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The first thing Megumi Fushiguro notices when he wakes up is the bundle of pink hair on his lap.
He very nearly jumps right out of his skin, face burning. But he doesn’t. Waking Itadori up would be even worse. He’ll dissect that…later.
Stay calm, Fushiguro. Think back. How did we get here? Where is here?
He takes stock of his surroundings rather quickly–sickeningly white curtains drawn over an open window, sunlight bleeding onto a spruce wood floor, and get-well cards on the table to his right.
What the hell happened?
“Fushiguro? Are you awake?”
Crap. He closes his eyes and puts on his best fake-sleeping face, in hopes Itadori won’t notice, but apparently his mouth has other plans. “Yes.”
What ? He had most definitely not meant to say that. He had most definitely meant to stay silent until Itadori left the room.
Still, just like that, Itadori erupts in excitement. “Oh, thank god! I need to call Gojo-sensei! He’ll be so relieved–and Kugisaki! And the others of course–Maki, Toudou, Panda…”
Fushiguro goes to speak, to ask what could possibly be going on right now, but his lips won’t move. He can’t make a sound–why?
Itadori, it seems, has absolutely no problem speaking and continues on. “You have no idea how happy I am you’re awake, really! I mean, I knew you would wake up, obviously. At some point. But this is great! It’s been so quiet without you around. You really have no idea, I can’t wait till Kugisaki gets here.” Silence. Itadori waits for a response, and Fushiguro tries to give him one, but no words come out. It’s also extremely hard to concentrate when his hands are clinging onto Fushiguro’s arms. “Fushiguro? Can you hear me?”
Like magic, his lips start to move and his voice cracks through the room. “Yes. I just have absolutely no idea what’s going on and you haven’t told me.” It’s the truth, oddly enough, but as soon as the response is over he can’t say a word more.
Itadori lets go of his arms. “Oh, oh! Sorry! Uh, do you not remember anything?”
“No.”
Itadori stands up, adjusting his shirt and moving to the end of the bed. Fushiguro studies him closely. “Well…we were on a mission–all of us, and the second years. They’re all fine, don’t worry, but you got hit with a pretty bad curse. You’ve been out for…four days?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he unknowingly interjects, but Itadori doesn’t seem to notice.
“Everyone is really worried about you. We knew you’d be fine, it’s just…not the same without you.” The silence nearly kills him. Granted, Fushiguro isn’t sure what he’d say even if he could answer right now. Which is still the nagging question—why can’t he? “Uh, so, I’ll get Gojo-sensei. Don’t go anywhere! And don’t go to sleep. Please, don’t go to sleep.”
As if he could. As if he could possibly think of anything else than what is happening right now, in this uncomfortable hospital bed.
Itadori disappears into the hallway, his footsteps moving at lightspeed. He’s alone. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though. His train of thought is running at hundreds of miles per second , so much so that he can’t stay on one thought for long enough to even begin a theory or explanation. What is happening? Why? How?
He’d been on a mission. He’d been hit with a curse. He is now in bed. In an infirmary. Itadori has been there for who knows how long.
All of a sudden the door swings open and hits the wall with such force Fushiguro thinks it might break. Someone needs to sedate him before he falls and cracks his skull on the cushy rug by Gojo-sensei’s feet. Stupid jumpy reflexes. “So you’re awake. Welcome back!”
Low and behold, Itadori is back with Gojo at his side. Itadori is giving Fushiguro a strange sort of pity look, and all of a sudden, he feels small. Even more exposed than he already is.
“Your fellow classmates have been visiting you since you’ve been out, Megumi. Itadori here has made sure you’re comfortable morning and night. Good thing to have such good friends. Good thing.”
Fushiguro can feel his face flush, and as he takes deep breaths to try and calm it down, he prays that no one notices. They care. He cares. It makes him feel…he doesn’t know.
“We still aren’t sure what kind of curse you were attacked with, but I have my ideas,” Gojo says, and Fushiguro feels like he’s looking right through him—right into his brain—even though he can’t see his eyes. Then he turns to Itadori, and the moment is broken. “Itadori, go find Kugisaki, will you?”
Itadori looks at Fushiguro, hesitant, but still says— “Right!”
Fushiguro watches as he runs out the door. Again. He finds it somewhat hard to believe he’s been visiting him so often. Then the feeling gets too much, and he shoves it back down again.
