Megumi Fushiguro is not a mean person. Despite general belief, and what he may look like to everyone else, he isn’t.
He’s never had a problem with this perception of him, even as a jujutsu sorcerer. People can see him however they like. It’s not like they know him. They never will; they don't try. So what’s the use of acting better than he is? If no one bothers to look further, that’s not his problem. He’s been on his own forever. Well before Gojo-sensei took him in. Well before he had the capacity not to be alone.
He knows this. He does.
So why now does he feel as though he should…act nicer?
Everyone at the academy has already met him. They all have their opinions, even Kugisaki. Even if he did switch his demeanor now, it’s not like anyone would change their view of him. And he doesn’t care. Obviously. Right?
Right. He ponders this harder and harder as he sits on the kitchen counter, watching the moonlight shift. Which he’s been doing for days, as he can’t seem to fall asleep. Completely unrelated, of course.
The moon he’s been watching reflects against the knives on the wall and casts light right onto Fushiguro’s face. It’s deafeningly silent, as if any sound is afraid to even approach him. He wouldn’t be surprised. That’s how most people treat him, after all. Scary. Unapproachable. Mean.
He shakes that feeling away and sighs. Maybe he really should start acting nicer.
“Fushiguro?”
The voice, sweet in its nature, scared him so bad he nearly jumps right off the counter. He doesn’t, thank god, because it’s only Itadori.
“What are you doing? It’s past midnight.”
Of course he’d be here. Of course he’d be the one to catch Fushiguro so far inside his own head.
“I…couldn’t sleep.”
Jesus. Way to sound defenseless. He cringes, hoping Itadori won’t look too far into that. Hoping even more that he’ll go back to bed.
He doesn’t though. “Yeah, I get it. It’s kinda hard to sleep in these dorms!” Stupid Itadori. Of course he’d be oblivious. “Something eerie about them, I swear.”
Fushiguro could’ve been blinded by his smile, so bright and full of bliss. How is that even possible? How is it possible to be so ignorantly happy in a career like this?
“I guess,” he says, still not meeting Itadori’s gaze.
He doesn’t notice, though. “Well…since we both can’t sleep, want to get something to eat?”
He almost smiles at that. Leave it to Itadori to fix a bad situation with food. Granted, it’s only Fushiguro that’s in a bad situation, but still. It’s not like Itadori knows that.
He doesn’t even realise he hasn’t answered until he looks up to find Itadori’s inviting eyes holding a puzzled look. “Oh, sorry. Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
He smiles that damn smile again. “Is there anything you’re in the mood for?”
Fushiguro shrugs. “Whatever you want, I guess.”
He watches in mild horror as Itadori pulls out two ice cream bars from the freezer. Yet Fushiguro can’t say anything against him. Him and his stupid smile.
“Come on, let’s eat them outside! The stars will be out, I bet.”
–
Itadori is halfway through his third ice cream before he says anything.
Fushiguro’s, on the other hand, has melted on the ground. In a way, he’s grateful for the silence. He’s grateful in the same way that he’s not.
Ever since Itadori swallowed that first finger, things haven’t been the same for Fushiguro. Everything’s been more alive, whether that be due to Itadori’s unknowing manipulation or the simple fact that he has two new classmates this year.
That’s partly why the whole attitude thing has been on his mind. He can’t fight accordingly with his classmates if they don’t like him, right? Right. And in order for them to like him, maybe he should… put in a little more effort? Just a little. Just enough to make them initiate.
When Itadori speaks, it almost makes Fushiguro jump out of his skin again . “So why couldn’t you sleep?”
He thought Itadori had dropped it already. He hasn’t thought this far. “Just…dogs, food, stuff.”
“Huh.”
Silence, again.
With Itadori beside him, he can’t help but think about how he must be adapting. About how he and Kugisaki must be adapting. It can’t be easy to just leave your life behind like that. It’s not like he would know, though. He just imagines. It can’t be how either of them wanted their life to play out, can it? Maybe Kugisaki, but Itadori?
No, impossible. This shouldn’t be anyone's dream.
