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“What the hell happened to you?” Yaga sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as they hop in the back of the car.
“Mission complete!” Satoru snaps finger guns at him with both hands, his grin as wide and obnoxious as ever, despite the purple goop all over his face dripping onto his lips and teeth.
“There was a little one hiding in the flower bush out back,” Suguru tells him. “It wasn’t anything serious, but it’s able to spray some gross stuff, apparently.”
“Yeah, real gross.” Satoru cackles, wiping his hands on Suguru’s shirt.
“Ugh– Could you not…?” He grimaces.
“You have a built in force field with your technique,” Yaga scolds as the driver turns back onto the main road. “Why is it all over you and my seats?”
“Are they your seats?” Satoru pushes. “I thought this was a company vehicle–”
“Don’t avoid the question.” He turns around in the passenger seat, glaring.
“He–” Suguru starts–
“Don’t rat me out,” he interrupts, unhelpfully.
“I was gonna say that you were protecting me, like a good friend does,” Suguru says through gritted teeth.
“Yup–”
“But he was just poking at it because it looked weird,” he divulges. “So it got him in the face when he picked it up–”
“You picked it up?” Yaga scoffs. “Seriously?”
“I did too,” Suguru supplies. “But that was just to absorb it.”
“It was part of the mission–” Satoru argues.
“Great,” he mutters. “Go take a shower once we get back.”
The rest of the drive is relatively quiet, excluding Satoru’s flicking of curse juice at everyone, and the resulting chastisement, but he’s behaving by the time they get back, quietly disappearing down the hall toward his dorm, as Suguru meets up with Shoko in the common room.
“You guys made it back pretty quick,” she comments. “I thought it was supposed to take all afternoon.”
“It was reported to be a higher grade spirit than it actually was,” he explains. “I’m guessing the associated deaths were coincidence or something, since it was so easy to take out. I wouldn’t have placed it above a grade three.”
“Odd.” She hums, flicking her lighter as she slips a cigarette between her lips.
“It was also a lot easier without the old guy nitpicking,” he adds.
“I heard that,” Yaga shouts from down the hall. “I’m not that old.”
“You’re going grey,” Shoko yells back.
“I’m in my thirties,” he insists, footsteps pounding down the hall.
“Late thirties!” Suguru reminds him.
“I was going to give you all the afternoon off.” He materializes in the sliding doorway. “But for your disrespect, class is reinstated.”
“Come on,” they groan in unison.
“I wasn’t even involved,” Shoko complains.
“You’re an enabler.” He points at her, then to the classroom behind him. “Put that out and get to your desk.”
“You can be this grouchy and still get surprised when we call you old?” Suguru asks as he stands, pushing in his chair.
“I will revoke your privileges," Yaga warns over his shoulder. “And preference you on the chore wheel.”
Suguru makes eyes with Shoko as they meander across the hall, silently mouthing a childish echo of what he just said, a mockery of his bossy, overly muscled facial expressions and all.
Satoru pops in halfway through the lecture about courtesy and politeness, which starts the whole thing over, of course. Although, they all expected worse with how he’d usually whine about how they were supposed to have some free time and that they’re being “worked to the bone,” but he’s strangely quiet now.
In the absence of heckling, they get to the actual material in mere minutes. Suguru would appreciate it, if it weren’t so offputting, especially when he puts his head down on his desk, slightly-stained wet, white hair sticking to his forehead.
His eyes are half shut and darker than usual, like his pupils are so dilated they’ve pushed sparkling blue to only a slight fluorescent ring. A blush is breaking out across his cheeks too,and he’s always pale, but he looks almost ashen right now, like he’s coming down with something. He seemed fine this morning, but knowing him, he probably wouldn’t recognize the signs of illness if he tried, so he could’ve been pushing through. That clan of his really–
“...uru… Suguru,” he hears, quickly blinking as he snaps back into presence. “I asked you a question.”
“Hm? Oh– What?” He clears his throat. “Could you repeat that?”
“Pay attention,” Yaga says tiredly, circling some graphic on the blackboard that only makes sense to him. “What do you have to be careful of when imbuing an object with cursed energy?”
