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It’s in the early hours of the morning when Suguru finally gets back to the dorms. It’s a Friday night (well, technically Saturday, now), so Satoru is still awake in the common rooms, curled into the arm of the couch and munching on gummy bears. He didn’t wait up for Suguru or anything. The trashy reality show he’s watching is airing reruns he’s already seen, but he’s happy to watch them again, trust.
He hears shuffling in the hallway and in the kitchen space behind him. He lifts himself from the shrimp-like position he’s slouched into and hooks his chin over the back of the couch.
“Suguruuuu~” he lilts. “I missed youuu.”
Suguru grunts from his slouched position over the counter, getting a teapot going, but doesn’t snipe at Satoru to shut up or otherwise call him annoying. He must be tired. It is late, after all.
Satoru lets it slide and goes back to watching his reruns. He’s almost out of gummy bears, but he figures he’ll fall asleep soon, now that Suguru is back. He figures he’ll want to decompress with some tea and TV like he always does when he gets back late. Satoru is used to falling asleep on either end of the couch with him after late night missions.
Satoru hears shuffling again and unravels the couch blanket from where it’s become bunched up around him so that Suguru can take an end of it to get comfy. As he’s disentangling himself, the footsteps pass him and recede into the hallway. He looks up and Suguru is gone, and the light in the kitchen is off.
Well that’s not right.
Satoru gives it a couple minutes in case Suguru just ran to the bathroom, but he doesn’t return.
He’s not worried. Just annoyed his nighttime routine is messed up, that’s all.
Satoru gets up with a huff, leaving the candy bag on the couch. He’ll grab it in the morning. He makes his way through the hallway, peeking into the bathroom even though the light is off, just in case Suguru’s dead in there or something. He’s thankfully not, so Satoru makes his way to Suguru’s room. The light is dim and the door is cracked.
He slowly opens the door the rest of the way, popping his head in first.
“Suguru?” he says, uncharacteristically quiet. “You good, man?”
A grunt from the bed is all he gets back. Nothing of Suguru is visible, save for his loose hair hanging off the side of the bed, flowing out from under a mass of blankets.
Maybe he’s just super tired? He’s been looking kind of skinny lately. Or is he eating too much of those damn somen noodles again? That wouldn’t explain the weight and the bags under his eyes, though.
Satoru shakes his head. “Can I come in?”
Suguru doesn’t answer, but Satoru’s foot is already through the doorway anyhow. He closes the door behind him and quietly pads over the trash, the dirty clothes on Suguru’s floor. Once he gets to Suguru’s bed, he just kind of stands there. He’s not sure what the plan was in the first place.
He frowns at the vaguely Suguru-shaped lump of blankets and crouches down to be level with it. “Hi,” he says, stupidly. Suguru doesn’t answer. “Is something wrong?”
Still no answer, and Satoru is starting to feel like he’s got bugs under his skin. This is weird. Suguru’s been upset or feeling sick before, maybe more than usual lately. But normally he’s pretty convincing when he says he’ll be okay. He’s not even trying now, and Satoru doesn’t think he’s ever pushed anyone to be honest about being upset or sick, let alone someone as close to him as Suguru. He doesn’t know how to do it.
But the quietness from Suguru is more upsetting to Satoru than the discomfort of trying to be honest, so he stays. He’s not sure what to do, but he guesses that people like to be comforted by, like, a hand on their shoulder or something, right? He doesn’t know where Suguru’s shoulder is but he guesses it doesn’t matter too much. He places his hand on the comforter, near where Suguru’s silken black hair spills out from under it.
Before his skin makes contact with the blanket, the fabric flattens a bit under the weight of his Infinity. Satoru nearly recoils. It’d never occurred to him before this moment that Infinity would stop him from touching someone, even though that is, by definition, its function.
He turns it off immediately. Feels the cotton on his fingers, soft with age. He wonders if it came from Suguru’s childhood.
He feels unbearably awkward, still completely unsure of what he’s doing. He rubs at the blanket like he might a dog and winces a little.
“Can I get you anything?” he tries. The Suguru lump shifts a little, but doesn’t respond. Satoru doesn’t move his hand, despite his body screaming at him to. He glances over at the untouched tea on Suguru’s bedside table, still steaming. “You didn’t drink your tea,” he notes, lamely.
He feels more than he hears Suguru take in deep breath, let it out.
