Chapter Text
The First Day
He’d been having nightmares.
That in and of itself wasn’t a big deal. Itadori was an energetic sleeper: he moved, he talked, and he even used to sleepwalk up into the sixth grade. His grandpa said he had an active imagination, and his dreams definitely proved it. He was always coming up with fantastical new worlds or seeing his fears realized. Generally, that meant showing up to class naked or feeling all of his teeth fall out of his head. Recently, though…
A beating heart in the palm of his hand, blood running down his forearm and into the grooves of his fingernails. The sick sound of flesh splattering concrete. Explosions. A head blown clean off; the neck a dripping stump.
The dreams had been different recently. He couldn’t remember them clearly—that, too, was unusual—which only seemed to scare him more.
A monster made of disjoint flesh, sutured together poorly. A young girl—no, a dead girl. She was missing…she was missing something. An eyeball?
Hazel met hazel in the bathroom mirror. Two of them. Four if you counted the mirror. All there, not blown out of his skull. Not like—
“Get it together, Yuji,” he muttered, wiping toothpaste off his upper lip. Last night was pretty bad, but it was only a dream. “Lock in.”
Fushiguro was already seated around a bowl of fruit loops when Itadori emerged, coffee in hand and nose deep in his phone. This was as much of a testament to Itadori’s poor sleep as anything else; Fushiguro was never awake before him, even when he had his eight am bio lab (where he still managed perfect attendance).
“Morning,” said Itadori, reaching into the fridge for the carton of eggs and forcing himself to think about something else. Fushiguro grunted in reply, which was his normal, and eyed Itadori as he made his breakfast.
“Those are my eggs, you know,” he said.
Itadori snickered, cracking another into a bowl. “Oh, come on. You don’t ever cook with them. Last I checked, instant ramen didn’t call for fresh eggs in their recipe.”
“Maybe I would if there were ever any left,” Fushiguro responded (and now Itadori knew for sure he was fucking with him—there was no universe where that would happen), “you go through a half dozen every morning.”
“They’re a great source of protein!”
“Right.”
“Plus I know Gojo still pays your grocery bills.”
Fushiguro didn’t answer, which confirmed Itadori’s conjecture, but took a long sip of his coffee instead.
“So, what do you want to do this weekend?” Itadori slid into the chair across from Fushiguro in the breakfast nook once he finished cooking. Their apartment didn’t have much (even though Gojo had offered a truly ridiculous amount for their rent, Fushiguro was determined to live somewhere “normal” and “college-y”), but it did have a pretty sweet kitchen. “I could get us Saturday tickets to the Tokyo music festival.”
“Can’t. I have a vector calculus midterm Monday.”
“What? It’ll be fun!” Itadori protested. He had no idea what vector calculus was, but more than likely Fushiguro would ace the exam in a blink. “You study too much anyway. Plus, Sukuna’s going and he can get us drinks at the—,”
He froze, egg midway to his mouth, hand suspended in midair.
Laughter, ringing in his skull. Inside his head. Screaming from people outside. Horrible screaming, but nothing like the laughter.
A beating heart in the palm of his hand.
“—epsilon-delta proofs on it, and I can’t—are you even listening?”
“Huh? Yeah, yeah…no, for sure. Tell me more about belts and…uh..” Itadori blinked away the memories, trying to ignore the sudden and inexplicable weight in his stomach. Fushiguro raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Delta. Epsilon-delta. You’re—it doesn’t matter. I can’t spend all day at a music festival, even if your cousin is gonna be there.”
“Yeah,” Itadori swallowed. “Yeah, ok. But will you still come to the volleyball game tomorrow? Todo’s hosting after.”
“Of course. But you guys have to win this time, or I’m gonna stop going.”
That sent off another round of protesting and dicking around—Fushiguro’s specialty—which only ended once Itadori realized he was almost late for his first lecture.
