Satoru 's freezing all the time.

It 's a gradual decline, Suguru notices, as his bed is invaded more often than it 's not, Satoru 's chilly fingers and frigid feet leeching the warmth from his own skin. He writes it off at first, because it 's late autumn and the cold of winter is beginning to blow in over the mountains, giving them more drizzly, foggy days as the last of the warm humidity leaves. Maybe he just runs hotter in the summer, he thinks, and chalks it up to the temperature.

He forgets about it underneath the overwhelming amount of everything else distracting him- schoolwork and class and weapons training and whispering with Shoko in the evenings, when Satoru showers and they have a chance at holding secrets, exchanging quiet words and simple worries over all of his new oddities.

He hands over his jacket more often than not when they sit in the classroom with Yaga as he lectures, and Satoru shivers as if he 's directly under the air vent; warms his hands between his own as the three of them walk between class and the dorms and the clinic, where Shoko splits every day to work on application rather than theory.

'Oi, Satoru, ' Yaga snaps, when Suguru watches him trip again in the yellowing green, clumsier than normal, 'focus. ' Something nags at him as he eyes their spar, how Satoru ducks and dodges and hits with all the typical proficiency that he 's always had, but peppered with little, unthinkable mistakes. Catching on a shoelace, knocking his ankles together, turning too slowly to block a hit.

It keeps wriggling in the pit of his stomach when they occasionally find themselves down in the dojo, barefoot and in various levels of undone uniforms as they go back and forth with hand to hand.

'I swear you used to be heavier, ' he says, Satoru thrown over his shoulder in a take down he 'd cut the down half off of, thrown by the difference in weight he 'd expected compared to what he 'd felt. Satoru only laughs, slapping his shoulder lightly.

'Maybe you 're just getting stronger, weakling, ' he teases, squishing his bicep, and Suguru feels a brow tick as he slams Satoru down onto the tatami hard enough to hear him wheeze.

He finds something odd days or weeks later, rummaging around his room for a spare hairclip and eventually moving to his closet when he can 't find any in his desk. He shoves Satoru 's discarded uniform further down the floor with a foot, turning his head in curiosity when something clinks. He pulls Satoru 's belt up from the mess, sighing, until he notices a newly poked hole stabbed through the leather.

'What '? ' He murmurs, sliding it through his hands as he tries to find the original holes, a good seven inches apart from the one pricked with what was probably a tack, rough and fraying slightly.

He sits, staring at it, that odd feeling curling up his spine. He writes it off, thinking it 's probably not a huge deal, because the belts the school gives them are one size anyway and even

he 's

pulling it close two holes down from the smallest.

Satoru 's just thin.

They chatter as they walk to class, four weeks into whatever the hell happened to Satoru that one afternoon that made him different, talking about ridiculous things.

'If I had to pick a last meal, ' Shoko says, wiggling her fingers as her coat ruffles up against the side of his own, 'I 'd ask for lobster. A big ol ' fat one, drenched in butter. '

He wrinkles his nose, too disdainful of seafood for a semi-coastal kid, and gives her a shove when she sticks her tongue out and pretends to have antennae with two circling fingers.

'They 're so rubbery though, ' he says, thinking.

'Oh yeah? What would you want then? ' Shoko asks, falling back into step with them, head tilted to the side and the short wave of her hair falling with it.

He glances at the sky as he sifts through options, Satoru pressed against his left and shivering despite wearing Suguru 's only other puffer coat, a scarf around his neck, and a hat, even though it 's barely below twelve degrees celsius. 'Dunno, ' he says, squinting up at the heavy gray clouds. ' 'Maybe soba? ' Shoko laughs, elbowing him as they turn the corner.

'Soba? ' She crows. 'You 're so boring. ' He sticks his tongue out at her, unwilling to take criticism from a lobster lover, and nudges Satoru where he clings.

'What about you, 'Toru? ' He asks, looking down at where Satoru 's got his face buried in the old scarf, hunched over like he 's freezing. He 's always close now, always an inch away, always near enough to touch, like he 's finally caught Suguru and is unwilling to let go. He can 't help but let him hold tight, ensnared with the contact himself when it makes his ears burn, his hands clammy, his heart pound.

He shrugs, barely making the effort to even look over his dark glasses. He mumbles something, muffled in the fabric over his mouth that Suguru can 't really make out. He makes something like a face from the sliver of him Suguru can see past all the objects, finally saying loud enough to hear a bitter sounding, 'sweets. '

'What? ' Shoko scoffs. 'You got something against sweets? '

Suguru rolls his eyes, yanking on the back of her puffer hood until she 's making a hacking noise. 'As if, ' he tones, slipping his fingers into the pocket of Satoru 's far side, letting him huddle close as he shivers. 'He 'd eat raw sugar if he could stand it. '

The conversation follows him throughout the day, hanging over his head like a cloud as he takes diligent notes he never actually looks at; as he putters down to the vending machines with Satoru to grab a snack for himself and a bottled water for him; as he grabs limber hands when the blue of shortened nails catches his eye.

He frowns, but doesn 't say anything more when he gets a smile and a wave of a hand for it, and, 'yeah. It 's chilly out, ' Satoru tells him, shivering in the earliest cold of winter.

He lets it go, writing it off again, because it isn 't as if he 's wrong.

'God I 'm starving, ' Shoko complains, hands stuffed in her pockets a week later as they pad down an outside hallway connecting the lower level of the school to the upper.

'There 's literally another vending machine right there- ' He protests, only to be cut off with shushing and vehemence.

'The one on the ground floor is

always

better, ' Shoko declares, and he sighs in something blandly fond as Satoru shoves his hands into coat pockets that aren 't his.

'You have your own, ' Suguru mutters, letting the pointy chin sit on his shoulder for a moment, before crouching down anyway to shift Satoru up onto his back when he knows he won 't be ungluing himself anytime soon. He 'd rather just carry him down the wooden stairs instead of having his obnoxious whims topple them both over by tripping him trying to leech his body heat.

