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It had been twenty minutes since the porcelain siding of the bathtub behind him had gone warm, a sensation Satoru welcomed compared to the frigid tile beneath his feet. He slid his feet forward, toes burrowing between Suguru’s legs and the floor in search of additional warmth. His partner was wrapped around the toilet, where he had been for the last hour, emptying the contents of his stomach to accommodate the curses he’d consumed that morning.
Between heaves, Suguru shot him a look. “You don’t have to sit here with me if you’re cold.”
Suguru was pale, hair sticking to his clammy forehead at unflattering angles. He looked exhausted, bogged down with the weight of the curse he’d consumed and the illness that came with it. He wasn’t as strict with himself as he was in high school, but the dutiful way in which Suguru resigned himself to nausea and sleeplessness was something Satoru tried not to take for granted.
They were twenty years old, and things were better - at least marginally better than the morning a year prior when Suguru crawled into his bed and cried in front of him for the first time. Three years of unbridled joy and comfort had blinded him to the cracks in Suguru’s resolve, the way the curses had corroded the righteousness he’d once found so irritating, leaving only a bitter anger that threatened to consume him. Satoru hadn’t fully fathomed the rift between the two of them until he had almost lost Suguru all together.
“Mm…” Satoru wiggled his toes, relishing in the exhausted smile warming Suguru’s features. “I’d be cold out there too.”
Before the man could argue, another wave of nausea wracked his body. He heaved into the bowl of the toilet, deflating against the ceramic as the sick subsided.
Satoru cocked his head to the side to meet his eyes. “You should take a bath.”
“I’m not really up for that.”
“Your hair’s gonna get all fucked up if you don’t, then I’ll have to listen to you complain about it.” He flexed his foot - his own attempt at encouragement. “C’mon, I’ll wash it for you.”
Suguru eyed him with a level of (in his opinion, unnecessary) suspicion. “What’s the catch?”
Satoru feigned offense as he reached for the faucet. “Is it that unbelievable that I just wanna help you feel better?”
With more effort than either of them wanted to acknowledge, Suguru sat himself on the edge of the bathtub while the water ran. He helped him out of his clothes and into the water, dwelling on the faded “X” shaped scar across his chest for only a moment as he did so. Any apprehension his partner had for the idea melted away as he sank into the water, something Satoru was distinctly proud of.
Satoru scanned through the bath products lining the shelves, furrowing his brows at the vast selection. It wasn’t uncommon for them to bathe together, but he wasn’t familiar with each individual bottle - he only ever paid attention to the scent they melded into when Suguru came to bed at night. He didn’t have to flounder too long, however, before a bottle was wordlessly dropped into his lap.
Working the lather into the man’s hair felt domestic - something Satoru never thought he’d embrace. Suguru was famously fussy about having his hair touched, and being allowed to run his fingers through it felt like a privilege. The natural wave that he had tried so hard to combat as a teenager highlighted the sheer length he’d come to embrace over the last few months. He hadn’t put his hair up fully since that night at the village, only ever pulling enough of it back to keep out of his eyes. Knowing Suguru, it was an intentional change, surely signifying a new phase of life or some equally philosophical take. Satoru suspected it had something to do with the twins, judging by the way the man would let them tangle his hair into messy braids with their tiny fingers before bed.
“Your hair is getting really long...” Satoru mused, sudsy fingers getting caught on a tangle just hard enough to earn a glare from Suguru. He smiled. “I like it, though. It looks good like this.”
Quiet fell over them, filled only by the gentle splashing of water as he rinsed the shampoo away. Satoru found himself lost in the curve of Suguru’s neck and collar, relishing in the rare lack of tension in his shoulders.
‘Maybe we can take a nap after this…’
The moment was short lived, souring with Suguru’s expression as another wave of nausea pulled him from the hands folded in his hair. Satoru sprung forward, taking full advantage of the length of his limbs to reach for the garbage can beside the toilet. With the other hand, he held his partner’s hair back as best he could as he wretched. When he finished, Suguru slumped against the side of the bathtub, eyes screwed shut to combat the dizziness.