“Your hand’s on my face,” Suguru mumbles.
Jesus. Satoru would be more mortified if he wasn’t so happy to hear Suguru’s voice. “Fuck you,” he huffs, removing his hand. “I’m trying to be nice.”
Suguru takes another deep breath in, louder this time, and starts shuffling himself out from under the blankets. His hair is a mess, mussed up from the comforter. Satoru, insanely, wants to run his fingers through the strands.
Suguru’s eyes are tired. He’s got dark bags under them. Satoru figures they’ve looked like that for a while now, though.
Satoru refrains from making any snippy comments, even though his brain is telling him to deflect. He got up, so he’s fine, right?
Satoru ignores his inner monologue and stays quiet. It feels like a physical feat. He stays crouched by the bed, watches Suguru run his own hand through his hair, give up when he hits one too many knots. Satoru shifts a little to grab the hair tie out of his pocket and hands it to Suguru. “Looks like shit,” he whispers. Well, he can’t win every battle against himself.
Suguru huffs a humorless laugh and takes the tie from Satoru, starts gathering the mess into a low effort bun. His hands rest on his lap and he stares at them.
“My stomach hurts,” he says quietly.
“Tea might help?” Satoru tries. “Do you want more sugar?”
“No,” he says simply. No ribbing about how much sugar Satoru would put in it if it were up to him. More silence.
Satoru feels like he’s reaching the end of his rope, but he refuses to move. He knows he’s shit with words, but he managed to get Suguru out from under the covers, at least. Maybe his presence is enough?
He tries for rationale. “Do you think you’re sick? I could bug Shoko. She’s probably still awake.” A pause. “Or, like. Do you want to sleep?” He hadn’t considered maybe he should just let the guy rest. “Shit. Sorry. Barged in here, didn’t I? I was just-”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. He was just worried, but he’s not ready to say that for some reason.
Suguru stays silent, still. He’s started picking at his nail beds. His eyes haven’t moved from his lap once. Satoru physically bites his tongue to stop himself from rambling into the tense silence.
Just before it becomes too much for Satoru, Suguru raises his hand to his face and rubs an eye. He heaves a breath.
“When I swallow curses,” he starts, quietly, “it tastes like shit. It’s so bad. Kind of what I think actual shit would probably taste like. And bile, lots of bile.”
Satoru stays quiet, not wanting to break whatever spell has made Suguru start talking. After a few moments without continuation, Satoru puts his hand on what he hopes is Suguru’s leg. Suguru looks at it.
“If they’re really big,” he continues, “the taste will sit with me for, like, hours. And if they’re powerful, they kind of revolt in my stomach, or something.”
Satoru tries to remember if Yaga said anything about what kind of mission this was. He thinks he might’ve mentioned a semi-first grade.
“That what’s going on?” Satoru asks.
“I guess,” Suguru responds.
Not a super convincing answer, but Satoru guesses it’s the most he’s gotten out of him tonight. Actually, it’s probably the most he’s gotten out of Suguru ever. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a conversation that feels this raw… with anyone, now that he thinks about it.
“Okay,” Satoru says, lifting himself up. Suguru looks up at him, eyes a little more alert. “Scooch over.”
“Huh?” Suguru says, though he’s already starting to shimmy over towards the side of the bed closer to the wall.
“Scooch,” Satoru repeats. He gently peels the comforter away from where it’s still tangled around Suguru’s body, pulling it down and letting it pool closer to his knees.
“What are you doing?” Suguru tries again.
“Gonna rub your belly. Don’t make it weird,” Satoru responds.
“That’s so weird, dude,” Suguru laughs. Satoru doesn’t care. He’s almost delirious with how happy he is to hear Suguru’s real laugh.
“Yeah, well. I’ve always gotten awful migraines.” He pauses for a second. Thinks for a split second about if he really wants to reveal anything deeper than surface level about himself before he reminds himself that it’s Suguru. “When I was a kid, my mom would rub at my temples. It didn’t really fix it, but it felt nice. Helped me get to sleep. Lean back on these,” he finishes, pushing all the pillows on the bed toward Suguru, who takes them and tucks them behind his head and back.
Satoru sits on the bed, one leg tucked next to Suguru and the other hanging off the edge. He decides that this is gonna be kind of awkward no matter what he does, so he steels himself and completely ignores all the alarm bells going off in his head telling him to turn on his Infinity and stop getting so close to another body.