'Yours are better, ' Satoru staunchly replies, nosing his freezing face into the side of his neck, the added weight barely noticeable as he stands up straight. Suguru makes an indifferent noise as Shoko hurtles off the last step, taking the corner in near flight as she waves her wallet in the air like a hooligan.

He takes the steps slower, his boots a quiet thunk on each wooden plank as Satoru 's knees squeeze his sides over his arms. They 're bony, just like the rest of him.

'Annoying, '

he thinks, ignoring how his heart flutters a little when Satoru presses closer, shivering hard enough for him to feel it through their winter coats. He 's been more tired, lately, and Suguru can 't quite lie to himself that he doesn 't like carrying him around- not when it presses them closer without a necessary excuse for it when he 's always craving to touch any part of Satoru he can reach. Not when it makes a questionable part of his brain click its little claws together and mutter

mine mine mine mine.

Silently, he chokes down the feeling of possession that floods his throat like a curse when he feels Satoru 's lips accidentally drag down the line of his neck, buttery and soft and something he wants to belong to him.

'What do you guys want? ' Shoko asks, already punching in a number for something. 'I 'll buy this time if you buy next time. '

'...Mm, ' Suguru hums, thinking, shifting his arms under Satoru slightly to heft him up a little higher as the tips of his ears burn. 'Just get me a chocolate milk. This is the one with those strawberry wafers, right? ' He wonders, and Shoko nods, flashing him a thumbs up. 'Get those for Satoru. '

He stands just out from under the awning, watching puffy white clouds float across the sky, hair ruffling slightly in the mild, cold gust of a breeze that stirs the fallen leaves on the ground and the nearby trees. They don 't speak- quiet, as Suguru stands and Satoru shuts his eyes, chilly and ever exhausted.

Maybe it 's the weather, or all the missions they 're suddenly doing now that it 's getting cold and the general populace is miserable again, but Suguru can 't quite fault him for being so sluggish lately. He 's getting tireder too, when it 's becoming rarer for them to find a break longer than fifteen minutes. He lets his head tilt, until his temple is coming to rest on the soft white fluff of Satoru 's hair. It 's been getting longer, grown out past his eyes enough for his bangs to skim the bridge of his nose.

'Could cut it when we get back, '

he muses, thinking of the scissors in the kitchen drawers and Satoru 's constant complaining that it 's always in his face and on the back of his neck. They won 't; he already knows. When they get back, he 's going to start on his homework, and Satoru 's going to end up napping on the couch, the bags under his eyes hidden by concealer nobody knows how he got and purple beneath the powder. Shoko will gripe about dinner, and disappear into her cave of a room with cup noodles and a textbook under her arm.

'Maybe we should start doing dinners together, '

he thinks, watching Shoko crow a whoop of delight as two heavy things thunk against the bottom of the vending machine.

'It has gotten a little lonely lately. '

None of them ever eat at the same time. Shoko 's on a different schedule because of her medical track, Suguru 's busy with private weapons training as well as actually bothering to do his homework, and Satoru 's sort of left in the dust, already an expert and mostly just a pack mule to throw at curses to make them go away.

He gladly takes the bottle when Shoko tosses it to him, one arm lifting to catch it, the other taking the majority of Satoru 's weight. His eyes narrow slightly when all he does is sag an inch, any strain negligible even with one of his hands gone. Lips thinning, Suguru slowly replaces his other hand, fisted around the bottle 's top as Shoko bounds towards them.

'Has he gotten 'lighter? '

He wonders, frowning at the spot of white hair in his peripherals, the weight of thighs against his hands not so much of a weight at all. Last he checked, he couldn 't hold Satoru up with just one arm. It 's probably nothing more than a fluke, though. He 'd noticed some of his shirts feeling tighter, and it 's not as if he isn 't training every day he isn 't out in the field.

'Hey, ' he says, giving Satoru a shake, and can 't help a smidgeon of mirth at the way his head jerks up like he does when he 's falling asleep in class and Yaga yells at him. Like hell he 'll be awake long enough for a haircut. 'Get down. I can 't drink and carry you at the same time. '

'Thought that was about driving, ' Satoru mutters, sliding off his back unhappily, and dodges a pinch to his side when Suguru tries to snap one against the material of his coat.

'Here, ' Shoko calls, and then a packet of strawberry wafers are hitting the shield of Limitless where it blocks Satoru 's head. He squawks indigently, fumbling to grab them as they fall. Suguru watches impassively, unscrewing the lid of his milk and silently taking a sip.

He squints down at the liquid inside of it, annoyed that Shoko may have a point about the ground floor machine being better than the one on the upper floor.

The crunch of her cracker snacks are loud in his ears as they start the walk back, Satoru swaying back into his side again as he messes with the crinkle of plastic. They chatter as they step along the walkway back to the dorms, finding inane things to talk about as they march toward another busy evening in the only pocket of peace they 've had all day. Satoru 's input is mostly missing as he silently nibbles on a wafer, rendered a certain sort of quiet for once that 's becoming more frequent the longer the winter days shorten.

'You wouldn 't believe the shit I 'm supposed to be doing, ' Shoko grumbles, stuffing another handful of crackers into her mouth, and Suguru sighs at the indecency, unbothering to point it out. 'The med staff is all sorts of fucked up with their curriculum. Do you want me starting autopsies or doing field medicine? ' She exclaims, gesturing with her hands, and he can 't help a snort.

For once, he doesn 't notice Satoru fall behind.

'Sounds obnoxious, ' he sniffs, their hair blowing back in another cold gust of wind. 'Should have just lied and gone into weapons, ' he says, shrugging a smirk in her direction, 'way less complicated. '

'My fist will complicate your face- ' Shoko starts, only to stop as the sound of retching cuts her off. They spend a short second staring at each other with widening eyes, before they 're turning, looking to the side of the walkway where Satoru 's folded over his knees, dry heaving into the yellowed grass at the edge of the stone.

'Shit- ' Suguru curses, rushing over and stumbling slightly when his shoe partly crushes the halfway eaten pack of wafers, dropped on the ground. He ignores them, shaking their crumbs off his sole before kneeling down next to Satoru, smoothing his bangs off his face as he gasps, choking on stomach bile, body raking with shudders.

