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It's been trial and error with Satoru’s teleportation lately, mostly error— at least according to Suguru, who’s been left talking to thin air more times than he’d like to count.
The other is determined to perfect his teleportation abilities, claiming that he needs to improve on his range capacity. Currently he can only travel short distances— room to room, building to building, across the street if he’s really pushing it.
So, by Satoru’s logic— he thinks teleporting at any given opportunity is considered ‘practice’…Suguru thinks he’s doing it to be annoying.
Just yesterday; he had been filling him in on their next mission debrief, because somebody thought it would be funny to teleport, a sarcastic wink aimed at Yaga when he was told to focus (it wasn’t funny, not even a little bit).
After he got disciplined for Satoru’s behaviour, he tracked down that bastard and proceeded to fill him in on the important details.
Until that brat pretended to sneeze and decided it would be hilarious to vanish at the same time. He finished his sentence out spite before the sarcasm slipped out.
“Oh great, no, yeah. I love talking to a wall.” He mutters to himself before storming away.
He doesn’t get far— maybe five steps, before he feels a slight shift in the air.
He doesn’t turn around.
“Next time; you better sneeze yourself into the sun.”
“Aww, missed you too.” Satoru chirps into his ear, arm draping over his shoulder while his other hand snatches the folder out of Suguru's hand.
It just got worse from then on, he was teleporting more than he was walking.
Suguru hates to admit it, but his so called practice was actually working. He had improved greatly on his teleportation range— a few weeks ago, the furthest Satoru could manage was the next street over, nosebleeding from the effort and grinning like a maniac the whole time.
Now? He was warping across cities like it was second nature.
He wasn’t sure what was more annoying— the reckless overuse of technique, or the fact that because of Satoru’s stupidity he was finally mastering it.
The better he got, the harder it was for Suguru to keep up. Not physically— he could hold his own in combat, always had but mentally? Emotionally? There was something terrifying about watching someone you cared about tear into their own limits like it was tissue paper.
It was only a matter of time before Satoru overdid it, until something went wrong.
It started small.
He’d twitch out of place mid-sentence, reappearing two feet to the left like it was nothing. He would always shrug it off— claim it to be “just a fluke” after the third time it happened.
And then they had an incident where Satoru got a little bit too drunk one night, they were hiding out in Shoko’s room after she somehow managed to get her hands on some cheap alcohol. It didn’t take long, after only a few sips he noticed Satoru was starting to sway in place from his spot on the ground, his eyes already starting to glaze over.
and then poof, he was gone.
It took them forty minutes to find him, yelling at him over the phone to explain his current surroundings, while he babbled about how he didn’t mean to teleport— that it was an accident.
Well, these accidents are happening too frequently for Satoru to just shrug it off as nothing.
But his best friend is one determined man, once he puts his mind to something there’s no stopping him.
So, Suguru’s not surprised when Satoru gets one of his bad migraines, the kind that makes him unable to open his eyes without complaining about how bright it is— even though the room is filled with complete darkness.
His migraines had been getting worse lately, his six eyes working overtime from all the unnecessary teleporting, it’s one of the only times Suguru gets to see a glimpse of his vulnerable side, a side that’s hidden from the rest of the world— but Satoru’s learnt that it’s okay to share it with him, to ask for help when he needs it.
He's grown accustomed to having Satoru plastered to him when they’re particularly bad, like the one he woke up with today. He knows that if the other is oddly silent— then it’s mostly likely because he has or is getting that familiar pounding in his head.
But, suguru has come prepared. He leads Satoru into his own room, the other admitted once when he was drunk that Suguru’s smell was his favourite, and that he finds comfort in his scent.
And well Suguru’s goal here is to make him comfortable, so.
He makes sure the room is plunged into darkness, blackout curtains drawn and anything that illuminates light is turned off or turned away; just the way Satoru likes it.
Then they climb into bed, Satoru making camp on Suguru's chest, ear pressed against his heart so he can listen to it thump away as a distraction. Meanwhile Suguru drapes his hand over the other's face— palm cupped over his eyes as an extra precaution, making sure no light gets through. Plus, Satoru likes the warmth his hand provides.
“Better?” He whispers, another arm coming to rest across his waist.
“Mhm.” The other grumbles, already sounding half asleep sending pride through Suguru’s body, pleased that he was able to provide some sort of comfort.
He feels it when Satoru eventually drifts off, the way his body just melts against his chest, taunt muscles releasing as his breathing evens out into a gentle rise and fall against him. Usually, Suguru would have a nap too, considering Satoru is going to be out for awhile, but he’s enjoying the peace and quiet for once, it feels like it’s just him and Satoru, the rest of the world fizzling out until it’s just them, wrapped up in the safety net of his room.
He lets his other hand idly draw patterns into Satoru’s hip, his finger brushing gently against his soft skin from where his shirt had ridden up.
Drip.
Something lands on his sternum, warm and wet. Suguru frowns.
Then comes a second drop, slower this time, like it’s dragging itself down. He shifts just enough to peer down at Satoru’s face, and his stomach drops.
