A note slipped under the door, joining a pile of other slips of paper. On the other side, Daichi had long since given up on begging.
Suga knew that he had the virus. The symptoms checked out. He started using his own blood to test things, just so he wouldn’t have to expose Daichi. He knew that if he stepped out of the lab, he would be taken into isolation. He wouldn’t be able to do anything. He wouldn’t be able to find a cure and save Oikawa.
The whole thing would have fallen on Daichi’s shoulders, and maybe Kuroo. But Kuroo was in charge of patient care, and research wasn’t either of their strong suits. Suga had the most knowledge of blood, viruses, and research techniques. They couldn’t afford to lose him. Oikawa couldn’t afford to lose him.
Perhaps Daichi had gone off to one of the hospital’s other labs to keep working. Maybe they’d written Suga off as a lost cause. It didn’t matter. As long as he could keep working, nothing mattered.
He used what medicine he had in the labs to ward off the most debilitating of the symptoms so that he could keep working. Time ceased to exist for him. The only thing that mattered was microscoping images that told him how the virus behaved in various situations. His hands shook and his vision blurred. He couldn’t keep anything down. His very bones hurt and his lungs burned.
No matter how bad he was, Oikawa had to be worse.
Bit by bit, the virus broke apart under his treatments, until finally he obliterated it. Finally, he had something that worked. He wrote everything he’d done down, typed it onto the computer and sent the document to Kuroo’s and Daichi’s email. He prepared a single dosage, the only amount he could manage after so much testing, into a syringe. It would hopefully be enough to weaken the virus and have the immune system finish the job.
He opened the door to the lab, finally. No one was there. Suga walked uninterrupted until he reached the patient area, where Kuroo, fully in scrubs, rushed towards him.
“Cure,” Suga croaked. “I have it.”
“Suga, let me--”
“I’m giving it to him,” Suga snapped, brandishing the syringe.
Kuroo moved forward, but Suga rushed into the room.
Oikawa had been put on a ventilator. Blood stained his pillow. Bruises stained his skin. He looked fragile, which was not something Suga would ever have associated with Oikawa. Even at his most vulnerable, Oikawa was strong.
He moved to the edge of the bed and took Oikawa’s hand in his own. He squeezed and Oikawa opened his eyes.
“I love you, Tooru,” Suga murmured, “and I’m going to make you better.”
Oikawa’s lips moved, but he couldn’t make a sound past the ventilator. Suga reached for Oikawa’s arm, but before he could find a suitable injection site, someone grabbed him and pulled him back.
Suga struggled against the other person, but his chest felt tight and his head spun. He coughed, something wet coating his lips, and someone twisted his wrist so that his hand released the syringe.
He tried to spin around and grab the person or the syringe but his vision began to swim and turn black at the edges. For a moment, the other person let up their grip. Suga spun around and everything went sideways.
He blacked out.
*
Oikawa Tooru woke up from a two week long coma alone.
He felt weak, bone tired, confused about every single thing. He recognized his room as an isolation room, with glass partitions separating his space from the rest of the hospital. He could see into other rooms. Other beds. Machinery hissed around him. He remembered having a tube in his throat before, but he didn’t have one now.
He wanted Suga.
He remembered, hazily, the last time he’d been awake. Suga had hovered over his bed looking half dead, dark bruises under his eyes, skin chalk white and lips chapped. His cheekbones looked too sharp. But he was smiling.
Oikawa tried to sit up, but his muscles protested. He caught movement outside and someone fully dressed in scrubs and a facemask came in. He recognized the wild black hair.
“Kuroo,” he croaked. “Where is he?”
Kuroo’s eyes were hard above his mask. “He’s alive, but he also got sick and almost died. He thought he found the cure and tried to inject you with it, but it was a delusion brought on by high fever.”
Oikawa’s eyes burned and his throat started to close. “Is there a cure?”