Why would anyone choose to do this when they could be anything else? He doesn’t get it. He can’t fathom how anyone would ever want to live such a life. A life where you can’t afford to fall off your pedestal. Where your path is a straightforward tightrope, and if you take one step out of line, you’re finished. Where you’re infinitely drowning in the pressure that not only others have bestowed upon you, but the pressure that you’ve bestowed upon yourself. Fushiguro would give anything for another life. He’d give everything.
Stupid Itadori. Stupid, stupid, stupid Itadori. He didn’t have to have this life. He could’ve done more than this.
If only Fushiguro’d found the finger first, if only he’d been faster–
No. Thinking like that is worth nothing. Wishing for a forlorn dream isn’t going to make it come true.
Still, he can’t help it.
“What are you thinking about?”
Shit. “Nothing.”
Itadori doesn’t let up, though. Why would he? “C’mon. You can tell me.”
“I’m not thinking of anything.”
Itadori pauses for a moment, but only a moment, thinking of his next plan to get Fushiguro to talk. He doesn’t even notice he has ice cream in his hair . Idiot. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking of if you tell me.”
Fushiguro doesn’t budge. “No.”
“Aw, please? You’re so deep in thought all the time! No one ever knows what you’re really thinking.”
He’s right, isn’t he? That is how people perceive him, isn’t it? Fushiguro never tells anyone what he’s thinking, not unless it’s of immediate substance or importance. No one ever asks. No one except…
He shifts, putting an inch of space between them. It’s not a conscious decision. “You’d laugh.”
Itadori looks at him, and Fushiguro can tell from the corner of his eye that he’s confused. I don’t want you to worry about me. “What are you talking about? Of course I wouldn’t.”
Silence hangs in the space between them. It’s on fire, and Fushiguro is burning right with it. Still, Itadori is right. He doesn’t tell people anything simply because it isn’t important. But Itadori–he’s not just anyone. And didn’t he just agree to himself to act nicer?
Itadori is willing to look closer. He’s willing to know more.
Showing parts of yourself will not kill you. Just say something. He’s asking, for god’s sake.
“Itadori…” He swallows. Doubt creeps through his mind, sickeningly killing his courage faster and faster. Yet he continues on. “Do you…like being a jujutsu sorcerer?”
Fushiguro braces himself for…well, anything. But he’s only met with silence. And he doesn’t dare be the one to break it. It feels like eternity, almost to the point Fushiguro can’t take it anymore, until
“Saving people is really important to me. And if I can’t save them… then making sure they have proper deaths.”
He says it so certainly that Fushiguro wishes he could take it back all together. Wishes he’d have just made something up. But something…something makes him want more. More of an answer. Because that didn’t answer his question. Not really.
“But do you like it?”
Itadori ponders again, taking his time. Fushiguro doesn’t dare look over. His eyes are set on the deep black above, stars like fresh snow, sweet and beautiful. “I mean, it showed me things I never would have imagined…” Another pause. Fushiguro can’t take many more pauses. “Yeah. I’d say so. I like being a jujutsu sorcerer.”
“I don’t.”
He’s said it. He’s admitted it. It’s done.
So why is he afraid of what Itadori is going to say?
“What?”
Fushiguro sits up, trying to ignore the tenseness in his shoulders. “I don’t like it. I don’t think I ever would’ve chosen this life if I didn’t have to.”
“I always assumed you loved this kind of stuff…You’re so good, so…” He trails off.
“Well I don’t. I think Gojo-sensei knows I don’t. He’s never brought it up, but I can tell. Something about the way he talks to me, I guess.” Itadori says nothing, listening silently. “He probably feels responsible, that’s why. It’s not his fault, though. He just did what he had to.” He waits to say the next part. He doesn’t know why. “And saved my life.”
Itadori, to much of Fushiguro’s surprise, punches him in the arm. “Why don’t you ever tell us anything? I never knew about…any of this.”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
Itadori doesn’t question this. In a way, he’s grateful. He only asks, “What would you rather be doing?”
His hands clench at his sides. Does he really want to know? No one ever gets this far. “What life would I rather lead, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
Fushiguro waits for a moment. He could tell him. He could. He’d tell Itadori anything, probably, if he let himself–if he dropped all his defenses. But he hasn’t tonight. Not yet. “Not telling.”
