Chapter Text
the whisper of footsteps through the hallway isn't enough to warrant satoru's attention. not when the clawed grip of a migraine flares behind his eyes, further into his skull, something untouchable even by reversed curse technique. something caused by it, if he bothered to be honest with himself.
the moment said footsteps stop, though, he glances around, not moving from his spot as he casts his enhanced vision off toward the doorway, the twisting, contorting mass of energy betraying the shape of a familiar figure. he's a little surprised, to see suguru here, to see him stopping and watching. they haven't talked much, not since amanai, not since satoru took it upon himself to deal with all the curses he could, and even less since suguru has dwindled into little more then a ghost between missions. any chatter between them was curt, and any time he bothered to ask if suguru was okay, he was pushed away.
he's not dense. he can tell when he's not wanted.
so he stopped trying as hard, watching his friend wittle away at himself until he became a spectre, a living curse. the migraines got worse, and now he doesn't even have the energy to try at all. time between missions is spent the same way as it is now, in a too-bright classroom where he knows no one will find him, with a cold washcloth draped over his eyes in an attempt to get some relief while he can.
he continues to watch as the energy approaches, washcloth still draped over his eyes as he sprawls on his chair, legs spread out and one arm dangling, the other thrown over the washcloth to apply pressure, water soaking through his shirt slightly to tickle his skin. he doesn't move. he doesn't acknowledge the ghost in the shape of his friend, other then to watch it pass him. the curtains close with a grating sound of metal on metal, and though he tenses, he doesnt say anything.
the energy stays. he can feel suguru's gaze on him, sees the way he's leaning against the windowsill, eerily quiet, as if unsure what to say, or maybe sizing him up.
he's not sure which, anymore. he thinks he would've known, once, before he forced himself to reconcile with being pushed away. before he forced himself to not care.
the phantom of a blade in his throat bobs as he swallows, mouth too dry to speak at first. "thanks." is all he forces out, the words strained against the pulsing throb of his head.
he can still feel suguru analyzing him for a moment before stepping away from the windowsill as he murmurs "of course." his tone is soft, lowered like it always used to be when- he grinds his thoughts to a halt with almost excurciating amount of effort, letting six eyes drop so he can properly bury the gentleness suguru used to show deep in the untouched corners of his mind, under dirt tastes suspiciously like copper and cursed steel. 'stop caring. don't think about it too hard. it'll hurt less."
his efforts are immediately thwarted by something hitting infinity. both of them tense, six eyes re-igniting to stare at suguru's crackling energy. "satoru." he murmurs, and satoru has to pretend he doesn't hear the worry dripping from his tone.
'stop caring stop caring stop caring-'
infinity drops. his jaw is clenched so tight it hurts. he swallows thickly, tension winding in his chest and coiling around his throat as suguru hesitantly buries his hand in his soft white hair. he hopes suguru doesnt notice the sharp inhale at the contact, or the way he leans into it immediately. he knows he does, though, fingers pressing down slightly, gently massaging his scalp as if no time had passed at all. as if they hadn't drifted apart since..
he takes in a quiet, shuddering breath, the throbbing in his head still making it hard to think, but deft fingers help chase it away just enough to be relieving. time moves at a crawl, his sense of it wobbling slightly as he wishes for the moment to stay.
he chances a glance at suguru. a proper one, pulling up the corner of his washcloth to peer at him with one eye. he notices a few things in quick succession, matching them all with snippits of information shoko had offhandedly mentioned to him over the past month or so. his face is paler then he's ever seen it, gaunt and tired. 'he looks like a ghost, you should see him. all bones and pallor.' his eyes look dull, the purple below them looking almost painful. 'he's practically a raccoon with those eyebags. they almost rival mine.'. and his hair is down, draped over his shoulders with a slight sheen of oil built up on it. 'he looks pretty bad, satoru. you'd know what i mean if you saw it.' the final bit shoko had mentioned, just earlier today, clicks into place as he remembers the way his energy has been actively twisting on itself. 'big mission earlier, caught him looking queasy by the vending machines.'
"you look tired." is all that scrapes past his throat, brain too muddled to come up with the right thing to say, but knowing he's been staring for far longer then he should've. it buys him time to get the gears turning, cleaning out the cobwebs between his ears.
"says the pot to the kettle" suguru snorts, just a breath of a thing, kept quiet still as he brushes a thumb under one of satoru's eyes, before carding it through his hair again, the touch lasting only a fraction of a moment, but the feeling lingering regardless. "how's your head?"
he drops the corner of the washcloth again, stretching slightly and clasping his hands behind his head, as if the action will be convincing enough, despite everything else, to convince suguru that he's fine. he just huffs slightly. "hows your stomach?" he hears the chair next to him creak as suguru settles in it, hands still buried in white locks of hair, only hesitating for a brief moment.
