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And that makes three out of four, as Yuta bows apologetically for missing the bell by five minutes. Gojo claps him on the shoulder and tells him to get on the field, which he does, begrudgingly.
Now they’re just waiting on Mr. Tuna Tuna, who has a bad habit of sleeping through morning assemblies, but he’s usually on time for the classes after. The higher-ups aren’t supposed to dish out assignments without the teacher’s approval, but if they’re trying to pull one over on him…
Nope! There he is! Fantastic!
“We’re going laps,” Gojo shouts, nodding toward the field. “Smart move to miss the first few minutes. They’re almost done.”
Toge rubs his eye with the back of his knuckles, still merely trudging along. It’s unlike him not to jog ahead, and the veiny, red sclerae aren’t a good sign either. Must be a lack of sleep, or yesterday’s job could’ve been rougher on him than anticipated. Something like that.
“Alright, you got it!” Gojo pats him on the back and gives him a thumbs up, but it only gets him going at third of his usual pace.
He crosses his arms as he watches, taking up your average baseball-coach stance. Maki’s got two laps worth of a lead on Panda, who looks ready to drop on all fours and show off that true nature. Yuta’s breathing heavily with an expression so determined you would’ve thought he was running for his life, while Toge’s… Toge is…
Where did he go?
That side of the field is partially occluded by some angled bleachers. Gojo figures he could’ve forgotten his waterbottle, or he might just be lazy, or maybe that night-owl habit is finally catching up with him…
Regardless, he looked like he needed a break anyway, so he’ll only make himself an issue if the kid’s not back in ten. He can have Panda or Okkotsu–
Only one human and one bear are running their laps.
Are they conspiring without him? No, Okkotsu’s not the type, and it’s not like it’s a walk in the park, making plans out of “Salmon” and “Bonito flakes.”
So seriously? Both? Teenage years and all that behavior, he supposes, but he would’ve expected something less petty than a secret schoolyard scrap from the two of them–
Three of them?
Great going, Sensei of the Year, you lost three of them! Superhuman vision included! Although, the busy season kinda muddles his view of the cursed energy flow, like a boiled thermal camera, so it’s not a fair assessment of his acuity. Don’t knock him for it…
Maki’s out there running laps on her own, but in the millisecond it takes him to reach up and take a peek from under his blindfold, she’s suddenly disappearing behind the far end of the bleachers. At least he knows where they all went, even if he technically didn’t need to catch her to figure it out. The quick glimpse from beneath the fabric is enough to reveal their crisp outlines behind all the metal and plastic.
If it’s an all-student crisis, then it’s probably something an adult should check in on.
He takes a step and crosses half the field with a hardly perceptible warp, just to get close enough to eavesdrop.
There’s a frantic “are you okay?” and “what happened?” over some quiet, sniffly noises, then a “what’s wrong with him?” of course.
“What’s wrong?” Yuta asks, more gently.
“Hey–”Maki demands. “Give him some space–”
“Breathe,” Panda interrupts. “It’s okay.”
“Yeah, you should try to slow your breathing down–” Yuta adds. “Unless you’re hurt? Are you hurt?”
“One of us should tell Gojo,” Panda decides.
Satoru considers obnoxiously announcing himself, but that feels like the wrong move at the moment, so he turns the corner quietly, careful not to be too startling, nor too creepily silent.
“I can’t tell if he’s…” Panda trails off as his eyes fall on him.
Gojo waves them all off as he approaches Toge, who’s doubled over and sunk to a couch, hand planted against the back of the bleachers, like he’ll fall without its counterweight, chest rising and falling rapidly.
The rest of them scatter, but refuse to flee much of a distance, hovering a few meters away as he squats next to the kid.
He places his hand on his shoulder, squeezing cautiously.
Toge tenses, but he doesn’t respond further.
“Hey,” Gojo says. “What’s going on?”
He lifts his head slowly, revealing glossy irises and red sclerae. His face is flushed, and there’s subtle damp patches soaking into his high turtleneck on each side of his nose.
Gojo opens his mouth to say something, unsure of what, but a sharp whine cuts him off before it matters.
Toge turns back to the ground, clapping his hand over his mouth, over his collar. He unsuccessfully chokes back a sob, droplets pattering over the grass as he gasps and whimpers.
