Chapter Text
With the understanding that Suguru Getou went missing in the same way as Nobara Kugisaki, and that finding the maybe-missing twin daughters is the best way to reopen that cold case, Yuuji expects — well, he expects to go out and try to find the missing twin daughters.
It's not exactly what Fushiguro has in mind, at least not on the same timeframe Yuuji has it on. Yuuji knows this because Fushiguro insists they make a detour, tight-lipped and fidgety about it, so Yuuji doesn't disagree until they're standing down a run-down apartment building.
It only has a few units, but those units have been battered from years of summer sunshine and the hail of spring, which shows on the yellowing paint and the rusty balcony rails. Yuuji has fond memories of trading riddles from here on his way to the grocery store with Nobara after school when her grandmother asked her to run errands.
Shoko Ieiri is, after all, more clever than anyone gives her credit for.
So Yuuji doesn't know why they're climbing the stairs to her apartment, or why Fushiguro knocks on Ieiri's door a specific way, or why she answers.
Ieiri's always looked tired. Her eye bags are deeper than a ditch and Yuuji's never seen her without at least one drink, be that alcoholic or caffeinated, within a five-foot range of her. Her apartment is the same way, as she blinks at their arrival and, for whatever reason, gestures them inside.
The mess isn't unusual to Yuuji, considering how trashed the manor was, but he still tries not to step on the thrown-about laundry on the floor as he takes his sneakers off, trying hard not to trip into Fushiguro, who apparently has more grace in this particular department.
"What are you here for?" Ieiri asks, world-weary and worn like a well-loved book. Her composure frays at the edges, the way her hands shake by her sides as she tries to write off their appearance.
"Where are the twins?" Fushiguro asks without preamble. Despite Ieiri's cluttered space, there's a method to the mess; everything is thrown into semi-consistent piles with the sole exception of the full ash trays on the kitchen counter. Fushiguro pushes past it with a practiced ease, stepping into the kitchen like he owns the space.
Ieiri tsks, watching him lazily. "You've never given a damn about them, what changed?"
Fushiguro grunts.
Yuuji stays near the door, confused and unsure where he's supposed to be to stay out of the way. But whatever squawk of discontent he makes has Ieiri dragging her leisure, but never lazy, gaze back to him. "And what do you have to do with it, kid?"
"Do you two, like, know each other?" Yuuji blurts, recognizing his own stupidity as he says the words aloud. Of course they know each other. Ieiri literally teaches two of their classes.
Ieiri takes what he meant instead of what he said though, snorting brazenly even as Fushiguro resolutely stays silent as he pulls open the fridge. "Something like that. What's it to you?"
Well, there's a degree of familiarity required to go through someone's fridge without permission, Yuuji thinks, watching Fushiguro do just that. It's not even a haphazard, accidental thing.
No, Yuuji is watching as Fushiguro organizes Ieiri's fridge, one stack of identifiable food in tupperware containers and another of congealed, something-rottens in the other pile. He holds up a plastic cart with a disgusted frown. "Really, Shoko? This is from three months ago."
"If only I didn't spend so much time grading papers," Ieiri says wistfully, a cutting tone to her voice that insists Fushiguro drop the thought.
Yuuji doesn't interject, not sure here he fits in in this push-and-pull dynamic he's never been privy to. Fushiguro just moved in; why does he know Ieiri?
Then again, there's a lot Yuuji hasn't been told.
"Where are the twins?" Fushiguro repeats again. From his tone, it's clear that this — helping Ieiri clean up — is his payment for the information he seeks, though he does suppress a gag while pulling out a slime covered yogurt container. Yuuji doesn't even want to know.
Ieiri dodges the question for a while, shifting her weight from foot to foot while debating what to reveal. "Sent 'em off to a school in the city a while ago."
"Where?" Fushiguro presses. He won't make eye contact, but he'll demand. Yuuji wonders if it's similar to how any of his own pushing, impulsive demands become null pleas whenever he makes eye contact with Choso, like the weight of their relationship will crush him before it helps.
That's only a sometimes feeling though. Yuuji loves his brother. He really, really does, but part of his body aches watching the same scene play out with different people right in front of him.
Maybe, Yuuji thinks, this is the curse of familiarity.
"Depends," Ieiri says, narrowing her eyes from a natural suspicion. "You aren't going to fight them again, are you?"
"It was one time," Fushiguro mumbles, the tips of his ears turning pink. If Yuuji didn't know any better, he'd say Fushiguro seems bashful.
"There was another disappearance," Yuuji fills in, saving Fushiguro from the fond smile on Ieiri's face. It's immediately replaced with a frown, something Yuuji is more familiar with. Nobara's name feels like lead from his mouth, but Yuuji forces it out anyway. "Nobara Kugisaki."
At that, Ieiri blinks. A film washes over her eye, thick and gray and opaque. It's gone with the next blink, like shrugging off snow after a storm. Her voice doesn't waver, but the slow drawl of it is pained. "Another?"
This time, Fushiguro takes back the wounds they seem to share. "Suguru Getou. You remember."
It's a statement, not a question. Another film, another moment of clarity. Ieiri's fingers are scratching at her wrists, a nervous tick that, it seems, has come back in full-force as she scrubs at the now-raw skin without any sign of pain, discomfort, or recognition. "The Hasaba twins are on a hunt right now — well, that's what Satoru said, who knows if he was being honest."
"Great."
With the newfound clarity, as Ieiri puts together the pieces of a life that was stolen from her — a piece of it, at least —, Yuuji shifts awkwardly from foot-to-foot, trying to figure out where he fits in a room of Patron Saints and monsters and the weight of history that he doesn't understand.
"You should ask Satoru," Ieiri says, uncharacteristically soft as she walks over to Fushiguro, sitting cross-legged on the ground next to him.
Yuuji's certain that Fushiguro's finished cleaning out the various containers in the fridge, but he makes no move to get up, staring resolutely into the chilled shelves. "I don't need him," Fushiguro says eventually.
"I'm not saying you do." It's a tired argument between them, that much even Yuuji is privy too.
He wonders if Ieiri ever wanted to leave. Yuuji's known her in some capacity his entire life; no one leaves who doesn't come back eventually, which is why he's expecting to see Maki Zen'in back at some point. Ieiri was never one of those people who left. He has vague memories of running into her at the grocery store when Choso first started taking care of him; he remembers that Getou wasn't there because he was at university, or so Ieiri said.
Yuuji remembers how the lights flickered, like they always do in the produce section of the one grocery store they have, lights more blue than the 7/11. He remembers how Choso's hands had been tightened into fists and the slow drawl of Ieiri's voice, even if he doesn't remember what was said.
