The love that is will always be

The mattress dipped next to your head. A cool, scarred palm pressed against your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back with a click of the tongue. Suguru. He’d started his mother-hen routine as soon as you’d admitted (stupidly, in hindsight) to feeling a little sick and had yet to give it up. Part of it must’ve been nostalgia. His daughters were in their late teens. It’d been years since he’d had anything soft and vulnerable to dote on. But, as you glared at him through watery eyes, you would’ve sworn there was something else there. An edge. A shadow. The slightest, barest hint of anger that there was anything on this planet that could hurt you other than him.

But then you blinked at it was gone, replaced by stoic neutrality as he snatched a bottle off the bedside table and twisted off the childproof cap. You felt something pressed being pressed against your lips and pursed them tighter, in response. Suguru sighed.

“It’s just medicine, sweetheart.”

 Yeah, right. You’d heard that one before.

Your voice was all grit. Driveway gravel lubricated with battery acid and strained through a sandpaper funnel. “…label.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but handed the bottle over anyway. You forced yourself to sit up, lasting just long enough to scan over the bold-font logo and excessive use warnings that you would be gleeful ignoring before collapsing back onto your pillow and letting Suguru place the pill on your tongue. It tasted like chalk and misery, which was somehow still better than the god-awful herbal tea he gave you to help swallow.

Meanwhile, Satoru watched it all, unmoving and unblinking. He tended to do that whenever Suguru was pampering you – forget he was part of scene and relegate himself a silent, observant feature of the background. He only came back to himself when you sniffled, ducking your head to sneeze into your comforter. A smile pulled at the edges of his lips, one of his hands reaching up to ghost over the curve of your jaw. “You’re kind of hot like this. All helpless and whiney, I mean.”

He moved to cup your chin. Suguru caught his wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”

“That’s not fair,” he pouted. “How come som virus gets to be inside of her and I can’t?”

This question was swiftly and mercifully deemed too stupid to answer. Suguru pushed himself to his feet and Satoru sighed languidly, flopping onto the bed next to you. “It’s not like I’ll catch anything. World’s Strongest Sorcerer, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get sick, idiot.”

“But what if it doe—”

You cut him off with a conveniently timed coughing fit. The ugly type – prolonged and hacking, forceful enough to leave you panting while your throat burnt. Satoru grinned. Before Suguru could stop him, he threw himself into you and licked a long stripe over your open mouth, then laughed as you groaned and swatted him away.

“See?” he asked, smirking at Suguru. “Nobody died.”

Suguru responded by pitching the bottle of pills at his co-kidnapper, nailing Satoru in the head with enough force to crack the plastic.

On the ninth week, Johnny somehow lost his spark.

Everything was normal when you checked in at the front desk, and Nevaeh didn’t give you any alarming news as she walked you up to Johnny’s room. In fact, you were eager to hear how he would greet you. Was he up to full sentences by now?

When you walked through the door, Johnny was lying on his side and staring at the wall. “Evening, Sergeant,” you called cheerfully, pulling over your chair and dropping your tote.

Something was wrong. It seemed like he’d heard you but he said nothing in response. His lips were drawn in a tight frown, fingers drumming erratically against one arm, heavy purple bags beneath his eyes. Lying on his side as he was, the bullet wound on his forehead drew your eyes, looking particularly wicked beneath the phosphorescent lighting.

You quickly tuned down your perkiness. Although you’d never seen him this glum before, you also knew that emotional vacillations were par for the course. Trying to keep any judgment from your voice, you asked, “Feeling a little down today?”

He blinked slowly as the frown creased his face further. “Disnae matter,” he mumbled.

“What doesn’t matter?”

Johnny lifted one arm and brandished his hand around the room, as though to say, All of it.

“Well, hold on now,” you replied gently. “I think all the work you’ve been doing matters very much. You’re trying really hard and you’re better every time I visit.”

His shoulder lifted in a one-armed shrug. “Talking’s better. But.” Long pause. “Can hardly stand. Cannae walk. Cannae even piss alone.”

How the hell do you answer something like that? You wanted to respond with compassion and encouragement, but your mouth was dry and empty.

“N’ I’m bored,” he added, finally lifting his gaze. “Lonely.”

“That’s why I’m here!” you chimed in, trying to hide your pain. This poor man. Surely he did not want your pity, even if it was welling in your like a geyser. “Did something happen today?” you prompted. No response. “Or should we do something to take your mind off it? I can read you something?”

He zoned out for a long while before repeating, “Disnae matter.”

Gingerly, you took his hand in yours. Though he stiffened at the contact, he did not pull away. “Johnny. Listen to me.” You tried to channel the firm yet gentle tone you’d heard from teachers throughout the years. “It’s okay to be frustrated. It’s okay to be tired. It’s not okay to give up.”

Johnny seemed to soak in your words for a minute, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut. And then, to your relief, he nodded against his pillow.

“Not givin’ up,” he whispered.

“Good. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll stay here with you for the full hour, okay?”

He nodded again. You went to draw your hand back so he could get comfortable in the bed, but to your surprise he tightened his grip to prevent you from pulling away. He took a deep breath and settled into his blankets.