“Itadori tells me you’ve barely said anything,” Gojo says, arms crossed.
Where are you going with this? “
I wouldn't be surprised, usually, but something…is off. Isn’t that right, Megumi?”
Automatic. “Yes.”
Fushiguro nearly starts fuming when Gojo-sensei starts to smile. Smile. He’s enjoying this, the bastard, yet he still can’t shed any light on the situation, apparently.
“Very interesting. Very! I think I’ve figured out your curse, Megumi Fushiguro.” Then, almost taunting , “Aren’t you just so relieved?”
He answers with as much malice as possible. “Tell me first and maybe I will be, dickhead.”
Gojo’s expression stays unchanged as he sits in the chair Itadori was in before. He crosses his legs, chin now resting in his hands.
“Now I’m not sure what it’s called, but you’ve been hit by a curse that’s temporarily altered your brain, and therefore your speech.” Curse. Brain. Speech. All things Fushiguro can handle, but in this context? All together? Could it be possible? “I’m sure you’ve noticed already, but you only talk when someone asks you a question. And you can only answer truthfully.”
What the fuck.
How is that even possible? What kind of curse is that?
He begins to put the pieces together. He hasn’t been able to talk freely, only when he doesn’t want to. Only when…only when people ask him questions.
Shit.
Gojo must notice Fushiguro’s heightening anger. It would be hard to miss. “Is there something you want to say, Megumi?”
“I want to go to my room now ,” he says, words like knives piercing the soft tension in the air. Then, just to be sure, “Alone.”
Gojo shrugs. “As you wish. You feel fine, right? Like physically.”
Fushiguro scoffs. “Obviously. You’re such an asshole.”
As if on cue, Itadori bursts in. It’s almost comical. Fushiguro would’ve even laughed, maybe, if it was anyone other than him.
“I couldn’t find Kugisaki, I think she and the others are out training…but I can check and ask them to come inside!” Itadori sounds like he’s just run a marathon. He probably has, considering how much ground he must have had to cover in order to rule out everything but the yard. All for Fushiguro.
“I think our dear Megumi needs his rest. Isn’t that right, Megumi?”
He doesn’t know what he was expecting to come out of his mouth, but it most certainly is not what he actually says. “I can't focus with him in here.”
No fucking way.
Maybe the curse should’ve killed him. That would be less embarrassing.
Itadori, however, barely even flinches. “Oh—oh! Yeah! Of course, sorry! Feel better Fushiguro!” With that, Itadori and his bundle of pink hair run out of the room practically at light speed.
Gojo turns on his heels and starts his way out of the room after Itadori. “Feel better, Fushiguro.”
Gojo-sensei, you are so dead.
-
It’s been approximately two hours and Fushiguro’s stupid curse will not let up.
He’s tried speaking, he really has. He’s been testing out if he can speak almost every 5 minutes, but every time, he’s met with silence. No one’s spoken to him since, either. Granted he has been in his room for those two hours. He can’t even dwell on his embarrassment. All he’s been doing is thinking.
People can ask him anything. Absolutely anything, and he would have to answer. It wouldn’t even be his choice to answer or not. His brain would betray him anyway.
There’s so much under the category of anything. Everything. Everything he doesn’t tell people, every feeling or hardship he’s ever had–that’s all exposed now. It dawns on him that his classmates know frighteningly little about his personal life. It’s not exactly new information, but if they did know, would they be surprised? Would they think of him differently if they knew all the bad–all the informal? Would Itadori?
Itadori. Fushiguro would probably kill himself over and over if Itadori asked him any personal questions. There’d be no coming back from that, would there? So he’s fine staying put, thank you.
He’s quite surprised Gojo-sensei hasn’t tried anything yet. There’s a lot he doesn’t know about Fushiguro–that’s for sure–but he hasn’t asked anything. Nothing that would warrant a really serious answer, anyway. It’s not like he has many life-altering details to hide, but…that doesn’t mean he wants them displayed. What happens in his head is his business. It has nothing to do with anyone else.
Gojo-sensei picks that moment to knock on Fushiguro’s door, breaking him so far out of his own thoughts he almost falls off the bed.
“Megumi? You alright in there?”
What a stupid question. Still, he can’t help but answer. “Not at all”
He’s grateful Gojo-sensei hasn’t opened the door yet, because Fushiguro’d probably punch him if he saw the smile that’s no doubt on his lips. “Can I come in?”