Shoko circles around to his other side, huffing angrily when Limitless blocks her hands from reaching his skin. 'Tell him to drop it, ' she grits, fingers already winding with cursed energy.

Suguru looks away from her scowl, eyes falling back down to Satoru 's face as he heaves, scrunched in discomfort. 'Give him a damn minute, ' he mutters, wincing at the sounds as they fill his ears. They make his stomach roil, make his tongue sour with the taste of a curse, and he breathes as shallowly as he can. How Satoru sits beside him whenever it 's Suguru spilling all the contents of his stomach after a mission and too many curses, perfectly unbothered and mostly just faintly sympathetic, he 'll never know.

When Satoru finally coughs, falling over onto his palms and hacking out the last of his stomach 's upset into the grass, Shoko stumbles suddenly, like she 'd been leaning on Limitless and it disappeared without warning. She finds her footing after a string of mild cursing, setting the pads of her fingers onto the skin at the back of Satoru 's neck a little pissily, finally able to touch him.

She 's silent for a few handfuls of seconds, before her eyes are flaring wide, shock wiping her face of any previous annoyance.

'What now, '

is all he has time to think, before it all starts to crumble again.

'What the hell, ' she utters, eyes snapping to Satoru 's weary, slackened face as her brows carve lines into her skin, 'that- that can't be right. ' She looks back down at her knuckles again, fingers on his skin, lips parting slightly with half formed words. Suddenly, she rips her hand away as if burned, whirling where she crouches.

'You 're

starving? '

She cries, the words pitching high, and Suguru tenses.

'What? '

He thinks, watching Satoru slowly look up from the ground with an expression that 's too blank for what Shoko just said.

'What are you talking about, ' he rasps, and Shoko drowns him out, rising to her feet as her hands move with her words.

'You- your body 's trying to fucking shut down, ' she snaps, panic streaking across her face, 'you 're at deathly levels of a calorie deficit- you 're only functioning because you 're somehow- ' Her words break off, a realization crossing her face as she stares, horror widening her eyes.

'Oh my god, ' she chokes, and Suguru finally unfreezes.

'What the fuck do you mean? ' He says, startled, one hand clamping down on Satoru 's shoulder where he slowly rises, sitting up onto his knees as he wipes one sleeve over his mouth. 'Wouldn 't we know-? '

'Reversed cursed energy, ' Shoko mutters, glare boring into the blue of Satoru 's partially hidden eyes, glasses low on his nose. 'You 've been using it. '

Satoru says nothing, swallowing audibly as he meets her eyes, his own just as wide, stress lines shadowing his eyebags darker. Shoko 's brows draw down a little further, her mouth twisting like it can 't decide on a grimace or a sneer, ugly things warring on her face.

'Did you know? ' She mutters, the words strained, and Satoru finally sinks, something a little hopeless and a lot pained washing his features out.

'I 'm fine, ' he says, no real answer, and Shoko puffs up like a cat.

'Your liver 's formally resigned you fucking idiot! ' She shouts, stalking back over and slamming a fist down onto the shield of Limitless despite the way it makes Satoru flinch, hands shaking they 're clenched so tightly.

'But, ' Satoru starts, eyes darting between them, a divot between his brows, 'I am. I 'm fine. Everything 's fine. '

'You 're subsisting off of

energy, '

Shoko argues, her words a hissing condemnation, 'positive energy is keeping you fucking functioning. '

Suguru sits, barely feeling the cold stone dig into his knees, remembering that niggling little feeling that has bothered him for weeks, now. So many small things, he thinks of, clues he 'd written off, because they 'd just seemed normal, insignificant. So many things he 'd let go, because Satoru had said it was fine, because Satoru had looked too tired to argue about it, because Satoru has always had himself under control.

'When was the last time I actually saw him eat? '

He thinks, and the shock hits him like a sledgehammer. They don 't ever eat together, because they 're all always busy. Sure, they do snack breaks and he knows that someone 's been stealing the chips he buys and hides in the kitchen, but they don 't ever eat

together.

'Oh, I 'm not hungry, '

he can remember always being said, when Shoko would offer a snack.

'I don 't like those, '

being told to him when Suguru would offer a bite of whatever he 'd be eating. A blank stare in place of acknowledgement when asked what he 'd want in regard to anything edible.

The hole on a belt, shifting down, down, down.

'You haven 't been eating, ' he mumbles, hands falling slack on his legs, gaze caught on the ground, trying to recall even one instance he caught Satoru with food in hand in the past three weeks that wasn 't put there by someone else. He can 't think of any. 'I didn 't even- you haven 't eaten

anything. '

He brings one hand up to scrub at his face, interrupting Shoko and Satoru 's circling argument.

They stop, turning to look at him as he stares down at the pattern of stones set into the path, both of them jumping slightly when Satoru murmurs a short, 'oh. '

'Oh? ' Shoko repeats. 'What the hell do you mean,

'oh? ' '

Satoru pulls his lips in between his teeth, looking at neither of them as his shoulders curl in, still shivering. '...You 're right, ' he admits, a concession if there ever was one, staring somewhere far away from his face, and Suguru feels his ears audibly pop.

'Why? '

He demands, breath clouding slightly in front of himself, and Satoru withers a bit further.

'Forgot? ' He mumbles, the word meek, and Shoko groans, stomping a few steps away, hands over her eyes. Suguru stares at him, in utter disbelief.

'You forgot, ' he says, and Satoru weathers a smile over his face that looks about as much of a wince as it probably feels. He sits for a long moment, staring. He wants a cigarette. He wants a cigarette so badly. 'So, ' he starts, 'you dropped how much weight, exactly? Poked a new hole in your belt how far down, exactly? And you

forgot? '

'There wasn 't really a whole lot to eat back in- ' Satoru bristles, stamping the words out before he can finish his sentence, wane cheeks flushing and eyes darting away. A meter behind them, Shoko yells loud enough to scare the birds flocking over the grass, hands roughing up her hair.