"fine, thank you. shoko brought me crackers." the statement barely has a moment to settle before suguru sighs, settling back in his own chair, hands dropping to his sides. "how'd you know?"
he can't help the little smirk that tugs at his lips, raising his fingers to count off. "your energy is doing the thing again-" he twirls his other hand for emphasis, mimicing the washing-machine movements of sugurus energy after he absorbs a curse, "you look tired in a specific way-" he gestures vaguely in his general direction. it's not as obvious as the energy, hell its hardly obvious at all, and satoru knows he wouldn't be able to explain what he means by that if he tried. he just knows what suguru looks like when he's tired, and he knows what he looks like when he's curse tired. the final nail in the coffin, the most damning evidence- "and shoko told me." he points to his third finger, grin growing ever so slightly larger.
he hears a huff behind him, followed by a rustle of fabric. then a long pause before he actually gets a response. "of course she did." followed by nothing else.
the silence spins on for a moment, his sense of time still warped from the thumping in his skull, pressure against the backs of his eyes. 'always the eyes.' he muses silently before lifting his washcloth to catch sugurus gaze. "hey, suguru?"
"hm?" violet eyes meet his own, holding his gaze as if it's nothing. satoru would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that was one of the things he's been missing in their time apart. nobody else keeps eye contact as steadily. not with the six eyes.
he'd also be lying if he said he didn't notice the dull quality of those eyes. their shine is foggy, as if exhaustion had seeped far enough into his being to pool into his irises.
"…are you okay?" is what he settles on, even though he means more then that. 'I'm sorry i stopped trying to find you' and 'thank you for finding me' and 'are you still hurting? would you tell me this time?'. he doesn't look away, even when suguru does. if he's being pushed away again, he's at least going to take the hit without hiding.
suguru opens his mouth to say something before snapping it shut again, quiet as he seems to think it over. it doesnt take long, but the moment is enough of a stark contrast to the last several times he tried asking that satoru would forgive him if it took longer.
it means he's trying. satoru can respect that.
"there's.. there's a lot. it's been a lot." where others might see the words as dismissive, he's fairly sure they're a promise. an admission of something wrong, and a promise that they'll talk later. he doesn't pry, content to just let suguru pick his words. "I'm worried about you, though."
he blinked, thoughts screeching to a halt. "me?" he plucks the washcloth from his face fully, setting it on the desk and turning in his seat to look at suguru. the motion makes his head reel, but he tries to ignore it in favor of staring.
it clicks after a moment. suguru has no reason to seek him out, in fact he had been actively avoiding satoru for ages now. or at least he wasn't bothering to talk to him, not unless approached first. and only brief exchanges of words. suguru wouldn't be talking to him like this unless something happened or someone had told him to.
shoko had been hounding him about his constant infinity and reversed curse use for months, trying to get him to stop, and when that stopped working, she started getting the others to try and lecture him. nanami, haibara, hell she even tried to get sensei to knock some sense into him. 'of course' he thinks, almost bitterly. 'he's only here because of her.'
"shoko got to you too then?" he says after a moment, pointedly turning back around and setting the washcloth back over his eyes. 'stop caring. it wont hurt as bad.'
"she may have," he murmurs, "and i think her concern is justified-"
"i know what im doing, suguru." the words snap out harsher then he means them to, and he can feel suguru's cursed energy crackle in response.
"i never said you didn't." his reply is calm, placating. "i just said i agree that she should be concerned."
'she should be concerned. not i should be. not i am concerned. i agree that she should be concerned.' he grits his teeth, huffing quietly into the pressurized air of the stale, empty classroom. it smells like dust and ozone and decay. he starts burying the gentleness under copper-tasting dirt again.
"why." the word is clipped, his head throbs, he wishes suguru hadn't walked in here at all.
he's not dense. he knows when he's not wanted.
"because you haven't been acting normal since.." there's a brief pause. he knows suguru thinks of gunshots and bloodspray. he's feeling steel through skin, instead. "and you're here, with a headache."
"i dont have a headache." he snips. it's not a lie, but only if you're pedantic enough.
"you're using a washcloth. you went to a classroom that specifically doesn't have any classes in it today, because you knew nobody would look here for you, and you thanked me for closing the blinds."
he just huffs, sinking further in his chair and pulling the washcloth off again, spinning it idly on one finger. the silence that spans between them isn't a comfortable thing. even with his eyes deactivated he can still feel suguru's energy crackling with concern.
the tension in him winds and winds and winds until it snaps. he stands up, glaring over his shoulder "i'm going."
"satoru-" he pauses, still glaring, even as suguru's gaze stays gentle. "stop using infinity." he says it softly, as if it's just that easy. as if he didnt just ask him to give up his main defense-
"you cannot seriously be asking that" he turned so he's facing him, gesturing sharply at him, infinity flickering on immediately at the mere idea of being that vulnerable. he has to squint against the immediate sharpening of the pain in his skull, nausea starting to coil in his stomach.
"i don't mean never use it" suguru's hand is raised slightly in surrender, brows furrowing in concern. "just stop using it like this. let yourself rest, satoru."
he feels the pressure in his head pop from the strain, and he flinches, pressing a hand to his nose as the world melts around him, dropping him into his bedroom. the back of his hand comes back bloodied, and he sinks down to the floor in front of his bed, trying to fight the flood of everything threatening to spill over. it feels like betrayal. it feels like love. and, most of all, it feels like the worst migraine he's had in weeks. the stench of decay doesn't leave him, nor does the overwhelming sense that he's just kicked the rotting corpse of their friendship into the grave he'd already dug.
red drips from his nose to the rug in front of his bed.
he wants to go home.