Yuuji wonders now what they talked about. He wonders what's so wrong with Ieiri that she stays here. He wonders many things he'll never get answers for.
"What are they hunting?" is what Fushiguro settles for, rather than getting into whatever damage is embedded in his half-shredded lungs and burned palms.
Ieiri shrugs. For a woman who claims to know so little, she still has an answer for them at every turn. "Same imaginary ghost they've been hunting for years, Megumi. I didn't expect you to pick that particular fight."
"It's not for Getou," Fushiguro says stiffly. Despite is relatively calm voice, it still takes several more minutes for Fushiguro to stand from the floor, dusting grime off his knees and letting the silence hang.
Eventually, it's Ieiri who caves.
She click her tongue, reaching over and ruffling Fushiguro's mop of hair. "When I get their location, are you going to need a ride?"
"Probably."
The awkwardness is palpable, all Fushiguro's doing. He doesn't snap at Ieiri for the contact, leaning toward her instead. As soon as Fushiguro catches Yuuji staring, he rights his posture immediately. Which is about when Yuuji realizes Fushiguro slouches habitually, because he's taller than Yuuji all of a sudden.
"You're gonna be the death of me, kid," Ieiri sighs, both complaint and oath.
"It'll be a couple days' trip," Fushiguro says a few days later, dropping his bag by Yuuji's bedroom door while Yuuji thumbs through a well-read manga.
Yuuji glances up, noting that Fushiguro is no more or less disheveled than usual. And as per usual, his twin wolves are by his heels, their claws tapping across the floor — he hopes Choso can't hear them — as they nose in after their owner. "Are they really that far out?"
Fushiguro nods, though he seems irritated.
"Why not call them?"
At that, Fushiguro winces almost comically. "They wouldn't… uh, take kindly to it."
"What's your deal with them?" Yuuji asks genuinely. He doesn't want to get into anything complicated; he's already refrained from asking about Gojo and why he's so familiar with Ieiri and why Fushiguro seems to know more about the people Yuuji's known his entire life than Yuuji does. He thinks he deserves this one.
Fushiguro ambles over, passing the bean-bag chair to sit cross-legged on Yuuji's bed. The pair of them fit — the dogs do not. They still hop up anyway, smashing Yuuji's manga out of his hands before he can dog-ear the page. Luckily for them, they're cute and Yuuji has no problems giving the shadow-beings little head scratches.
"They're Getou's twins," Fushiguro says like that explains it all.
Yuuji blinks.
Fushiguro sighs.
"Adopted, obviously," he continues eventually, clearly sick of Yuuji's blank lack of recognition. "Getou and Gojo used to be… close. I also used to recreationally pick fights. Or whatever."
"When did you stop?"
Fushiguro immediately reaches over, or tries to over the mass of dog, to smack Yuuji in the back of his head. He fails, and Yuuji winds up entwining his hand in Fushiguro's to prevent any future attempts at violence.
"See, that's what I'm talking about!" Yuuji laughs, far too loud considering his brother is still sleeping in the other room and doesn't like Fushiguro.
It'll be fine, right?
"Whatever," Fushiguro echoes again. The tips of his ears are pink, though Yuuji can't figure out why.
"So? When are we going to be off?" Yuuji asks, setting their held-together hands on Kuro's back; he seems to be much more docile than Shiro today, snuggled up into Yuuji's lap and lazily demanding nothing but attention.
"You don't have to go with me."
Yuuji frowns. "No, I do," he says resolutely. "If it has anything to do with Nobara — even tangentially — then I have to go."
He doesn't add, wherever she is, she must be fighting like hell to survive. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do everything in my power to make sure she comes back safe.
It's easy to forget that, even when he's exhausted and sleeping or sitting and idly thumbing through his manga, that Nobara is surviving. Not living, not dying (if there's any higher power in the world), but surviving.
Yuuji remembers she's gone. He remembers Nobara Kugisaki.
Fushiguro might be the Patron Saint among them, but Yuuji doesn't think you need to be a Saint to burn the world down to make sure your best friend is okay.
There isn't further argument about Yuuji's participation, even if Shiro's tail flicks in irritation. Yuuji's sort of gotten the idea that Fushiguro's shadow animals mimic some of his subconscious emotions; it's cute. Far more expressive than his general rotation of flat expressions.
"Tonight," Fushiguro sighs. "Ieiri's driving. We leave tonight."
Yuuji slips away from Kuro to snag and empty his backpack of its school supplies.
Yuuji knows that Choso will lose his mind once he realizes Yuuji isn't just having a sleepover somewhere. But he also wouldn't let Yuuji go if he brought it up, so Yuuji settles for leaving a note on the fridge that amounts to so sorry!! It was urgent, I'll be back in a couple of days!! Maybe with Nobara!
He slips out the front door once the rumbling sound of Choso's truck down the driveway is replaced with the sputtering engine of Ieiri's car — older model, sleek and black, nice, but Yuuji thinks he remembers someone else driving that when he was little. He takes care to lock the latch, backpack slung over his shoulder and stuffed with clothes, a hammer, a crumpled written copy of all the saint stuff he's learned so far, and one copy of Human Earthworm 1.
In case they get bored.
The car is unlocked, so Yuuji doesn't hesitate to slide into the backseat next to Fushiguro. His dogs aren't summoned right now, and there's a duffel bag by his feet, but he's still in his school uniform despite the time.
Even though Ieiri's window is rolled down, the smell of smoke is thick in the cab. In the cupholder ashtray by Ieiri, there are five4 cigarette butts. On Fushiguro's hand, there are three more burns.
Yuuji has the distinct impression there isn't any coming back from this.
They're only seeking out the people investigating the same thing they are — there's a road back from this. All roads lead back home.
In Ieiri's rearview, Yuuji catches sight of himself. There are black marks; there always are nowadays. Fushiguro stiffens next to him, but says nothing, either in greeting or recognition.
"Keep still," Ieiri murmurs, syrupy-slow and just as thick. She floors it backing out of the driveway, muttering something else Yuuji doesn't catch, but all Yuuji catches is the squeal of the tires and the burnt-rubber smell of them hitting the asphalt.
Their destination is an hour outside of Fukuoka The route seems off to Yuuji, because the clock in the car says it takes four hours to leave his hometown — and it should only be a forty-five minute drive, Choso makes it all the time —, and then six hours to make it to Tokyo, but he knows that isn't right either.