“Aw, come on! I was so close!”
“No!” Fushiguro says. God, he’s nearly yelling . “It’s…embarrassing. No.” I’ve told you way too much already, Itadori.
But I would still tell you so much more. How?
“What do I have to do to get through to you? You’ve built such heavy walls around yourself. Don’t you realise that people really do want to get to know you?”
You’ve already broken my walls down, idiot. Don’t you realise that? “You would definitely laugh.”
“What else do I have to do to convince you I won’t? I swear, Fushiguro, I will not tell a soul.” He puts his hand over his heart, almost like he’s reciting a scouts honour. Stupid. “ Sukuna and I will not tell a single soul. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Please?”
Ironic. Fushiguro is in real danger of laughing now. “Fine! Fine. Just…stop talking.”
He does, still smiling. Fushiguro can’t tell if it’s better or worse, because Itadori’s soft eyes are trained on Fushiguro’s face and he can’t focus. Still, he looks straight forward and starts anyway.
“If I weren’t a jujutsu sorcerer, I’d want a normal life.” He cringes, feeling a chill start up at the base of his spine, but continues anyway. “I’d get a good education and graduate with high honours. I’d get a good job. I don't know what kind, but I’d get one. And…and I’d have a family. A proper family.”
It’s true. All of it. He’d lie and say he hasn’t thought about it before, but he doesn’t think he could. He couldn’t lie about something like this. Something so important to him, no matter how stupid and childish his wish may be. No matter how selfish.
Family…a proper family…it’s always been a dumb wish. So far out of reach it’s not even worth thinking about. He’s never told anyone that before. Not Tsumiki, not Gojo, no one. In fear it might make it real somehow, and he’d lose it all over again. Come to think of it, all these thoughts share that bond. No one would ever know if they didn’t ask.
Itadori hasn’t said a word. It feels like he’s been sitting in silence for years. He really cannot stand any more of these pauses, especially when he’s waiting on Itadori. Suddenly, though, he feels weight shift next to him, inching closer. He hears the beginning of an answer escape Itadori’s lips.
“But don’t you see? You have a family. Right here. Gojo-sensei, Kugisaki, Toudou, Maki…they’re all your family.” A pause. Again. “And me. I’m your family too, Fushiguro.”
He’s not sure what he expected, but never in a million years would it have been that.
He doesn’t know why, but all of a sudden, tears begin to run down his cheeks.
Without warning, a hand on his face wipes his tears away. The touch is fleeting, but burning, and though he’d never admit it, Fushiguro revels in the feeling for as long as possible. He doesn’t realise his eyes are closed until the ghostly touch slips away.
“You never asked me why I like being a jujutsu sorcerer,” Itadori says, his voice comforting, and so much quieter than it was just minutes ago.
Fushiguro turns to look at him, eyes finally meeting, deep blue sinking in light brown. Shadows dance along the crevices of Itadori’s face. He’s usually very optimistic in his expression, never set without a bright-toothed smile or crinkles by the eyes. But now, under the soft moon glow, he looks the most relaxed Fushiguro’s ever seen him. Without realizing, Fushiguro’s let go of his own stress, and has let his expression fall. Defenseless.
“What?” He replies, nearly a whisper.
“You asked me if I like being a jujutsu sorcerer, but you never asked why. You told me, so I should tell you.”
He’s lost in Itadori’s motive, but plays along anyway. He trusts him too much not to, he supposes. “Okay. Why do you like being a jujutsu sorcerer?”
Itadori sighs. “Oh, there’s lots of reasons, I mean, all jumbled together, but I guess the biggest one is…you.”
A special-grade cursed spirit could’ve killed them both right then and Fushiguro would’ve been less surprised. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever said anything like that to him in his life. But Itadori isn’t finished.