“Uh…” He thinks, eyebrows coming together. “Not letting the excess escape and cause an accumulation of cursed energy?”
“You’re in the ballpark, but I won’t accept that answer on a test,” Yaga replies. “Study up on the review sheet I gave you last week.”
“My turn?” Shoko coyly raises her hand.
“I trust you know the material better than the two of them combined,” Yaga says. “But you can show off if you’d like.”
“No, that’s okay.” She smiles. “I’m a good friend.”
“Do you have to make your favorites so obvious?” Suguru rolls his eyes. “It’s disheartening.”
“Don’t give me a reason to have a favorite then,” Yaga counters, turning back to the board. “If you don’t maintain adequate flow with your target object, your cursed energy will leak and result in…"
This is busy work, at best; he’s only yammering about energy transfer because it’s his specialty and it’s easy to explain. If they look too invested, he’ll get excited and blab on and on about his crochet-realism kick and his latest project until the sun sets, so it’s best to tune him out.
“Suguru?” Satoru lifts his head suddenly, his gaze distant and unfocused. His voice is hoarse, and either sweat or shower water is dripping down his face.
“Yeah?” He whispers, leaning in. He glances over his shoulders at Shoko, whose brows are knitting together in similar concern.
“Can…” He swallows. “Can you grab the trashcan?”
“What? Why?” Suguru frowns.
“Idon’tfeelgood–” He confesses in a rush, clapping one hand over his mouth, the other wrapped loosely around his abdomen.
“Go to the bathroom,” is all he can think to respond with, chair scraping against the floor loudly as he stands. “Come on– Shit–”
“Jesus–” Shoko similarly leaps back on his other side as he retches, a thick gush of vomit spurting between his fingers, splashing back onto his cheeks and down his chin. Half of it splatters in his lap, while the rest hits the floor in front of Suguru’s feet as he doubles over.
Yaga’s chalk halts against the slate with a quiet squeal, just before a wet cough brings the disgusting sound of viscous liquid hitting more viscous liquid on the hardwood.
The room is utterly still for a moment, save Satoru’s heavy breathing that sends ripples through the small pool of bile and digestive particulates in his palm, as they all stare, unsure of what to do.
“S’rry–” It’s Satoru that breaks the silence, sniffling and wiping his mouth on the backs of his knuckles. “I’m sorry–”
He gags again, the heel of his clean hand meeting his chin this time to catch the mucousy rivulet full of chunks that sticks to his dry, cracking lower lip. The excess runs over the edge of his index finger, a single droplet falling into the mess on the floor, still attached by a thin rope of stretched saliva.
“Here.” Yaga’s crossed the room in a fraction of a second to deliver the mini trash can Suguru should’ve made a run for in the first place. “It’s alright.”
Those words are foreign to hear from their stern, “walk it off”-minded teacher, who’s always bothered by whatever stupidity Satoru conjures up, even when he’s not trying to. Suguru’s known him to place a calloused hand on his shoulder when a curse has him dry-heaving, and he kindly walked Shoko to the medical office when he spotted her feverish, but spewing verbal comfort to the untouchable, unstoppable, unrelenting Satoru Gojo of all people?
Something’s seriously wrong.
“My s-stomach hurts–” He mumbles, curling around the bin miserably as Yaga settles it in his lap.
“Should we get him to the nurse?” Suguru finally forces himself to ask, whatever entity holding him rigid finally starting to relinquish.
“Yes, but let him catch his breath first,” Yaga replies.
“My chest–” Satoru says thinly, weakly clawing at his sternum. “S’gonna explode or something–”
“His pulse is racing,” Shoko clarifies, pressing two fingers to his neck as he hangs his head and dry heaves, the empty liner bag wrinkling when he shifts.
“W’ter…” He rasps. “I… my mouth’s… dry– I need– I…”
“Let’s wait until you’re done being sick,” Yaga says calmly, lightly patting him on the back. “Are you starting to feel better at all?”
He shakes his head, moving more in a figure eight path as if he can’t keep himself balanced on one axis. He lurches forward, a choked noise catching in his throat as he sputters and coughs, half a mouthful of yellowish bile splashing into the bin.
