Collateral Damage

It wasn’t a loud noise or bad dream that woke Yuuri up, but rather the empty space beside him. The sheets were cool on Viktor’s side of the bed, which implied his absence wasn’t recent; he must have been awake for a while. 

Withdrawing the grabby hand he’d stretched over, Yuuri sat up and peered into the blurry darkness. What time was it, anyway? He blindly swatted along the nightstand until he found his glasses. Once they were settled on his face, he pulled back the covers and stood up. 

Viktor wasn't in the bathroom, so Yuuri directed his search efforts elsewhere. He was halfway down the hall when the faint shuffle of movement caught his ears. He followed the sounds until they led him to the kitchen, where he found Viktor rifling around in the cupboard. 

Only the stove light was on, so Yuuri stepped closer. “Viktor…?”

He’d spoken softly, but it still made the other man jump. Viktor pulled back from the cupboard, a few small boxes in his possession. 

“Yuuri? It’s the middle of the night. Why are you up?” he asked. 

Yuuri blinked and pointed at himself. “Why am I up? Uhh. You’re the one who’s out of bed,  and I was—” He paused, as if suddenly realizing what Viktor was holding. “Wait. What’s going on?”

He crossed the kitchen, closing the distance until he was near enough to touch. He then reached out, nudging Viktor’s hand open and plucking one of the packages from his fingers. Yuuri's Russian was basic at best, but he knew cold medicine when he saw it. 

“It’s nothing,” Viktor brushed off, as he so often did. “My throat is just a little sore.” 

Yuuri wasn’t convinced. Not even a bit, in fact. “I knew you looked off tonight.” 

Since they were both awake, he decided to turn on the overhead lights. Viktor looked ghostly under the glare, his skin pale, save for the pink flush across his cheeks and nostrils. 

Yuuri set down the medicine and rested his palm against Viktor's forehead. The heat that met his touch made his chest tighten.

“You’re warm,” he noted.

Viktor shrugged. “A little sore throat and a little fever, then.”

Yuuri let his thumb linger, stroking lightly. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Viktor leaned into the contact, as if it were easier to rest there than keep his head upright. “You’ve been working hard lately. You needed the sleep.”

Yuuri lowered his hand, so he could cup Viktor’s cheek instead; he tilted Viktor’s face toward him. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “If you’re not feeling well, I need to be the first person to know.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile at Yuuri’s insistence, though it ended up being short lived. He abruptly backpedaled and ducked behind the shield of his elbow. 

"Hhh'GXTSZHH'ihh! hh'XZSCHHh'ihh!—hht'XTSCHHhuih!"

Yuuri stepped away to retrieve the tissue box from the coffee table in the living room. He pulled a few sheets free on his way back and pressed them gently into Viktor’s free hand. 

“Here,” he said. 

“Spasibo,” Viktor murmured, snuffling into the handful. 

As he went to wash up in the sink, Yuuri portioned out a dose of cold medicine and retrieved a bottled water from the fridge. Viktor swallowed the pills without complaint when he returned. After he was done drinking, he leaned down and pressed his face into Yuuri’s shoulder. 

“Mmmff…”

Yuuri’s first instinct was to usher them to their room, but when he felt the way Viktor’s shoulders sagged against him, he knew Viktor needed a minute. 

Eventually, he suggested: “Back to bed?”

Satoru Gojo was perfect. He was the strongest sorcerer, his cursed technique honed after countless nights of study and practice. Mission after mission proved his precision. His power was flawless because he carved it out of himself.

He was impeccable. The most gifted. A walking reminder of infinite strength.

Which is why it’s rare to catch him like this—slouched on a couch with Suguru, fighting off a cold that’s settled into his head.

“Why are you all the way over there?” Suguru asks, a smile tucked in his tone. He says it as though Gojo were across the city, when really he’s only a cushion away.

Or maybe it feels further to Suguru. Since Gojo’s become untouchable, distance doesn’t mean what it used to.