He was in such a hurry, in fact, that he didn’t even think about the dreams again for the next several hours. It was Thursday, which was essentially Friday, and it always tended to invigorate him, even if it didn’t make his classes any easier or his schedule less busy.
He didn’t think about anything strange at all, really, until he was leaving his third class of the day and trying to figure out where to get lunch. It was past noon by that point, and he didn’t really think of his nightmares at all at first. It was—well, it wasn’t a thought, actually. It was a sort of knowledge that was already embedded somewhere. He didn’t need to think of it.
Wrong. Something was wrong. His skin was too tight, hairs raising on the back of his neck. What was wrong? What made him feel that way? There wasn’t a—
A brunette ponytail swung in the corner of his eye. That was wrong. That—whoever that was.
He whipped his head around to track the person it belonged to, but classes had just gotten out, and the sidewalk was flooded with haggard 20-year-olds. Someone bumped into his shoulder, and Itadori realized he was just standing there, swiveling around in the middle of the walkway.
He kept going. Heading to the nearest cafeteria even if he wasn’t sure he felt hungry anymore. He didn’t like that, whatever it was. It made him feel exposed and a little uncomfortable, like there was a person standing perfectly behind him, so that wherever he turned he couldn’t quite catch a glimpse.
She was short. She was short and she had brown hair. And somewhere, deep in the caveman animal instincts of his brain, there was something wrong with her. He couldn't rationalize it.
“Going fuckin’ crazy,” he said, repeating it against his lips like it would change things.
**
Cafeteria. Lunch. Something weird—Fish? One more class. Essays back. B-. Not bad.
No strange girls. No nightmares.
Halfway through the class, he started to figure that more sleep would probably help. Clearly, he was overtired. By the time he stepped off campus on his way home after class, he was so preoccupied thinking about taking a nap that he almost didn’t see her across the street.
Fuck, it was getting dark. He couldn’t see her quite right and he didn’t want to. Something was telling him to turn around and run.
He kept looking.
She wore a hoodie. Gray, Nike. Gray sweats and hair in a high cascading ponytail. She…she looked like a jogging teen? She looked so absurdly normal, distracted, glancing around at street signs, that he only felt more unnerved.
Her eyes darted from building to building like she was trying to locate herself on a map. And then, all at once, her eyes fell on him.
He felt a jolt of cold panic strike through his gut. A bus soared by, honking loudly and obscuring the other side of the street from view.
Itadori stepped back from the road, bewildered. His heart beat loudly. She was gone. The bus disappeared down the street and normal noises of traffic had returned and she was gone.
What the fuck was going on.
**
“Kugisaki’s gonna come to the game tomorrow,” Fushiguro called from the couch while Itadori let the door swing shut behind him. “She just texted. Maki’s not on duty so they’re down for whatever.”
Itadori nodded, knowing that he should probably respond, but somehow unable to find words. The doorknob trembled at his back. No, no, that was his hand. His entire arm shook, and he hoped he didn’t look too visibly freaked out because what was he going to say if Fushiguro asked? “Yeah, sorry, just saw a ghost-like figure that feels incarnate of some wacked out nightmares I’ve been having. No biggie.”
Fushiguro didn’t ask, though, just hummed a response to Itadori’s nod and turned back to the computer in his lap.
Right. Cool. Everything was cool. Itadori went back to his bedroom and flopped down on his cheap twin mattress. He let his bookbag thud to the floor beside him and threw an arm over his face, clouding his vision with darkness. Gradually, he could feel the adrenaline mellow out in his system, letting the “immediate crisis” sensation fade into the background. He started to feel a little silly. Nightmares? Yeah, nightmares were one thing. There was no shame in being afraid of a nightmare—those things could be horrible.
But the girl? She couldn’t be older than 17. Like as not, she was just some kid touring the campus, and Itadori had locked in on her like a homing beacon. Following him? Why would he think she was following him?
He sat up straight on his mattress, turning to face the full-length mirror Kugisaki had made him put on the back of his door (“you have to have at least some idea of how ridiculous your outfits are before you leave the house”) and staring into its depths. He clicked on his bedside lamp.