Tokyo is cool. Yuuji sorta wished they had more room to explore, but at the same time, the idea of wasting unnecessary time when Nobara's life on the line is nauseating. They only stop because Ieiri runs out cigarettes at the same time Yuuji's stomach rumbles, and even after a late dinner that settles strangely in Yuuji's stomach, they drive another hour until Ieiri checks them into a run-down hotel. The neon sign is half-broken, and there are scuffs on the doors from something or other, but she doesn't seem to mind.
Yuuji follows Fushiguro, semi-restless. Fushiguro made it clear he wasn't in the mood for talking in the car when he pulled on his headphones and his walkman and spent their drive listening to the same album five times over, dulling out the sounds of Ieiri's pop CD. He hasn't been able to talk and he think he needs to before he explodes.
Rounding the corner of the hotel's hallway, bags over their shoulders, Ieiri hands Yuuji a keycard. "Don't lose it. We'll set out in the morning, yeah?" she says, and then she's gone.
Not quite the same as Gojo, because Gojo seemingly disappears into thin air. More like Yuuji's brain recognizes that Ieiri was there one moment, and that the next she's gone, and simply fills in the moment that she leaves, even though he knows he didn't see it.
"End of the hallway," Fushiguro says over Yuuji's shoulder, headphones no longer on, startling him enough that his shoulder slams back into Fushiguro's jaw. "Fucking fu —"
"Sorry!" Yuuji apologizes immediately, pushing away from Fushiguro, who rubs at his jaw.
He's got a nice jaw. The burns on the side of his hand are an ugly purple, the type you can't help but stare at.
Once they're in their room, Fushiguro haphazardly tosses his duffel bag onto the floor, like he's used to going from hotel to hotel. Yuuji supposes he must be — Fushiguro doesn't sound like he's ever made roots before, none to the places and all to the people.
"I call the bed," Fushiguro announces flatly, all before Yuuji's finished surveying the room and its dusty, dull brown furniture.
"Uh…" Yuuji starts awkwardly, staring between the two twin size beds and Fushiguro's entirely serious expression. "Do you… usually wear contacts you forgot or something?"
Fushiguro rolls his eyes, not bothering to answer as he strides over to the beds.
Without hesitation, he takes to removing the nightstand separating the two beds. Fushiguro doesn't seem to care about anything on it or potential downstairs occupants as the legs of the nightstand scratch against the floor, scrapping as he pushes it against the opposite wall.
Yuuji winces, especially as Fushiguro starts pushing the second bed against the first.
"Do you want help?" he asks, even though they're halfway through this process. For some unknown reason, Yuuji can't help but think of how Fushiguro's biceps must be flexing with the push of the bed. Fushiguro's in his uniform jacket still, but that thought lingers.
Fushiguro grunts.
"Follow-up," Yuuji asks. "Why did you want to relegate me to sleeping on the floor?"
For a second, it seems Fushiguro doesn't have a proper answer.
Then he shrugs, rolling his neck right after for several loud pops. "The dogs don't like sleeping in my shadow when I'm traveling. They get restless."
"And they couldn't fit because…"
Fushiguro summons the dogs.
Staring at their sheer size, even as they affectionately nuzzle into Fushiguro's sides, and adding that to Fushiguro's general mass, remind Yuuji of how difficult it was to fit two dogs and two people in his own twin-size bed at home, and they'd only been sitting.
"Okay," Yuuji says, "I'm going to remind you that I am, like, a real guy with back pain and they're super cute and definitely don't have back pain. I am not sleeping on the floor."
"We can get you more blankets," Fushiguro says, overly sweet, and it takes longer than Yuuji would like to admit to realize that he's joking.
He isn't sure what to do with Fushiguro making jokes that aren't sardonic, but Yuuji's stunned expression gets a smile from the other boy, and he supposes that's all that matters.
"I'll take the left side, thank you very much," Yuuji huffs, trying to hide his smile and failing miserably. Fushiguro doesn't stop him from flopping onto the off-white comforter, which he takes as a sign of approval.
He hasn't been able to get a solid night of sleep in weeks, and he's not expecting to now, but it'll be nicer than trying to nap in the car with Ieiri's erratic driving.
Shiro immediately jumps up and onto Yuuji's back, effectively trapping him on the mattress with a heap of dog.
Fushiguro sits, far more normally, on the edge of the bed, kicking his shoes off. "We'll spend most of tomorrow driving," he tells Yuuji. "I should've… honestly, we're probably going to do all this driving for a ten-minute conversation that amounts to nothing."
"But it could lead to something," Yuuji adds immediately.
"It probably won't," Fushiguro repeats, ever the skeptic. "If the twins had anything useful to go off, then they would've done something with it by now. I just thought —"
"You thought they might know something, and they might," Yuuji corrects. "Or they might not. But if they're investigating Getou's disappearance too, wouldn't it be pertinent for them to know there was another disappearance? Hell, we don't even know how many disappearances there have been. You only know about Getou because of Gojo. I only know about Nobara because I'm her best friend. There's no telling exactly how far this extends."
Fushiguro leans back, laying down and staring up at the ceiling next to Yuuji. From what Yuuji can see beyond the comforter obstructing part of his vision, mushed as he is, Fushiguro's got long lashes. "I… hadn't considered that."
"Neither have I," Yuuji admits. "At least, till it just came out of my mouth. Holy shit, how many things — people — could we have forgotten? I mean, it would be hard to make like… a whole lot of people disappear, right? If this was witchcraft? So that's not likely."
"It being witchcraft or a lot of people disappearing?"
"Knowing my luck?" Yuuji laughs, half-deprecating. It turns into more of a wheeze as his lungs try to push in too much air and are denied by the company on top of him. "It must be lots of people."
Fushiguro doesn't like that idea anymore than Yuuji, cursing softly to himself. "There's no way to gauge that without scouring all of Japan."
"Getou disappeared while he was in town, right? And so did Nobara. And that weird shit with the manor. And all of the weird stuff with me," Yuuji lists off quickly, pieces of a puzzle he's this close to solving crashing together with each syllable that falls from his mouth. "So if it's happened a lot more often than we think, then it's likely to be there. I can call my brother and have him dig up one of my old school yearbooks. If there are people in there I don't recognize, then we know exactly what we're looking at, right?"
There are obvious holes in the idea — they still won't know the full scope beyond Yuuji's hometown, they won't be able to figure out if it's the work of another Patron Saint or a monster, but it's a start, and that's what Yuuji needs.
Just one problem.
"I've never been to a hotel before," Yuuji whispers sheepishly to Fushiguro, who stares at him with wide, shocked eyes. It's unclear if it's from Yuuji's working theory or the idea that he's never traveled for more than a day before.
