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Satoru is warm, pressed against Suguru’s side as he is. It’s a point Suguru chooses to fixate on, because if he doesn’t, he’ll think back to Toji and what he’d said. Back to when he thought Satoru was dead. Dead people are cold. So even though Satoru beside him is still, he’s warm, and warm means alive.
He’d been covered in blood when he came back from killing Toji, Riko’s lifeless body in his arms, his eyes brighter than before and more distant than Suguru has ever seen them, like he was looking at something that wasn’t there.
“Suguru, should we… kill these guys?” Satoru had asked, voice soft and breathy. “The way I am I don’t think I’d feel anything.” Suguru had swallowed, staring at those sparkling blue eyes. Satoru has always had beautiful eyes, but now… now they’re something else entirely. He believed Satoru, when he said he wouldn’t feel anything. Suguru doesn’t think he would either. But that isn’t an option, so instead he guides Satoru through the rest of the day, then the night, and lies beside him in their bed.
Exhaustion had consumed Satoru quickly, but while it weighs Suguru down it’s unable to take him. He stares up at the ceiling and tries to hear Satoru’s breathing over the deafening clapping of those awful cultists.
He doesn’t sleep all night.
It’s alarming how quickly things go back to the way they were before Riko. Or, not quite the way they were. Satoru and Suguru don’t go on missions with each other anymore, each receiving solo assignments. Satoru with far more frequency than Suguru. Shoko doesn’t leave her cave in the morgue hardly ever, and Suguru only ever sees her when they share a smoke outnight on the back steps of their dorm. It’s a small mercy that Satoru isn’t around to see. He disapproves of their habit.
“I miss the way things were,” Shoko breathes, a thin plume of smoke rising into the air. “I even miss Satoru’s ridiculous whining, if you can believe it.” Suguru blows a twin stream of smoke. He doesn’t say he misses Satoru, even though he does, deep in his chest. He doesn’t say he misses how things were, because what’s the point. That all led to this, and if it weren’t Riko and Haibara it would be someone else. Maybe it would’ve been Shoko, maybe it would’ve been Suguru.
Who knows, maybe it would’ve been Satoru. Turned out he wasn’t as invincible as they’d all thought.
“I hope he’s ok,” she continues, sucking the little stick between her fingers. “You know, he never let me check him over after the whole Toji thing.”
“He can use Reversed Curse Technique,” Suguru says. He taps away the ash from his cigarette. “He’s fine.”
“Just because he can doesn’t mean he’s good at it,” she shrugs. “I know how to make rice but it doesn’t taste very good. He could’ve fucked it up. Should’ve let me check.”
“I think he’s fine,” Suguru grumbles. Why he’s so insistent on the issue, he’s not sure. Maybe he’s tired of Satoru being the center of everyone’s attention, maybe he’s just tired.
“I hope so.” Shoko gives him a side-eye. She’s confused, worried, but she drops it. She knows better than to push him. They snuff their cigarettes on the railing and turn to head inside.
There, sitting with his head in his hands on the couch of the common room, they find Satoru. His shoulders are hunched and his shirt clings to his back, visibly wet even through its dark color.
“Satoru?” Shoko asks. She and Suguru round the couch quickly, moving to crouch on either side of him, Shoko on the side of his bouncing right leg. “What’s the matter?” She lays a hand on that knee, allowed through by Infinity, but the moment she makes contact Satoru is on his feet and pacing.
“I don’t know,” he whimpers, his hands still covering most of his face. What little they can see of it is white as a sheet, paler than he normally would be. His mouth is twisted up like he’s in pain or feeling ill.
“Ok, well what do you feel?” Shoko tries. She looks concerned. Suguru admires how cool she can be in situations like these. “Talk to me about it and maybe I can help. Is it just in your head? Do you feel sick? Does something hurt?” She has a good bedside manner, when she wants to.
“It was a migraine,” Satoru says, swallowing thickly. “I feel like ‘m gonna puke. My head’s not right. My arms and- and legs are all tingly, but I- I don’t know. My mouth tastes funny.” Something is visibly dawning on Shoko, her face paling, dropping, and hardening all in one moment.
“Alright, Satoru, how ‘bout you sit down for a moment? Suguru is gonna call Yaga and he’s going to help us.” She gestures for Suguru to get his phone out, quickly. “Just sit down, Satoru. On the floor, or the couch. Come on. Please. Sit down.”
“I can’t,” Satoru cries, shaking his head rapidly. “It’s like- something bad is gonna happen but I don’t know what.” Suguru watches as his chest begins to heave as panic grips him.
“I know, Satoru,” Shoko tries, standing up and moving towards him while Suguru clicks Yaga’s contact and the phone begins to ring. He doesn’t know what Shoko is seeing, and he doesn’t know what he should tell Yaga, but it’s clearly something serious. “Let’s just sit. Nothing bad is going to happen, Yaga will make sure.”
