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The train screeches to a halt, its doors opening shortly after. Satoru's incessant yammering stops immediately when a wall of hot, solid air crashes into his body. Some of the water particles from the humidity get trapped on the layer of his infinity.
Suguru's eyes lazily drift to the interesting sight, widening slightly. “It looks strange.”
Satoru plays with it, raising and lowering his arm, staring as it acts like rain on a car window. He refuses to watch where he's going within the hell crowd. Looking up is torturous anyway—even with his sunglasses, six eyes is so sensitive during summer and it hurts. He's shielded physically by infinity, but not from the sensations of the sun beating down; the rays eventually cut and sear into his skin. Thankfully, nobody bumps into his shoulders, ever.
Except Suguru, who yanks him out of the path of a pedestrian. Infinity always evaporates instinctively for him. He grumbles softly as he's dragged from the train platforms, to the gravelled outskirts of Tokyo in a blistering heat wave. Despite the severe heat advisory and the ability to stay at Jujutsu High for one day off, the higher-ups still sent them on a mission.
Suguru was a lot more prepared.
“Satoru,” he calls flatly, “Water break. Let's sit down.”
Satoru kicks a rock. “Yeah, yeah. I don't need it, but we'll do it for you,” he mumbles teasingly, plopping onto the nearest bench.
Suguru sighs. “There's one in the shade over there.” He points to yet another bench, one actually under a tree and well enough to shelter two overworked high schoolers. “Come here, sit.”
Satoru leaps from the bench, face beaming, but stands there for longer than it should take to process. He wipes his damp bangs, squinting his eyes from salt in his sweat and the overwhelming light. “Coming, coming,” he says, adjusting his glasses to fit against his skin closer as he walks towards Suguru.
Suguru stares when Satoru sits. “You're not invincible. Water, now,” he murmurs, pulling a thermos from the backpack. “One for you.”
Satoru bows his head as he takes it, “Thank you.” He pops the lid open and oddly enough, the metal seems heavy in his hand. His arm quivers slightly from a damn water bottle. Suguru is distracted with his own, Satoru notes with a glance. His eyes widen, and he suppresses a coughing fit when the freezing water hits his stomach, immediately summoning a bout of nausea. He closes the lid and acts nonchalant, gazing at the tree above them, drawing conscious breaths to not barf right here, right now.
No way in hell is he this weak—Suguru seems fine?
The blood in his legs feels cool, like it's traveling up and away, but down from his brain. It makes him dizzy in the sense that his limbs are different; gone from his body, filled with lightheadedness. He remains still, watching Suguru drink normally and set his thermos aside. Suguru blinks, knowing immediately that Satoru is staring.
He turns his body, giving Satoru his full attention. “You okay?”
Satoru swallows, nodding. The salt still burns. It’s difficult to breathe in the thick air; it clogs his lungs, sludgy like tar. He’s too hazy to consider a witty response, instead opting to have Suguru peer into his soul. His neck tingles as liquid dribbles from his scalp, with the intention to cool him off, but creates a slight panic response and his eyes go glassy.
“Satoru, are you okay?” Suguru repeats, firmer.
It doesn’t bring him into this world any.
Suguru grabs his hands, directing Satoru to scoot closer. “Lean forward, ‘Toru,” he whispers, in case Satoru is sensitive right now. The fact that he listens like a dog, something that he only does when deathly sick or something is very, very wrong. This confirms Suguru’s beliefs when he presses his hand to the back of Suguru’s neck, finding cold sweat and volcanic skin.
Satoru sways, nearly collapsing into his lap.
“It's okay, I've got you,” Suguru says, not knowing what’s amiss but confident he needs help. He guides Satoru's shoulders, helping his spine relax into Suguru's chest. “Easy, sweetheart. Can you tell me what's wrong? Are you overwhelmed or dissociating?” he questions, focused on roaming over Satoru, inspecting why he's shivering in hot as fuck weather.
Satoru replies in a strained voice, “M'dizzy.” He clutches his head aimlessly, fingers fumbling.
His glasses are sliding off, Suguru realizes, fixing them. Dizzy, shivering, he's—
Satoru grapples weakly at Suguru, holding himself up as he leans out to the grass. Suguru grimaces, using a strong arm to keep Satoru anchored and another to pull back his hair as he empties his stomach. Definitely something physical. He keeps soothing words flowing into Satoru’s flushed ears, trying to think of what to do next. The poor thing won’t stop heaving, and his face is scrunched in pain. Suguru hushes him gently when he finally gets a break, wiping his lips with a paper towel from the backpack pocket.
Suguru reaches for his phone to dial Shoko, pausing, then his face drops when he remembers she’s off visiting distant family. He looks at Satoru again, all just about crying and heavily against him, and decides to call anyway. He pets Satoru’s damp, hot hair as he listens to the phone ringing.
“Suguru?” Shoko answers almost immediately. “This is either an emergency or really stupid.”
“Emergency.”
“Okay,” Shoko sounds professional, “What happened?”
“Uh… I don't know—Satoru—Satoru, he,” Suguru inhales quickly, “he's sick.”