Well, that's not true. He remembers going on a super long drive with Choso, before they knew each other all too well after Yuuji's grandfather died. Ironically, he thinks they were going to a funeral. He remembers napping in the passenger seat, but he never does remember Choso stopping to sleep himself. That took a few days.
"So…?"
"I don't know where they keep the phone. Do they have a phone?"
This whole thing is null if the hotel doesn't have a landline, after all.
Fushiguro continues to stare incredulously, before he giggles. Like, actually giggles. His face scrunches up and he curls into a little ball, knees pulled close while his hand flies up to try to conceal it, but Yuuji catches the laughter like fireflies in his palms on summer nights. "You've really never left home, huh?"
"No!" Yuuji whines, all too intentional in keeping it light-hearted, trying to find wherever Fushiguro nestles the laugh. "I really haven't. It's… you know, it's home. Are you gonna come with me to call my brother?"
Damn, Yuuji didn't get another laugh, but he takes the smile he gets anyway.
"We're leaving tomorrow morning," Fushiguro reminds him. "And your brother is at work, right?"
Yuuji nods emphatically, succeeding mostly in pressing his head into the blanket, static electricity pushing it up strangely.
"We'll be gone by the time he gets a chance to go home and find those," Fushiguro says. "And by the time we arrive in Fukuoka, he won't be able to call us."
"So we just call him again…?"
Fushiguro mirrors Yuuji's blink.
"I might not leave home much," Yuuji smiles, "but you don't try to keep friends all too often, huh?"
Notably, Fushiguro doesn't have a retort to that, so Yuuji heaves his arm out from under Shiro's back leg to rest his palm against Fushiguro's face.
He looks so pretty like this. Yuuji keeps trying to come up with better adjectives, something that sounds more profound than pretty, but that's all his mind is willing to supply. Fushiguro is objectively a pretty boy. His hair doesn't even look so wild like this, even if Yuuji likes the bedhead.
"I'm really glad I met you, Fushiguro," Yuuji says quietly, so true it kind of hurts his chest to say aloud.
"Yuuji Itadori, where the hell are you?"
Okay, so Yuuji probably should've expected that calling Choso from a hotel landline in the middle of the night at his work wasn't going to be well-received.
Except Choso's at work, so he shouldn't know Yuuji's missing. "Wait, how did you —"
"No one else would call me at work, and you wouldn't call unless something went catastrophically wrong, which wouldn't happen unless you weren't where you were supposed to be."
Well, Yuuji can't argue that. Fushiguro leans against the wall next to where Yuuji's floundering for a good explanation, an amused gleam in his eye under the blue-tinted lights.
"Uh." Eloquent, Yuuji thinks to himself. "I had an errand to run. Don't worry, I'll be back soon! I'll only be missing a few days of school and Ieiri and Fushiguro are with me!"
If anything, this seems to rattle Yuuji more. He can imagine Choso on the other end of the line, eye twitching at the mere idea of Yuuji being in Fushiguro's presence. As though the guy hasn't been practically living with them for a few days now.
As it is, Choso refrains from anything but a long, drawn-out sigh.
"What are you doing with Ieiri and the Fushiguro boy?" Choso asks calmly.
Hunting down people who have disappeared. Somehow, Yuuji thinks that answer would land him in even more hot water when he went home. "Impromptu senior trip," he manages.
This time, it's Fushiguro who sighs. Yuuji isn't very good at impulsive lying. Nor is he very good at coming up with the correct inflection, so it always pitches up at the end like a question.
"Before I say anything else," Choso starts. "Please be safe. I love you. Let me know if you need me to pick you up. This trumps everything else I say, alright?"
Weakly, Yuuji mutters, "got it."
Then Choso continues, his voice gaining volume, but never quite yelling. He has a habit of not understanding volume control, but he's never yelled at Yuuji specifically in anger. "When you get home, you are grounded for a week at least. Depending on when you get home! You could be anywhere, you could be dead in a ditch or — or getting drunk for all I know —"
"I'm at a hotel, I'm fine," Yuuji interrupts.
It doesn't have the reassuring flare he wants it to have apparently, because Choso practically chokes. "How far out did you go?"
"Our goal is outside Fukuoka," Yuuji informs him, despite Fushiguro clearly miming shut the fuck up next to him. "Which is why it'll take a while, alright? But we're gonna get it figured out and then everything is going to go back to normal. I'll make sure it does."
"Grounded," Choso repeats, more for himself than Yuuji. He hates making Choso worry about him. It's one thing to sneak in sleepovers or sneak out to go hang out at the rink, but going so many hours away from home is… different. The difference is palpable. "You're so grounded. But you called, so what do you need?"
Yuuji swallows, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him even as Fushiguro finally tunes into the conversation proper, interested in getting answers. "When you get home, could you dig up some of my old yearbooks?"
Choso stays silent for a moment. Yuuji can't hear the background chatter of the bar, but that's where Choso must be, since he's answering their phone. "Why?"
"Please?"
Choso caves with a grudging, "fine."
"I'll — I'll call you tomorrow when we get to Fukuoka, okay? I just need to know what's in those yearbooks."
"Can you put Fushiguro on the phone?"
Yuuji startles, staring quizzically at the receiver like it's going to explain Choso's line of thought, but he holds the phone out to Fushiguro. "Uh, he wants to talk to you."
Fushiguro's expression sours, but he takes the outstretched object with his bruised fingers. He should probably wrap those burns up, at least put some ointment on them. Fushiguro holds the receiver close to his ear, and Choso is speaking quietly enough that Yuuji isn't able to parse any of his no-doubt accusations.
Fushiguro's frown only deepens the longer Choso talks.
Eventually, Fushiguro rolls his eyes. "I don't give a damn what you tell him. Get back to your nightjob, yeah? We'll see when we see."
Before Yuuji can say good-bye or anything, Fushiguro abruptly slams the receiver back into its base with enough force that it shakes.
"Your brother gets on my nerves," Fushiguro says as way of explanation. He keeps his eyes downcast though, sheepish about his outburst.
"That's what brothers are for," Yuuji shrugs, though he's admittedly peeved about it. The idea of being so far out of Choso's range that he can't just call Choso and have him within sight in twenty minutes is admittedly jarring. "Like how Gojo gets on your nerves. And mine."
"That's because he's neurotic," Fushiguro scoffs. Then, more hesitantly, "we should catch some sleep."
Like usual, Yuuji wakes up sweat-soaked and heaving.
