Chapter Text
okay, he thinks. this has happened before.
satoru is used to pain and injuries and sending people off to be checked on. he’s used to being chaperoned through a hospital, counting the room numbers as he walks through the halls.
he’s no stranger to curses.
(sometimes it feels like they follow him around, just lurking in his shadow, so sure that he can’t see them from where he’s standing.
but satoru sees everything; he feels it.
he’s learned to bide his time and wait in the dark, wait for the moment of attack—he’s learned how to prepare himself for those types of things).
you’ve done this before, he thinks, so it’s fine.
when suguru got that concussion in shinjuku, when yaga broke his leg while showing them an abandoned district. when he was seven and his instructor led him down these same halls, telling him to keep his eyes peeled for anything, to keep his guard up if it was the last thing he’d do.
and it’s fine. room 303. he’s going to walk in the room and he’ll feel the same as he does every time he’s here—maybe a little bit misplaced, maybe a bit arrogant, angry because he wouldn’t have gotten hurt—but never afraid.
gojo satoru doesn’t feel fear. it was trained out of him by the time he was five.
he might be alone this time, a hole where someone else would be—someone who was actually scared, someone who felt concern like a normal person. but satoru doesn’t need anything to fill that hole.
he doesn’t need to worry.
it’s just a hospital. it’s just another curse, something he’ll easily overcome.
except for the fact that it’s you, of course.
when he walks in the room, the lights are off. satoru doesn’t mind this, really, because he’s never needed any lamp to see. and besides, its not that dark outside anyway—even if the curtains are drawn.
you’re not the first thing he sees. it’s the flowers hiding in the corner of the room, the only void of cursed energy there.
and then satoru turns, and he realizes that there’s another void.
it’s slight, because people have cursed energy even when they’re sorcerers—even if they’re as happy as tsumiki, as carefree as him.
but where you’d usually be bursting with that outline of negativity, it’s dim. barely a shield on your core—one you worked at to keep you safe.
and where you’d usually be reinforcing yourself, building up those barriers to keep anyone out, it’s empty.
satoru doesn’t look at anything like regular people do. he can see the dim of your skin, the sheen of sweat because you have a fever. he knows that your hair is tangled, that your face is scratched up, that you’re going to have another scar on your stomach.
but he doesn’t care about that. he never has.
he cares about the lack of feedback coming from his eyes, he cares that his technique has nothing to bypass.
satoru walks into the room, not minding the dark, but hating the feeling in the air. he really doesn’t like being alone.
it’s fine, though. its always fine.
(he wishes that megumi and tsumiki were here with him. they wouldn’t dwell in the doorway. tsumiki would sit right next to you and hold your hand and megumi would bring you things from home. if someone was going to cry, it would be them. and they could fill that empty space next to him. and they both would talk, even if there wasn’t an answer.
and he wouldn’t be alone).
still, he walks forward. he watches your body and waits until your chest rises, then falls, to keep going. just to be sure that it’s all fine.
because it is.
“still asleep?” he whispers, trying to fill his voice with the same disinterest, the same nonchalance that he would if you were awake.
and there’s no response. not that he was expecting one, really.
he sits down, and satoru knows that he should hold your hand—but he doesn’t. he can’t let his guard down now. he’s sure that the curses are watching, waiting for him to give something up.
“nanami is watching the kids,” he tells you, because you’d want to know. “so they’re fine. tsumiki wanted to get you flowers but i—“ he stops.
this is ridiculous. it’s stupid to talk to you like you’re there. like you can hear him.
i wanted to get here as soon as possible.
and because there’s nothing he can say, he takes off his blindfold. he looks at you with his own eyes, for just a moment.
you look the same—just asleep. if you were awake you would be scolding him, reminding him that he has to get the kids places and pack their lunches.
it’s only been five hours since you got here.
it’s just a nap, satoru rationalizes. shoko will be here tomorrow.
still he wants you to wake up more than anything. he wants to hear your voice, to say something stupid and make you laugh.
he wants to tell you the truth of it all, to finally admit that he cares, that he’s scared.
but satoru knows that he wouldn’t say that, even if you were up.
“you can’t lay here forever,” he whispers, in the dark. “megumi’s got a test he needs your help studying for. and who’s going to do ‘miki’s hair?”
satoru shakes his head, looking to your face for a response.
there is none.
and he might be afraid, he might be completely fine and still absolutely terrified—but suddenly he’s angry.
he’s angry with yaga for letting you go alone, for not sending him instead. he’s angry with himself for not realizing that you would need help. and he’s angry with you because you’re just as strong as him.
because you’re stronger. you might have less cursed energy, but you’re stronger than him—and you could do this so much easier than he can. you could talk to him while he was asleep and you’d probably be able to wake him up. and you’d soothe the kids and make the time to get the goddamn flowers.
“why did you do that?” he asks you, leaning closer. “are you an idiot? you know how to take care of yourself. you know how to block a technique, how to protect yourself. you—you know how to—“
satoru reminds himself that he’s fine. he’s been here before.
it’s the same every time, anyway. it’s loneliness and despair and waiting for the inevitable—for the curse to take over.
he’s been here before.
“are you crying?”
satoru’s head snaps to the side and he blinks at you. his eyes are wide, his face still burning with anger, and his hands moving recklessly across his legs, unable to be still.
you cough, looking around. “it’s rude to call the person in the hospital bed an idiot, you know?”
and the energy flashes around you for a moment, like you’re testing something. and it’s weaker than usual—softer—but it’s enough.
it’s fine.
satoru doesn’t answer you, only stares.
you look around again, blinking like you’re confused. “where are the kids?”
“with kento.”
you nod, reaching for his hand that he’s put uselessly on your bed. “that’s good. megumi hates hospitals.”
satoru swallows. “he hates crying people.”
you snort at him, squeezing his hand. “yeah. wouldn’t want him around you right now. that would be bad.”
and finally, his mouth twitches and he leans in closer. “i’m not crying.”
“well that’s rude,” you say, “i could’ve died, you know.”