Suguru lays back on his mountain of pillows, tank top riding up his stomach a bit. His feet are planted flat on the bed, both knees bent. Satoru lays his cheek against a knee, leaning into Suguru’s legs. He wraps an arm around them to brace them against his weight.
Suguru looks like he might complain under different circumstances, but his eyes give away his exhaustion. Satoru can tell he’s in pain, too, by the way he curls his torso in on itself, seemingly unable to stretch his abdomen out. He grimaces a little when Satoru lays a hand on his stomach.
“Sorry,” he says, just as Satoru is about to apologize himself. “It hurts. My stomach, I mean,” he amends, unnecessarily. “But that- your hand feels- It’s nice.”
Satoru hums and starts rubbing at Suguru’s abdomen. He has no clue what he’s doing, really, but he tries to make his touch light enough to not cause more pain and heavy enough to not tickle. He mostly uses his thumb, gently tracing the outlines of Suguru’s abs- the outer edges of them, the creases between them where Suguru’s skin lightly rolls due to his scrunched-up form.
Suguru groans a little. Satoru looks up in time to see him putting his forearm over his eyes, head lolling back. He thinks he might see a blush creeping down Suguru’s neck and under his tank. He doesn’t think about it.
Eventually he adjusts himself to allow his other hand to rub up and down Suguru’s side. He deviates from his stomach, rubbing at both sides, over his ribs, thumbs digging into the serratus anterior. Suguru groans again.
“Fuck, sorry,” he huffs. “I’m making it weird. That feels so good, though.”
“Yeah?” Satoru preens a little.
“Uhhuh.” A few beats of silence as Satoru continues digging his thumbs into muscle groups he knows get sore on himself after a long day. “Thanks, ‘toru.”
Satoru’s breath catches in his throat. He feels like his heart jumped up into his esophagus. He clears his throat of nothing. “Yeah.”
They stay like that for a while, Suguru breathing deep but steadily, Satoru exploring his abdomen with his fingertips. At some point, Suguru stops him and pulls his tank top up so Satoru isn’t “digging his shirt into him”. Satoru dutifully ignores the multiple beats his heart skips and skates his fingers over Suguru’s bare skin, thinks he feels sparks under his fingertips. Satoru tries to be sneaky about feeling around where Suguru’s heart is, but he thinks he can feel it beating almost as fast as his own.
After a while, Satoru realizes he’s fighting sleep and losing, but he never once stops rubbing at Suguru’s skin. His head lolls off of Suguru’s knee a couple times, but each time he snaps it back up. He doesn’t want to stop touching him. He’s too sleepy to try and pretend it’s for any other reason.
“Okay,” Suguru says after what could be fifteen minutes or hours for all Satoru knows at this point. “You’re falling asleep on me.”
“No, no,” he slurs. “No, I’m good. Lemme just get some tea-”
He starts to get up and Suguru gently grabs his wrist and pulls at it. Half asleep, Satoru puts up no fight and goes down, head gently laying on Suguru’s stomach, body curled around Suguru’s legs. He thinks he hears a faint moaning sound coming from Suguru’s core, like it’s being muffled by his guts. He shudders.
“No, you still hurt,” he says almost nonsensically. “I can hear it.”
“You made it better,” Suguru whispers. “I’m sleepy.”
“Me too,” Satoru whispers back. His eyes are closed, cheek flush against Suguru’s lower abdomen. He drags a hand up next to his face and lazily rubs at Suguru’s skin. “S’go to sleep. I’m so comfy.”
Satoru feels Suguru tense a bit under him, like he’s going to try and get Satoru up again. Satoru, embarrassingly, whimpers a little. Suguru’s body immediately goes lax and soft, feet sliding down the bed.
Their legs are tangled together, Satoru not totally sure where his begin and Suguru’s end. Suguru’s tummy is so warm, his breathing and the soft sound emanating from inside his body lulling Satoru deeper under sleep’s spell. He feels a hand thread through his hair and scratch at his undercut. He vaguely feels like there’s butterflies in his chest cavity.
“Good night, ‘toru,” Suguru whispers. “Thank you.”
“Nigh’ S’g’ru.”
As sleep takes him, he feels Suguru’s thumbs massage gently into his temples.