'...What the fuck, Satoru, ' he mutters, defeated, knowing he won 't get words out of him that Satoru won 't willingly give when the half-spoken sentences are never finished. Cold hands, he thinks of, noticing his weight getting lighter and lighter and yet never questioning it; the fatigue that always has him snoozing through class, the blue of his nails.

Satoru only shrugs, picking at his cuticles, and Suguru reaches out to stop him with a sigh, grabbing his hands and pulling them into his own. They 're like blocks of ice against his palms, stiff and clammy, if not for the chill of the weather keeping them overly dry.

'Fuck me, ' Shoko grumbles as she stomps back over, hair a mess where she 's run her hands through it several times, glaring down at the pack of wafers he 'd accidentally crushed a handful of minutes ago. She bends down to pick the package up, careful to keep the pink remains from spilling out as she looks at the label on the back.

'Yeah, ' she snorts, a sardonic sort of humor to it, 'no wonder you puked, liverless. ' Suguru makes a face at the name as she points to the label, walking closer to crouch down on the ground in front of them.

'This thing 's like twenty grams of sugar, ' Shoko explains. 'Your blood sugar shouldn 't even be able to reach the level it 's at in a living human, ' she says, pointing to Satoru, and then back to the packet. 'It 's no wonder you spilled your guts. You wouldn 't have been able to process it even if you weren 't like, dead. '

'I am

not

dead, ' Satoru protests, and Shoko laughs, low and throaty.

'Your organs seem to think otherwise, zombie. ' She stands up again, hands on her knees and a puff of breath leaving her lips, reshuffling her coat. 'C 'mon, boys, ' she says, crinkling the sweet package in her fist, 'we 're going back to the clinic. For fun, and no other reason. '

Suguru sighs, resigning himself to another week of torture involving Satoru and his various states of declination. Always decomposing in a new sort of way, and ever leaving him to wonder- sit in the dirt, or grab the shovel? He thinks he should have gotten the shovel.

He at least gets minimal offense for it when he lifts Satoru up instead of letting him walk, needing to do something when he can 't do anything, brain clanging a rhythm of

mine mine mine

and guilt, guilt, guilt. He lets limp arms hang over his shoulders as they pad back inside the school, not saying anything as the air keeps its heavy tinge. He still feels the glare where it hangs over his back, directed down at the dirt instead of at either of them.

'Shirt off, ' Shoko says, the words clinical and almost bored, and Suguru stares out at the opposite end of the room, sat in his little waiting chair and still thinking about how when Shoko had drawn Satoru 's blood, all he 'd done was stare impassively down at the needle as red had run up its connected tube.

It 's wrong, he thinks, watching Shoko poke and prod around Satoru 's ribs and stomach, laying back without a fuss even now. The one time Shoko had pricked him in the beginning of the year for the customary blood samples the school takes to track their cursed energy, he 'd just about had to pin him to the chair, the fear of the needle having won out over the knowledge that the pain of it is always infinitesimal.

A lot of things are wrong, he thinks.

'I just can 't believe it, ' she mutters, fingers skimming over Satoru 's side, reversed cursed energy twining between them in barely visible flashes of glimmers in the white clinic light. 'You were bitching about not being able to figure it out just months ago, and now ' ' She trails off, staring at nothing they can see.

'Satoru? ' She says, snapping her fingers, and Suguru hears him groan.

'Dizzy, ' he mumbles, and he sighs, dragging his fingers down his face until the reds of his eyes are showing before getting up again. He walks around Shoko, coming to stand at the end of the padded table she 'd forced him up onto. He slides Satoru 's black glasses up onto the top of his head, covering his eyes with his palms as he watches Shoko poke and prod and mutter to herself, exhaustion that 's becoming disturbingly familiar weighing on his shoulders.

'Being able to subsist entirely off of positive energy 'that could change jujutsu society, ' she says, the words shoved under her breath but still audible. 'Although, how much cursed energy someone has would be a factor ' ' She frowns, squinting down at Satoru 's partially covered face.

'Hey, liverless, ' she says, and he groans again, a noise instead of words. 'You 'd have died if you couldn 't recycle your own cursed energy. ' Suguru winces, grimacing at the blanket statement and fully ignored for it

'Great, I 'll scratch it off my bingo card, ' Satoru mumbles, and then, ' 's not recycling, it 's division. '

'Do I look like I care, ' Shoko absently says, pushing away from the table as she rolls on her stupid little raised stool over to where a series of drawers indent into a cabinet. 'Man I

wish

I could see what your spleen looks like right now, ' she snickers, grabbing several things before pushing off the countertop with one foot, gliding back over.

'I feel like that 's an insult, ' Satoru grumbles, hand reaching up to clasp around Suguru 's wrist as he feels eyelashes flutter against his palms, watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. Satoru presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets a little harder, the circle of his fingers too unsteady compared to what Suguru knows them to be.

'How did I never notice, '

he thinks, and can 't quite choke down the guilt.

'It is, ' Shoko assures him, standing up as she drags over a hook on a rolling stand that she hangs the clear plastic bag in her hands onto. 'I 'm pumping you full of fluids so you don 't go and keel over or something, ' she explains, messing with the tubes enough that Suguru looks away, queasy from it as she connects the drip line to the flexible needle she left in Satoru 's arm.

'Keep reversed cursed running, ' she warns, and Suguru watches her eyes narrow in something a little more serious than the past twenty minutes have been so far, now that she 's had a minute to distance herself from her anger and get up close to whatever damage Satoru 's done to himself. 'Let it drop for more than even five minutes, and you 'll go into shock. '

Satoru doesn 't nod, but Suguru feels his eyelids move under his hands, the grimace that pulls at his lips.

'Nothing new, ' he hears, murmured nearly inaudibly, and has to hold in the sigh that wants to spill past his mouth. It 's always something that Satoru doesn 't say, or keeps locked behind his teeth, a secret that he won 't let go of. Suguru lets him keep it, doesn 't bother asking as he eyes the goosebumps shivering down his bare skin.

