The world is soft and spinning and fuzzy, like your brain’s been replaced with a soggy cotton ball. Your cheeks are full of gauze and your tongue feels like it’s trying to escape your mouth. You’re vaguely aware of being wheeled out in a chair, giggling as the nurse waves to someone outside the door. Then, you see them.

Satoru and Suguru, standing at the curb like they’ve just walked off the cover of some edgy teen magazine. Satoru’s in a hoodie and tinted sunglasses, which are unnecessary, it’s overcast, sipping something bright red from a straw. Suguru’s leaned casually against the car door, arms crossed, his hair tied back, inky black and messy in that artful way.

“Look at you,” Satoru grins, crouching beside the wheelchair like he’s posing for a selfie. “All puffy and drugged up. You look adorable. I should’ve brought my camera.”

“I love you,” you slur.

Suguru chokes. Satoru’s brows shoot up behind his glasses. “Damn, we haven’t even pulled out of the parking lot yet.”

“I love you,” you say again, blinking up at him, head wobbling slightly to the side. “And your stupid white hair. It’s like… marshmallow lightning.”

Satoru beams brightly like it’s the best compliment he’s ever received. “Write that down, Suguru.”

“Already tattooed it to my soul,” Suguru says dryly, taking the handles of the wheelchair and starting to push you toward the car. “Come on, Casanova. Time to get you back before you propose to the receptionist.”

Satoru nearly doubles over laughing as Suguru lifts you carefully into the backseat. You flop against the cushions, limbs like jelly, eyelids heavy, but inside the car is dark and that feels better.

“I think my teeth are gone,” you whisper solemnly and Satoru barks out a laugh as Suguru drags your seatbelt over you, gently brushing your hair out of the way.

“They are,” Suguru assures you gently as he buckles your seatbelt. "We'll get them back later, yeah?"