Chapter Text
November 28, 2018
Suguru woke to the shrill, insistent ringing of his phone.
He barely registered it at first, silencing it with a sluggish hand, his body still heavy with exhaustion. Instead, he reached out, searching blindly for warmth, for the familiar shape of Satoru beside him.
His hand met empty sheets.
His stomach lurched.
His eyes snapped open, his brain catching up a second too late—Satoru wasn’t here.
"Satoru?" he croaked, already pushing himself upright, scanning the room. The sheets were mussed, the blanket was askew, and Satoru was gone . His heart hammered against his ribs, his body seizing with the sharp-edged panic that came with the realization that something was wrong .
The phone was still ringing.
He snatched it up, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering, " Satoru? Where— "
But he was cut off.
A sob, broken and raw, cracked through the receiver like a blade.
"Suguru," Satoru gasped, his voice high, panicked, wrecked. " Help me. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, help me, help me, please— "
Suguru was up and out the door in an instant , not bothering with shoes, not bothering with a shirt, nothing but blind urgency as he tore down the hallway, phone clutched in his shaking hand.
"Where are you? Tell me where you are," he panted, feet slamming against the floor as he ran. "I’m coming, baby. I’m coming."
Satoru sobbed. He sounded pained —Suguru could hear the strain in his voice, the way his breath hitched sharply, the shallow gasps between his cries. And beneath it all, the frantic beeping of his heart monitor, shrill and ceaseless as Satoru activated it again and again.
"Satoru," Suguru said, more urgently this time, fighting to keep his voice steady as he exited the dorm building. " Where are you? Can you tell me where you are? I’m on my way, baby, but I need to know where—"
" I don't know! " Satoru wailed. " I don’t know, Sugu, I don’t—I need you to find me, I’m going to die. I don’t want to die alone, Sugu, please find me, please— "
Suguru's vision blurred with panic. His lungs burned, his legs screamed, but he kept going , kept pushing forward as if sheer force of will could carry him to Satoru faster .
"Can you tell me what you were doing?" he asked, voice sharp with desperation. He spun in circles, looking for any sign of which way Satoru may have gone. "Where you were going?"
A broken inhale. " Kento— " Satoru gasped, before suddenly choking on a cry of pain.
Nanami’s dorm.
" Fuck. " Suguru swore under his breath before bringing the phone back to his ear. "I’m on my way, love, just hold on for me. Just hold on."
He sprinted toward Nanami’s dorm building, his heart slamming against his ribs, searching frantically for any flash of white in the darkness. His breaths were ragged, his muscles burned, but all he could hear—all he could focus on —was the sound of Satoru sobbing on the other end of the line.
" Sugu— " Satoru gasped, his voice slipping into something weak and desperate, something on the verge of breaking entirely.
Suguru ran faster.
Suguru was almost to Nanami’s dorm building when he saw him.
A crumpled figure on the pavement. A mess of white hair, streaked through with red.
He had never moved so fast.
His legs burned, his lungs felt like they might collapse, but it didn’t matter—nothing mattered except getting to Satoru . He dropped to his knees beside him, effectively scraping the skin from them, his heart hammering against his ribs as his hands hovered over him, afraid to touch, afraid to hurt .
Satoru barely registered his presence until Suguru reached out, lifting his head ever so gently. His skin was deathly pale, but his face— fuck , his face—was scraped raw against the pavement, a gash on his forehead bleeding freely, a horrifying splatter of crimson against the sidewalk. His palms were just as bad, torn open, streaked with red.
Suguru swore, over and over again, his brain struggling to keep up with the scene before him, with the sheer amount of blood .
Satoru choked on a sob, breath hitching violently. " Suguru. "
"I’m here, baby," Suguru rasped, his voice shaking despite himself. " You’re okay. I’ve got you, it’s going to be okay. "
Satoru was still crying , trembling so hard it made his injuries look worse, and Suguru—Suguru couldn't fucking breathe . He needed to move .
Ignoring the phone that had slipped from his grasp, forgotten on the bloodstained pavement, Suguru scooped him up , cradling him as gently as he could. Satoru whimpered at the motion, weakly wrapping around Suguru’s neck, but he didn’t fight it.
Suguru ran.
He ran with everything he had left, his arms locked tight around Satoru’s trembling body, sprinting for Nanami’s dorm. His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest aching , but he didn’t stop, not even when his knees nearly gave out from beneath him.
He reached the door, slamming into it with his shoulder, kicking at it with his foot as he shouted .
" Nanami! Open the door!"
Seconds passed— too long .