'How long for the 'fluids? What is that, saline? ' Suguru asks, eyeing the clear colored bag where it hangs on its stand.

'Ten percent, ' Shoko answers, and then, 'give it fifteen minutes or so. Then we can go back to the dorms and look for actual food to shove down his throat. If we give him cup noodles he 'll die. ' Suguru makes a face, grimacing at her where she walks back to the padded table, even as Shoko only flashes him her teeth.

'Not dead, ' Satoru protests faintly, and Shoko blows her hair out of her eyes.

'We know, ' she says, 'although, and I just can 't explain it, ' leaving the sentence unfinished as she stares down at where Satoru lays, Suguru 's hands over his eyes.

'Explain what? ' He asks, watching her twirl a pen in her non-dominant hand.

'His nervous system 'it 's like it 's convinced it 's dying, ' she mutters, a knuckle over her mouth as she thinks. The pen flips once in the air, clicking as she catches it. 'It wasn 't like that four weeks ago, at least I don 't think- shit, I can't remember, ' Shoko grumbles, gliding the pen through her fingers in an impressive afterthought of dexterity.

'Guess a surgeon would need that, '

Suguru thinks a little faintly, the only person out of the group unable to see pure cursed energy in any capacity, and wishing he could. 'What do you mean by that? ' He asks, turning the words over in his head, and glances down when he realizes that he can 't feel Satoru 's eyes twitching with tiny movements under his palms anymore.

'Hard to explain, ' Shoko mutters, and lifts her brows slightly when Suguru uncovers Satoru 's face, slackened where his head lays on the flat padding of the table. His lips part slightly, eyes shut and lax, just about dead to the world. 'Thought he was too silent, ' she says, and Suguru squeezes the edge of the table.

'You 're not concerned? ' He hisses, voice raising in a strained containment as he tries not to yell, and Shoko only flaps her lips.

'Nah. I just drew like forty milliliters of his blood, and he 's got literally zero sugar left in it, ' she says, as if that explains anything, giving him an impassive look as she flips the pen again. 'I 'm honestly surprised he held out for so long. '

'And that means what, exactly? ' Suguru grits through a too toothy smile, the edges pulling a little too far down.

'That he was gonna pass out from the start, ' Shoko finally properly says with a roll of her brown eyes, and he sighs out a loud breath through his nose, shutting his eyes for a long moment.

It 's been one heart attack after another since August, when they had to chase Satoru down in the rafters of the school, and a nightmare in how everything 's snowballed since. He still doesn 't know what to make of all of the changes, had barely had time to settle into new found, mutual friendship rather than the charged rivalry they 'd clashed with before everything went to hell.

It 's more than he knowingly signed up for, though perhaps exactly what he signed up for, agreeing to go to a deadly wizard school and die before he turns thirty. It doesn 't really matter, though, because as much as he thought he wouldn 't, Suguru likes Satoru. He likes him enough to stick closer when he starts falling off the deep end, likes him enough to weather the insanity to get the moments in between.

'His nervous system? ' He asks, reminding Shoko of her train of thought as he rubs one eye, already dry and tired.

'Right, ' she responds, bringing the pen to a standstill on the flat of her thumb, 'that. ' She thinks for a moment, eyes darting up and down their other third as the cogs in her brain turn, and then she 's pointing, tapping the tip of the pen against the line of Satoru 's throat.

'There 's a focus here, ' she starts, dragging it down his body as she speaks, 'as well as here, ' she taps his stomach, 'and on various spots on his legs. ' She frowns, giving the pen a twirl before tapping the inside of his wrist, muttering. 'It 's almost like there should be scar tissue over all of his major arteries, ' she thinks aloud, 'except there isn 't any. '

Suguru stays silent for a heavy moment, turning the words over as he swallows down the discomfort. '...He 's using positive cursed energy though, right? ' He asks, instead of thinking about why there would be a mark in the first place. 'You 've faded scarring with it before. '

'That 's true, ' Shoko gives, eyes flicking up to his face, before she 's blinking them back down, staring at where Satoru lies unconscious between them. 'But even I 'd have to remove deep scar tissue with a scalpel. I can only fade superficial scars. It has to do with skin layers, ' she glosses, and he nods, thankful for the preservation of his own sanity in regards to medical knowledge that he just doesn 't have.

'So, what does it mean then? ' He wonders, waiting on Shoko to explain, lost in the realm of science and biology when he much prefers dealing with the common cold as the extent of his severity level.

'I don 't know, ' Shoko confesses, the dissatisfaction with her answer 's lack of knowledge leaking into her tone and coating her words. 'All I have to go on is that his brain thinks there 's been repeated trauma to his body that he just doesn 't

have. '

She brings another knuckle up to press against her lips, brows furrowed in frustration.

'I can understand his link to hunger being fucked up by it, but I just don 't know what could cause the rest of it all, ' she gripes, fingers flaring and splaying wide over her partially crossed arms.

'...You think he doesn 't feel hunger? ' Suguru asks, stuck on the first half of her words, and Shoko snorts loudly through her nose, going back to spinning her pen.

'Fuck no, ' she curses, sitting back down on her cushioned rolly stool with a soft compression of air. 'He wouldn 't have been able to figure out how to use reversed cursed if he did. ' When Suguru only stares at her, a lost expression on his face, she sighs and groans about non-medical students, but explains anyway.

'If you want to starve to the point of death, you 've gotta have the resolve to. Hunger doesn 't just go away if you 've got a disorder, ' she says, dark eyes glimmering with her pace of thought, running through her head like a flying bullet. She holds up the pen, giving it a wobble. 'That 's something you 've gotta want to build an endurance against. '

'One meal, ' she says, letting the pen tilt, and then topple, clattering to the tile loudly in the silence, 'and you 're back to square one. '

He keeps his eyes on the pen as she gets up, stretching out her arms as she tosses Satoru 's forgotten shirt up onto the table he 's passed out on, before circling around to slip out the makeshift saline drip from the crook of his bruising elbow, pressing a cotton ball to the pinprick and winding a strip of sticky gauze around it tight.