A comment reached the tip of Satoru’s tongue only to fizzle before it left his mouth - He couldn’t count the number of times he had assured Suguru that he didn’t have to subject himself to this. He’d spent countless nights on the cold bathroom tile or bound to his bed, it just wasn’t until after the village that Satoru realized the toll curse consumption took on him. He had given him an out, told him that he could focus on the twins, stop consuming curses, only to be met with an incredulous look.
“And let you stand at the top alone?”
Suguru approached these nights of illness with a sense of duty that Satoru found himself enamored by. He slid down the side of the bathtub, head resting awkwardly against the ceramic siding to get a better look at the man. Dark lashes stood out against the pallor cheeks - he wasn’t flush, there was no fever, only another gaggle of curses testing his resolve in the form of nausea and stomach pain. As exhausted as he looked, Suguru was still picturesque in the meager evening light that bled through the window.
His eyes drifted open, glossy and weary despite the sharp amber hue that Satoru had committed to memory.
“What?”
Satoru couldn’t hide his smile. “Nothin’. I just like looking at you. You’re pretty.”
The pink that bloomed across his cheeks almost gave him the illusion of health, but Suguru quickly looked away. A quiet pride that Satoru had nestled somewhere in the back of his head swelled - he knew that no one else could make the man blush like that, and it was a fact that he cherished. He opted for mercy, reclaiming his spot behind Suguru and resuming his efforts at rinsing his hair.
“You’re insane.” The man mumbled, lulling his head into Satoru’s hands in a show of affection that betrayed the annoyance in his words.
“What?” Satoru gawked. “Why?”
A groan. “Saying something like that right now. After I’ve been puking all night - it's ridiculous.”
“Mm…” Satoru considered, finally confident that the soap had been rinsed to the best of his ability. The thought lingered as he ran conditioner-covered fingers through the length of the man’s hair. “You’re not… situationally pretty, Suguru. You’re just pretty.”
His partner writhed under his affection, bringing his hand to his face in a futile attempt to hide his shame. “You’re so embarrassing.”
Satoru swished the water to rinse the last of the conditioner from his hand, snickering when Suguru recoiled from the motion. “For someone who puts so much effort into your appearance, you get awfully flighty when someone compliments you.”
Once more, Satoru leaned against the side of the bathtub, craning his head to look at his partner now that his hair was slicked back and away from his face. Wordlessly, he grasped at the hand that was covering Suguru’s flustered expression, tugging it towards himself. Weary eyes followed the motion as Satoru brought the hand up to his lips, the ghost of a kiss gracing the man’s knuckles.
Suguru melted, features softening into a half smile. “I can take a compliment,” he asserted. “They just feel different coming from you.”
Satoru grinned.
It didn’t matter how old they got or how professional they became as special grade sorcerers, there was always a feral thread that threatened to unravel Satoru at his seams. The intensity he reserved for those that crossed him in the most severe ways and the righteous indignation with which he met those circumstances with put stars in Suguru’s eyes. He was ashamed to admit the number of times he’d fantasized about being on the receiving end of that intensity, strangely longing to experience the wrath of God that took form in electric blue eyes and an enthusiastic grin.
Admittedly, there were more professional ways to dispatch the curse user (he hated that word - fundamentally, there were no differences between sorcerers and curse users besides privilege-lead ideologies) that had attacked Megumi. If it had been even a year prior, Suguru would have been horribly concerned with the number of rules they had broken over the course of the afternoon. No veil, no report, no remains to investigate - only the blood splattered across the pavement (and Satoru’s hair and clothes and face). Since the twins came into his life,he found himself caring less about the superficial rules the college had in place, though his tendency to save face as the dust cleared was strong. He encouraged Satoru to return to the house to clean up while he talked with their superiors.