He kicked again, harder , his voice raw with panic. " Nanami! "
The door whipped open, revealing Nanami, eyes blazing with irritation—until he saw what Suguru was holding.
The blood. The tears. The way Satoru was clinging to him like his life depended on it.
Nanami's expression shifted immediately , going from anger to horror . His mouth parted, but before he could say anything, Suguru snapped .
“Give me your car keys.”
Nanami’s expression darkened, but not in anger— in blame . His jaw clenched, his grip on the door tightening. " What the fuck did you do to him? "
Suguru seethed . His pulse was pounding, his muscles locked with the force of his panic, his fear, his barely contained rage. " Kento ," he snarled, " give me your goddamn keys so I can get him to the ER. "
That got him to move.
Nanami spun on his heel, bolting into his dorm, rifling through drawers, searching frantically. Suguru adjusted his grip on Satoru, holding him closer , whispering, " I’ve got you, baby. You’re going to be okay. "
Satoru made a weak, broken noise, barely audible. Suguru hated it.
Nanami returned, keys in hand, but hesitated. "I’m going with you."
"We don’t have time for this," Suguru snapped, already shifting toward the door.
"I can drive ," Nanami argued, sharp and forceful. "You need to stay with him."
Suguru hesitated for half a second. That was all the time he could afford to waste.
“Fine.”
They ran.
Nanami took the driver’s seat, Suguru climbed into the back, still cradling Satoru as he carefully maneuvered them in. The moment the door shut, Nanami floored the gas.
Suguru barely noticed.
His whole focus was on Satoru, who was still trembling violently against him, his face pressing weakly against Suguru’s chest.
Suguru’s hands shook as he grabbed a discarded shirt from the backseat, pressing it against the wound on Satoru’s head, trying to stop the bleeding. " I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you, " he murmured, voice raw, desperate.
Satoru didn’t respond.
"University hospital," Suguru said sharply, barely glancing at Nanami. “Drive.”
Nanami didn’t need to be told twice.
/
The moment Suguru stepped into the hospital, barefoot and covered in Satoru’s blood, the nurses flocked to him. Their expressions shifted from surprise to alarm the second they registered the limp, sobbing boy in his arms.
" Satoru Gojo, " Suguru rasped, his voice wrecked with panic. " He's a patient of Doctor Yaga. "
That was all it took.
A gurney was rushed in, wheels screeching against the linoleum. Several hands reached for Satoru, but when they tried to lift him from Suguru’s grasp, Satoru screamed .
" No! " His fingers clawed at Suguru’s bare skin, shaking so hard it was a wonder he had the strength to grip at all. " No, don’t let go, don’t leave me—Suguru, please— "
Suguru held him, pressing a desperate kiss to his temple before carefully easing him onto the gurney. " I’m here, baby, I’m right here, " he murmured, pleaded . " I’m not letting go. "
Satoru sobbed , his arms flailing blindly for Suguru even as the nurses wheeled him away. Suguru didn’t let go . He walked with them, his fingers curled tightly around Satoru’s as they rushed down the hall, fluorescent lights flickering overhead, the sound of beeping monitors and urgent voices filling his ears.
" I’m here, " Suguru whispered over and over again, his throat tightening with every frantic tremor that wracked Satoru’s body. " I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you. "
But then they reached the doors.
One of the nurses turned, stopping Suguru with a firm hand to his chest. "You have to wait in the waiting room until he’s stable."
Suguru stilled . "He’s my boyfriend. I’m his emergency contact," he said, voice tight, edged with desperation. "Can I stay?"
The nurse’s face softened, but her answer didn’t change. "I’m sorry," she said. "I’ll call you back as soon as possible."
Behind her, Satoru wailed .
" No! " His voice broke, raw with panic, his entire body twisting toward Suguru as much as his exhaustion would allow. " No, Suguru, don’t go, please—please— "
Suguru ached —physically, viscerally , an unbearable pressure in his chest as he fought back the urge to shove past the nurse, to stay .
He squeezed Satoru’s trembling hands one last time. " They’re going to help you, baby, " he whispered, forcing his voice to stay steady, to be strong for him. " I won’t be far. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I swear it. "
But Satoru screamed as they tried to separate them.
" Suguru, please. "
Suguru clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, his hands trembling as he was forced to pry his fingers from Satoru’s death grip. The moment their hands separated, Satoru let out a gut-wrenching sob, thrashing weakly, his body too frail to fight the people trying to help him.
" I love you, Sato, " Suguru choked out. " I’ll be right here. "
The doors shut.