There’s blood.
A thin trickle slipping from his nose, sliding over his lip and staining Suguru's shirt in a small, ominous patch of red.
He moves quickly, reaching down to lift his face up.
“Satoru, wake up— hey.” His voice sharpens with panic, palm cradling the other’s cheek as he gently shakes him.
Nothing.
Satoru’s usually a light sleeper, a mere gust of wind could wake him up, but when he gets migraines like this— not even a scream can make him open those pretty eyes.
He’s deadweight, completely out cold.
And then it hits him, his stomach dropping when he remembers that this new habit of his nose bleeding, only happens when he’s about to teleport.
He surges forward, hugging Satoru’s body to his chest, hoping to god that if he goes, they both go.
“Don’t you dare,” He hisses out, eyes darting across his features for any twitch, any flicker of awareness. But the other remains still, lips parted slightly in sleep, a thread of red still painting his face.
And then-
Poof.
Suguru’s arms snap closed around nothing.
He stares at the space in front of him, heart pounding in his ears as his senses kick back in.
“Shit.”
He starts running.
Down the hallway, out the dorm, barefoot and furious— at Satoru, at himself, at whatever the fuck is going on with his stupid technique for choosing now of all times to teleport.
His mind is racing with worst-case scenarios. What if he landed on the highway? What if a curse sensed him and went for him while he was unconscious? What if he ended up halfway through a wall somewhere and—
“Shitshitshitshit—”
He doesn’t even bother with the front gates, just leaps clean over them and books it into the city.
He doesn’t even know where to begin, where to even look, satoru could have ended up anywhere. He summons a few of his curses, commands them to spread out and find Satoru, bring him back to him. Meanwhile he climbs onto his pink stingray and immediately begins searching, he’ll tear this whole city apart if he has to.
-
Suguru's never paced before.
Not really, not like this. Not with this kind of restless, panicked energy that makes his hands feel too empty and his chest feel too full. But here he is, burning a hole into the courtyard concrete outside the school infirmary as he stomps back and forth, arms flailing like he’s trying to fight the anxiety out of his system.
“I've checked everywhere, Shoko,” He snaps, like it’s her fault. “And nothing— he could be anywhere, he could be-“
“Dead?” she cuts in dryly, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. “That’s where your brain is going, right?”
He glares at her, breath heaving. "Don't say that.”
“Well then stop spiraling like you’ve already buried him.”
“I’m not spiraling—”
“Yes you are.”
He takes a long, deep breath. He knows Satoru will eventually teleport back, probably make a big joke about it too, but until then; Suguru will gladly freak out as much as he pleases.
“I’m just worried, okay?” He responds while Shoko just rolls her eyes.
“When aren’t you worried about him..” She mumbles loud enough for Suguru to hear, blowing smoke into the air. “Just chill out a bit, running around like a mad man isn’t going to bring him back any faster.”
He hates that she’s right.
“As soon as we find him, i swear i’m-“
Something shifts behind Shoko, a bush. One of the big ones that’s overgrown and wildly unkempt because no one ever bothers with it.
Suguru squints, looking closely— and then he sees it.
White.
His body moves before his brain catches up, legs propelling him forward at a dead sprint, shoving past Shoko without another word.
“Suguru—?” She starts, confused, but he doesn’t answer.
He crouches, pushes a few branches aside—
And there he is.
Half-buried in the bush like he fell from the sky, one leg hooked over a branch, shirt bunched up under his ribs, leaves and twigs sticking out of his hair, and a patch of dried blood under his nose.
And yet, he has the audacity to have the most peaceful expression Suguru has ever seen on another human being— it’s almost infuriating.
But, he’s fine.
He's alright
Suguru drops to his knees beside him, eyes scanning over every inch of him in disbelief. He wants to shake him awake, to yell and scream and tell him exactly how close he came to a heart attack. He wants to drag him out of the bush by the collar and demand he never pull a stunt like that again.
But instead, he exhales loudly— reaching out and carefully brushing a few leaves from Satoru’s hair. The idiot doesn’t even stir.
“…You’re such a pain in my ass, I hope you know that.” He mutters under his breath, untangling the other from all leaves and branches poking into his body.
He gets no cheeky remarks back, just soft, even breathing.
He sighs and leans down, slipping his arms gently under Satoru's back and behind his knees. The other’s body folds into him with ease, his head lolls against his shoulder, lips parted slightly, faint lines of fatigue etched between his eyebrows.
Shoko’s waiting when he steps out of the bush, one brow raised.
“I told you.”
“Don't start.” He grumbles, adjusting Satoru's weight as he walks past her.
“He's fine?” She asks and Suguru holds back the urge to point out how she’s not as unbothered as she likes to think she is, how she was just as worried about Satoru’s whereabouts as he was. But for his own safety, he keeps his mouth shut.
“Fast asleep.”
She exhales, flicking ash from her cigarette. “I'm not dealing with his teleportation-induced narcolepsy again. You two better figure this out.”
"Don't worry,” He sighs. I'm on it.”