“There is,” Kuroo said, “and some of Sugawara’s last bits of work were really helpful in completing the missing pieces that we needed. But he was in no state of mind to put them together with the rest of the research. Sawamura and another doctor from a different hospital took the lead on that. Sugawara’s work did help accelerate the process, though. Otherwise a cure might have come too late for both of you.”
Oikawa swallowed. “Does he know?”
Kuroo shook his head. “I don’t really have the heart to tell him. It’s up to you if you want to.”
Oikawa didn’t know whether he could. But he needed to see Suga. “How is he now?”
“He might not completely recover, but he’s out of the danger zone.” Kuroo smiled. “No wonder you two go so well together. You’re both stubborn as hell.”
Oikawa couldn’t control the sob that escaped him. He choked, “I want to see him.”
Kuroo nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He left the room and returned with a wheelchair, helping Oikawa into it. It was hard going and Oikawa’s body protested every movement, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see Suga now. He needed to see him. To have confirmation that Suga was alive.
Kuroo wheeled him to another section of the hospital, where more isolation rooms had been set up. Oikawa gasped when he saw Suga in the hospital bed, hardly anything more than skin and bones. He wondered if he looked the same.
Kuroo wheeled him to the edge of the bed. Oikawa took Suga’s hand and watched the rise and fall of Suga’s chest, shallow but steady.
“You idiot,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the back of Suga’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
*
When Suga woke up, Oikawa was holding his hand. They’d been placed in a room together at Oikawa’s insistence.
Oikawa noticed Suga watching him two nights into their recovery together. He didn’t think much of it because he had been watching Suga a lot too. It was like they were both waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong again. Neither of them could be convinced that things would be fine until they walked out of the hospital.
Then he heard a sob.
He half-sat up and turned towards Suga. “Shhh, you’ll mess up your breathing,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Suga choked. “I’m so sorry. I could’ve killed you.”
“What?” Oikawa felt his heart skip a few beats. He knew.
“There’s no way I had it,” Suga gasped. “I was so stupid and selfish--”
Oikawa climbed out of his bed and into Suga’s, pulling him into an embrace. “You still accelerated the cure. And you worked so hard. We’re both alive, right?”
“Right.” Suga seemed to melt into Oikawa’s touch and Oikawa closed his eyes and took in the feeling of finally having Suga as a solid presence against him.
He fell asleep in Suga’s bed that night, the two of them curled into each other. No one moved him. Oikawa would have fought anyone who tried.
*
Suga breathed hard as he stepped over the threshold of what had once been one of Tokyo’s largest hospitals. A horrible smell hit him, causing him to start coughing, but he clenched his fists and continued forward despite his lightheadedness. Daichi and Kuroo had both told him that he would have breathing problems for life, that his lungs were scarred. He wasn’t sure whether his breathlessness now was a result of exertion he hadn’t attempted since before he got sick, or of the sickening environment.
There were dead people in every room. The virus had swept through several hospitals before a cure had been mass-produced, and Suga could see the aftermath clearly. He’d been tasked, along with other medical professionals “immune” to the disease (people who had contracted it and lived) to go into these places searching for signs of life.
There were none. Every room Suga went into had a body. Some of them were on the floor, some collapsed against the walls of the isolation rooms. Blood had long dried on most of the surfaces in dark stains. The only sound was footsteps from the medical team and the hiss of the ventilation system. Every corner he turned, Suga hoped to find some sign of life. He didn’t.
He exited the building on legs that barely wanted to hold him up, ripping off his mask and lab coat and throwing them both onto the sidewalk. Oikawa stood up from the bench he’d taken over to wait and once he saw Suga’s face, he rushed towards him.
Suga threw his arms around Oikawa and buried his head in Oikawa’s chest, gasping for air. Oikawa looped an arm around Suga and rubbed circles into his back with his free hand.
“It’s okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to Suga’s forehead. “We’re safe.”
“You’re safe,” Suga repeated, his fingers clutching the fabric of Oikawa’s jacket.
He didn’t want to let go. And for now, he didn’t have to.