Hazel met hazel. “Itadori Yuji,” he muttered through his teeth. “I am 20 years old. I am a communications major at the University of Tokyo. I moved here three years ago on an athletic scholarship from Sendai. That’s where my grandpa still lives.
Nothing strange or terrifying has happened to me in my entire life.”
He repeated that last line a couple of times, picking at a scab on his knee until it bled. “You’re fine, man.” He got to his feet, figuring he’d grab a beer and make dinner for Fushiguro and himself. That always made him feel better.
Nothing strange or terrifying—what about that time Sukuna had put a spider in his Christmas stocking? That should maybe count.
Sukuna.
Something felt weird about that, again. Itadori cracked open whatever artsy IPA someone had left in their fridge and thought back to that morning. Something was strange about that, but he couldn’t quite remember what.
What had he dreamed about last night?
No, no. He wasn’t going to do that. Slamming the sesame oil down against the counter with more force than necessary, Itadori decided he was not going to do that. He didn’t have many blood relatives left. Along with his grandpa, Sukuna had practically raised him. More of an uncle than an older cousin, it felt. He wasn’t going to let some weird dreams get in the way of that.
“Do you want me to start the rice cooker?”
Itadori almost dropped the scalding wok full of hot oil when Fushiguro came up behind him. His arm seized a little, and he had to remember that he was a real person with a real human body. It wasn’t often that he got his head stuck in the clouds, but when he did, it tended to stay there.
“Yeah, yeah, that would be great.” He cleared his throat. If Fushiguro thought he seemed on edge, he didn’t say anything.
They worked in tandem, as they so often did, to finish the meal. “We got our essays back in history of film,” said Itadori, carefully transferring chicken from the pan to the cooling rack.
“Oh yeah?” Fushiguro took two plates out of the cabinet.
“I did better than I usually do. Thanks for reading it.”
Fushiguro smiled like he was suppressing a smirk. “That’s good to hear.”
“Don’t do that!” Itadori pushed his shoulder good-naturedly, “Don’t act like my academics are a joke!”
Fushiguro looked at him skeptically. “I think you’re a very impressive person, Itadori,” he said plainly, “but your class assignments are barely a step above coloring sheets.”
“Well that’s not true,” Itadori scoffed, plating the chicken with the rice. “If they were coloring sheets, I’d do awesome. I’m barely passing fashion and culture.”
“I thought Kugisaki was in that class with you.”
“She is! And it sucks. She’s totally ruining the curve.” Itadori and Fushiguro sat down in tandem, settling into the well-worn rhythm around their table. Having moved off campus together as second years, they were used to apartment life. Honestly, Itadori sometimes forgot he’d ever lived anywhere else. Fushiguro just seemed… ingrained in his life in that way. Like his beat-up Adidas or the freckle on his wrist; a fact about himself. “Never,” he pointed at Fushiguro with a fork, “take a class with someone whose special interest is the course material. It gets crazy.”
“I think that’s every person in bio ever, actually.”
“That’s different,” Itadori laughed, “you’re, like, saving the animals or whatever. I’m figuring out the best way to sell crop tops to teenagers. Some things aren’t that serious.”
“I don’t know, that sounds very serious.”
“Mhm.”
Fushiguro shrugged. He took a bite of the katsu and nodded appreciatively, which made Itadori glow a little. “Sometimes,” he continued, “it just feels like I’m preparing for a lifetime of putting down someone’s pet. I’d rather sell crop tops than do that.”
“Oh man,” Itadori sipped his beer. It tasted truly awful. “I hadn’t even thought of that. I guess that’s a big part of what vets do. Stuff like that makes me a little glad Grandpa never let me get a pet growing up.”
“Yeah, I…” Fushiguro trailed off, his brow furrowing a bit. “I always wanted dogs,” he said right before Itadori was about to ask if something was wrong. He glanced back up to Itadori quickly, nodding furtively before standing up to put his dish in the sink. “Never worked out. Tsumiki’s allergic.”