“Deep breaths, Suguru. Can you describe it to me?”
“He threw up,” Suguru mutters, squeezing the flip phone. “He's been in the heat a while since we got off—off the train.”
Shoko hums in acknowledgement. “Let's stay calm and think. Is there any way you can get him cooled off now? To a place with air conditioning?”
Suguru rubs Satoru's shoulder, even as he groans. He looks around, not seeing any sign of a building within the two kilometers (3M) they walked. “No, we're pretty far away.”
“Why the hell are you out there?”
“Mission.”
“They sent you on a fucking mission?” Shoko exclaims. “After I tell you this, please carry him home,” she genuinely worries.
“I always will,” Suguru whispers. He touches Satoru's forehead, which is overheated and quivering as the rest of his body. “What do I do?”
A sigh. “Remove his layers. As much as he allows.”
Suguru puts his palm on Satoru's chest. “I'm going to take your shirt off, okay?” He gazes into Satoru's glassy eyes.
Satoru's frame hitches and he whines as Suguru guides it up and over his head, assisting him so it doesn't rub against his face. Suguru drapes an arm over him, kissing into his white locks. Satoru watches dazedly, drifting as Suguru talks to a flip phone and keeps messing with him, putting a cold and wet cloth to the back of his neck.
“C-Cold,” he complains, not recognizing his own voice.
Suguru's eyes soften to something tender. “I know, I know, baby.” He touches Satoru’s skin feather light, multitasking by pouring a little ice water onto Satoru’s bundled uniform, using it as a washcloth to his neck. He dabs it to Satoru’s body, eliciting a shuddering gasp from him due to the shock. “You’re okay, honey, just need to keep you safe,” he says, his stomach weighing down from noticing how Satoru didn’t drink water at all from the thermos.
“How’s he doing?” Shoko sounds from the phone.
Suguru replies, voice tremulous, “He’s cold.”
Satoru suddenly gets the bright idea to see where he left his own sick, craning to look at the ground. “M-My lunch, S’guru,” he slurs, upper body becoming boneless when Suguru reels him back in.
“Stay with me, alright? We’ll get you a good lunch later, ‘Toru,” he breathes, close to Satoru’s neck so he can process it, keeping the cloth held there.
He’s handled out-of-it Satoru before during many things and found that the best way to prevent him from panicking is to reason with him. Even if the topic is changed a billion times, anything to keep Satoru from accidentally injuring himself.
Suguru’s eyes widen, and he reaches out, hearing Shoko faintly talking on the flip phone he laid down. “Shoko—Shoko, I couldn’t hear you, my bad.”
“—and make sure he—what? Put me on speaker, idiot!” She’s definitely grinding her jaw.
“N-Not n’ce, S’guru,” Satoru whines, punching Suguru’s arm weakly.
Suguru’s heart pounds. “Uh, yeah. Shoko, I think he’s getting worse.” He grips Satoru better, hauling his body up more.
“Don’t sit there any longer, walk the direction you came. Have you called anyone else?” Shoko asks.
Suguru’s entire core warms with hope. “Uh—I’m going to use Satoru’s phone to call Nanami,” he mutters, smiling barely when Satoru giggles as Suguru digs into his pocket. “I’ll keep you on, Shoko.”
“Thank you.”
Suguru holds Satoru's hand to ensure he's calm, dialing with the other. His thumb strokes slow circles on Satoru's palm. “We're gonna get you feeling better, hm?”
The phone rings and Nanami answers quicker than Shoko. “Satoru? Now what?”
“Nanami,” Suguru says, “We need to be picked up.”
“Suguru,” he corrects himself. “I understand. An emergency?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?” There's shuffling from Nanami's end.
Suguru clears his throat. “We took the train towards that one mission you were supposed to have.” He’s hinting at a mission that the higher-ups decided to trade Nanami and Haibara for Suguru and Satoru, so thankfully, Nanami should know the location.
“The one towards the warehouse? Alright. I'll be there. Did you manage to walk far?”
“No. Please hurry. Something's wrong with Satoru,” he gasps out, letting himself get worked up.
Shoko reminds from the other phone. “Breathe, Suguru. It's alright. Satoru's strong.”
Suguru nods to nobody, staring at a couple of rice fields in the distance. He ignores his quaking body, his bouncing legs, the burning of possible tears in his eyes--Satoru needs him. So, he doesn’t hiccup into a sob, but kisses Satoru’s knuckles and moves to stand. Satoru is disoriented, needing his guidance to remain seated.
“I’m going to carry him towards the direction that Nanami would be coming,” he says, extending his arms to Satoru, hooking underneath. Satoru does it in turn, but weaker. Suguru thinks that he understands what’s going on around him to some extent. He takes both their body weight into a crouch so that he can access both flip phones, grunting, and Satoru shifting doesn’t aid him any in balance.
Shoko and Suguru talk amongst themselves, with Satoru eventually growing curious and grabbing his flip phone (faintly recognized), therefore throwing Nanami into new territory.
“Hi?” Satoru mumbles.
“Is this Satoru? Gojo Satoru?” Nanami wonders.