'I don 't buy for a minute that this was entirely intentional, ' she mutters, unhooking the empty plastic bag from the stand and walking away to chuck it in one of the hidden waste bins scattered throughout the many cabinets. 'I blame whatever the hell it was he grew up with, ' she says, a dark thing lacing her words, and Suguru takes the black puffer coat when it 's shoved into his hands, watching the lidded, piercing glare of her eyes as she breezes past him.

'Only monsters starve their children, ' Shoko utters, and disappears into the alcove of her office where it tucks into the side of the wall, a reek to her statement that rings in his ears like how the taste of a curse sits on his tongue.

'You 've heard the rumors of how clans treat their children, haven 't you? '

He hears, an echo from weeks ago.

Suguru doesn 't say anything as he manhandles Satoru back into his shirt, jacket, and then coat, shivering even while unconscious. When Shoko ducks out again, the scrub shirt she 'd thrown on over her clothing seemingly put away somewhere, he follows her out, Satoru 's limp body leaned against his sternum, arms circled under his thin legs to hold him up.

They walk in silence, padding back to the dorms under the heavy thing that hangs above them.

As Shoko unlocks the main door, she presses her lips together, eyeing him for a moment. 'We 're not telling Yaga? ' She asks, an uptick to the words, and he shudders.

'We 're

not

telling Yaga, ' he repeats back flatly, grimacing at the thought of all the yelling if they did.

Better to keep it quiet, he thinks, as they walk inside and leave their coats by the door, setting Satoru down on the long end of the couch before flipping two throw blankets over him, covering up to his shivery shoulders.

Nobody needs to know that the Gojo clan heir almost dropped dead this afternoon.

His head pounds when he wakes again, worse than it had when he 'd gotten up in the morning, and he keeps his eyes shut, groaning into the cushion as he curls onto his side.

'

Headaches, '

he thinks, pulling the blanket tight around himself,

'why 's it always gotta be headaches? '

The bright stars of cursed energy in his darkened vision are a perpetual annoyance, loud against the soft noise he can hear behind and around him; the sound of the stove simmering, the muffled chatter of two voices he knows, slippered feet on tile and a knife chopping vegetables. It takes him a long moment to place where he is, because it feels like the dorms but doesn 't sound like it, confusing him just enough to make him question if it 's another dream. It 's not familiar in any capacity when he 'd lived alone for more than ten years.

He squeezes his eyes before cracking them open, blinking to the sight of the dorm 's living room, the coffee table in front of the couch. With a grimace, he pushes himself upright, blankets tumbling off his shoulders and head swiveling around. It 's dim, but bright, most of the light coming from the windows, the curtains drawn to the side to let it in. Shoko and Suguru he can see in the kitchen behind him, their cursed energy vibrant in his peripherals, and he rises, intending to go ask them how the hell he ended up on the couch.

He doesn 't make it far. His vision blacks out almost immediately after he sways up to his feet, a suffocating feeling pressurizing his brain. He has the time to mumble, 'shit, ' in a faint voice, before he 's toppling right back over, a ringing in his ears.

'-t the fuck? ' He catches, behind the shrill noise and the pressure blotting out sound, a throbbing on the right side of his body. 'Satoru! '

He groans, swimming in nothingness for a long stretch of a moment as his shoulder pulses as if it were hit, head pounding. He feels the hands on him first, patting over his temples and sides before cupping the back of his head, words gradually filtering into his ears.

'-lright? ' Suguru asks, panic in his tone. 'Satoru? '

He manages to clap a hand over his mouth as the nausea roils in his stomach, reeling like gravity 's decided to throw itself around, breathing out harshly through his nose. He can 't even hear himself think over the headache, as his vision slowly trickles back in, Suguru 's blurry face wobbling into clarity above where he 's sandwiched between the foot of the couch and the coffee table.

'Hi, ' he mumbles, and then hiccups, head lolling back onto the carpet where Suguru cups the base of his skull.

'Shit, ' Suguru curses, curling an arm around his back as he lifts him into something sitting up, practically holding up his head when Satoru wants to let it fall limply. 'Are you okay? I heard you hit the table. '

' 'S that why m ' shoulder hurts? ' He says, hands useless in his lap as he waits for the feeling to come back to his fingers.

'...Just one day, ' Suguru pleads, 'I just want one normal day. '

'This is a normal day, ' Shoko argues, setting a glass on the coffee table as she sits on the edge of it, short brown hair swaying as she purses her lips, unimpressed. 'Welcome back to the land of the living, ' she mocks, nudging one of his thighs with her socked toes.

'Not dead, ' he repeats, grimacing as the dizziness finally starts to subside. This is real, he repeats, it 's real. Limitless hums below his skin and Suguru touches him tangibly- it 's real.

'This was probably my fault, ' Shoko says, benevolently bowing, 'so you can blame this on me for taking too much blood. '

'Huh, ' Satoru huffs, head swimming, and hears Suguru sigh.

'An hour ago, ' he says, 'in the clinic? ' Satoru thinks for a moment, rearranging events in his head as he scatters through half made memories, fuzzy under a fog. Nibbling on a pack of strawberry wafers, he remembers, musing about how he couldn 't seem to recall the taste of strawberries, which had led him to thinking about how long it had been since he 'd had them. Then being unable to remember eating anything recently, and then wondering why it was important again. It all spins into nausea and bile, after, Shoko yelling at him and-

'Ohh, ' he tones, low, 'ohhh no. '

'Ohh, ' Shoko copies, 'ohhh yes. '

He brings his hands up to cover his face, breathing out a heavy sigh as he tries to remember exactly how much he 'd said. Something about how there hadn 't been much to eat in '? He can 't recall anything past it, and desperately hopes that means he 'd shut the fuck up. He doesn 't want to talk about the prison, not now, not later, preferably

never.

'Am I actually starving, ' he mumbles from behind his palms, and hears the terse silence as an answer more than the lack of words are. 'Oh, ' he says, swallowing around the dryness of his throat.

