Chapter Text
After endless days of texts and gigging at his phone, Itadori decides to head to another 10 Shadows concert. Now that they were getting closer, he wanted to see Fushiguro in person again. And maybe to test the boundaries of their ‘friendship’.
He decided to bring Kugisaki along this time, mostly to help him decide what to wear, and if she found out he was going to a concert, she would jump at the opportunity to tag along. They sit in his car, Itadori at the wheel while the ginger does her lip liner in the sun visor mirror. There is about 10 minutes until the concert starts, but the brown eyed boy wanted to get in as early as possible. Parking in the lot behind the venue, he quickly ushers Kugisaki out, wanting to get in as quickly as he could.
Itadori walks in shyly, resuming his place in the corner. Kugisaki groans and pulls him towards a spot, front and slightly off center, perfectly in position to see Fushiguro.
“Seriously? You have to be able to see him, you know,” she sighs, taking her phone out of her bag. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his patchwork jorts, scanning the room for Fushiguro. They were a little early, so the room was empty except for a couple other people. He bites his cheek, shifting his feet nervously on the hardwood floor. Itadori’s head turns immediately at the sound of microphone feedback behind him.
Fushiguro sat in his usual spot, Hana to the right and slightly in front of him. It was incredibly obvious that his eyes were drawn to the pink haired boy, and him only. The sound of Hana’s voice floats throughout the room, matching the noises that strum from the drums and guitar. His navy eyes trail over the outfit Itadori was wearing as his calloused fingers danced over the guitar strings. The sleeves of his dark blue shirt cling to his chiseled arms, showing off every dip and curve. He had tried to gel his hair back under a cap, but a few strands still loosely dangled in front of his eyebrows. God, what Fushiguro would do to mess up that rose-colored hair even more.
Their eyes are locked for almost the entire show, the only interruptions being cheeky comments from Kugisaki or Fushiguro having to look back down at his guitar. The tension between them thickens with every passing moment, leaving Itadori even more of a nervous wreck. As per usual, Itadori stays behind after the show, watching as the black haired boy packs up. He can feel Fushiguro’s gaze on him, looking Itadori up and down while he puts the guitar back into its case.
“I’m gonna go talk to Hana. You can stay here with your boyfriend,” Kugisaki teases, a soft snicker escaping her. The brown eyed boy shoves her to the side lightly, mildly frustrated at her snide remarks.
After a little while, the venue returned to its original state, leaving no one in the room except for two individuals. The pink haired boy’s face filled with color at the realization of the amount of things that could happen in this vacant, silent room. Itadori shyly walks over to the guitarist, whose face mirrors his nervous expression.
“Hi. I was wondering if you would like to,” he takes a deep breath, trying to regain control of his voice, “Do you wanna hang out?” He squeaked out in one breath. The expression on Fushiguro’s face couldn’t be described as anything but a mix of surprise and embarrassment. He nods politely, the corner of his lips turning up at the thought.
“So, uh, 8 p.m. today?” The black haired boy anxiously scratches his neck, trailing his eyes away from Itadori, who nods enthusiastically, the big grin from earlier reappearing. After a while of awkward tension, they both part ways with nervous goodbyes, each heading to their own vehicle.
Itadori’s sweaty palms cling tightly on the wheel as he looks around the foreign apartment complex. Room 175, Fushiguro had sent him earlier. His hands fidget in his pockets before he exits the car. As he walks through the silent hallway, shoes clicking softly against the carpeted floor, Itadori’s nerves start to pollute his mind.
He wasn’t that close with Fushiguro, and he’d only really talked to him three times. Now, they were essentially going on a date, at some restaurant Itadori didn’t even know the name of. He fidgets with the collar of his shirt, biting his reddened lip. Once he finds the apartment number, he freezes, tons of emotions overwhelming his brain. The brown eyed boy’s hand finds its way to the metal handle, twisting it open with a final breath. It was opened for him.
Itadori could make out quiet rustling coming from the bathroom—glass softling clicking against the marble countertop, drawers opening and shutting hurriedly. His gaze wanders around the hallway, rugged hands still fidgeting with his collar. The apartment is surprisingly organized, everything neatly tucked into a cabinet or drawer of some kind. He freezes at the sound of footsteps emerging from the bathroom, looking down at his watch to seem distracted.
Fushiguro stood at the doorframe, a dark wash leather jacket hanging over his thin frame. His baggy jeans were held up with a thick belt, slightly fraying at the bottom edges. Itadori’s eyes drop down to his black Chuck 70s, sketches filling the blank spots at the front. The aglets at the end of the crimson laces had fallen off, only leaving worn string in their place. His black spikes remained as usual, brushing over his brow softly.
“Hi,” is the only thing that manages to come out of Itadori’s mouth. He is completely speechless at the sight of Fushiguro, who seems incredibly confident for someone whose heart was racing this fast. The blue eyed boy bites his cheek, glancing around to look at anything except the brown eyes staring back at him.
“We should probably get going. The reservation starts soon.” Itadori nods in response, following the other boy’s lead to the car. As they walk, he can’t help but sneak a few glances at Fushiguro, stare following him up and down as he makes his way to the vehicle.
After around 10 minutes, the car finally slows to a halt as both boys begin to leave. Rain patters onto the softness of Itadori’s rosy waves, leaving him almost completely drenched. The black haired boy chuckles, the awning’s rainwater falling atop his head in the same manner. Pink tufts shake off remnants of water as they enter the small, brick building, resulting in an elbow to Itadori’s side. He laughs softly and nudges Fushiguro back lightly, earning him a small eyeroll. This was already going a lot better than expected.