untangle

It started out innocent enough.

Gojou had decided to treat them to shopping in the city, something that excited Kugisaki and Itadori beyond reason. Fushiguro thought that those two would probably faint from excitement if their sensei ever indulged them in a trip to Roppongi, as he'd promised them so many months ago, even though he knew fully well it was little more than a tourist trap.

Then they passed by a fabric store, and Itadori had stopped cold in his tracks at the sight of the multicolored yarns in the window. Peeking over a teetering pile of bags and boxes he was holding for Kugisaki, Itadori drew so close to the window his breath misted up the glass.

"What is it, Itadori?" Kugisaki huffed. She turned around and barely suppressed a laugh when she saw him staring. "Are you a grandmother now? Come on, I still need to pick up new stockings."

"No, it's just—" Itadori glanced back at her, wide eyed. "You know, my grandfather taught me to knit once, when I was really little. I hadn't given it much thought since…" His sentence trailed off. "Anyway, it's getting colder now, right? Plus Christmas is coming up. Maybe I should pick it up again."

Fushiguro shrugged. "As long as you don't go crazy. Like that time with the stamps."

"Listen — those were limited edition stamps—"

"And the historical romance movies."

"How did you — come on, Pride and Prejudice is a classic—"

"And the bullet journals?"

"I didn't even get that many of those! Gojou-sensei was the one who recommended those to keep track of stuff."

"You had to empty one of your manga shelves just to store all the stationary you bought!"

"Okay, I get it!" Itadori held up one of his hands in a gesture of surrender, nearly dropping Kugisaki's things in the process. "In and out. All I want to do is look."

But that was not all he wanted to do. Itadori wanted to touch the yarn, and then he was ogling the seasonal colors, and then he was flipping through pattern books, and then he was discussing different wool blends with the lady working there, and then he was picking out bamboo circular knitting needles, and then he was ordering cones of yarn in different colors, and by the time they staggered out of the fabric store, Fushiguro was ready to collapse.

The way home was just as bad, if not worse. Itadori talked Gojou's ear off the whole time about different stitches he wanted to try and projects he was going to start.

"Oh, by the way, Fushiguro!"

Fushiguro turned at the mention of his name. "What is it?"

"Would you prefer a scarf or a hat? I picked out this green acrylic-wool blend to match your eyes, but I'm not sure which one you would prefer."

Fushiguro blinked at him. "A— a scarf, I guess."

Itadori gave him a thumbs up and then went right back to talking a mile a minute. Fushiguro wasn't sure if he should be paying attention or not. He glanced at Kugisaki, who was in a world of her own looking at the souvenirs and new accessories she had bought with Gojou's credit card.
Gojou himself seemed only mildly interested in what Itadori was saying. He seemed to be thinking of something else, but he did seem to be making an effort to show his student that he was listening.

Fushiguro sighed. He really was hopeless. "Itadori, tell me about the patterns you want to try."

Itadori turned to him, and Fushiguro let himself take in the radiant glow of his eyes for one selfish moment, before training his gaze on the floor of the train.

(Was it too much to ask for him to stop being so bright all the time?)

The excitement could barely keep its way out of Itadori's voice as he described the different ways to knit a sock, and Fushiguro smiled a little, careful not to let Gojou see it. He would never let him live it down.

"Fushigurooooooooooooooo!"

He doesn't have to yell. The walls are so thin between our rooms anyway. "What?" he called back, a little quieter.

"I need your help! Come here!"

Fushiguro sighed and closed the book he'd been reading. It was a hefty tome on marine biology he'd picked up the week before. And in that week, Itadori had probably knit enough to clothe a small country.

Well, that was an exaggeration. But he really had been spending all his time working on some project or another, and Fushiguro was mentally counting down until his inevitable burnout.

He opened the door to Itadori's room and poked his head inside. "What— oh."

Itadori grinned sheepishly at him. He was in the middle of a pile of tangled yarn, probably partially tangled in it himself, seated on the floor. "Um, I could use another pair of hands."

Fushiguro sighed for as long as he could, feigning annoyance.

(He really didn't mind.)

"Thanks, man." Itadori wriggled his way out of his multicolored bonds and started picking at the strands. "I promise it's not as bad as it looks."

What it looked was pretty bad.