He 's never died of starvation before. Granted, the prison must have had a sort of stasis within it, otherwise he would have starved long before he 'd ripped open his throat. He doesn 't know how long exactly he was in it, but he does remember counting out more than four weeks before he 'd lost the ability to order numbers in his head for long.

Starving itself has sort of lost its meaning. He barely remembers food, rendered more of a distant memory rather than something human beings need to continue living. It had been so long without it that eventually, he 'd stopped dreaming of it, too.

'I 'have to eat, '

he thinks, the epiphany four weeks late, and wants to clobber his own head. Sure he 'd seen food, and smelled it, and heard other people talking about it or rejected offers here and there, but it had just never sunk in. How is he supposed to explain

this?

'How long have you been unable to feel hungry? ' Shoko asks, breaking the silence, and he pauses, spidering his fingers to peer through them, puzzled.

'What? ' He says, confused, and she only scoffs.

'You heard me. ' Her oversized hoodie drapes over her flannel pants, a questionable coffee stain marring the color of it. She raises one brow, and he frowns, slowly letting his hands drop. Suguru takes them as soon as they touch his legs, pulled in between his palms and feeling starting to return to his prickling fingers as he leeches warmth from his skin.

'Are you kidding me, '

he thinks, flabbergasted.

'You 're kidding. It 's that easy? '

'Dunno, ' he mumbles, and it 's the most true thing about his tragic backstory that he 's been able to say in probably a while. 'Years maybe? ' He meets her eyes, brown and narrowed, calculating as they study him, and he resists the urge to paint a cocky smile on his face, to pretend to be louder and better than he is to make her think looking into him isn 't worth the annoyance.

It is true; he hasn 't eaten because he 's forgotten about food, yes, but he also hasn 't bothered to remember it because hunger is a faraway, forgotten pain. Maybe it is there somewhere, coiling with all the other aches in his body, but hidden under the indifference he 's grown to it like thicker skin. It just didn 't occur to him to pick up a fruit once in a while and give his body something to exist off of, when he hadn 't had any consequences, reversed cursed always running in the back of his mind.

An eternity spent with nothing to eat or drink save the thick copper tang of his own blood. Food, he can barely remember, when red had coated his tongue for what had felt like so much longer.

'Yeah, ' Shoko drawls, 'I can 't do anything about that. ' She shrugs, not particularly sorrowful about it. 'I can, however, ' she says, face lighting up in an artificial smile that sends a chill down his back, 'force you onto a proper diet. '

'Uhm, ' he squeaks, as Suguru holds his hands in place, keeping them locked in his own when Satoru tugs.

'I 'm not about to be blamed for the Gojo clan heir dropping dead, ' she declares, standing up from the coffee table as she meanders back into the kitchen. 'You 're never gonna like soup again once you can stomach regular food, ' she calls, and Satoru feels something like mild horror dribble into the pit of his stomach.

'...Are you gonna explain, or am I about to be waterboarded with soup? ' He mumbles, looking up at where Suguru kneels in front of him, still staring down at their clasped hands. He huffs a breathy chuckle even though he seems like he didn 't particularly want to laugh at his awful joke, rubbing feeling back into his palms still.

'I 'm sorry, ' he says, guilt settling his features back into something subdued. Satoru furrows his brows, about to open his mouth to protest, when Suguru keeps talking. 'I never should have made fun of your sweet tooth, ' he apologizes, lips thinned. 'I didn 't know- well. ' He shrugs, not meeting his eyes, and Satoru sits for a long moment, simply processing.

Suguru was always quick to tease or lightly mock, having dialed it back a little bit once they 'd started getting along, but he 'd always been lighter than this boy sitting so somberly in front of him. It 's still Suguru, still his kind nature, his gentle hands, but he 's different, too.

'Maybe different enough, '

he wonders, thinking of how it 's all been different so far, and tries not to let the hope grow too big when it blossoms.

When Satoru falls forwards, it isn 't because he 's fainting again. He knocks his forehead against Suguru 's chest, breathing in the scent of his lavender soap and feeling his shoulders rise slightly in surprise, before his hands are being let go of in favor of arms being wrapped around his back.

He shakes his head, opening his mouth to refute that there 's nothing to apologize for, because that teasing is so long distant in his memory he can barely recall it now, except nothing comes out. It isn 't often he 's left speechless, left to choke on his own words when usually, he 's the one leaving people without them.

'Uh, Satoru? ' Suguru asks, suspiciously tentative, and he narrows his eyes, refusing to lift his face from Suguru 's collarbones.

'Yeah? ' He murmurs, and thins his lips when the arms around him tighten slightly.

'Your clan, ' Suguru starts, awkward and a little hesitant, 'they 'they didn 't let you eat? ' He tenses, blinking in surprise. Is that what they think? It 's sort of an odd conclusion to come to-

'Shoko, '

he thinks, and resists a groan. Of course she 'd pin it on them- one foot in jujutsu society since she was little and the other in the real world, hearing things she 'd never been supposed to and coming up with answers of her own for it.

'I just want to know, ' Suguru explains, hands pulling a little in the back of his shirt, 'you never explain anything, and I 'm supposed to just walk away from this knowing you almost died- '

'Just drop it, ' he blurts, shoulders up to his ears, heartbeat loud where it pounds. Suguru stops, surprised seemingly, or maybe a little hurt, but the clan, he can only think of- can only sit remembering lonely years and so many, too many rules, a spark of old fear that runs up his spine even now of being back under their foot-

'...I can 't help you if I never know what 's wrong, ' Suguru whispers, a bittered harshness to it, and Satoru curls inwards, trying to sort through the things all screaming in his head for attention.

Long summer days, he remembers; being dragged again and again to functions full of wealthy, important people, shown off and adored as much as he 'd been salivated over; a possession both told he 'd been worth everything, and worth nothing. A blight on the world for everyone else, a trophy for his clan to lord high over their heads, like spoils of a war that hadn 't started yet.

Being disconnected from them entirely, having nobody and nothing, living and left alone. Whispers in his ears always following him, choking to death on his duty and yet still believing he 'd been free, when he 'd been lied to that gold flowed through his veins.