Satoru is silent, assimilating the information in his heat-exhausted brain. He recoils due to a loud beeping tone from Suguru’s phone, seeing Suguru also quickly pull the offending object away from his ear.
“Is anyone there?” Nanami chimes.
Suguru closes his phone, shoving it in his pocket. “Uh, yeah. Shoko’s phone must have died or something. It went off mid-sentence.” He smiles, glad that Satoru is conscious enough to handle a phone. It allows him to focus fully on carrying him and watching the path for Nanami.
“I’m driving there now. I’ll be there in less than ten minutes,” Nanami announces.
“S’guru,” Satoru whimpers, cuddling into the crook of Suguru’s neck. His shoulders jerk, breath coming in broken gasps.
Suguru’s brows furrow, and he hikes Satoru up for the best grip. “Yeah, sweetheart? Are you okay?” He notes that Satoru is grappling at his ears, his eyes, and bursts into harder sobs.
“S-S’guru, S’guru,” he repeats, borderline begging.
“I’m here, ‘Toru, you’re okay. Let’s see what’s the matter, hm?” Suguru lowers Satoru to the ground, into his lap, so he doesn’t get dirty. They stay in the cool earth because Suguru swears that the gravel path was going to eventually burn a hole in his shoes. “Can you look at me, honey?”
Satoru peeks through his condensated sunglasses, unable to open his eyes, even in the shade. His face is absolutely wrecked with tears and sweat. He pushes his palms to block his ears, painfully so. “Mhm,” he hums faintly so Suguru knows he’s present to some degree.
“Yeah?” Suguru says back, mimicking the soft tone. “Just keep breathing for me. We’re gonna get you feeling better really fast, sweetheart.” He pours more water onto the discarded uniform and puts it to Satoru’s chest, dabbing moisture everywhere he can. Satoru’s cries are like a hammer to each of his bones. He’s going to crumble if Satoru isn’t fine after this.
“Loud,” Satoru hiccups.
Suguru’s body stills with a thought. “I brought your headphones, just in case.” He slides the backpack from his shoulder, taking out Satoru’s noise-cancelling headphones.
It makes Satoru descend into uncontrollable sobs.
“No, no, hey. Here. Here you go,” Suguru whispers soothingly, placing Satoru’s headphones swiftly, ensuring it doesn’t knock into his glasses. “Does it feel okay?”
After a moment that is certainly too long, Satoru nods, sniffling. His eyes are puffy, probably throbbing from six eyes. Satoru experiences much more than the buzzing cicadas within Japan’s summer, the scorching heat and varying humidity—he becomes one with the curses that float beside depressed citizens, the negative energies that stretch out from school yards to coil around innocent trees, spreading like a blight upon the land.
Of course Satoru gets sick sometimes.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Suguru says, strained, tucking Satoru’s head under his chin.
“I’m here. I’m hanging up,” Nanami states from the almost forgotten phone line.
The blessing of a car rumbles down the path. Suguru’s heart jumps in his chest, apprehensive about transferring Satoru to a new location.
He kisses once again into Satoru’s hair, warm from the sun. It’s the object they must escape from. “You’ve been so good. Thank you so much for being calm, baby. We’re just trying to help you.”
Satoru turns his head to see Nanami’s vehicle approaching, but then lies it on Suguru’s shoulder when a surge of black spots clouds his vision, exploding into colors that don’t exist.
Nanami comes to a halt more recklessly than he has in his life. He leaves the car running, exiting it fast to kneel beside Suguru and Satoru. “How is he?”
“Weak…um, unsteady. We need to help him in the car.” Suguru gets on the other side of Satoru.
Nanami doesn’t point out Satoru’s fiercely red face, even as he flinches at a primal level for having the word weak attached to his name. “You’ll be alright, Satoru,” he says, genuine and sweet, though in a gravelly manner.
Satoru coughs lightly when he’s helped into the passenger seat. He begins to fight, thrashing just a bit when Suguru goes to the back. “Suguru!” he yelps.
”I’m here. I’m sorry. Let’s get you in the back with me, ‘Toru. I’ve got you,” Suguru chokes out of Satoru’s death grip, buckling him in the back, sitting beside him, and getting situated. His pupils trail over to witness Satoru vibrating, shivering so badly, and clutching himself so much that he brings his legs up and abandons the floorboard. “You’ve got what Shoko called heat exhaustion, baby. I know you feel cold, but you’re actually overheated,” he explains, knowing it’d make Satoru less nervous to understand.
Satoru nods, gaining clarity in his eyes throughout the car ride. “Yeah, uh…thank you,” he responds much, much later.
Suguru perks. “Hey, you feeling okay?”
”M’really tired. M’head hurts,” he mumbles, changing the top of his headphones to be longer and not squeezing his brain. “Sorry ‘bout earlier…”
“We’ll get you checked out when we get back. Tell me if you feel ill again, and Nanami will stop the car,” he whispers, putting gentle pressure on Satoru’s arm.
Nanami cringes.
“I love you,” Satoru says, eyes innocent and sleepy.
Suguru kisses his forehead, giggling softly as Satoru attempts to do it back.
”I love you, too. I’ll keep you safe.”