“I think–” He spits. “The c’rse… sm’ofit… got in m’mouth…”
“The stuff it sprayed on you?” Suguru asks, realization befalling him. “Do you think it was poisonous?”
“Shoko, run down to the medical office and have someone get up here as fast as they can,” Yaga instructs with sudden seriousness, her kitten heels clacking out the door before he’s done speaking.
“That couldn’t have been a plasm made of cursed energy,” Suguru theorizes, shakiness seeping into his tone. “It wasn’t strong enough for that, right? I mean, I didn’t have to do anything to absorb it–”
“Correct, as far as I could tell,” Yaga concurs, stepping away to grab tissues as he takes over rubbing circles over Satoru’s spine. “It’s not uncommon for spirits to abuse their environments though–”
“The bush it was in,” he remembers. “There were flowers on it that it could’ve crushed and spat out–”
“What did they look like?” Yaga wipes Satoru’s mouth for him, and he’s all too compliant and hardly responsive, eyes cloudy and fixed on a nondescript point in the distance as his chest slowly rises and falls, hitching every few seconds with the threat of another gag.
“Purple,” Suguru recalls. “The flowers were purple, or purplish red, but I didn’t get a good look.”
“Well, it’s not hemlock then,” Yaga says. “But that’s all I know for certain.”
“What about nightshade?” He asks, the air within his lungs going cold. “I used to hear about kids getting into the flowers near the woods behind the lake and ending up sick.”
“Could be– Give me your hands,” Yaga softly commands.
“Mm…” Satoru whines, curling in on himself.
“You vomited on them. I’m trying to clean you up,” he explains, but it makes no difference.
“S’mine…” He argues.
“Satoru, come on,” Suguru tries, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re sick. Let us help you out.”
“You… you h’ve to…” He babbles. “Have to g’ve it back…”
“I will. Don’t worry,” Yaga assures him, gently wiping up the excess fluid still in his palms. He’s still sticky, but at least he won’t be leaving sour hand prints everywhere now.
“Suguru…” He groans, his head lolling back suddenly. He almost drops the bin as his arms go lax at his sides, saved by Yaga’s grip on the rim.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, carding his fingers through his hair.
“Th’nks–” He swallows. “–s’much…”
Suguru opens his mouth to respond, but he’s interrupted by the school nurse bursting through the door, Shoko in tow. It’s the meaner one, so he can’t remember her name, just that she always tells him to get back to class when he stops by for some medicine, nauseous from a spirit.
He doesn’t mind her so much now that she’s taking charge of the situation though. At least she takes someone seriously.
“We’re pretty sure it’s botanical poisoning of some sort, facilitated by a cursed spirit,” Yaga reports. “I didn’t see them myself, but there were purple flowers–”
“Purplish red,” Suguru adds.
“Let’s get him in the wheelchair,” she determines, snapping on gloves as she waves Shoko over with it. “I’ll run some bloodwork for the specifics once we’ve got him stable, but we’ll work quick like it’s Deadly Nightshade for now.”
“Come on,” Yaga guides, putting the trash can down in favor of swinging Satoru’s arm over his shoulders.
Suguru takes his other side before he can direct him to. He’s heavier than one would think from his outward appearance, but he is tall, so it shouldn’t be a surprise.
He whimpers softly, dropping his cheek on Suguru’s collarbone.
“Stay awake,” he says as they set him down. “Lean back– There you go–”
He’s suddenly grateful for all those years spent caring for his younger cousins, and his mom during her health scare. The learned experiences of “people usually recover” and “bodily fluids generally won’t kill you” are all that's keeping him calm.
“S’guru…” He rasps.
“Yeah?” He jogs to keep up with Shoko and the nurse as Yaga pushes him down the hall. “What is it?”
“Th’nks for… M’nna… Thanks…” He prattles, slouching sideways as his eyelids flutter.
“Stay awake,” he repeats. “You’re gonna be okay, just hold out a little longer.”
“M’okay…” Satoru echoes.
“Yeah,” Suguru says with as much confidence as he can muster. “You’ll be okay.”