“Yes. It’s not like I can stop you from opening an open door.” He hadn’t meant it to come out so rudely, but he’s glad it did.
The door creaks open, revealing a very calm-looking Gojo. Nice to know you’re feeling fine. Asshole.
“You’ve sufficiently worried everyone. Congratulations!”
Fushiguro’s hard stare points right at Gojo-sensei. He’s worried people? So what if he did? It’s not anyone else's problem.
He isn’t done, though. “No, seriously. You’ve been alone in here for hours. You’re not even watching TV.” It’s not like I have a TV here. And since when do I watch TV by choice? If Gojo-sensei came in to lure Fushiguro out, he’s dead wrong. “I would even be worried, maybe, if I didn’t know you Megumi.”
Gojo-sensei takes a step closer, and Fushiguro moves to the end of the bed, trying to get rid of him as soon as possible. He doesn’t like where this is going, and if he could, he’d kick him out right now. But he can’t. And there’s nothing he can do to stop Gojo-sensei from talking. “Let me guess.” Even with his eyes covered, Gojo-sensei still pulls off a very convincing look of mischief. “This has something to do with Yuuji Itadori, doesn’t it?”
Damnit. Damn stupid Gojo.
Fushiguro closes his lips as tight as possible and sends a fleeting prayer, but it makes no difference.
“Yes.” He’s buried his face in his hands now, turning away from Gojo-sensei all together.
How could he possibly know that? Fushiguro hadn’t even said anything. He can’t! He physically cannot say anything incriminating without being asked, and he’s pretty sure Gojo-sensei didn’t ask him anything like that three hours ago.
When he finally dares to look back, well after the red in his face has somewhat subsided, Gojo-sensei is laughing. Actually laughing.
Is my turmoil really that amusing to you?
He throws his pillow across the room, aiming for Gojo-sensei’s face. He misses, though Gojo would’ve blocked it anyway.
He stops laughing just long enough to ask yet another question. “Tell me, Fushiguro. Is the reason you’re avoiding him…because of personal feelings?”
Panic strikes a chord deep inside him. A disappearing cursed-technique would be very helpful right about now—he can’t even look at Gojo-sensei when he answers. “Yes.”
“Huh. Y’know, Megumi, I never would’ve pegged you for having a crush. Would you?”
Crush. He hates that word. It’s more like a curse–he’d know. “I don’t know,” he says. Then, just for good measure, “leave me alone.” If you tell him, I will kill you.
“You know, he stayed by your side every day. Would barely leave just to eat.” Fushiguro’s face is in flames now, and his eyes may as well be daggers piercing all the way through Gojo’s skull. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” He starts towards the door, arms crossed once again. He pauses though, right in the center of the room, and says— “You’ll have to tell him eventually. Though for your sake, I hope that curse wears off soon.”
He doesn’t mean it. Fushiguro can tell. He can tell by the way he grins when he says it—by the way he giggles on his way out the door. It’s times like these that he questions why he respects Gojo-sensei at all.
He can’t focus on that now, though. Not when there are more pressing issues at hand.
What he said–what he asked –how could Gojo know? How could he possibly know ? Hell, Fushiguro barely knows himself! He hasn’t dropped any hints, said anything, done anything–how did Gojo figure him out? He’s been so careful. Ever since it started, he’s done his absolute best to keep it under lock and key. Keep the feelings far away.
Feelings–they aren’t important. Not enough to be talked about, anyway. And Fushiguro is very good at staying silent.
He’s never been used to them. Feelings. Especially when he feels too many at once, like when Itadori grabs his wrist to show him something or…or when he lays his head on Fushiguros lap when he’s asleep.
Too many feelings.
What snaps him out of his head this time is not another person, but rather the rumbling of his own stomach.
He’s been hungry for a while, but the sound of his own thoughts has been his priority for hours. He hasn’t eaten anything since…well, probably days. He's never had a big appetite, but right now, he’d eat anything.
He steps off the bed and tip-toes toward his door, listening for any signs of life. It’s bad enough to talk to Gojo-sensei, yeah, but even worse if he talks to anyone else.
He can’t even think about it anymore. People can really find out anything they want about him. It’s dangerous.