The pressure, always growing and growing and growing when he 'd been a child, told to be perfect, told to be inhuman, told to become a god and leave his humanity in a heap on the floor. Finding it again years and years later, losing it when the person he 'd decided to be mortal for had told him murder would have a meaning, and shrugging it on again wrong like a wrinkled shirt after. Or maybe he 'd left it to gather dust, completely forgotten in those old, winding hallways.

'Satoru, ' Suguru starts again, and he cuts him off, the words sharp.

'God, '

something whispers in his ear.

'I don 't, ' he says, the old feeling of traditional clothing starchy and stiff on his frame, told over and over again that he was the most important, that the peace of the world sat on his shoulders, that his only purpose was to balance it because it was his fault it 'd been broken-

'I can 't- what do you want me to say? ' He laughs, a wet, pathetic sound, pressing further into Suguru 's collar. 'All the clans are monsters, so what if mine were worse? ' He says, trying to shove away the memories as they pile ever higher, a weight on his shoulders as figures start to move in the corners of his blocked vision.

'Your responsibility, '

something else whispers, a hiss in his ear, and he jerks his head away from it.

'It 's fine, ' he babbles, 'it 's all fine, I 'll make- I 'll be better. I will. I promise, ' speaking over the shrill thing winding up in his ears, the distant, high pitched yelling.

'Where is this coming from? '

He thinks, a little panicked as the hallucinations pick up stronger than they have in weeks now, words in his ears and things he hasn 't heard in over a decade, chants and choruses of little god, little god, little god.

'They don 't have a hold on me. I 'm not some kid anymore. '

'I- I want you to be healthier, ' Suguru stutters, pulling his hands down from his ears, and Satoru blinks, unsure when they got there. 'Not- better? Listen, ' he starts, sighing when Satoru refuses to lift his head and meet his dark eyes, not wanting to see what they 're filled with.

'I 'm your friend, ' he says, the words small and yet steady, defiantly permanent when nothing else is. 'I just want you to be okay. '

He stills, blinking against Suguru 's plain sweater. The words are decidedly unfamiliar, unthinkable even. Has anyone ever said that to him, he wonders?

'...Satoru? ' Suguru asks, a thread of nervousness wound into his voice, and slowly, he looks up, eyes tracing Suguru 's face. His brows are furrowed in concern, a divot between them he reaches up to smooth with his thumb. Dark eyes watch him with a puzzlement, a wary thing creasing their lines.

Suguru doesn 't move as he slowly drops his hand, letting his fingertips rest on the side of his face, bringing his other up to sit featherlight on the opposite cheek. He looks back and forth between Suguru 's two eyes, so dark he can barely make out the faintest shimmer of violet in them, so close he can differentiate his pupils from their color.

The world fades away as he stares, the whispers and the memories evaporating under the feeling of Suguru 's flushed skin beneath the pads of his fingers.

'No one 's ever said that to me before, ' he whispers, a secret for Suguru to keep, and holds his gaze on his sun kissed skin as he sees the words sink in. He presses a finger to Suguru 's lips before he can open his mouth to say anything about it, his own parting around a hush he doesn 't breathe out.

'I like you, ' he says, the words quiet and honest, ' 'cause you think I 'm a person. ' He breathes in, soft and nervous, holding Suguru 's eyes as they keep his.

'I 'wasn 't really allowed to be one, ' he starts, careful, every word handpicked as he thinks about how he wants this to be better, wants this to last him a lifetime instead of just a moment, and how he needs to be different if it will. 'I tried, ' he offers, wincing a smile, thinking of how lonely living had been, how he 'd changed himself trying to fit into a place he didn 't belong.

'Nobody wanted me there, ' he whispers, reaching up to smooth out the crease between Suguru 's brows again as they pull down, blinking near enough to his face to almost brush his skin with his lashes.

Suguru pulls him a little closer, arms circled low around his back, their foreheads tilting together. Satoru lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, fluttering them back open as he relaxes into the touch, close together instead of separated, near instead of chasing after, caught instead reaching. It 's not really something a friend would do, he muses, brushing his fingertips down Suguru 's cheek, remembering all of the ways he 'd had him but never quite this, before.

'I want you there, ' Suguru whispers, his confession just as quiet as his own had been, hands curling a little tighter around his waist.

'All I ever wanted was you, '

is all he can think, staring at Suguru 's dark lashes as they fan over his cheeks, fluttering slightly as his eyes open just enough to catch the sunlight streaming into the living room.

He can 't quite believe it. Suguru had wanted him once, but not enough to stay. The boy in front of him turns his memory into a lie, looking right at him instead of through him, the first person who ever chose to make him mortal. Suguru had loved him once, and Satoru 's always thought it had never been enough to make him stay.

'I want you, ' Suguru murmurs, so close, and crying it 'in everything but the word.

'Or maybe, I 've had it backwards all this time, '

he wonders, the bridges of their noses creating an imperfect circle,

'maybe he loved me enough to leave. '

He 's shuddering out a breath once it hits him, seeing nothing but the backs of his eyelids as he shuts them, silently nodding as he shoves it all down, down, down, away from the beat of his heart and the hollow of his throat and the wet thing of his voice.

'Are you the strongest because you 're Gojo Satoru, '

he remembers, turning the long thought over words in his head,

'or are you Gojo Satoru because you 're the strongest? '

Suguru had left, and maybe he 's been wrong all this time. He is the strongest. He 's the god of his little world and untouchable to everyone but one- one person, who had chosen to let him go.

'All I ever wanted was you, '

he thinks, finally blinking his eyes open when Suguru brushes a thumb under his left, widening a watery smile on his lips because he can. Maybe it had been a kindness or maybe it had been a cruelty; had he taken flight from the cage or into it? Had Suguru known all those years ago it had been him clicking the lock into place?

'I would have bled red if it was for you. '

Maybe, he knows, it doesn 't matter much at all.

Suguru holds him now, years separated from it all, cursed and lucky for it.

Satoru lets him, human in the circle of his arms, in love and dying of it.