“You saved me. When I could’ve died–when I was going to die, you wanted me to live. You cared about me for me , not for any underlying motive. For me .” Itadori’s voice is climbing now, building on itself. Fushiguro can’t help but sit in disbelief. He couldn’t say anything if he wanted to. “You may not see it, Fushiguro, but you are an amazing jujutsu sorcerer. You fight for yourself, sure, but you don’t let it keep you from fighting for others. You’re not selfish like you think you might be. You’re not cold. You’re incredible, Fushiguro. You’re admirable. I admire you. I…”
Fushiguro can expect many things, he can fight on his feet, always anticipating the next move. But he could never predict Itadori. Thoughts run in and out of his head. He feels like he’s buzzing–like butterflies are flying up and down his bloodstream. You’re all of that and more, idiot.
Finally, Itadori finishes. “You deserve so much more than anyone has ever given you credit for.”
Fushiguro could bury himself in those words.
He looks intently at Itadori, eyes like searchers, exploring every inch of his gaze. His eyes are really sparkling now, so much so Fushiguro could count the constellations his eyes make. They’re so, so soft. And close. So, so close, he could run his fingers up and down his face, tan skin, supple and like satin under the moonlight.
He wonders if he could. He wonders if Itadori would let him.
Itadori could ask him anything at that moment, and he’d do it.
Too close. Too quiet.
“Itadori?” The moment breaks, and he turns away. Stupid .
He looks almost breathless, sitting there. “Yeah, Fushiguro?”
“So…you don’t think I’m…mean?”
Itadori takes this like a personal offense. “ What ? Are you kidding? You’re one of the kindest people I know, Fushiguro! I can’t believe you’d even think that…” He hits him on the arm again.
“I just assumed…everyone usually has that perception of me. I didn’t want you to…whatever. I don’t know.” Way to go, Fushiguro. Nice to know who the real idiot here is.
Itadori, as if for the millionth time, smiles. “You always assume stuff like that, don’t you Fushiguro?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles.
“I do. Why can’t you accept that I think you’re a good person?”
Oh. “It’s not that! Really, I just–I’m not…used to it.” Not used to you.
“It’s okay. You will be. I know you will, because I’ll tell you all the time.”
Fushiguro nearly short-circuts. “Okay.”
Something must have possessed him. He must be violently ill. That’s the only explanation Fushiguro has for bringing his hand closer to Itadori in that exact moment. Only Itadori doesn’t just stay still. He moves his hand under the same pale moonlight.
Fingers intertwining. Heat on heat. Skin on skin.
“Fushiguro–?”
No. Not now. “Just–stop talking, will you?”
Without warning, and with a devil's smile on his lips, Itadori snakes his free hand up Fushiguro’s neck and kisses him.
Fushiguro could know every language in the entire world and still not have a word to describe how it feels to be kissed by Yuuji Itadori.
It’s fire on top of fire, sweetness threaded through sour. He can’t focus, not with Itadori’s hand in his hair. Not with his lips on his. It’s impossible.
Fushiguro manages to wrap an arm around Itadori’s waist before Itadori breaks their circle of silence. “I’ve wanted to do that for…for a long time.”
Fushiguro only looks at Itadori, but he feels everything.
“I like you, Megumi Fushiguro. I like you a lot.” He chuckles.
What? “You…”
“I…?” Itadori replies, teasing.
“You like me.” Fushiguro says it like a statement. Like a check-list. He’ll bask in those words later, but he needs to know they’re real first.
“Yes.” Check.
“You kissed me.”
“Yes.” Check.
Like an idiot, the only thing he can say next is– “Is this what it was? When you said you’d tell me what you were thinking about if I told you, was it this?”
“Kinda…I didn’t really know what I was gonna say, if I’m honest. Good thing you didn’t take that deal.”
“You’re so stupid.”
Fushiguro wraps his hand around Itadori’s shirt and kisses him. He can’t even explain why he does it, but he needs to. He needs to feel the warmth again–the absolutely insane feeling of kissing Yuuji Itadori. He tries to commit the feeling to memory, if it’s even possible.
“I like you too.” He barely whispers it, but he knows Itadori hears. He knows by the way he hums in response and moves just inches closer.
“Let's go to sleep, yeah?” For the whole night. No more late night kitchen encounters.
This time, Itadori isn’t the only one smiling. “Yeah.
One last time, without warning, Itadori grabs Fushiguro’s hand and pulls him back inside.
And all of a sudden, he doesn’t feel so worried anymore.
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