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Itadori was blasting that god-awful music again.
It had been the same thing every night; minutes after stumbling into bed after a grueling day of training and curses and putting up with Gojo, Fushiguro would hear music blaring from Itadori’s room next door. “Hear” was an understatement. It was so loud that he could feel it reverberating through his body. And it would go on for hours. He wouldn’t be surprised if Nobara could feel it too, and her room was clear on the other side of the dorms. So many things had changed since Itadori showed up (alive) at the sister-school event last week.
Fushiguro was so glad Itadori was back from the dead.
Elated.
But enough was enough.
Fushiguro knocked on Itadori’s door. When that proved unsuccessful, he kicked it aggressively. He was just getting ready to summon one of his shikigami to obliterate the door when Itadori opened it.
“Oh, Fushiguro. What’s up?”
Fushiguro lowered his hands and huffed. “Would you please turn that down.”
“What?”
“Turn down the music,” Fushiguro said, louder.
“The music?” Itadori asked.
“TURN. IT. DOWN!”
“Oh shit, yeah, one sec,” Itadori said, disappearing into his room. The music stopped. When Itadori appeared again, he looked more exhausted than Fushiguro remembered; his eyes were puffy, and dark circles like bruises made it plain that he hadn’t slept well in a long time. Guilt washed away Fushiguro’s prior irritation.
“I didn’t realize my music was bothering you. I’ll be sure to keep it down from now on. Sorry.” Itadori said, his voice flat. He moved to shut the door.
“Wait,” Fushiguro said. “Um.”
Itadori stared blankly at him.
“What were you listening to?” It was an extremely lame and awkward attempt at conversation, especially considering he had shouted “turn it down” rather brusquely just moments prior.
Itadori kept staring, now visibly confused.
Fushiguro took a deep breath and tried again. “Is everything alright?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? Everything’s fine,” Itadori said in a way that made it clear nothing was fine. He wasn’t smiling either, which troubled Fushiguro. Itadori always smiled.
“Can I come in?”
The question came out of nowhere, and Fushiguro knew it was probably a strange thing to ask of somebody at two in the morning, but after a moment’s pause Itadori stepped aside and beckoned for Fushiguro to follow.
The room was, surprisingly, tidy. Fushiguro had expected snack wrappers, dirty shoes, unfinished homework, and piles of clothing at the least. Instead, everything had a place, and although the bed was recently rumpled, not a speck of dust was discernable on any visible surface. Itadori’s room was actually much cleaner than Fushiguro’s own. Barren almost.
Except for the posters of women with massive bosoms. Fushiguro tried really hard not to look at them, but it was difficult not to make accidental eye contact with a boob considering they were plastered all over the place. It made him feel uncomfortable and…disappointed, although the latter emotion confused him. Disappointed about what?
He was jolted from his confusing thoughts by the sound of Itadori throwing himself back onto the bed. Lying down, hands behind his head and one foot hanging off the side, he looked as carefree as he always had. But his face –
“You can sit down, you know. Don’t just stand there.” Itadori thumped the edge of the bed with his foot. “Here. Sit.”
Fushiguro sat down gingerly.
Moonglow painted the room shades of blue and grey.
A small box-fan whirred on the desk.
Itadori coughed.
“What do-“ Itadori started just as Fushiguro said, “Why-“
Itadori snorted. “You first.”
Fushiguro looked down at his hands. “I was going to ask why you’ve been listening to music so loud. You didn’t used to, before.”
The implication of ‘before’ didn’t seem to bother Itadori, and he answered the question without hesitation. “The music helps me drown him out,” he said, pointing to his skull. “His voice keeps getting louder and louder, so…the louder my music the better.”
“Does it upset you?” Another stupid question. Fushiguro winced as soon as he asked it. Having a 1,000 year old curse talking inside of your head would upset anybody.
But Itadori didn’t laugh, or say it was stupid. He answered the question sincerely, as he did everything. “Yeah, it does.”
Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the fact he was sitting on Itadori’s bed, maybe it was the empty look in Itadori’s eyes. Whatever it was, Fushiguro felt compelled to keep asking questions.
“What were you listening to tonight? It sounded English.”
“It is English,” Itadori said, sitting up and pulling his phone out from somewhere in the bed sheets. He showed Fushiguro the song title. English, a subject that Fushiguro was reasonably proficient in. The song title didn’t make a lot of sense, though; 2.B.A Master. Fushiguro was more interested in how Itadori was sitting close enough that he could feel the heat of his body. “It’s some old Pokémon music that I used to listen to with my Grandpa when I was little,” Itadori continued. “I was really into the show and everything, so he used to buy me cards and stuff.”
“You must have been close with your grandfather.”
Itadori lips quirked, but it wasn't a smile. “Yeah, we did everything together,” he said. “And I must have made him listen to this album at least a million times. Here, listen to this one, he always said it was his favorite. Probably was just saying that to make me happy though.” Itadori turned on the song (at a reasonable volume and not using his wireless speakers, Fushiguro noted) leaned in close, and placed one hand on Fushiguro’s knee in order to keep his balance. Fushiguro’s brain short-circuited.
“It’s kinda fun, isn’t it?” Itadori said, holding the phone up between the two of them with his other hand.
Fushiguro would have answered, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Hand on knee. Knee with hand on it. Itadori’s hand. Knee.
Itadori let the music play for what felt like an eternity. An eternity in which Fushiguro thought mostly about how large and warm Itadori’s hand was.
“Anyway, the music’s not great, but it holds a lot of really good memories for me.” Itadori finally turned the phone off and, regrettably, also removed his hand. “I listen to it mostly because it bugs the shit out of Sukuna though.”
That caught Fushiguro’s attention. “Really? Sukuna gets irritated?”
“Oh yeah. He can’t stand it. He doesn’t understand the lyrics.”
A mouth appeared on the back of Itadori’s hand and growled. What is there to understand? It is inane, nonsensical, puerile shit.
“See what I mean?” Itadori frowned.
“I can imagine that the idea of trading cards and computerized games must be a lot to take in for somebody who predates the medieval ages,” Fushiguro replied. He hadn't meant it in any particular way; it was just an observation. But it seemed to tick Sukuna off.
I have seen more under the sun than you can comprehend, boy. Paper games and electronic boxes do not concern me.
“Shut up,” Itadori said, smacking the mouth with his other hand.
The mouth reappeared on his forehead. Make me.
The absurdity of the situation suddenly hit Fushiguro. The mighty Sukuna, most feared of all curses, couldn’t understand Pokémon. The ancient, powerful, murderous Sukuna was being forced - by Itadori - to listen to a children’s album about little pocket monsters.
Fushiguro laughed. And laughed. He laughed so hard that he cried, face red and sides sore. He tried to catch his breath but every time he thought about it, it just kept getting funnier. He fell backwards onto the bed, exhausted but still giggling.
Itadori looked at Fushiguro in wonder. It was the only time that night that Itadori’s eyes had shown some life. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you laugh.”
I can give the little bitch something to laugh about, Sukuna said, voice soft. An eye had appeared above the mouth and it was peering at Fushiguro with something that wasn’t wonder. The laughter died in Fushiguro’s throat and he shivered. Just as suddenly as he had been struck by the absurdity, he was struck by the fact that Sukuna was still ancient, powerful, and murderous.
“Seriously,” Itadori said. “Shut the fuck up. Go away.”
Sukuna went away without a parting word, but the smile he gave Fushiguro before disappearing was unsettling. Slippery.
“I’m sorry that he said that to you.” Itadori lay back down. This time there were no hands behind the head, no leg kicked out comfortably. Instead, he had almost crumpled in on himself and was hugging his knees to his chest.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve heard worse.”
But Itadori was already lost, eyes blank and staring into a place that Fushiguro couldn’t see.
More than anything, Fushiguro wanted Itadori to smile again.