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He's found him. Half alive in the dingy back alley, crippled against the wall with bloody streaks painted across it. there's a pang in Satoru's chest, one that makes it hard for him to breathe, seeing the mutilated body of his best friend.
"You're late," Suguru whispers, clutching his shoulder, where the wound heavily bleeds out, arm no longer there. He leans his head back against the brick, eyes closed, too tired to keep them open.
"Well," Satoru starts, but the words die in his throat as he steps closer, inspecting Suguru more. The flesh of his chest is torn open, the disfigured muscle oozing crimson with each staggered intake of air. There's even more blood trickling down half Suguru's face and his long midnight hair is matted along with it, soaking it up in a messy tangle. It's nauseating, seeing the hideous sight of bone, jutting out unnaturally from his side, covered with bright crimson. What is he, if he couldn't save the one person he loved?
Satoru knows what he has to do. His fingers tingle and his chest hurts with a blinding ache, and yet he can't bring himself to accept it. Before he knows it, Satoru is on his knees beside Suguru, curling an arm around his damaged body and holding him close, so close he can hear the dying beat of Suguru's heart. The metallic, rusty smell of blood overwhelms his senses and he's desperate to smell the vanilla on his skin, in his hair, the one scent that's always stuck with him. The one scent he's always loved. with trembling fingers, unknown to the worlds strongest sorcerer, Satoru brushes away the blood soaked strands away from Suguru's face, smearing the crimson that hides his features.
"Suguru, please–" Satoru chokes out, pathetically applying pressure to the gaping hole in his chest, "Let me help you-"
"No," Suguru stops him, a finality in his voice, bringing his hand up to his cheek, smeared with blood, "There's no point, Sato."
Suguru is a little startled by Satoru's approach, but let's the other have his way. He's tired. Too tired to fight back. He's always liked Satoru close, even in death. The warm touch of satorus fingers across his face is pleasant. Brilliant blue eyes stare back at him, eyes he's always been enraptured with and he's unsure if his eyes play tricks in himself, but he sees the raging ocean in them, tormented and ready to break free. He did this, he thinks, he's caused this. He can feel the shake in satorus body, the silent unspoken whisper of fear in the air. Suguru breathes out a half laugh.
"What's so funny?" Satoru murmurs, dancing his fingers across the open skin, restless with the lack of touch.
"To think the strongest jujutsu sorcerer is on his knees for me, with fear in his eyes," Suguru says - chokes out more so - with a hint of mischief. Whatever playfulness he can sum up.
"I'm going to lose you, what's not scary about that?" Satoru counteracts, holds him tighter.
There's a moment of silence before Suguru replies, "You will." you will lose me. There's no denying that.
