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He should be grateful that Gojo’s overseas, since he didn’t have to train today, nor did that grating voice make his headache any worse… But if Gojo had shown up to drag him out of bed and onto the field, he at least would’ve given him some Tylenol.
Shoko’s office is halfway across campus, and probably drunk since the sun must have set by now. He regrets not going when it was more of a hammer tapping his temple, rather than an ice pick being repeatedly bashed through his eye. He should go back in time and smack himself for thinking he knew pain then.
It’s not Megumi’s first time with a migraine. He’s no frequent flyer like Gojo, but he thought he knew how to handle it when everything got blurry and distorted a couple of hours ago. Just sleep it off…
Nope.
There’s no way in hell you can sleep when you’re hunched over the toilet, retching with every agonizing throb, then recoiling in pain when the movement makes your head hurt more, then vomiting again from pain, and so on and so forth.
He groans softly, which is thunderous to his sensitive ears and makes him want to kill himself.
The reasonable thing to do would be to call for help, but looking at a screen is what sent him gagging in the first place, and the device now lays abandoned on his bed, next to the puddle of bile, which reminds him that he can’t go curl up in bed once he’s less nauseous without cleaning first, and that makes him want to cry.
He can’t do this.
Damn it.
Both adjacent rooms and the one two doors down are vacant, which means the minimum walk to find a savior will necessitate hauling himself all the way around the corner and then some. He’s not sure he’ll survive it.
But it’s either collapsing alone in his bathroom, or passing out in the hall, where someone’s more likely to stumble upon him.
Megumi exhales heavily. He pushes himself off his knees using the toilet seat, pawing at the flush handle, which a moment later, he’s grateful he was too weak to hit, when he realizes how loud it would’ve been.
He trips back into his bedroom, panting. He barely catches himself on the door frame and manages to twist the knob enough to force it open with his shoulder.
He gasps through his teeth when the light hits him. His pupils are so dilated that not one particle is filtered out. It’s overwhelming, coating his sight in ruthless, disorienting streaks that leave him with no idea what direction he’s staggering.
He clings to the wall like a lifeline, praying that someone’s home. He has no idea what time it is, or if it’s reasonable to expect anyone to be back in their room, or if they’ll be awake. He thought it was nighttime, but it’s so bright that the windows must be adding to it, or they’ve covered the walls in an army of lamps.
His elbow strikes the corner, sending a delayed wave of soreness throughout his body that’s so severe, he thinks he’s been lit on fire for a moment. He dry heaves over the hardwood, which doesn’t do his intracranial pressure any favors.
His fist lands on the door hard. He only knows he’s made contact, since the thing rattles, and so do his ear drums along with it, painfully.
He can’t bring himself to knock again. His knees are trembling, and starting to buckle in slow motion, so he braces himself for impact…
But thank god, there’s a click, then a gentle “Fushiguro?”
He opens his mouth to say something, but he can’t find the words.
“Are you okay?” There’s a hand on his shoulder. “Fushiguro?”
He’s pulled forward, and he realizes he closed his eyes at some point as the golden luminescence that made it through thin skin disappears. He blinks.
“Are you alright?” Okkotsu’s blurry in front of him. “What’s wrong?”
“My h-head…” He manages.
“Come on,” another voice says, and it registers that a different pair of arms are dragging him across the room.
“Megumi.” Maki appears next to Yuta once he’s seated. “What happened?”
“My head…” He chokes out, then gulps against rising acid. “Hurts…”
“As in you hit it?” She asks as Okkotsu vanishes under a black splotch in his vision. “You weren’t training today, were you?”
“No…” His own words roar within his head, beating him up from the inside out. “Just… h-hurts…”
“So a really bad headache?” Yuta confirms.
“Hm…” The room spins violently, and Megumi’s not sure if he visibly swayed, but now he’s leaning against Maki, even though he didn’t see her move.
“Lean forward,” she instructs.
He tries to comply, but he’s not sure how successful he is. Her arms are strong as they direct his upper body towards his knees.