“Shame.”
“Yeah.”
**
Hours after the warm fraternal glow of dinner had faded, Itadori found himself pacing the apartment’s front living space. He walked from the front door to the kitchen counter, bouncing back around to the window overlooking the street outside, and wandering back over the door. It was mindless; his skin thrummed with energy. He sort of wanted to go for a run, but he was nervous to do anything at all. He didn’t want to go to bed and wake up screaming. He didn’t want to feel like he was going crazy. He didn’t want to remember what he’d seen in his sleep last night, but still—
It bothered him that he couldn’t.
He could remember it as of this morning, right? It was less clear now than it was then.
Noise. Some awful noise…screaming? Laughing. No, no, it was both? He was hurt. Bad. But he wasn’t the one who was crying.
Now who would do that for him?
Door. Counter. Window. Door. Counter. Window. Girl. Door. Co—
Girl?
Itadori scrambled over to the window, peering over the ledge for just a second before reeling back. His heart beat out of his chest. He was terrified that she saw him.
The girl was in front of his house. She couldn’t be real. Why would she be there? At night? How would she be there?
Itadori was going to have to find out. He thought for a moment about knocking on Fushiguro’s door, asking him to watch his back. But that would mean having to explain…
Well. He could do it himself.
Itadori crept down the metal staircase of the apartment complex, realizing belatedly that he didn’t have shoes or keys. His socks padded against the stairs, the tile leading to the front door, and across the slightly damp sidewalk.
The two of them lived on a side street. It was a private apartment complex housing mostly students, but the street itself was usually quiet. Still, Itadori noticed with peculiar interest that, usually, there was at least someone walking around. Maybe a car going by.
It was notably, eerily empty. Except for the girl, who had her back turned to the building as Itadori came out. She looked focused, her head bobbing slightly as she panned slowly from one end of the street to the other. She was—was she counting?
Yeah, that had to be it. Itadori thought about her that afternoon. Preoccupied with the street signs.
He wasn’t afraid. Not the way he was earlier. Something about her seemed almost inviting this time around. It was like, even though he could tell something was unusual, this was exactly what he was supposed to be doing.
“Are you looking for something?” he said eventually, slowly approaching. He tried to sound nonthreatening, but it must not have come off right because she seemed to jump out of her skin the second he spoke.
“Oh my god!” she gasped, turning around to face him. This time, he actually got a clear look at her face. Brown eyes. Bangs. Definitely a kid. “It is you!”
“It is—what? What are you doing here?”
“Except, you’re so much older. I guess that’s why I didn’t recognize—”
“Who are you? Why are you at my house?”
“I thought it must’ve been, because who do I know that has pink hair, but I—”
“Are you okay!” Itadori said at once, cutting across her energized ramblings. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are,” he said, pinching his brow. “I don’t think you should be here. Do you have a phone? Is there someone we can call?”
Itadori almost asked her how she thought she knew him, but he hesitated. This wasn’t some immaterial fear. This was some kid wandering the streets at night. Just because Itadori had a nightmare or two didn’t mean a thing. Maybe he could help this girl out.
“No,” she shook her head, “I mean, you could. But that’s not—it wouldn’t help me.”
“...but I can?”
“Yeah! I mean, like I said I’m pretty sure. I didn’t get a good look when things happened earlier, but the hair stuck out to me. Plus, I feel like I keep finding you even when I don’t mean to. I’m starting to figure that means something.”
She spoke quickly and excitedly. Itadori shook his head, as if clearing water out of his ears. He wasn’t even sure where to start. This was so, so weird.
“What do you mean earlier?”
“In Ikebukuro, just a little bit ago. I’m not sure when. I don’t…well, I guess I don’t know what day it is now.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same Thursday. We’re not even in Colony 1 anymore, I don’t think.”
“For sure….”
