wood. He can’t focus, he can’t think. There exists nothing but throb, throb, throb . Hissing, he presses a palm to his temple. Hot .
He groans as he tries to shake away the feeling but doesn’t succeed. Everything’s suddenly indescribably heavy. His brain seems to be shrouded in thick fog, rendering any attempt at clear thoughts impossible. The letters nothing more than a blur in front of his eyes, he fights against the urge to just go to bed and forget all his responsibilities for good.
A bird flying past his window catches his attention for a second, feathers glowing white like a snow flurry. It lands on the ledge of his window for just a heartbeat, until it’s startled by the way Suguru’s watching it. Not a single thought behind those big, dark eyes , Suguru muses as the animal hurriedly takes wing again. In another life, maybe he can be a bird, too. Unbound by earthly restrictions, there’d be no worries for him under the midnight clouds.
He’d search the sky for eternity if it spelt freedom for his tired bones.
Suddenly, reality seems so soft, as if it was wrapped in cotton wool. The dull thud sounds worlds away. He’s so lost in the fog that he barely notices as the ink spills on oak wood. Drip, drip, drip patter the rivulets down the desk, leaving streaks and stains on the newly blemished report paper. His thoughts slip away as a new realm opens up: a boundless sea of brilliant blue.
And he swims, he swims in the blue, saviour and sin alike. Submerged in the floods, he feels like he can breathe freely for the very first time in his life. The ocean is calm. Here, he can feel safe. Here, he knows there’s a home . Inside endless shades of azure, he sees his universe.
“-uru?”
From far, far away, a noise stirs up his sea.
“Suguru?”
Tiny stirs turn into waves, surging and soaring until water washes over his features, bringing him back to reality in a flash.
“Suguru! You scared me for a bit!”
It’s Satoru, Satoru in front of him, his eyes open wide – and suddenly, Suguru realises that he’s been staring into their breathtaking blue all along.
“Don’t ever do that to me again!”
There’s fear in Satoru’s face, and it jostles Suguru awake more fiercely than water ever could. All at once, pain erupts from his brow to his occiput and he notices that the world is sideways, his head slumped on top of the desk in an awkward position. He groans in discomfort as he tries to sit up.
When he tries to reassure Satoru that everything’s alright, he falters as he realises that not a single word leaves his mouth. Dry as a desert, his aching throat forces him into a coughing fit. Every spasm hurts like sandpaper dragged across the entire length of his esophagus and the corners of his eyes burn with tears. If his thoughts were clearer, he’d ponder what a pathetic sight he must be.
Quicker than he could even react, a finger is placed onto his lips, blocking him from trying to speak again. “You idiot! You’re glowing!” Satoru shrieks and starts to rummage around the drawers.
Everything seems to blend together in one flurry of motions. It makes Suguru’s head hurt even more. He can barely register the cold metal tip pressed under his armpit before the shrill beeping of the thermometer cuts through the haze. Someone groans, and this time it’s not him. “Ugh, you’re such a dumb perfectionist. What are you doing in the dead of night trying to write a report with that high of a fever?”
Everything in Suguru wants to protest, but he finds himself weak as a crumbled leaf in Satoru’s grip, and he can’t do anything as Satoru drags him to his bed. It’s still messy from when he had gotten up this morning, sheets thoughtlessly thrown over to the side. That seems incredibly far away now, though.
Before he knows what’s happening, he’s wrapped in a thick, fluffy blanket and his insides don't feel as desolated anymore. It feels as if he’s skipping through time – every time he blinks, he has no recollection of how many minutes have passed. There’s soothing liquid poured down his throat, tasting of a myriad of herbs he struggles to discern. His favourite tea , he realises in a random flash of consciousness.
And above all else, there’s the unmistakable presence of Satoru. Those are characteristics he’d never forget. There’s the flowery smell of his shampoo, the soft touch of his skin, the rhythm of his heartbeat that seems burnt into the very essence of Suguru’s soul. And then, there’s that unbelievably tender voice Satoru only uses when they’re alone. “Stop worrying so much. I’m taking care of you now.”
This is where he feels safe. This is home .