Gojo glances over his shoulder to see the other three nervously huddling behind them. He inhales sharply and looks at Toge again.
“How about going back inside? Privacy might feel a little better.” He lightly pats him on the back.
He doesn’t get a response, besides a stifled convulsion, his shoulders contracting harshly inward.
Gojo looks behind him again and gestures for the others to scram. They hesitate, but they do reluctantly traipse away.
“Did you get hurt?” He asks quietly. “It’s fine, but you gotta tell me– Or give me a nod or something.”
Toge sniffs and shakes his head, still bawling and hyperventilating. His strength can usually mask his stature, more or less, but right now, he looks like a little kid.
“You’re good,” Gojo soothes, moving his hand in circles over his upper spine. “Calm down.”
He doesn’t have any visible injuries, and he doesn’t feel particularly warm or anything either, which leaves only an emotional culprit to deal with, which isn’t preferred, but especially inconvenient in Toge’s case. The others just need a confession coaxed out of them, but deciphering sushinese at the same time? That’s hard enough with no wailing involved.
Gojo holds up one finger behind his head and beckons, pulling a plastic water bottle from the supply cooler next to the shed, on the other side of the field. He catches it midair when it flies over the bleachers and halts in his path, dropping right into his hand: a perfectly calculated trajectory.
“Catch your breath.” He cracks the lid. “Try this.”
Toge swallows as he lifts his head again, then slowly shakes it, looking back down.
“Okay, well–” Gojo pulls his arm off the wall and pushes the drink into his grasp. “Hold onto that for me, will you?”
Toge wobbles, then lands on his ass. He blinks at the water, then at Gojo, tears still freely running down his cheeks.
“Here.” He holds out his hand as he stands.
Toge just stares at him.
“Alright, come on–” Gojo takes his arms and hoists him up, spinning him around, then patting him on the back to get his feet moving in the right direction.
His gaze drops to the ground again, and he barely trudges along, so Gojo keeps nudging him from behind.
Yuta, Maki, and Panda are still anxiously gathered. They, obviously, turn to gawk, as lovingly concerned friends do.
“Run some more laps,” he shouts, paying them no mind. “Or spar until I get back, or whatever. Just don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”
Toge tries to glance at them, but Gojo blocks his view before he can. Shame only makes things worse.
He ends up hiding his face behind his hand at some point during the walk, Gojo’s palm on his shoulder directing him. He trips over the bottom stair and has to be caught by the back of his shirt, which is odd to see when he’s usually so agile.
“Go sit,” he softly tells him as he shuts the office door.
Toge puts the water bottle down on the coffee table and gingerly perches on the edge of the couch, sniffling and looking out the window as he avoids eye contact.
Gojo takes the armchair opposite him. He leans forward, balancing his elbows on his thighs.
“What’s up?” He asks. “And don’t bother with that ‘salmon!’ act, cause it’s a lot easier to deal with it and get back to training than to do the whole back and forth.”
He doesn’t reply, but another wet streak runs down his under eye as he blinks.
Gojo stands and grabs the tissue box from his desk, then holds it out when he sits back down.
Toge shakily takes one. He covers his seals with the Kleenex as he rolls down his collar and blows his nose.
“Sorry–“ Gojo gets to his feet again. He retrieves a pencil and sticky notepad this time. “If you wanna write it down.”
He shakes his head.
“You can speak in here,” he adds. “If you want.”
Toge looks at him doubtfully, or almost a bit annoyed, then back at the window.
“Well…” Gojo exhales. “You don’t have to talk it out, but you do have to tell me if there’s anything I can do about it.”
He shakes his head again.
“Are you sure–“
Toge reaches over and grabs the pen and paper suddenly. He forcefully scribbles something down.
Can I go back to my dorm?
Gojo looks from the paper to him and his flushed, salt-stained face, brows knitting together.
“Yeah,” he says. “Take the day off.”
He slides off the couch uneasily, pulling his turtleneck back over his mouth. He drops the pencil and sticky notes on the floor as he slowly, robotically crosses the room.
“You’ll be okay?” Gojo asks as his fingers wrap around the doorknob.
Toge gives him a curt nod.
“You sure?”
He doesn’t receive a response this time, only the whine of hinges and the click of the auto-locking mechanism.