Once he’s sure no one’s in the hallway, he opens his door, centimeter by centimeter to ensure the creaking stays subdued. Then, ever so slowly, he steps out of the doorway, closing the door quietly behind him.
He’s almost to the kitchen when he hears it.
“Ah, Fushiguro! Glad to see you feeling better! You hungry?
That goddamn bastard.
In front of him is not only Gojo-sensei, but Kugisaki and Itadori. Sandwiches are splayed across the counter. Itadori is leaning up against it, and has turned around to look at Fushiguro.
“Yes, but I thought no one was out here. I was waiting for you to leave,” Fushiguro says, cringing. If his curse doesn’t wear off soon, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk to anyone ever again.
It’s Kugisaki who speaks this time. He hasn’t seen her yet, and while some part of him does feel bad, he can’t be bothered to act on it. “Come on, don’t be like that! Chat with us,” she says, coming closer to Fushiguro. “Besides, I haven’t seen you since you woke up. Pretty dick move. But, I’ll forgive you if you stay and eat with us!”
He thinks about it, even if just for a second, but he can’t. He really can’t.
Gojo-sensei turns to him with a stupid grin playing on his lips. “I told them about your curse, Fushiguro. Figured they should know not to ask any personal questions.”
“Can you really not answer me without a question first?” Kugisaki jumps in.
“Yes.”
She laughs. It’s a sweet sound. “Oh shit! That sucks. Though Gojo-sensei seems pretty optimistic that it should be gone by tomorrow.”
Fushiguro stills. Does he now? He didn’t think to mention it when he had barged in earlier, but he’ll tell everyone else.
Before he can even try to dwell on it, Itadori jumps in with another question. “How are you feeling, Fushiguro?”
He doesn’t even try to hold his response back–he knows it’ll do no good. No matter how embarrassing. He should start getting used to it. “Awkward. Embarrassed. And I regret coming in here.”
Kugisaki smiles. Even though she might find this amusing, Fushiguro can’t help but be glad to see her. It’s strangely comforting. “Jesus, that’s rough ,” she says, eyes wide. Tell me about it.
“Well, Fushiguro…do you want something to eat?” Itadori asks, awaiting a response. Gojo-sensei hasn’t said a word since he walked in. He’s simply standing a few feet away, watching. Observing. He may as well have popcorn in his hand with the way he looks like he’s watching the funniest movie of his life.
“Not anymore.” He’s truly lost his appetite now. Whether it has to do with how awkward this entire situation has been or not, he doesn’t care. He wants to leave as soon as possible.
Thankfully, Itadori seems to realise that. “Um, well—take a sandwich! To your room. For when you…get hungry. Again.”
Fushiguro nods. It’s better than nothing.
He takes a sandwich from Itadori’s hand quickly, nods his head, and turns on his heels as fast as the laws of motion will let him. He’s only just in the hallway when he hears Kugisaki’s voice.
“Hey Fushiguro! I'm glad that curse didn’t kill you, moron!” She yells.
It feels like it means more than a joke. She says it so real –she says it with relief.
He’s really ready for this curse to be over.
-
It’s well past sunset before Fushiguro dares to exit his room again. He hasn’t heard a sound in hours, but leaves quietly just in case.
After the day's events, the low hum of the kitchen is just what he needs, in all its dimly lit glory. Darkness pools outside, acting like an insulator from all the bad and good that’s waiting for him out there. He’s alone, yes, but it’s different this time. He’s had time to process. He’s not any less nervous, but at least he’s aware of it now.
Something about the complete lonesome of the kitchen makes him think again. He’s been thinking all day–about everything, about everyone–but he hasn’t come to terms with any of it. It’s been too hectic to fully understand anything.
He wishes he could remember. Not like it’d do much, but he wishes he could anyway. So he’d fill the empty space in his memory. So he’d understand why everyone has been acting the way they’ve been acting.
The get-well cards. The lack of invasive questions. Itadori’s head on his lap while everyone else is out training.
It’s too big a feeling, having everyone focus on him like that. Much too big.
Itadori should’ve been training with the others. Had he been? There’s no way of knowing. All he knows is that he didn’t want to bother anyone. He never has–not now or ever. And this, well, this seems like a pretty big bother. A burden on everyone.
People get hurt in battle all the time. He knows that better than anyone. It’s stressful.
That should apply to him too. It should . But he can’t help feeling like…like it really shouldn’t.