Suguru stared at them, breathing hard, his fingers curled into his palms like they still clung to Satoru’s hands.
He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to turn to the nurse beside him. "He has HCM," he said, his voice hollow but urgent. "He’s on beta-blockers and anticoagulants. He takes—" He rattled off the list of medications, every single one he had memorized since Satoru’s first collapse.
The nurse nodded, noting it all down. "Thank you. We’ll take care of him."
Suguru barely nodded. His throat was too tight to speak.
He cast one last lingering glance at the doors that had swallowed Satoru whole and with a hollow, aching chest, he turned and walked back to the waiting room.
It was only when he was away from Satoru that he allowed his fear and his panic to take hold.
Only then that he allowed himself to cry.
//
“Suguru Geto?”
The voice barely registered before Suguru shot out of his seat. His heart stuttered , a painful, lurching thing in his chest, and his throat felt tight as he almost shouted —
“Here!”
The doctor urged him over, and he went , moving before he could think, before he could even acknowledge Nanami sitting beside him. His legs felt stiff, like he’d been sitting for hours —maybe he had—but none of that mattered now.
He followed the doctor as he led him down the hallway, his bare feet silent against the cold floor. The fluorescent lights hummed above them, buzzing in his ears, but all he could focus on was getting to Satoru.
“My name is Dr. Yaga. I am a heart failure specialist. I have been Satoru’s doctor for quite a while,” the doctor told him, his voice even, practiced, clinical. “He is stable, but he’s asleep.”
Suguru exhaled hard through his nose, a mix of relief and dread pooling heavy in his stomach.
"His hypertrophic cardiomyopathy has worsened drastically," Dr. Yaga continued. "His heart muscle is thickening, especially in the septum between the ventricles. It’s obstructing blood flow, making it harder for his heart to pump efficiently. His symptoms are progressing—more frequent arrhythmias, worsening shortness of breath, increased risk of syncope. His blood pressure was dangerously low when he arrived. He likely collapsed due to an episode of ventricular tachycardia—an abnormal, fast heart rhythm that can be fatal if not corrected."
Suguru swallowed, his throat raw.
“So what happens now?”
"He’s being admitted until further notice," Dr. Yaga answered. "We need to monitor him closely—continuous telemetry, IV medications to stabilize his heart rate and blood pressure, supplemental oxygen. He’ll need more aggressive management going forward. His body is struggling to compensate."
Suguru’s breath came shallow. His hands curled into fists.
They stopped outside Satoru’s door.
For a moment, Suguru just stood there, staring at it like he could somehow see through to the other side. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "Is he going to be okay?"
He already knew the answer. He had always known.
Dr. Yaga sighed. His features softened, but he didn’t lie. "We will do everything we can," he said. "But we’ve always known how this is going to end, Geto. But we can discuss this further later on. For now, just be with him. He needs you."
Suguru nodded. It was the only thing he could do.
He placed his hand on the doorknob, but before he could turn it, the doctor spoke again.
"The only thing he’s said since he arrived is your name."
Something in Suguru cracked, fracturing along lines he had been trying to hold together for so long. He didn’t even feel the tears as they slipped down his face, hot and silent. He just nodded again—barely, shallowly—then pushed the door open.
Dr. Yaga didn’t follow.
The door clicked softly shut behind him, but Suguru barely heard it.
He stopped cold.
Satoru was asleep, but he didn’t look like himself.
His skin was pale, almost sickly, the usual glow of his complexion washed out by the harsh hospital lighting. The shadows under his eyes were deep, bruised, stark against the unnatural paleness of his cheeks. His breath was slow, too slow, and each rise and fall of his chest seemed shallow, as if even unconscious, his body struggled with the effort.
A nasal cannula fed him oxygen, the tubing curling over his cheeks. Electrodes were stuck to his chest beneath the hospital gown, wires leading to the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside his bed. An IV ran from his hand, the tape securing it pressing into skin that looked too thin, and a bandage wrapped his head wound.
His hair was damp, curling slightly against his forehead, and his lips were parted just so, as if he had fallen asleep mid-sentence.
Suguru pulled up a chair to the side of Satoru's bed, the scrape of metal legs against linoleum echoing in the sterile quiet of the hospital room. His fingers trembled as he reached out, brushing a stray lock of white hair from Satoru's forehead. His skin was cool to the touch—not cold, but not warm either. A reminder of how fragile he really was.
Suguru held his hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles over knuckles that felt too delicate beneath his touch. He rested his head on the edge of the bed, letting the quiet wash over him, feeling the steady, too-slow rhythm of Satoru’s breathing. Time lost all meaning—minutes bled into an eternity—until he felt the faintest squeeze around his fingers.