She opened her mouth and then paused fractionally, taking a closer look at his face. Gradually, her excitement turned to nervous confusion. Her eyes darkened.
“You have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“No. No, I don’t.” Itadori almost felt bad. Clearly, this mattered to her a lot. But he’d never been in a colony in his life, unless she meant playing Catan with his grandpa growing up. “I want to help you, though.”
She shook her head, looking unnerved. “You won’t want to. Ah, this is bad. This place…it’s not for me, I think. I’m not really sure. I’ve never been here before. But whatever it is, I don’t belong in here the way you do.”
“What do you mean ‘here’?”
Her eyes widened fractionally. She looked kind of constipated, if he was being honest. “First,” she said, “I want to say that I…I don’t know. But also, I’m sorry, because I’m pretty sure whatever it is, I’m responsible for it. And I don’t say sorry a whole lot, so you better appreciate it.”
Itadori blinked at her. She was making him nervous.
“This place isn’t real,” she said bluntly, like she was trying to rip off a bandaid. “It’s some kind of sandbox. You got pulled in, and it made you different. Older, and I think you lost some scars? I followed you, but I don’t think I changed. It had something to do with that game they were making us play,” she took a deep, shuddering breath. “Do you even remember the game?” Her voice cracked a little.
The fear was coming back. That animalistic instinct, the one that settled in his gut and set fire to his bones. He thought about the nightmares. He almost remembered a….a face….could it be….?
“I don’t remember.” He said decisively, assuring both her and himself. “I mean, I don’t think this ever happened in the first place. I’m sorry.”
“No,” she shook her head. He noticed tears, then, falling thick and fat down her cheeks. “No, you can’t say that. I’ve been looking and looking and I keep trying to go to school and go home but I just keep ending up back here. Every wrong turn and I’m running into pink hair, and that means that it wasn’t a dream.” She took a gasping breath, and Itadori felt a raindrop land against the crown of his head. Her hands trembled at her side, hair swishing too and fro in the quickly growing windstorm. “It wasn’t a dream,” she continued, “you weren’t dreaming. This place isn’t real, you have to believe me.”
The rain grew, slow then torrential. Wind whipped around, and the temperature quickly dropped. Itadori went from afraid to petrified. Rain slammed into his face and neck; it soaked his socks and dripped down the back of his hoodie. Through it, he still heard the girl’s voice, indistinctly crying and shouting and begging.
“Okay, okay!” He shouted over the cacophony. “I believe you!”
The wind slowed. The rain petered off into a light drizzle and then dissipated entirely. He gasped, sopping wet, staring at the equally wet girl in front of him, who looked strung out and cold.
“Take my number,” she said suddenly, looking at him with decisiveness. Itadori couldn’t even respond, just stared in bewilderment. “I’m sorry you don’t remember. I know it’s hard. I’ll….I’ll let you call me. I mean, I’ll stop looking. I think I might have scared you.”
“Might have…” Itadori mouthed, still in shock. She grabbed his phone. He opened it for her, letting her go to his contacts to add herself.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, even though she was already punching in her number, “yeah. I’ll call. For sure. Will….you said you’ll be okay?”
“Yeah, I can take care of myself.” She handed the phone back to him. “Plus, there are people here that I lost out there. It’s nice to spend some time with them.”
He gripped his phone tightly, consciously reminding himself not to crack the screen in two. He was still soaking wet.
“So. You’ll let me know,” she said. He nodded. He wasn’t even fully sure what he was agreeing to. She turned around, looking back at the buildings and the street signs.
“Wait,” he looked up after she was several paces away. “What’s your name?”
“I put it in the contact! It’s Riko. I get it, you probably think you’re crazy right now. Just give me a call when you want to start figuring it out.”
He closed his eyes, and she was gone. Maybe he’d passed out a little in between blinks. He looked down at the phone, where her contact winked up at him. “Riko,” he whispered. “Riko Amanai.”
There was no way he was calling that nut case.