He dry-heaves over the edge of the bed a few times, managing to keep the contents of his stomach where they're supposed to be, black tar in the back of his mouth, in his eyes, under his nails, in his skin, slick and sticky and covering him head-to-toe —
The light of the room comes in bursts. The absolute blackness ebbs and flows with heartbeats, but not Yuuji's. It's Fushiguro's doing, he thinks. Subconsciously, Fushiguro calls to the shadows in his sleep. It's grounding every time Yuuji catches sight of light slipping in through the blinds, and all the more panic-inducing when the light is torn away again.
Do you trust me?
Far from God, Yuuji, but closer than ever to someone who wants to see you.
Yuuji can't do this. He can't do this he can't do this he can't do this he doesn't want Nobara to die he doesn't want any of this to be happening he wants to go home he wants to go homehewantstogohome —-
"You okay?"
Yuuji pushes the heel of his palms to his eyes, digging as far as he can before his brow bone forcefully stops him, refusing to let Fushiguro see his tear-stained face. In case Fushiguro sees. There's something in Yuuji's skin, crawling around in his body, and it can't just be in his mind because if it was just in his head then Nobara would still be at home and he wouldn't be here and maybe if he claws his eyes out then he won't be able to see the marks anymore.
A hand claws at Yuuji's side. No, not claws at. Scratches. On accident.
Fushiguro gently pulls on Yuuji's elbow, and Yuuji allows his palms to fall from his eyes without fanfare. His eye sockets ache.
The shadows disappear again, leaving the hotel room bathed in the dusty gray-light of darkness your eyes have adjusted to. "Do you," Fushiguro starts, groggy and thick with sleep. "Can't sleep?"
Yuuji sniffles. It sounds pathetic and impossibly loud, but at least he knows his tears are his own. Fushiguro's hand is warm over Yuuji's palm, in his lap, but the blankets feel suffocating. Everything feels suffocating. Possibly this feeling will only go away if he sands open every limb on the pavement until he can see the white sinew of his tendons. "No," he answers, more a whimper than he's willing to admit.
"C'mere." It's an order, not a request.
But it's better than anything else swirling around in Yuuji's head, so he obligingly lays back down, stomach still churning. He kicks the blankets off, but Fushiguro doesn't seem to mind.
In fact, Fushiguro barely seems awake at all. Yuuji rustling must've woken him. He feels bad about it, but with the cool air hitting his bare legs — the familiarity of the same shorts he's worn to bed for years —, the warmth of Fushiguro's arm wrapping around his waist is tolerable.
Comforting, even.
The dogs are on Fushiguro's other side, which explains why he's so close to Yuuji in the first place, but Fushiguro pulls Yuuji's back to his chest and Yuuji tries to focus on his breathing, in and out, and not his heartbeat, fluttering like a club beat in his chest.
"We'll figure it out," Fushiguro murmurs with a yawn, and yeah, he's definitely barely awake. "Can't do anything if you can't sleep."
No, Yuuji knows that. He'd love to catch a consistent amount of sleep. He'd love to see something behind his eyes other than the imagined version of his best friend's bloated corpse drowned in a muddy river. He'd love to see anything behind his eyes beyond this mystery.
It's easier when he can feel Fushiguro's heartbeat against his back, though. More grounding than the light. Easier to focus on because it doesn't randomly disappear.
"Thank you," Yuuji whispers, even though Fushiguro's already back to lightly snoring.
In the morning, they leave before Yuuji's fully gotten his bearings. He remembered all of his things, but he's pretty sure he walked to the car in mismatched shoes. Better than Fushiguro, who didn't even bother with trying to gather things, ending in the hilarious image of Kuro trying to balance his duffel bag on his back while wearing Yuuji's shrugged-off hoodie.
Ieiri doesn't try to make conversation, and the day passes by with at least ten different replays of that same pop album. Despite Yuuji being the one to get the least sleep, Fushiguro takes his seatbelt off at some point and rests his head on Yuuji's lap, curled up strangely in the backseat. It's made all the more awkward with Fushiguro's headphones, but he somehow makes himself comfortable.
The cities and countryside pass by in a haze, the sun beating down on him one moment and setting out Fushiguro's window the next. They make as few stops as possible, though each one is punctuated by Ieiri buying a caffeinated beverage of some sort. It started with a standard coffee and the fifth ends with her mixing two caffeine supplements into an energy drink. Yuuji would be impressed if not for the quiet horror that is watching her incredibly shaky hands latch around the steering wheel of the car they'll be stuck in for several more hours.
When they stop outside of an inn, Ieiri says, "Go in, I have some business things to finish up," and all but drops them on the side of the road.
Which isn't too out of the norm, considering Fushiguro seems to know exactly what to do. Yuuji wonders how much of Fushiguro's aloofness was learned and how much is intrinsic.
Fushiguro gets their things settled, and Yuuji immediately finds his way to the nearest landline, though that turns out to be half a block down and accessible only by convincing the old payphone that he is a real person that has money and it can make outbound calls.
Choso picks up nearly immediately, which is relieving. Yuuji throws up a wave to Fushiguro, who practically emerges from the shadows at Yuuji's side. "Did you find them?" Yuuji asks, forgetting all pleasantries in favor of the conspiracy they may or may not be discovering.
"The last two," Choso answers, oddly stiff.
"Cool. Can you read me out the names? Just the names of everyone in the grades. Excluding me, duh. Of the oldest one I guess."
Choso clears his throat, and Yuuji can make out the static-fuzzy sound of Choso flipping through pages. "Yuuji Itadori. Nobara Kugisaki. Junpei Yoshino. Rin Amai. Toge Inumaki. Maki Zen'in. Mai Zen'in. Yuuta Okkotsu. Kinji Hakari. Hoshi Kirara. What was this supposed to prove?"
Yuuji doesn't hold the receiver exactly at his ear, far enough that Fushiguro can hear Choso's tinny voice to pair with the frown etching into Yuuji's features.
"Four of those names," Yuuji murmurs. "Four of them. I don't recognize them. Can you repeat them?"
"How am I supposed to —"
"Everyone you don't recognize, and everyone who moved away suddenly. Repeat their names."
Choso obliges, though he seems confused himself. "Nobara Kugisaki. Junpei Yoshino. Rin Amai. Mai Zen'in. Kinji Hakari. Hoshi Kirara."
Merely hearing Nobara's name among the list of forgotten or damned makes Yuuji nauseous.
Mai Zen'in went to school in the city. Yuuji distinctly remembers Nobara talking about it, in the same breath as she mentioned Maki moving away after graduation. But that doesn't make sense, does it? Mai and Maki were both considered black sheeps. Mai lived with the Inumakis too. Yuuji remembers messing around with her make-up when he and Inumaki were pre-teens, hiding it from Nobara and Maki.