He’s gotten hurt before. He’s healed before. He’s gone back into battle before. This, fundamentally, is no different. He was hurt. He is healed. He will go back into battle. It’s the same routine, the same process.
But it’s still different this time, isn’t it?
It’s different because of Itadori. Because of Kugisaki. Because of Panda, Toudou, Maki…even because of Gojo-sensei. Fushiguro hates to admit it, but Gojo-sensei has changed too. He’s not just the guy who brought him to the academy anymore. He’s more than that.
It’s because of all the people he’s been avoiding this entire day.
Encased in the pale moonlight, Fushiguro can’t help but regret his behaviour. The way he’s acted towards everything today. It contradicts what he knows, all his facts and truths, but he feels it anyway.
He is so tired of feelings.
He thinks about it for just a second more. Then the feeling swells too much, and he pushes it just far down enough to re-open the fridge and do what he came here to do. Not dwell on pushy thoughts like those.
He’s just begun to browse his options when he hears footsteps down the hall.
“Fushiguro? Sorry–I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything!” Fushiguro closes the fridge and turns around. Of course he’d be here. “You should eat. You’ve barely had anything,” he says, coming around the counter to pull food out of the fridge.
He’s trying to focus, but Itadori looks like he’s just rolled out of bed, hair scruffed and t-shirt wrinkled. He looks calm—defenseless.
He’s beautiful.
But that’s not important right now.
“Is there anything you want in particular? We had tacos a couple days ago…while you were out I didn’t really eat much, so there should be leftovers…”
He hasn’t eaten because of Fushiguro? Was he really that worried? It ties right into his train of thought. Burden . He wants to ask, to make sure he’s okay, to apologize, but all that comes out of his mouth is–“Anything is fine. Really.”
Itadori takes it in stride. “Okay. Okay, great. I’ll warm this up, then.”
It’s only when the food is warmed and Fushiguro is finished when Itadori speaks again.
“Everyone really was worried about you, you know. Don’t think I was exaggerating about that. Those get well cards were from the second years—who are sorry they haven’t seen you yet, by the way. No one wanted to bother you. I told them you were okay.” He pauses, like he’s wondering how to phrase what he’s going to say. If Fushiguro didn’t know better, he’d say he seemed…nervous. “Kugisaki was scared you wouldn’t wake up. I mean, we all were, but she was fighting with you…she took a lot of the blame. For you getting hurt.”
Bother. Fushiguro feels the guilt bubble deep inside him, rushing to come out. It won’t, but it’ll be there. It explains her behaviour earlier, even if just slightly. Kugisaki is level-headed. As soon as Gojo-sensei told her he’d be fine, she’d most likely stopped worrying. So it’s not a big deal. It’s not a deal at all. It just feels like one, so therefore, it’s nothing.
“You know what was weird?” Fushiguro replies with a faint “no”, but Itadori doesn’t pick up on it. He’s leaning his hands on the counter now, hair falling in front of his careful features. Fushiguro trains his eyes on him as he continues. “It was quiet without you around. I know I’ve already told you, but it was. I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t really talk much, so I was kind of surprised it would be quiet.”
He pauses. For seconds or minutes, Fushiguro doesn’t know. He only feels the weight in the room shift. And it’s nothing, really, until it feels like everything.
Itadori goes on, but it’s hesitant this time. Shy. “I guess it’s because of how much I can talk to you when you’re around. How much…how much you listen.” Silence is as deadly as knives, and it feels so deafeningly quiet that Fushiguro thinks it might kill him. Even when Itadori speaks.
He turns around on the counter, leaning his back on the smooth marble. Leaning away from Fushiguro. “I was scared too. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do if you were seriously hurt. I didn’t know what to do.”
But I'm fine. I'm here. I'm right here, Itadori.
He could reach out and touch him. He could stroke his cottony hair, his silky skin, his fragile body. He could.
Or he could let the silence hang, let his eyes trace questions on Itadori’s back.
Is it true? Did you really stay with me all those days?
Itadori turns back, and Fushiguro averts his eyes before they make contact with his soft amber. “I’ve been talking a lot, haven’t I? I guess I tend to do that.”
Fushiguro shakes his head. What an idiot. “No, you haven’t. I’d listen to anything you have to say.”