Suguru jolted upright, his heart leaping into his throat.
Satoru’s eyes fluttered open, a weak but genuine smile curving his lips. “Suguru…” he croaked, voice raw and frayed at the edges.
“Hold on, hold on,” Suguru said quickly, his hands fumbling for the glass of water on the bedside table. He guided the straw to Satoru’s lips, his own hands shaking with a mix of relief and fear. Satoru drank slowly, his eyes never leaving Suguru’s face.
When he finished, he whispered, “You’re here.”
“I’m here, my love. I’m here.” Suguru’s voice cracked, the words both a promise and a prayer.
Then Satoru’s smile faltered, and tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over and trailing down pale cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I promised—I promised I wouldn’t leave again and I did. I just—Kento... I needed—I didn’t mean to scare you—”
“Hey, hey,” Suguru soothed, but Satoru kept going, words spilling out in a frantic rush. The heart monitor beside the bed began to beep faster, its steady rhythm turning erratic, each sharp sound a stab of fear in Suguru’s chest.
“Satoru, it’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe, Sato,” he urged, but Satoru’s panic wouldn’t abate, his eyes wide and wild with terror.
Suguru didn’t know what to do. There was only one thing he knew would quiet him.
He kissed him.
Satoru melted beneath him, the tension draining from his body immediately as if Suguru’s touch was the only anchor strong enough to hold him steady. His trembling fingers reached up to clutch at Suguru’s hand, the warmth of his palm grounding him. The heart monitor’s frantic beeping slowed, settling back into a calmer, steadier rhythm.
Suguru pulled back, his eyes searching Satoru’s, raw with concern and love. “Never be sorry for anything, okay?” he whispered fiercely.
Satoru, instead of responding, glanced down, a soft laugh escaping him, though it sounded more like a sigh. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”
Suguru huffed a small, breathless laugh of his own. “I’m not wearing shoes either. I didn’t have time.”
“That’s so gross, Sugu. Do you know how dirty hospitals are?”
Satoru paused to take a breath.
“I was so scared,” Satoru confessed, voice softening. “I thought I was going to die, Suguru. I thought I was going to die alone. I just wanted you—I just wanted you, I just—”
Suguru leaned in, holding him close, his own eyes burning with unshed tears. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
Satoru sighed, the tension bleeding out of him once again, his eyes slipping shut as he breathed, “You’re here.”
They stayed like that, wrapped in each other, the sterile scent of the hospital fading into the background, the beeping of machines a distant hum. All that existed was the warmth of Satoru’s hand in his, the rise and fall of his chest, the fragile life beating within him.
After a moment, Suguru murmured, “Nanami is in the waiting room. Do you want to talk to him?”
Satoru’s eyes stayed closed. “Not yet. In a minute. I just want you.”
Suguru kissed his knuckles, the softness of Satoru’s skin pressing into his lips, a grounding force in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control.
If all he could do was be here, to hold him, to love him—then he would never leave.
Because loving Satoru was as essential as breathing, and staying by his side was the only thing that kept the universe from unraveling.
//
Suguru sat with his back against the cold hospital wall, legs drawn up, arms loosely draped over his knees. The hard tile pressed into his spine, but he barely noticed. Through the door, muffled voices drifted in and out of his awareness—Satoru’s, soft and steady, Nanami’s, quieter, weighted with something heavy. Suguru didn’t know what Satoru was telling him, only that he wasn’t telling him the truth. Not the full truth.
Satoru was sick. That much, he would admit. But dying? No. That was the part he left out. The part he kept locked behind easy smiles and careless shrugs. The part he protected, as if saying it aloud would make it real.
And it wasn’t fair.
Nanami deserved to know. Didn’t he? He deserved to know that time was slipping through their fingers, that every moment they had with Satoru was finite, fragile, numbered. That the future they all once imagined—of shared drinks and quiet dinners and bad jokes told too late at night—was never going to come.
Suguru clenched his jaw. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants, twisting tight. He wanted to be angry. He was angry.
But he wasn’t angry with Satoru. He could never be angry with Satoru.
He was angry at the world.
Angry at the universe for doing this to him. For taking someone like Satoru—so bright, so boundless, so full of life—and dimming him, piece by piece, breath by breath. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
Satoru was everything good this world had.
He was the kind of person who should have lived forever. Who should have outlasted them all, laughing in that too-loud, too-warm way of his, his presence like the sun, impossible to ignore, impossible to extinguish. The world needed him. Suguru needed him .