She went to school in the city the same way Nobara's grandmother thinks she got some fashion internship in the city.
Fuck.
Fushiguro must watch the emotions war across Yuuji's face, because he offers a pitying hand on Yuuji's shoulder as comfort. It's not as warm as Fushiguro's arm around his waist was last night, but he supposes that's a different kind of comfort, different kind of warmth. Without the pity.
"Thank you, Choso," Yuuji says slowly, mouth dry.
"What was this for?"
"I think you know," Yuuji says, swallowing hard. "Just think about it, Choso. But I'll get it figured out, okay? Like I told you before, I'll get it figured out. It'll all go back to normal."
"Yuuji, I —"
Yuuji hangs up before Choso can finish.
But it's fine. He'll make sure it's fine.
"Five more disappearances," Yuuji sums up, even though he knows Fushiguro heard the entire conversation. "Five more missing persons on our docket. I really, really hope the twins know something we don't."
Nanako Hasaba greets Fushiguro by trying to deck him.
Fushiguro was clearly anticipating something violent, because he swings out of the way before her fist is able to connect, but she gives a frustrated cry and would try again, if not for Ieiri grabbing her roughly by the shoulder. Ieiri levels Nanako with a heavy stare that must convey volumes, because Nanako twists the irritation on her face into something more palpable.
"Thank you," Ieiri says, and she clearly means it.
Fushiguro huffs, wiping imaginary dust off his jacket, like he'd gotten some disease from being near her. Ieiri gives him a stern, "play nice," and that's that.
Then Nanako levels her attention at him, and Yuuji quickly bows his head in some semblence of respect. "Hi!" he greets, suddenly out of place in this worn-down parking lot with cracking pavement and three different shut-down stores. This must've been a boomtown, at one point, reduced now to the ghosts of its past. "I'm Itadori Yuuji and we have some questions for you!"
Ieiri laughs at his civility, and Nanako tilts her head in confusion.
Yuuji had been briefed on which twin was which beforehand, and he's pretty sure he didn't mix them up. Nanako has lighter hair, closer to blond, than her twin Mimiko. He'd get irritated if someone mixed him up with his twin (if he had one), so he takes care to get it right.
"Who the hell are — what questions could you possibly have for me?" Nanako asks, sounding disgusted at the mere idea of Yuuji's existence, let alone his curiosity.
Fushiguro steps in, despite the fact that he really shouldn't. The sun is barely rising; Yuuji has no clue how fate worked out to where they're all awake at five in the fucking morning, but he's grateful for it nonetheless. Once he's done bitching about it. He's not a night person or anything, but he isn't enough of a morning person that rising with the sun seems amenable.
"Suguru Getou," Fushiguro says bluntly. "You're looking into his disappearance. We wanted to know how your investigation was going."
Nanako crosses her arms, throwing a glance to her side where there's nothing but air. Mimiko Hasaba is nowhere to be found.
"Yeah, we're going to bring him back," Nanako says defensively. "What about it? You don't have anything to do with —-"
"I know you two didn't part on the best of terms," Ieiri says, ignoring Fushiguro's muttered you got that right in unison with Nanako's and he deserved it! "Please be civil. I don't have the energy to deal with anything else."
Yuuji's certain that Ieiri's hands are in her pockets because otherwise they'd be shaking so badly she'd lose her sense of balance. He and Fushiguro caught some sleep at the inn — beds pushed together again —, but Ieiri was pumped full of so much caffeine that Yuuji doubts she was able to even close her eyes.
Luckily for Ieiri, Fushiguro and Nanako seem to both harbor some sort of grudging respect, so they school their expressions asnd tempers into something more manageable.
"When you say bring him back," Fushiguro asks with narrowed eyes, "That implies you know where he is."
Nanako scoffs. "Of course we know where he is. That isn't the problem. It's geting him back that takes the fucking effort. If anyone believed us —"
"We believe you now." It's a much an apology from Ieiri as it is a command.
Yuuji feels on the outskirts of something he doesn't understand, a feeling he's become intimately aware of over the last few weeks, but his own naivete stings in the face of this much history, layers upon layers of interactions and dynamics and magic that he doesn't understand, couldn't possibly catch up on without an encyclopedia.
"…Fine. I'll get Mimiko."
The twins were hunting a small coven of fledging monsters, all of whom resemble vampires to Yuuji. Not that he mentions that, of course. Mimiko Hasaba joins the small band of people-who-only-kind-of-like-each-other with blood on her skirt and a blood-soaked hatchet, but they make it work.
They wind up leaving Mimiko's hatchet in the parking lot, and Yuuji's hoodie is wrapped around her skirt, and they walk a mile or two to the nearest open restaurant. The fresh air will be good for you, Ieiri said, but Yuuji thinks she's just too exhausted and too wired to be able to operate a vehicle. She's barely able to operate her own two legs.
Tonight, Yuuji decides, he'll make sure they get some rest. They can stay through the night.
"You know where Getou is," Fushiguro says, sipping at his black coffee. It's purely for show. Yuuji knows this because he's watched Fushiguro order an iced coffee everywhere they've gone, but to his credit, he doesn't flinch at the taste when the bitter liquid hits his tongue.
The twins, who are oddly in sync, don't bother touching their food. Not that the miso is great, like any food is good at too-early in the morning, but still. They just stare.
"Yes," Mimiko answers, more hesitant than her sister. She twists her fingers in Yuuji's hoodie under the table, probably staining the fabric with the blood from her skirt, but it's not like Yuuji doesn't have other clothes. He'll figure it out. "Why do you believe us all of a sudden?"
"Five other people have gone missing, same way as Getou, all in the same place," Ieiri lists off.
If that information shocks the twins, they hide it well. Mimiko huffs. "That you know of. I thought you said, it's hopeless. You might as well give up."
She does a surprisingly good impression of Ieiri, who only runs her hands through her hair. "That was before other people disappeared."
"And Nobara called," Yuuji adds, giddy to contribute anything other than a clueless brow furrow whenever they start bringing up more complicated Patron Saint things. "After she disappeared, she called me. I don't think anyone else who disappeared has been able to do that. Unless Getou called, but I haven't heard —"
"Satoru would've told me," Ieiri says quietly. There's something unsure to it though, like she doesn't know if Gojo would truly confide in her like that.
It must be lonely, being Shoko Ieiri. Yuuji's known her his entire life and yet he could barely recite even the surface-level information about her. She doesn't seem to have many friends, her life hung in stasis in some past that Yuuji isn't privy to. Memories that encourage her to drive twenty-eight or so hours for a shred of hope.