Itadori lets the humming of the kitchen ride waves between them before speaking again. For a moment, Fushiguro feels as though he may be trying to catch his gaze with his own. But that’s impossible. “Okay. Well, is there anything you want to say?”
He braces himself for what’s to come. He knows exactly what’s going to fall out of his mouth. “Gojo-sensei told me you stayed by my side all four days. Is it true?”
Itadori seems to brace himself too. “Yeah. Oh god, I can't believe he told you that.” Then, softer, “I just didn’t want you to be alone, that’s all.”
Fushiguro feels the flush as it creeps across his neck, crimson and flaming. He sinks into the feeling of fire–the engulfing sweetness of a single sentence. He didn’t want Fushiguro to heal alone.
“You looked so peaceful. So much more peaceful than I’ve ever seen you.” The truths Itadori is revealing feel almost illegal to hear. Like kept away secrets he should never know. He still listens close though, letting every word find a place in his mind. “You keep so much inside, Fushiguro. You were unconscious, and yet I kept thinking about how little I know about your life. Your favourite things, where you grew up—that’s all I could think about.”
The persistence of thinking . Fushiguro knows it inside and out. He knows the tugging in your chest when those thoughts won’t let go–the waves of them new and old that rush through his entire body. Does Itadori feel the same? All because of Fushiguro? He shouldn’t.
I would tell you anything. Ask me anything.
The words though, no matter how urgent, don’t slip through the cracks of his fragile mind. They stay encased inside him. Stupid curse.
Itadori steps around the counter, right next to Fushiguro, warmth radiating off him. “It’s not a crime to talk about it, you know. You have friends. You have people who care about you.” He only pauses for a couple of seconds, but eternity could’ve passed between their hands and Fushiguro wouldn’t have noticed. Not with the inches between them pushing and pulling like magnitude. When Itadori speaks again, it could be a whisper. “I care about you. So if you die without telling me so much as your favourite movie, I will be very pissed. I just thought you should know.” He doesn’t even leave time for Fushiguro to digest the words. To lock them up and hold on to them. Instead, he asks a question. “What is your favourite movie?”
Fushiguro smiles, just a bit, at the lightness of it. The unimportance. “I don’t have one. I don’t watch enough.”
He might as well have punched Itadori in the arm. “ What ? Well, Megumi Fushiguro, that just won’t do. That won’t do at all. The second you’re feeling one hundred percent, we are having a movie night. Got it?”
He smiles, all the way this time. “I’d love to.”
“This curse must be pretty annoying, isn’t it?” It surprises him to hear Itadori say it, but he supposes that if roles were reversed, Fushiguro would be vigilant about the curse too.
You have no idea.
“Extremely. But not with you.” He half-wishes that the second part would’ve stayed inside his head, nowhere else. But maybe he should be grateful for the honesty–it makes up for everything he can’t say.
Itadori tilts his head, a question fogging up his eyes. “Not with me?”
Fushiguro nods. “Not with you.”
They’re both so still–so afraid to break the bubble they’ve constructed so carefully around themselves. “You’d let me ask you questions?”
Fushiguro wonders if this will be the most honest response of the night. “I’d let you ask me anything.”
I would. You don’t know how much.
“That’s…a pretty big privilege, I'm not going to lie,” Itadori says. Fushiguro wishes he could pick apart the workings of his mind–just to know what he’s thinking. Itadori continues, and Fushiguro holds his breath. “To be honest, Fushiguro, there’s a lot I want to know about you. But I don’t want you to tell me until you’re ready. Okay?”
Fushiguro wants to make sure he knows everything. He wants to hear him talk, to listen, and be listened to. But he can’t say that. He won’t. “Okay.”
Itadori turns to him. “Ask me another question. We’ll even it out.” Fushiguro waits for it, but Itadori sits in silence for a moment before realizing. Then he rephrases. “Can you please ask me a question?”
It’s an easy answer. “Of course I can.” I’d ask a million for you. But that part doesn’t come out this time. He’s not sure why, but he’s grateful it doesn’t. Not yet. “Why did you stay with me all those days?”
He hopes Itadori doesn’t feel the nerves shaking through his entire body.
Itadori looks at him with an anxious look in his eye. It’s almost foreign. “Do you really even need to ask?”
“Yes.” Was he supposed to know?
