What was it that motivated Satoru to be that stupid?

For his friends and acquaintances, the answer would vary from person to person, but if someone asked him himself... He would say - love. There's no shame or embarrassment in doing stupid things for someone you loved, don't you think? That spark of madness driven by desire, motivated by fragrant affection for a person who had everything to make your heart beat and beat...

"That wasn't just stupidity, Satoru, that was a very stupid act of suicide," Suguru said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he waited next to his best friend on the ER gurney late that night. The antiseptic smell of the hospital stung their nostrils while the distant sound of ambulance sirens wailed outside.

There, lying on the gurney and rethinking each and every one of his decisions that led him to that mundane hospital gurney, he considered that maybe Emi wasn't a good girl. The fluorescent lights above cast harsh shadows across his bandaged arm as he remembered how she had laughed when he'd fallen. He could still feel the ache in his bones and the sting of her indifference.

"I swear, Satoru. You're an expert at not knowing the limits," Suguru continued saying, flipping through a outdated magazine. "You're unlucky that Shoko is on a mission. She would have cured you in an instant..."

But didn't they say that in storms the sun always came out? And as Satoru looked up, he saw you walking toward them - the emergency room's newest attending physician with tired eyes behind smudged glasses, your white coat stained with iodine, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail that had come partially undone.

"Dr. Onodera said you'd be here," you announced, glancing down at your clipboard with a sigh before looking up - and suddenly Satoru forgot how to breathe. The fluorescent lights caught the highlights in your hair, and there was something infinitely charming about the way you chewed your lower lip while reviewing his chart.

"Ice cream truck, huh? That's a new one," you said with a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, already reaching for his injured arm with gentle hands that smelled faintly of lavender hand sanitizer.

The sudden contact made him jump slightly, and your eyes met his over your clipboard - warm, tired, and surprisingly kind despite the obvious exhaustion evident in the dark circles beneath them.

"Try to stay still for me, Mr. Gojo," you murmured, turning his arm carefully as you examined the bruising that had bloomed like dark watercolor stains across his pale skin.

Satoru couldn't help but notice how your tongue peeked out slightly in concentration, or how your glasses slid down your nose when you leaned closer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered Suguru's suppressed laughter, but all he could focus on was the way your fingers brushed against his skin.