“Is he coming?” Satoru asks, sounding so very small. On the other side of Suguru’s call, Yaga answers. He sounds angry, disgruntled at being summoned at such a late hour.
“He’s coming,” Shoko promises.
“We need you to come to the dorm,” Suguru says into the phone. His voice shakes, which brings him suddenly back into his own body, which he only now realizes is trembling. He’s scared. “Right now. Something’s wrong with Satoru.” Yaga goes quiet and Suguru can hear shuffling as he presumably gets ready to come. He gives a verbal affirmative, and hangs up.
“Ok,” Satoru whines, dropping his hands to his sides. “Ok, ok.”
“Good,” Shoko praises, taking Satoru by the forearms and attempting to guide him down to the floor. “Just like that.” But Satoru still will not go. He doesn’t look like he’s all there, though, his eyes as distant as they were that night, when he died. His breathing has gone shallow, different to how it was moments before. Yaga bursts through their door just as Satoru’s eyes roll up into his head and his knees give out. “Shit!” Shoko yells as she fails to keep him from going down hard. He lands on his knees then falls to his right, and his entire body locks up.
“What the hell?” Suguru shouts, rushing at the same time as Yaga to join them on the floor. “Is he having a seizure?”
“Yes,” Yaga grunts, staring at his watch. He too is remarkably calm, and Suguru finds himself feeling left behind.
“Has he ever had one before?” Suguru asks. He feels frantic, heart pounding, watching his best friend- or whatever they are- throw his head back against the ground, despite Shoko’s hand cushioning it.
“It wasn’t in the medical history the Gojo clan provided the school if he has,” Yaga answers.
“It’s brain damage,” Shoko tells him. There’s something in her eyes, something frightened and saddened. “Toji stabbed him in the head, and Satoru wasn’t able to fix all the damage. It’s pretty bad.” She swallows. “I can’t fix it either. Maybe if I’d been the one to do all of it, but- but if he hadn’t done it he’d be dead, so- I don’t know.”
“It’s not your fault,” says Yaga, still watching the time. “It’s nobody’s fault but Toji’s. It’s getting close to a minute, Shoko.” Her eyebrows draw together and she worries her lip between her teeth.
“Um.” She looks Satoru up and down, taking in his jerking limbs, his strangled breathing, and the foamy spittle leaking from his lips. “We can’t call an ambulance and we can’t move him. I’m doing everything I can with RCT but it’s not going to stop it I don’t think. We just have to wait.”
And wait they do.
It’s agonizing, watching Satoru jerk against the floor, difficult breaths puffing past his lips. But it does eventually slow, after a little under three minutes, and Satoru takes a proper breath, brilliant blue eyes fluttering around, skipping from face to face, to different objects around the room.
“Hey, hey, Satoru,” Suguru purs, cupping his face and wiping his mouth with his thumb, even if it’s mildly disgusting. “You’re alright. Can you hear me?” All he receives in reply is a moan and a moment of focus from his flicking eyes. “Yeah, I’m here. And Yaga and Shoko are, too.”
“You had a seizure, Satoru,” Shoko tells him, peeling back his eyelids to look at his eyes. “You’re at Jujutsu Tech, in our dorm. If you can understand me, squeeze my hand.” She takes his, and sure enough his fingers clench around hers. “Good, good. You’re probably confused, that’s normal, and you’re going to be a little foggy for a while, ok?” Another squeeze. “You’re doing well. We’re going to move you to your bed, now, is that alright?” Squeeze. She nods at Suguru and Yaga, who pull him up, wrapping his arms around their shoulders.
He's dead weight between them, making no attempt to use his feet. His head rolls to rest by Suguru’s ear, his breath hot against his neck.
They get him to his room and lay him on his bed, on his side.
“You can sleep, Satoru,” Shoko tells him. Satoru’s eyes close, as if he’d been waiting for permission. “You have to stay up with him, Suguru. Or I can. Make sure he doesn’t roll over. If he has another he could choke if he’s on his back.” Suguru swallows and nods.
“I’ll stay with him.” Shoko nods back, gives him a wry smile, and all but runs out of the room. Suguru can’t blame her for being overwhelmed. Yaga claps him on the shoulder.
“If anything happens tonight, or ever, you can call me. Always.”
“I know,” Suguru mumbles. Yaga looks at him for a moment, then takes his leave.
Satoru is warm beside him when Suguru lays down. Warm and alive. Alive, but broken. Broken beyond repair. Toji has done something irreversible to Satoru. None of this would’ve happened if Satoru weren’t The Strongest.
He rolls over to look Satoru in the face. He looks peaceful. Suguru wishes they could rest like this forever. Peaceful. Warm. Alive.
‘We will,’ he decides. ‘I’ll make it so we will.’ He closes his eyes and listens to Satoru breathe.