"I just forgot to organize them when I was done with a color. I had just been putting them in a bin under my bed."

Really? Not a blender?

Fushiguro said nothing as he worked at a thick knot.

"Brat, do something about him."

His eyes went wide as Fushiguro whipped his head around to see a mouth formed on Itadori's cheek, speaking in a familiarly cold voice. "He's driving me insane."

Itadori slapped a hand over Sukuna's mouth automatically. "You were already insane," he muttered under his breath.

The mouth opened again on his hand. "All you think about are your projects. If I wanted to possess a grandmother, I would have done so. Brat, break his knitting needles, throw out his yarn, something. I know you find it irritating too."

Itadori pointedly ignored Sukuna's voice, but for a moment Fushiguro was sure he saw something flicker in his eyes — something like disappointment, or maybe regret. His smile seemed a little too tight, his gaze too fixed.

Ever since he had come back to life, Fushiguro had noticed that Itadori wasn't quite the same. He never wanted to talk about it, either, besides the few words they'd exchanged before the Goodwill Event.

But these days, something about Itadori Yuuji seemed a little unsure. He seemed harder, cracked around the edges like broken glass. He was smiling the same smile as ever, but something in his eyes told Fushiguro that he didn't mean it.

Fushiguro imagined that he was untangling Itadori. Maybe it was that he didn't trust him enough, wasn't close enough to him, didn't care as much about him as Fushiguro did him, but there was something twisted up inside Itadori that he didn't let anyone touch.

(He would never admit it, but Fushiguro wished that he could. Sort through the strands one by one, with care and with gentleness, until he was all smoothed out.)

"Itadori," Fushiguro said quietly.

"Huh?" By the time he turned around to meet his eyes, Itadori had already masked his brief slippage of control.

"I don't think it's irritating."

Itadori laughed a little. "No, it's okay. You don't have to feel bad, I know I'm going a little overboard…"

"I'm serious."

He fell silent and ran his fingers through his soft pink hair. Again, there it was — a flash of something between disappointment and regret. "I just… it feels nice to make stuff for other people, I guess."

And there he went again. Always other people first.

(When would he realize other people worried about him too?)

Fushiguro didn't say anything else, but silently picked a piece of yarn off of Itadori's hoodie.

"Oh! That's right!" Itadori suddenly stood up and rummaged through his bag. "It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?"

It was. Fushiguro hadn't told anyone about it though — there wasn't much he hated more than other people fussing over him on his birthday. The attention, the coddling praise, the presents… all of it was too much.

Who could have—

The winking face of his sensei flashed across his mind. Of course.

"Here you go, before I forget to give it to you." Itadori handed him a folded green scarf. "It's your birthday present!"

Fushiguro took the scarf gingerly. It seemed to tingle in his hands, and he could almost feel the attention and time that Itadori had put into it. It had a complicated-looking cable pattern that must have taken him forever.

"Do you— do you like it?"

He glanced up at Itadori, whose usually sunny face was clouded over with insecurity. Ah, I must have made a face by accident.

Fushiguro answered by putting the scarf on. It even smelled like him. If he breathed in deeply, he could smell Itadori's fabric softener and the scent of the outdoors that always seemed to cling to him — wood and soft grass and—

Stop smelling the scarf.

"I like it," he managed. He couldn't make eye contact with Itadori — if he did, he was afraid his careful mask of casual indifference might break and reveal something much more embarrassing.

"You do? Oh, that's good." Somehow Itadori didn't sound very convinced.

Fushiguro risked looking into his eyes. "I really love this," he stated firmly. "Honestly, I'm glad you decided to start knitting again." He paused a moment before going a step further, grasping at the tangled strands around him and within the boy who stood before him. "I think your grandfather would be really proud of you."

Itadori blinked in surprise. "Oh." A wide grin spread across his face. "Well, I'm glad you like it!"

Fushiguro gestured hopelessly to the mountain of tangled yarn.

"Ah, right."

An easy silence fell as they untangled the rest of the yarn. The warmth of the scarf around Fushiguro's neck was grounding, and reminded him of the warmth of the boy next to him.

Itadori scooted closer to him and rested his head on Fushiguro's shoulder, surprising him. Neither of them said a word as they picked at knots of yarn.

"Thank you," muttered Itadori under his breath.

Maybe birthdays weren't so bad after all.