"She's one of the missing persons?" Nanako asks suspiciously.
Yuuji nods emphatically. "That's what kickstarted our investigation. We came to find you as soon as we connected it back to Getou. You say you know where he is — I believe you. So why is the problem getting him back?"
Once the words fall from his lips, Yuuji realizes how condescending they could come off.
The twins don't seem to notice though, capable of giving a stranger far more grace than they're willing to give Fushiguro. Mimiko doesn't make eye contact, and Yuuji notices a few tears slipping into the bowl set in front of her. "Getou's past the veil," she whispers. "We just need to — to find a way to bring him back."
Yuuji blinks.
The notebook crammed in his backpack, will the notes on what Fushiguro told him, explicitly say, nothing comes back alive to confirm or deny suspicions about the veil. Past that — ignoring the obvious question of how you wind up behind a veil without dying — it's been years. How would Getou even be alive at this point?
How much longer does Nobara have left? What is she experiencing?
"I believe you," he replies honestly. Mimiko's silent sobs grow in volume, her sister comfortingly pressed against her side but not glaring at Yuuji for making her sister cry.
If anything, Nanako looks as shocked at the admission.
Fushiguro and Ieiri won't meet her eye, but Yuuji does. "I believe you," he repeats. "And I want to save Getou as much as my friend. If they're beyond the veil, then I guess we're going to have to reverse-engineer a lot. Could you get us caught up on what you know?"
Hesitantly, Nanako nods. She takes to rubbing her sister's shoulder, who still hasn't stopped crying, but Mimiko doesn't shut her down. "Nothing comes back from the veil. We know that, obviously. But that's… that's usual rules, you know? Mimiko and I've been seeking out cases since Getou disappeared about just-plain-weird creatures, you know. Not weird enough for Gojo but weirder than the Board ever wants to deal with. And — and we've got a working theory as to how the weird creatures get there."
Yuuji isn't sure how you get weirder than shadows that try to eat you and marks that marr your face and disappearing best friends, but he digresses.
Mimiko picks up where Nanako leaves off. "The veil isn't just… death. It's the world after death, I — I guess. What the world would be like stripped of life and souls. The creatures that… form there, they have to get here somewhere. Everyone accepts that monsters can emerge from the veil and that they return when they die but it's not at will. It's — it's world's getting messed up."
"Like…" Yuuji frowns, snagging a napkin from a nearby dispenser. He folds it in half, snagging Fushiguro's chopsticks and putting the fold of the napkin over it, hiding the chopstick within. "Like when you die, you're supposed to go down the tunnel, but sometimes things get stuck on either side?"
"That's a disturbing view of life," Ieiri points out.
Yuuji waves it off, because that's not his point. "And you guys are saying that you think Getou got stuck on one side, bypassing the tunnel of death entirely?"
Nanako frowns, snagging his quick demonstration. She stands the chopsticks straight up, wrapping the napkin around them instead. "It's more like this, we think. Like, the tunnel of death — as you called it — is the epicenter, right? And we're the outside layer. Everything we see is completely disconnected from death. But there are like… points, where those from the outside layer hit the center. But if that gets messed up, then instead they go to the inner layer, which is beyond, or inside, the veil. That's how monsters get to our plane, or how we would theoretically get inside the veil."
Now Yuuji's a little lost, but Fushiguro picks it up easily enough. "You're saying that Getou got stuck between life-and-death — in the veil — on accident?"
"The same way monsters end up in our world. On accident," Mimiko confirms, now that her tears are mostly dried.
"In theory," Ieiri says, her lazy drawl brought back to her voice. "All we'd have to do is have to either find a way to communicate between planes, and tell Getou and Nobara how to find the same hole they slipped through. Or figure out how to mimic it well enough from here that it'd pinpoint their location."
Mimiko and Nanako nod in sync.
"Great," Fushiguro sighs. "That's all then. Just figure out how to reverse-engineer death and we'll be fine."
"You could ask Satoru —"
"No," the twins and Fushiguro all hiss, which seems to startle the three of them as much as it does Yuuji and Ieiri.
Fushiguro stands abruptly, accidentally slamming his thigh into the corner of the table. Actually, Yuuji isn't sure if it's so intentional. "And we know it has something to do with you, Itadori. It might've started with Getou, but it's ending with you, so — would you follow me?"
Given how peeved Fushiguro seems, Yuuji doesn't know if it's actually a good idea to follow him, but he gives his thanks to the twins and Ieiri quickly enough and stands to follow. Fushiguro doesn't wait for all that, the restaurant's entry door already closing by the time Yuuji reaches it.
As soon as they're outside, Fushiguro rounds on him, bright green eyes boring into Yuuji's soul. "The twins are right about the idea of the veil," he says immediately, lowly, like he's afraid some monster is going to overhear them. "They're wrong about it being accidental. Getou was one of the strongest. He wouldn't have accidentally gotten stuck anywhere. We have to operate on the assumption that it was an experiment, and we have to treat all the following disappearances like separate happenings caused by the same physical ritual but entirely accidental."
Yuuji nods. He doesn't really get it, but Fushiguro seems to know exactly where he's going, so Yuuji's only acting as a sounding board.
"If we could establish a timeline this would be so much easier," Fushiguro sighs.
"I mean, we kind of have one. We know that all of those people I didn't recognize were there during my first-year."
"Right, but we don't know if that's the extent of the disappearances. We're operating blindly. Even Getou would be agitated at how we have nothing but a black hole to base our theories off."
Yuuji shrugs. "Look, you're proposing we treat this as cause-and-effect right? Well, the effect is that people I knew in my first-year have disappeared, including Suguru Getou. If he was one of the strongest, like you said, then maybe he did something that made one of those holes between realities bigger than it's supposed to be."
Fushiguro doesn't respond, just staring at Yuuji.
Slowly, his lip upticks in a smile. "You, Yuuji Itadori, are the dumbest genius I've ever met."
Yuuji isn't sure if he's supposed to, but he cheers anyway.
It turns out that Suguru Getou fucking with things he shouldn't have — potentially — explains a lot of things. It explains the recent increase in hauntings around Yuuji's hometown, and the disappearances. It explains the general time fuckery; because time works strangely when different planes are interacting with each other. In fact, those areas where time stretches on are probably where most of the disappeared wound up going missing. It also explains their general lack of memory about the disappeared, because planes aren't meant to interact, so it has a tendency of softly smoothing out the edges of reality to make things fit.
It all goes above Yuuji's head, but he gets the gist of it.
The twins have no desire to go back to Yuuji's hometown, citing that they won't be found dead anywhere near Satoru Gojo and that he's the reason any of this happened (Yuuji did not stop and ask about the basis for that), so it's still him, Fushiguro, and Ieiri on the way back.