Re: FILL: Team oikawa tooru/sugawara koushi, T part 3
A note slipped under the door, joining a pile of other slips of paper. On the other side, Daichi had long since given up on begging.
Suga knew that he had the virus. The symptoms checked out. He started using his own blood to test things, just so he wouldn’t have to expose Daichi. He knew that if he stepped out of the lab, he would be taken into isolation. He wouldn’t be able to do anything. He wouldn’t be able to find a cure and save Oikawa.
The whole thing would have fallen on Daichi’s shoulders, and maybe Kuroo. But Kuroo was in charge of patient care, and research wasn’t either of their strong suits. Suga had the most knowledge of blood, viruses, and research techniques. They couldn’t afford to lose him. Oikawa couldn’t afford to lose him.
Perhaps Daichi had gone off to one of the hospital’s other labs to keep working. Maybe they’d written Suga off as a lost cause. It didn’t matter. As long as he could keep working, nothing mattered.
He used what medicine he had in the labs to ward off the most debilitating of the symptoms so that he could keep working. Time ceased to exist for him. The only thing that mattered was microscoping images that told him how the virus behaved in various situations. His hands shook and his vision blurred. He couldn’t keep anything down. His very bones hurt and his lungs burned.
No matter how bad he was, Oikawa had to be worse.
Bit by bit, the virus broke apart under his treatments, until finally he obliterated it. Finally, he had something that worked. He wrote everything he’d done down, typed it onto the computer and sent the document to Kuroo’s and Daichi’s email. He prepared a single dosage, the only amount he could manage after so much testing, into a syringe. It would hopefully be enough to weaken the virus and have the immune system finish the job.
He opened the door to the lab, finally. No one was there. Suga walked uninterrupted until he reached the patient area, where Kuroo, fully in scrubs, rushed towards him.
“Cure,” Suga croaked. “I have it.”
“Suga, let me--”
“I’m giving it to him,” Suga snapped, brandishing the syringe.
Kuroo moved forward, but Suga rushed into the room.
Oikawa had been put on a ventilator. Blood stained his pillow. Bruises stained his skin. He looked fragile, which was not something Suga would ever have associated with Oikawa. Even at his most vulnerable, Oikawa was strong.
He moved to the edge of the bed and took Oikawa’s hand in his own. He squeezed and Oikawa opened his eyes.
“I love you, Tooru,” Suga murmured, “and I’m going to make you better.”
Oikawa’s lips moved, but he couldn’t make a sound past the ventilator. Suga reached for Oikawa’s arm, but before he could find a suitable injection site, someone grabbed him and pulled him back.
Suga struggled against the other person, but his chest felt tight and his head spun. He coughed, something wet coating his lips, and someone twisted his wrist so that his hand released the syringe.
He tried to spin around and grab the person or the syringe but his vision began to swim and turn black at the edges. For a moment, the other person let up their grip. Suga spun around and everything went sideways.
He blacked out.
*
Oikawa Tooru woke up from a two week long coma alone.
He felt weak, bone tired, confused about every single thing. He recognized his room as an isolation room, with glass partitions separating his space from the rest of the hospital. He could see into other rooms. Other beds. Machinery hissed around him. He remembered having a tube in his throat before, but he didn’t have one now.
He wanted Suga.
He remembered, hazily, the last time he’d been awake. Suga had hovered over his bed looking half dead, dark bruises under his eyes, skin chalk white and lips chapped. His cheekbones looked too sharp. But he was smiling.
Oikawa tried to sit up, but his muscles protested. He caught movement outside and someone fully dressed in scrubs and a facemask came in. He recognized the wild black hair.
“Kuroo,” he croaked. “Where is he?”
Kuroo’s eyes were hard above his mask. “He’s alive, but he also got sick and almost died. He thought he found the cure and tried to inject you with it, but it was a delusion brought on by high fever.”
Oikawa’s eyes burned and his throat started to close. “Is there a cure?”