Would the stars even still shine when he was gone?
There wouldn’t be a point.
Not without Satoru there to name them, to love them, to trace constellations in the sky like they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Not without his wonder, his curiosity, his ridiculous, relentless love for the infinite.
The universe had been cruel before. Suguru had known that for a long time. But this— this —was a cruelty beyond words.
And yet, what could he do?
He exhaled, slow and shaking.
The anger bled away, leaving only something hollow, aching, raw.
Because Satoru was dying. And Suguru—Suguru was the selfish one if he thought Satoru owed anyone anything.
Satoru was the one losing everything. Not them. Not Nanami. Not Shoko. Not Haibara. Not Suguru.
Satoru was the one whose body was failing him. The one who carried the weight of knowing his days were counted, watching them slip through his fingers like sand. The one who had to live with the certainty of his own ending, every single second of every single day.
Suguru squeezed his eyes shut.
If keeping that truth to himself was the only control Satoru had left, then what right did Suguru have to take it from him?
He exhaled again, slower this time, pressing the heels of his hands into his closed eyes.
If Satoru wanted to lie, if he wanted to pretend, if he wanted to hold onto whatever small illusion of forever he had left—then Suguru would let him.
He would hold that lie with him. Carry it, if Satoru needed him to.
Because this wasn’t about what he wanted.
This was about Satoru.
And Suguru would give him anything.
The quiet click of the door latch broke through Suguru’s thoughts, pulling him back into the present. He lifted his head, muscles stiff from sitting so long against the cold hospital wall. He was ready to move—ready to return to Satoru’s side, where he belonged.
But Nanami stepped in front of him, blocking the door.
Suguru stopped short. The dim, sterile light of the hospital hallway cast sharp shadows over Nanami’s face, but it did nothing to dull the raw fury burning in his eyes. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides like he was barely holding himself together.
“Did you know?” Nanami asked, voice low, barely restrained.
Suguru swallowed. “I did.”
“How long?”
Suguru decided not to answer.
And then Nanami surged forward.
The first hit was sudden, shocking—Nanami’s fist connected with his cheekbone in a sharp, sickening crack. Pain bloomed instantly, white-hot, numbing in its intensity. Suguru barely had time to register it before he was slammed back against the wall, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.
With a lack of clothing to grab onto, Nanami’s hand was at his throat. Not choking, not quite—just holding him there, holding him in place like he needed to, like if he didn’t, he might break apart himself.
Suguru didn’t fight back.
He wouldn’t.
Nanami’s anger was palpable, radiating off him in waves, his breath sharp and unsteady. “You should have told me,” he spat, voice rough with something deeper than just rage. “I had a right to know. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Suguru held his gaze, unwavering. His face ached where he’d been hit, but the pain felt distant, insignificant. He met Nanami’s fury with quiet resignation and answered simply, “Would you have told me? If he told you not to?”
The words landed like a hammer.
Nanami’s grip slackened. His fingers trembled against Suguru’s skin before finally, slowly, he let go.
Suguru barely had time to take in the shift in his expression—something breaking, something unraveling—before Nanami swung again.
The second punch sent him to the floor. His back hit the tile with a dull thud, but he didn’t resist, didn’t try to stop himself from falling.
And then, a moment later, Nanami collapsed with him.
For a long second, Suguru just lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to process it. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his skull, his breathing uneven. But it wasn’t until he turned his head, until he saw the way Nanami sat hunched beside him, shoulders shaking, face buried in his hands, that he realized—
Nanami was crying.
The sound of it was quiet, muffled, but it carried the weight of something unbearable.
“How did I not know?” Nanami’s voice was hoarse, thick with something deeper than grief, deeper than guilt. He lifted his head, eyes red-rimmed, unfocused. “How could I not tell ? He’s my best friend, and I—I didn’t even know .”
Suguru exhaled, slow and aching.
Even though Nanami had just hit him. Even though he was angry. Even though Suguru was the last person he probably wanted comfort from—
He pulled Nanami to him.
It wasn’t the same way he held Satoru. It wasn’t the same way Haibara held Nanami when things got too heavy. But it was enough.
Nanami resisted for only a second before his weight sagged into him, hands digging into his eyes.
Suguru rested his chin against the top of Nanami’s head and closed his eyes. “It’s not your fault,” he murmured.
But he knew Nanami would blame himself anyway.
Because that’s what guilt did. It buried itself deep, made a home in your ribs, settled into your bones like a sickness with no cure.
And Nanami didn’t know just how much nothing would fix this.