-
It wasn't until a few hours later that Satoru finally began to stir, waking with an obnoxious yawn, commenting on how well he slept— blissfully unaware of the turmoil he put Suguru through earlier.
He chooses to just stare at him, arms crossed over his chest while Satoru rolls around on his bed like a child. and for a second, he just doesn’t say anything— it’s probably better to find his words first before he speaks.
“Why do you look so grumpy?” Satoru eventually asks, voice still a little thick with sleep and hair a wild mess.
Suguru doesn’t answer.
Instead, he watches him— watches the way he stretches like a spoiled cat, limbs flopping around like he didn’t just vanish off the face of the earth for an hour.
“Seriously, what’s with the face?” Satoru sits up slightly, blinking blearily at him, completely unfazed.
“You teleported, satoru,” He says, finally. the words come out flat, but there’s an edge underneath. “In your fucking sleep. Don't you think that warrants a face?”
Satoru blinks again, slower this time. His brain’s still lagging behind, thick with sleep and the dull ache of his headache.
He swallows.
“Oh…right.”
Suguru huffs, sharp and tired. “Yeah, oh.”
There's a long pause between them. Satoru scratches the back of his head, eyes flicking away like he can’t quite hold Suguru’s gaze.
“Where did I end up?” He asks, but there’s a wariness to it— like he already knows the answer won’t be good.
“In a bush.”
He blinks. “A bush?”
“Yeah, in a bush.” Suguru's jaw clenches. “Right outside the infirmary, you have no idea how lucky you are that you were still inside the barrier.”
“Okay, well— at least I landed on something soft.”
Suguru can immediately tell he regrets opening his mouth after he sees the look on his face.
“You could have landed in front of the car.” He glares, hands clenching into fists at his side. “You do know that, right?”
“…But I didn't.”
Suguru's composure breaks a little.
“But you could have!” He says, voice cracking at the edges, hands clenched like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “You could have died, Satoru!”
There’s a pause— a heavy one. The words hang in the air, too loud in the quiet room.
Satoru’s eyes darted downward as he swallowed again, fiddling with the sleeve of his Suguru’s jumper.
“I didn’t mean to,” He says quietly, the playfulness stripped away. “I wasn’t trying to— it just happened.”
“I know it just happened,” Suguru snaps, then runs a hand down his face, dragging the frustration out of his system before it eats him alive. “And that’s the problem. You can’t control it anymore.”
“It’s not that bad—”
“You teleported in your sleep, it is that bad.” He punctuates his words like he’s trying to force the weight of it into Satoru’s stubborn skull. “Do you get how dangerous that is? you’re not even conscious, and you're still teleporting. What happens if next time you don’t end up in a bush, but thirty feet in the air? Or in the middle of the ocean, or worst of all— a curse user finds you huh? What then?”
Satoru presses his lips together, eyes avoiding his again.
“I get that you want to improve,” Suguru continues, tone softer now, but still tight, still holding everything back like a dam about to burst. “But this isn’t training anymore. This is an obsession. This is you pushing yourself past the point of control, and pretending it’s fine because you don’t want to admit you’ve gone too far.”
Satoru opens his mouth, but Suguru cuts him off before he can speak.
“No,” He says, firm but low. "Don't talk your way around this. Not this time.”
“Don’t—” Satoru cuts in, jaw tight, voice strained. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Suguru.”
“I'm not,” The other responds, calm and unwavering. “I'm just telling you what I see.”
His jaw twitches like he wants to fire back, but the words don’t come— because he knows. He knows Suguru isn’t wrong. And in true Satoru fashion because he’s stubborn as hell, he just rolls his eyes and sighs.
“You're so dramatic.” He mutters, a cute pout forming on his face as he flops back down.
Suguru can’t help but let out a relieved sigh, his body finally relaxing as he slumps back down into his desk chair, the anxiety expelling out of his finger tips.
He grins a little. “And you’re not?”
“Rude,” Satoru says, turning his head to look up at him with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll try to control it, okay?”
His eyes narrow playfully at Satoru’s feigned pout, but he can’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. As much as he wanted to stay frustrated, it’s hard to keep up the act when Satoru looks like that— like an oversized child who’s been caught misbehaving.
“Good, it’s nice to see you listen for once.” He teases and ducks when Satoru launches a pillow at him.
the other lies back against the mattress with a groan, limbs sprawled like he owns it, he might as well at this point. Suguru watches him from his desk chair, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He’s not mad anymore— not really. The panic has dulled into a low simmer under his skin, replaced with the kind of exhaustion that sinks deep in the bones.
Satoru cracks one eye open. “Why are you over there? Are you sulking?”
“No, I'm not sulking!” He states but it only seems to make the other smile.
“Then come here, I never said I was done napping.”
Suguru exhales through his nose, before he pushes himself up and crosses the room, pulling back the blanket. As soon as he slips in beside him, Satoru immediately rolls over and presses in close, nosing at the collar of his shirt like a spoiled cat.
But Suguru's hand still finds its way to the back of his head, fingers sliding into messy white hair.
“…If you teleport-“
“GIVE IT A REST!”