“There is,” Kuroo said, “and some of Sugawara’s last bits of work were really helpful in completing the missing pieces that we needed. But he was in no state of mind to put them together with the rest of the research. Sawamura and another doctor from a different hospital took the lead on that. Sugawara’s work did help accelerate the process, though. Otherwise a cure might have come too late for both of you.”
Oikawa swallowed. “Does he know?”
Kuroo shook his head. “I don’t really have the heart to tell him. It’s up to you if you want to.”
Oikawa didn’t know whether he could. But he needed to see Suga. “How is he now?”
“He might not completely recover, but he’s out of the danger zone.” Kuroo smiled. “No wonder you two go so well together. You’re both stubborn as hell.”
Oikawa couldn’t control the sob that escaped him. He choked, “I want to see him.”
Kuroo nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He left the room and returned with a wheelchair, helping Oikawa into it. It was hard going and Oikawa’s body protested every movement, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see Suga now. He needed to see him. To have confirmation that Suga was alive.
Kuroo wheeled him to another section of the hospital, where more isolation rooms had been set up. Oikawa gasped when he saw Suga in the hospital bed, hardly anything more than skin and bones. He wondered if he looked the same.
Kuroo wheeled him to the edge of the bed. Oikawa took Suga’s hand and watched the rise and fall of Suga’s chest, shallow but steady.
“You idiot,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the back of Suga’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
*
When Suga woke up, Oikawa was holding his hand. They’d been placed in a room together at Oikawa’s insistence.
Oikawa noticed Suga watching him two nights into their recovery together. He didn’t think much of it because he had been watching Suga a lot too. It was like they were both waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong again. Neither of them could be convinced that things would be fine until they walked out of the hospital.
Then he heard a sob.
He half-sat up and turned towards Suga. “Shhh, you’ll mess up your breathing,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Suga choked. “I’m so sorry. I could’ve killed you.”
“What?” Oikawa felt his heart skip a few beats. He knew.
“There’s no way I had it,” Suga gasped. “I was so stupid and selfish--”
Oikawa climbed out of his bed and into Suga’s, pulling him into an embrace. “You still accelerated the cure. And you worked so hard. We’re both alive, right?”
“Right.” Suga seemed to melt into Oikawa’s touch and Oikawa closed his eyes and took in the feeling of finally having Suga as a solid presence against him.
He fell asleep in Suga’s bed that night, the two of them curled into each other. No one moved him. Oikawa would have fought anyone who tried.
*
Suga breathed hard as he stepped over the threshold of what had once been one of Tokyo’s largest hospitals. A horrible smell hit him, causing him to start coughing, but he clenched his fists and continued forward despite his lightheadedness. Daichi and Kuroo had both told him that he would have breathing problems for life, that his lungs were scarred. He wasn’t sure whether his breathlessness now was a result of exertion he hadn’t attempted since before he got sick, or of the sickening environment.
There were dead people in every room. The virus had swept through several hospitals before a cure had been mass-produced, and Suga could see the aftermath clearly. He’d been tasked, along with other medical professionals “immune” to the disease (people who had contracted it and lived) to go into these places searching for signs of life.
There were none. Every room Suga went into had a body. Some of them were on the floor, some collapsed against the walls of the isolation rooms. Blood had long dried on most of the surfaces in dark stains. The only sound was footsteps from the medical team and the hiss of the ventilation system. Every corner he turned, Suga hoped to find some sign of life. He didn’t.
He exited the building on legs that barely wanted to hold him up, ripping off his mask and lab coat and throwing them both onto the sidewalk. Oikawa stood up from the bench he’d taken over to wait and once he saw Suga’s face, he rushed towards him.
Suga threw his arms around Oikawa and buried his head in Oikawa’s chest, gasping for air. Oikawa looped an arm around Suga and rubbed circles into his back with his free hand.
“It’s okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to Suga’s forehead. “We’re safe.”
“You’re safe,” Suga repeated, his fingers clutching the fabric of Oikawa’s jacket.
He didn’t want to let go. And for now, he didn’t have to.