The shower was already running when he arrived home, muted by the empty house that greeted Suguru. He knocked on the bathroom door tentatively before opening it - not for fear of invading his privacy, something Nanami had asserted they clearly didn’t share. In truth, he still fussed over the way Satoru was prone to overstimulation. It hadn’t been as much of a problem since Fushiguro Toji, but Suguru always wanted to make things easier when he could. Almost five years had ingrained the intricacies of Satoru’s neurological system (and ego) into his routine. It wasn’t that Satoru was delicate - quite the opposite. He was stubbornly neglectful of his sensitivities, and often crashed harder than necessary when he finally allowed himself the space. Physically, the day hadn’t been particularly strenuous, the curse user really didn’t stand a chance. However, in the moments that followed, as the dust settled and the sun began to bake the blood into the pavement, something gave the man pause enough to knock him off kilter.
Megumi.
Even Suguru had to admit the look of raw disbelief painted on Megumi’s features in the aftermath of the curse user’s demise was a difficult thing to process.
“Satoru?”
No answer.
Steam billowed from the small bathroom as the door drifted open, the humidity and heat from the shower immediately strangling Suguru. He steeled himself to close the door behind him before observing the damage he’d have to clean up. Bloody clothes littered the floor, a gentle misting of water from the open shower curtain soaking every available surface. Satoru sat on the floor of the tub, slightly-too-long legs tucked loosely to his chest as the shower beat against the back of his head.
“Isn’t that water a little hot?”
Satoru ducked his head at the question, puerile frustration painting his expression so plainly it almost made Suguru laugh.
“I was in a hurry to get cleaned up so I could see Megumi.” the man mumbled. “Guess I lost track of time.”
Suguru hummed as he approached the bath tub, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before taking the shower head from the wall. He took a few moments to adjust the temperature to something more comfortable than scalding and change the setting of the shower head to something gentler. Water ran pink with shampoo and the remnants of the blood dried in Satoru’s hair, and when he was satisfied, he began to fill the bathtub. From there, it felt like ritual - Suguru opted for the unscented bubble bath he’d spent weeks tracking down specifically for the days where his partner was feeling overstimulated.
Satoru’s expression softened, frustration melting away along with the tension in his shoulders as the water filled the bath tub. A hand caught the bunched fabric of Suguru’s sleeve, urging him to stay near the bathtub rather than pursue his mission to tidy. He conceded with relative ease, finding the lone patch of dry tile beside the bathtub to sit.
“How’s Megumi?” Satoru’s words came in a mumble, and a brief glance in his direction revealed the hesitance with which he asked.
“He’s fine.”
Again, silence.
“Was he upset with me?” was what Satoru meant to ask, but words were never his strong suit.
“Megumi was…” Suguru contemplated his words carefully. In truth, Megumi was entirely too unbothered by the carnage he witnessed. There was a petulant, prideful streak to the child that reminded him of Satoru, and those similarities rang true that evening as Tsumiki scolded him for going off on his own. “He was frustrated that he got caught and ended up needing help.”
The scowl tugging at Satoru’s features cracked into a small smile that filled Suguru’s heart to its brim. He leaned against the side of the tub, head craned gently to take in his partner's features. Sunlight bled through the frosted glass windows of their bathroom, though no warm shades of orange or yellow could tint the crystalline eyes peering at him through a half-lidded expression. It was only a moment, but Suguru refused to break his gaze.
“What are you starin’ at now?” Satoru’s fingers loosened around his sleeve to walk damp impressions down his arm with his fingers.
Suguru smiled. “I was just thinking about how pretty you are.”
Satoru’s cheeks and ears lit up, the reddish hue highlighting the faint freckles that Suguru remembered counting when they were younger. “That’s so cringy, don’t be weird.”
“Weird?” Suguru almost laughed. With his free hand, he caught Satoru's fingers, bringing them gingerly to his lips. “I’m just being honest.”
Pink cheeks puffed up indignantly. “I’m not pretty. I’m handsome and cool.”
“Sure.” Suguru hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time you’re comparing my hair to an anime character’s. Now, hurry up, we gotta get the kids from Shoko before she starts charging us.”