Suguru’s bed had seen a lot in a short period of time. It saw the first day he arrived to Jujutsu tech and he knew nobody, and was completely and totally terrified of being known. It saw the period of time where he was too shy to leave and then the period of time where he was rarely there. That was the beginning of the end, really.
Eventually his bed didn’t just habit him, but Ieiri and Satoru too. The three would lie together quietly, Suguru in the middle and Ieiri squished to the wall and Satoru on the edge. But it was comfortable for the three of them, to an extent. Suguru would fall asleep, head on Satoru’s shoulder. That was the real kicker, when part of his weight wound up on Satoru’s body and half on the mattress. He’d fallen deeper than he was willing to admit and god it only got worse and worse.
In the early mornings when the balls of curses had festered in his stomach, making him gag and throw up into the small trash can near his bed, the bed remained lonesome. Satoru would disappear for an hour or so, leaving Suguru by himself in a ball, in agony. Sweat dripping down his forehead and the taste of vomit alone enough for him to wish he didn’t have to live like this becomes illuminated as the door opens. Suguru’s eyes barely open until the bed’s weight shifts and Satoru’s squatting in front of him. A smile on his lips as he gently brushes the sweat slicked bangs from his friends forehead.
“I bought you some water and soup.” he says calmly, as if he’s going to be taking care of him like this for the rest of their lives. “And some antacids, and a cooling mask- thought it would help with the sweating.”
Suguru feels a damp washcloth as it dabs on his forehead and he takes a deep breath, “You don’t need to do this.” he says, “I’ll be okay.”
“Yeah I don’t have to.” he shrugs, rummaging through the reusable bag and pulling out the cooling mask. “But I want to. I’m yours the whole day, so what’dya wanna do? I can heat up the soup now or put it away for later? I can clean up a bit if you think it’ll help. Or-“
As Satoru stands, a weak shaking hand hurriedly reaches out and grabs his pant leg. “Don’t go,” Suguru mutters, tugging at him. This is the best he can do, all he can muster right now.
Satoru smiles again, clearing his throat and gently moving over Suguru behind him. He wraps a gentle arm around him on the off chance it makes his stomach feel worse, and hums softly. He kisses the back of his head, “I’ll stay here then, okay? I’ll be right here so when you feel like eating I’ll make your soup.”
Eventually, this became normal. For months the two slept together, curled in the others embrace and tangled in sheets, until one day it stopped. Opposite schedules had the two separated, and somehow the weight on the bed became less and less during that time. The adjustment to one body became harder to face, especially where the dent Satoru created was concerned. Suguru curled up, quietly weeping and stirring most nights. Ieiri wasn’t seen as frequently. Satoru wasn’t seen as frequently. It just became Suguru. And the bed.
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