Luckily, Fushiguro and Yuuji manage to convince Ieiri to get some sleep before they leave again. It's warranted, considering she walks straight into the wall at their inn before she gets to her door.
Yuuji and Fushiguro have other plans, though.
"Kugisaki's been able to call you twice," Fushiguro reminds him, like Yuuji didn't already know that, pulling his shirt over his head to replace it with a lighter tank-top. Fushiguro refuses to glance at him for that part, giving him some semblence of privacy (even if Yuuji doesn't mind.) "The first was before she disappeared, the second was in the veil, right? Probably because reality was so thin between the veil and wherever she was in it."
"Right."
"So we'll have you try to call her and see what happens."
"I love when you say bullshit with such confidence," Yuuji says affectionately. The tank-top is way more breathable, which he appreciates. Hopefully the lack of suffocating heat will make it easier to stave off that sluggish, lethargic feeling of being unable to control his own body.
Fushiguro is clearly throwing things at the wall to find out what sticks, but Yuuji knows this will be successful. He doesn't know if it's Nobara that will answer, but he knows something will.
Far from God, Yuuji, but closer than ever to someone who wants to see you.
Yeah, he's got an idea of how this will go.
Fushiguro crosses his arms, impatiently tapping his foot like Yuuji's the one taking forever. In fact, Yuuji waited until Fushiguro was ready to change his shirt, because he didn't really want to be shirtless while Fushiguro was moving daggers around.
They're pretty daggers. There's also a sword. The duffel bag on Fushiguro's shoulder has been completely stripped of all clothing-related items and replaced with weaponry, and a few spells "Ieiri made years ago," and a few crumpled graham cracker packages.
"Just stay on your guard, yeah?" Fushiguro says as they walk out the door.
It's broad daylight, and they look strange. The duffel bag clinks ominously every time it hits Fushiguro's thigh — and Yuuji isn't paying attention to his thighs —, and the very few passerby give them poisonous glares no matter how much Yuuji smiles at them, but they make it to the payphone alright.
"The connection will be very, incredibly weak," Fushiguro informs him, dropping the duffel bag on the ground and leaning against the payphone's pole. "The veil is naturally harder to see — and access — in the light, and we're far from any of the documented spatial distortions. It's your connection alone that will connect, if anything. Be prepared."
Yuuji thinks he's heard Fushiguro talk more today than he has in the entire few weeks they've known each other. It isn't a complaint — he likes Fushiguro's voice — but it's a shame he only gets to hear the monologues because they're in real danger.
Yuuji doesn't think he's reckoned with the danger he's putting himself in. Putting both of them in.
Being a Patron Saint must be lonely.
Taking a deep breath, Yuuji picks up the receiver. He gives the phone the money it demands, and he hesitates, wondering what number to call. Nobara's number goes to her grandmother's house, and he doesn't want to hear from the old crone that he's calling for no reason and not to disturb her Sudoku.
Yuuji closes his eyes, fingers brushing over the dialpad.
He wants to talk to Nobara.
No, he's going to talk to Nobara.
He hears laughter, but it isn't Fushiguro's, echoing in his head in some sick melody. His fingers move of their own accord, pressing down numbers seemingly at random. It's far too short to be a proper phone number.
The call goes through, though. There's static on the other hand.
The sound of labored breathing, a groan followed by a hiss. Yuuji isn't sure if he's imagining the sound of oozing blood or not, isn't sure whether that's from the laughter in his head, reality, or an overactive imagination.
"That's a neat trick," he hears. It's static-ridden and barely audible, but he hears her and Yuuji knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's finally pinned down Nobara Kugisaki. "You shouldn't have called, Yuu. It's pretty fucking ugly over here."
She laughs, strained and slightly manic.
Yuuji swallows, pushing the laughter — both hers and the unfamiliar — out of his head. "Where are you? How do I get to you? We've — we've got a theory but it's only a theory, we're trying."
"Who the hell is we?"
"Me and Fushiguro. And some others, I guess."
"We shouldn't talk too long," Nobara says all of a sudden. Her voice cracks in the middle, like it always does when she's on the verge of tears and trying to hide it. The last time Yuuji remembers her crying was after Maki's graduation, when she sprang that she was moving away without so much as an ounce of pity. "It's not safe."
"Where are you?" Yuuji repeats, stronger now.
"You already know."
That's precisely what Yuuji was afraid of. Fuck.
"Go back home," she instructs. There's a squelching sound, louder than even her dialogue, and Yuuji has the distinct sensation of something wet hitting his ear. Trying to lick up his hair and swallow his ear.
Yuuji refuses to put the fucking phone down.
He is the one who started this. He'll fucking end it. He won't be the reason Nobara doesn't get to come home. Something burns. Fushiguro shouts something in his periphery, but Yuuji can't see him too well anymore, the surrounding world going hazy with a sudden lack of sun.
"And then?" he demands.
"Then you get me the fuck home, what else?" Nobara says. She's compensating, of course she's compensating, there's a bone-deep chill slithering through Yuuji's veins and he can't imagine how afraid she is, how horrifying it must be, to be alone and scared and on the verge —
No, she's not dying. Yuuji is going to make sure of that.
"I'm trying," he says, stifling a sob. They're going in circles, he knows they're going in circles. There's no good answer and Yuuji needs to figure out what to do and something sharp bites into his ear and black spots infest his vision like mold and he's so alone. All he wants is to not be alone anymore.
Are you certain that's what you wish for, Yuuji Itadori?
Yuuji chokes, trying to figure out how to be eloquent, how to ask Nobara what to do, how to ask.
Somewhere, Fushiguro shouts.
"We're on the way, Nobara. Just — just hold out. Tell me what you see."
Careful what you wish for, brat.
There's that laughter again. The stinging pain in his ear, dulled by his panic, the black spots that he's bizarrely sure are melding with the marks on his face.
Yuuji realizes, abruptly, that he never heeded the warning. About not talking too long.
Something of which he realized too late.
Yuuji goes to drop the payphone, but it doesn't budge from his hand, nor his ear, a hot, sizzling tar leaking from the receiver and down the side of his face, down his hand, covering his clothes, swallowing him up.
"Yuu? Yuuji! Yuuji, stay with me!" Nobara's voice shouts in his ear, closer, more present, so much closer.
She isn't the only one calling his name. Yuuji's fingers spasm around the receiver as a cold hand grabs his shoulder, trying to rouse him from his stupor, but it's too late for both of them by the time Yuuji's vision goes dark.