He hears liquid splash against plastic before he feels himself retch. His abdominal muscles contract so hard that his stomach must be crushed against his spine. The taste is rancid, burning his tongue and singeing his nostrils like poisoned ash.
“You’re okay,” one of them murmurs. He’s pretty sure it’s Maki, since Okkotsu’s mouth isn’t moving when he comes into focus, holding a trash can beneath his chin and sweeping hair out of his face.
“S’rry…” He rasps, then spits a couple of times, trying and failing to detach a long string of saliva clinging to his lower lip.
“It’s okay.” Yuta settles the bin in his lap, letting him hang his head over it miserably as Maki keeps him from dropping it.
Footsteps pad across the floor. Megumi doesn’t realize his presence is gone until he’s already back, crouching in front of him and wiping his mouth with a tissue.
“Why…” He asks, dazedly turning to Maki as logic occurs to him. “This’s Okkotsu’s room… right?”
“We were studying,” she says flatly. “Nothing more– Wipe that grin off your face.”
“Sorry.” Yuta laughs quietly. “We were just hanging out.”
“Time is it?” Megumi whispers, then gags, only a trickle of acid spilling out.
“Around nine,” Yuta replies. “In the evening.”
“Finish puking before we chat,” Maki advises. “How’s your vision though?”
“Bad…” He coughs.
“I figured,” she tells him. “Your eyes are shaking like crazy. It’s a migraine, right?”
He would answer, but static consumes him, the dim space turning to grey noise as tinnitus crescendos. He’s sure he’s listing in some direction or another, but down is up and the world’s revolution is backwards now, so he has no choice but to hope one of them catches him.
“...et a towel…” He hears distantly. “... might…ick again…”
“Megumi?” Maki’s talking to him, and shaking him by the shoulder. He’s laying down on his side now. “Megumi, open your eyes.”
“Hm…?” He whines, pulling his knees to his chest protectively.
His head is lifted, and rough-ish fabric is beneath his cheek when it’s lowered back down. His body quickly takes it as an invitation, forcing him to dry heave a few times.
“Hey, hey.” Okkotsu’s kneeling before him. “You there? You fainted for a minute.”
“Yeah…” Megumi weakly clears his throat. “I did?”
“You did,” he repeats. “I’m sorry. The floor’s probably uncomfortable.”
“I… It’s… it’s fine…” His throat is sore too. “Medicine… th-that’s why I… yeah…”
“That would probably help.” Yuta’s hand is on his upper arm, thumb sliding back and forth. “Maki’s getting you something with sugar to drink. If you hold that down, I have some Advil you can try.”
“G’nna… throw it back up…” He complains.
“Maybe, but I think you’ve been sick for a while, so it would be good to try getting something in you,” he says calmly. “If you get worse, we’ll call Ieiri.”
“Here.” Maki materializes behind him, cracking the soda can as she passes it to him. She disappears, then returns as gentle hands slowly sitting him up. The world tips maddeningly, but she supports him well enough.
“Slow sips.” Yuta hands him the drink, but he keeps his hand on top, since Megumi’s shaking so bad.
It’s ginger ale, and he realizes how thirsty he is as soon as it hits his stomach, but Okkotsu quickly takes it away.
“Doing okay?” He asks.
He nods, then regrets it.
“Come on,” Maki says, keeping a hand on his back, but moving the other beneath his knees. She scoops him up as she stands.
Okkotsu lays the towel out over the pillows before Maki sets him down on his bed. She replaces the trash can beside him too as she guides him to lean back against the headboard.
“More comfortable?” She murmurs.
“Yeah…” He replies. “M’sorry…”
“Don’t worry about it.” The mattress creaks as Yuta sits on the edge next to him and presses a cool damp washcloth over his eyes. “It happens.”
“I’m texting Ieiri,” Maki tells them. “I doubt she’s sober, but it can’t hurt to try. Keep him drinking in the meantime.”
“Alright.” Yuta hums. He lightly squeezes Megumi’s shoulder. “You’re gonna feel better soon, okay?”