Chapter Text
Itadori Yuuji had recently come to terms with two hard truths that defined the new reality he was living in.
The first, painful as it was to admit, is that he was a dead man.
His execution hung ever persistent over his head, each day that passed a slow trudge towards the inevitable. He had plenty of distractions from the harsh reality of the situation throughout the day, almost every waking moment spent in the presence of his friends or teachers. But at night, when he was left to his own devices, tossing around in his bed trying to get comfortable, that's when it hits him.
He lies awake, staring up at the ceiling while he contemplates just how much time he has left. He tries to do the math to measure the rate at which he's been swallowing fingers. He tries to calculate averages and carry over digits and work out a formula to predict the exact time and date that he'll die.
And then, after a few minutes, he remembers that he's bad at math and gives it all up. It brings him comfort knowing that so long as he hasn't ingested all of Sukuna's fingers, he's at least guaranteed the rest of the day. He hasn't even eaten half of Sukuna's fingers yet, so if he continues on at his current rate, he's got more time left than he's already spent. More time with Fushiguro and Kugisaki. More time with Gojo and Nanami. More time with all of the people who he's managed to pull into his orbit.
In the end, he usually drifts into a dreamless sleep with a smile on his face.
The second truth is a bit more complicated than that.
There were several complex problems involved in the second truth that Yuuji was faced with. The biggest and most pressing complexity had a name, and his name was Megumi Fushiguro.
Dependable, easily irritated, batshit crazy, absolutely irresistible Megumi Fushiguro.
Yuuji couldn't pinpoint where exactly he had fallen in love with his best friend, but if he had to take a shot in the dark, he'd guess it was around the time they first met, when Yuuji was pushed out of the way of a monstrous curse by Fushiguro, and he swore he could feel electricity where his hand made contact.
It was easy to pass that off as the adrenaline kicking in, but then it kept happening. Each light brush of the shoulder when they sat side by side on car trips, every time Fushiguro grabbed his ear and told him to stop acting like a reckless idiot, every time he looked into his eyes and made Yuuji feel like they were the only two people on the planet.
Yuuji was hopelessly, madly in love, and there was no way he could ever tell anyone. Especially not Fushiguro.
Yuuji had known about his affinity for individuals of the male variety for a while, starting with the promise to one day marry his childhood best friend, tying a knot in dandelion stems and passing them off as promise rings. (It didn't last long, because the very next week that cheating bastard was off sharing onigiri with the homewrecker in the class next door).
He was quite comfortable with his sexuality, and he knew from passing comments during small talk that Fushiguro didn't have the time nor the energy to be a shit head about people's preferences.
There were several layers to be peeled back to fully address Yuuji's hesitancy in confessing his feelings to Fushiguro, or divulging the secret to anyone else.
The blanket layer was the ever present possibility that Fushiguro was straight. The two had never discussed anything besides surface level, petty nothingness on the sleeveless tank Inumaki was wearing that day or how toned Maki's muscles were getting with her new workout regimen. They were both more than comfortable admitting that their peers were quite nice looking, but that was just objectivity. Nothing that'd hint at serious attraction.
The next was their busy schedules that left sparse time between for personal matters. Both of them had more than enough on their plates between their studies, training and missions, adding the daunting task of juggling a relationship between all of it threatened to spiral everything out of control. Yuuji wasn't confident that he could keep up with everything, worried that he'd wind up unintentionally hurting Fushiguro as a result and ruining everything.
The deepest layer tied back in with that which Yuuji has already come to terms with. He's a dead man.
In an idealistic fantasy world where Yuuji confesses his true feelings to Fushiguro, and by some miracle or another, he reciprocates his feelings, like all else in Yuuji's life, their relationship now has a timer, counting down in tandem to his own inevitable death.
No matter what he did, no matter how he went about it, if he ever told Fushiguro how he truly felt, he would hurt him. All a confession would do is make the unavoidable hurt Fushiguro more.
Fushiguro couldn't know how Yuuji felt about him, because all it would do is make it harder to say goodbye.
All too many had this misconception about Fushiguro, that he was an emotionless robot with nothing but superficial attachment to everything around him. Yuuji knew better. He'd once died in front of Fushiguro, after all.
He listened to Fushiguro as he recounted why exactly he'd chosen to save his life all those weeks ago. There was no logical reason in saving him. He chose to save him because he wanted Itadori to live. It was a selfish, emotionally driven reason.
He watched his bottom lip quiver and his eyes water up while Yuuji collapsed to the ground at his feet, leaving him with an ultimatum in his dying breath, to live a long life.
Fushiguro did have feelings underneath that steely, blasé exterior. He had a heart, and Yuuji would rip his own out before he ever broke it.
Fushiguro deserved to live a long, happy life. Yuuji was cursed to never be part of it.
The black hole
Of the
Window
where you sleep
Yuuji's eyes open to the bright, frosty walls of the second most probable room he could ever be found in after missions. Ieiri's clinic.
His mind draws a blank when he immediately tries to recall the events of the last time he was conscious. Tactfully placed bandages across most of his right arm and chest clue him in somewhat. Itadori sighs, closing his eyes to alleviate some of the pounding in his head.
Ieiri often warned him about the dangers of trying to rush the process, urging him to allow his memory to slowly return to him rather than giving himself a headache trying to relive memories that have yet to surface. He waits several moments before he starts a mental timer. Within fifteen seconds total, he's sure of it, a particularly rowdy teacher and his entourage of moody teenagers will come bounding into the room once they notice he's woken up.