“Alright. Well, to put it simply, I guess…” Itadori ponders for a moment, and Fushiguro feels trepidation creep around him. “I guess it’s because I wouldn’t be able to survive if you didn’t, Fushiguro.”
He says it so simply. He says it like it doesn’t make Fushiguro nearly lose his mind.
Itadori could do so much without Fushiguro. That much is true. He’s brave, smart, and an incredibly good sorcerer. Fushiguro couldn’t beat him if he tried–he knows this. He’s sure of it. But Itadori doesn’t seem to agree, and Fushiguro doesn’t know what to do with that.
Itadori shuffles an inch closer, and Fushiguro feels like the space between them could shatter into millions of pieces. “You’re more important to me than you’ll ever know.”
Fushiguro will never know for sure if that’s really true, but tonight, he savours it for as long as possible–letting the words swirl and tie knots throughout his body, his veins, his mind. If only he knew.
Itadori’s shoulder is almost brushing his own now, his maroon shirt looking brown under the yellow light. It’s like even the crickets outside have stopped to listen in on their conversation.
“I’m going to ask you something crazy. And I don’t want you to feel awkward if you don’t give me the answer I want…the answer I’m hoping for, let’s say. Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
Millions of possibilities run through his head in seconds, but he can’t focus on a single one. He’s too occupied with the burning chills that have taken over his entire body. The anticipation. The want .
The previous events of the day don’t matter now. They haven’t since Itadori walked in the room. It’s like there’s a barrier that’s keeping them from the rest of the world, and he can’t help but feel as though everything will be okay. It’s awful, in a bittersweet sort of way.
Fushiguro closes his eyes. He waits for the question and, for the first time, he invites it.
He feels Itadori take a slow breath, then–
“Can I kiss you?”
He responds in milliseconds, breath shaking. “Please.”
Itadori is gentle. His fingers trace up Fushiguro’s arm to his neck, bringing him ever so close. He can feel Itadori’s warmth radiate and trickle onto him. He feels his breath, ghosting the sides of his cheeks. And finally, finally, he kisses him.
Seconds feel like hours with Itadori’s hand travelling his hair. Fushiguro can practically feel all his nerves stand straight up, buzzing throughout his entire body. He’s nearly shaking, seething with want, need .
Fushiguro, with trembling hands, puts his arms around Itadori’s neck. It’s a risk, but it’s one he’s willing to take. The heat between them intermingles and gets lost inside one another. Itadori is so soft, so open, it leaves Fushiguro open too. Defenseless.
When they part, it’s slow, soft breaths and fragile feelings. Fushiguro yearns for the warmth again. This is a silence he could sit in forever, even when Itadori starts to speak.
“You have no idea what you make me feel, Fushiguro.”
I feel everything, Itadori. Just ask me. Ask me, please.
Finally, finally , Fushiguro’s thoughts are met with a fulfilling response. “Do you…feel the same?”
If he had asked four hours ago, Fushiguro would’ve been mortified. But now? Now he’d tell him anything. “Even more. I feel even more.”
Any tenseness Itadori was holding inside of him seem to drop at those words. “Good. I was nervous that you wouldn’t, you know…feel the same. It’s so hard to know what you’re thinking.” A moment passes, then, “Half the time it feels like you hate me.”
Fushiguro grabs his arm in response, shaking his head. That's impossible.
He doesn’t understand how Itadori could ever think so. Not with what he means to him. There’s not a life he could ever live in which he feels anything but love for Yuuji Itadori. He’s not afraid to feel that now.
Itadori smiles, but he also looks relieved, if Fushiguro is reading him right. He hopes he is. Itadori looks at him, and Fushiguro swears there’s nothing that compares to the constellations in his eyes. “Is there…anything you want to say?”
So much, of course, but only one pressing matter. “I can't believe you ever thought I’d say no.”
“I guess you’re really just a big softie after all,” Itadori says with a laugh. Maybe. For you, definitely. He lets a soft sigh escape his lips. “I wish you could feel what I feel right now. You really have no idea.”
I know. I really do.
Itadori’s eyes meet his, sinking into his own deep blue. “When this curse wears off, I want you to tell me everything.”
He snakes his arms around Fushiguro’s waist and leans his head on his shoulder. Fushiguro doesn’t even have to look to tell he’s smiling.
I want you to know everything. You will, I promise. You won’t need to ask questions.
He doesn’t need to be asked a question to know, it’s the absolute truth.