Gojo sighs, picks up a small whiteboard, and pops the cap off a marker with his teeth. He scribbles furiously before turning it around with a dramatic flourish:

Because you can’t keep your hands to yourself!!!!

He jabs the board with thr butt of the marker for emphasis. 

Suguru chuckles. “Are you worried I’m going to catch whatever you have?” 

Gojo wipes the board with the side of his fist and scrawls again:

Duh. 

Suguru rolls his eyes and reaches across the couch to grab Satoru’s socked ankle, giving it a firm tug. “I’m not worried about your germs. Come here.”

Gojo lets himself be pulled, sliding across the cushions until his long frame folds comfortably against Suguru’s side. His cheek finds a home against Suguru’s chest, and from there he can half-watch the TV, though he hasn’t been following the movie anyway. “That’s much better.” 

The movie has been on for the better half of an hour, but Gojo hasn’t been paying close enough to really keep up with the plot. He thinks it’s horror, and the killer is probably the guy in the freaky mask but he doesn’t really care. 

Gojo pushes himself up to scribble on his whiteboard. 

Cold :( 

Suguru’s frown is immediate. “Yeah?” He presses his hand to Satoru’s forehead. “Mm, you’re not running a fever. Maybe you’ve just got a chill.” 

Suguru pats Gojo’s hip, urging him upright. “I’m going to grab the blanket off of your bed, alright?” 

“Mmkay,” Gojo croaks weakly. It’s only a sip of sound, his voice a barely there hinge that immediately sends him coughing. 

“Use your board, Satoru!” Suguru scolds, vanishing down the hall.

The sound of keys at the door pulls Gojo’s attention. He perks up, craning over the back of the couch. Nanami steps inside from the rain, shaking off his umbrella before setting it neatly on the rack. His coat follows, draped over the hook, and his dress shoes squeak against the hardwood as he lines them up beside Suguru’s boots and Gojo’s chaotically tossed shoes. 

“Sator—oh?” Nanami’s brows lift. “I was wondering where you were. You usually greet me at the door.”

It’s true. Normally, Gojo bounds to him the second the lock clicks, smothering him in kisses and chatter. Tonight, he manages only a sad wave from the couch.

Nanami smirks. “Have you taken a vow of silence? Has my dream finally come true?”

Gojo scrawls with extra fury, pouting, the marker squeaking against the board. He flips it around:

There’s a FROG in my throat! -_- 

Nanami squints at the words, then scoffs. “What does that even mean?”

“I—ahem! I’bm si—ck.” Gojo grits out, trying to project his voice but it only comes out as a squeaky wheeze. 

Nanami lets out a low hum. “I heard. You sound awful.” He sets a plastic bag in Gojo’s lap. “Picked you up some things on the way home.”

Suguru returns from the hall, arms full of bedding. “Ah, you’re home.” He drops the blankets on the couch, then winds his arms around Nanami’s waist, kissing his temple before Nanami turns his head for a brief kiss to the lips.

Meanwhile, Gojo digs through his bag of treasures. He’s got lozenges tumble into his lap, followed by tissues, a bottle of orange juice, and throat spray.

“I ordered takeout already. Should be here soon,” Nanami says, running a hand through Gojo’s mess of white hair.

“How’s he been?”

“A brat,” Suguru answers, spreading blankets across the couch. “But I let it slide since he’s cute and sick.”

“That’s exactly why he acts that way,” Nanami deadpans.

“I w—ould have you kn’w that I am a—hh!—delight to be around eveHhn when I feel—“ 

“Cover your mouth,” Nanami cuts in at the same time Suguru says, “There are tissues on the table.”

Gojo doesn’t attempt to adhere to either, snapping forward into open air. “hm’p—sHh!” Gojo belatedly jerks the collar of his shirt over his mouth before the next one hits. “h’nssst!” 

“Bless you,” Geto all but purrs and Nanami shakes his head and turns towards the stairs. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Either or both of you are welcome to join.” Nanami starts down the hall, loosening his tie as he goes. 

Gojo and Geto share a look and then shuffle in line after Nanami, Gojo coughing noisily into his elbow as they go.