Fifteen turns to ten, ten turns to five.
Three, two, one…
Bang!
The door of the clinic flies open without warning, and said teacher sticks his head through the door as if he's checking whether or not Yuuji is still unconscious, despite knowing the answer and certainly knowing even if he wasn't, the door slamming against the back wall would've done the trick.
"Yuuji! You're finally up!" Gojo chirps, bounding towards his bed like a giddy child. It takes a few moments, but eventually, his first moody teenager follows after him.
Fushiguro walks in alone seconds after Gojo, keeping a good distance between himself and the foot of the bed, idling in the middle of the room. There's a bandage wrapped across his head and a patch over his bottom lip. He's bruised up, but it's nothing he couldn't bounce back from.
"Sensei…!" Yuuji greets warmly. "And Fushiguro! You came to visit!"
"Of course we did! I'm not a soulless wretch who'd leave a dear student to waste away in a hospital room alone," he sing-songedly declares, pulling a chair from the wall closer to the bed. "How're you feeling? You really got banged up good!"
Yuuji didn't have the slightest clue what he was referring to, but the dull pain that throbs all throughout his body can attest to the sentiment. "Uh, kind of bad, but I'll be okay!" Yuuji affirms.
"Great to hear it! I knew my favorite students could handle a little beat down. If only I could've seen the other guys!" Gojo praised, as he usually did.
So far, it was seeming like a normal post-mission recovery.
Fushiguro was being characteristically quiet in the middle of the room. Nobara was nowhere to be seen, but it wasn't unreasonable to assume she was off in her own room similarly recovering.
"So, tell me all about it! Reading all those reports is so boring. I want a first hand account," Gojo urges, placing his hands under his chin and sliding the chair closer to the bed.
Yuuji breathes out. "Sorry, Sensei. I still don't really...remember what happened. Check back later for an interview?"
Gojo lets out an exasperated sigh. "Poor Yuuji. You must've gotten hit real good."
"Well, I wouldn't know if I did," Yuuji lightly chuckles, slightly upsetting his chest. He winces and vows to never try that again. Yuuji looks at Fushiguro, lively eyes contrasting with his persistent disinterested glare. Yuuji loved that glare. "Are you okay?"
"Just a slight concussion. I'll be fine," he brushes it off in typical Fushiguro fashion.
Yuuji smiles wide. "Great!"
His eyes travel to that little patch on his lip, right beside a purple bruise on his cheek. He vaguely recalls the manner in which Fushiguro acquired them, a cursed spirit had caught him off guard while he attacked another, nicking his lip with a swipe to the face. Fushiguro's demon dog immediately exorcised it afterwards.
"Megumi and I will go get you something to eat and let Shoko know you're finally awake so just sit tight for a minute, we'll be ri-i-i-ight back!" Gojo says, sitting up from the chair beside the bed.
Yuuji gives a thumbs up while Gojo ushers Megumi out, the corner of his eye staying focused on Yuuji.
Everything was going exactly as it always had.
But, still…
Yuuji couldn't shake the feeling that something was...off.
He felt normal, or, more precisely, as normal as one could feel after taking a beating from a cursed spirit, so the disturbance certainly wasn't physical. He was still somewhat foggy in the head, only able to call on slowly forming bits and pieces of the last day or so, but that was to be expected. There was a light pressure around his forehead that felt like snug bandages, and while he couldn't see them, he could only assume his head had been on the receiving end of a nasty blow. That checked off mental.
He couldn't envision a scenario in which his emotions didn't feel off after a mission. Being a sorcerer was no easy work, especially for Itadori who before this had never really been exposed to violence or death before. Missions were always a crude reminder that he'll never get that back. As far as emotions went, the discomfort felt normal.
And yet, the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right persisted. He must be missing something…or perhaps overthinking, which he did have a tendency of doing.
Slowly but surely, more and more of his memories begin to resurface about his last outing. The three first years being sent to a hospital where a cursed spirit was believed to be infecting patients with debilitating disease. One patient died, putting the spirit higher up on the watchlist, and Gojo sending them out to exorcise it before there were any more victims.
All normal, so far.
Hospitals were a perfect breeding ground for cursed spirits. Though there were many of them, they had successfully fended them off, getting a few cuts and bruises along the way until they found their target, a grade two. Itadori's recollection is a little fuzzy, though he vaguely remembers Nobara exorcising the spirit after it had been paralyzed by Nue. He wasn't sure what exactly he had been doing, but it was no doubt super cool.
Yuuji leans his head back onto the bed, sighing. There's a slight tickle in the back of his throat that he tries to clear out. All it takes is one try and he feels better again. He festers in the silence of the room, impatiently waiting for Gojo and Fushiguro to return. He wants to hear about the mission as well, and maybe go visit Kugisaki, if he can muster up the strength.
He thinks about Kugisaki. She hadn't been with the pair, which only meant she was stuck in the same situation. It wasn't like Kugisaki to skip out on visiting hours. He's fairly certain that by the time the main curse had been exorcised, Kugisaki was relatively unscathed. Cuts and bruises, as was expected, but no pressing injuries that needed immediate attention.
Memories float up to the surface like photos from an old camera developing. Blurry blotches slowly turn into crisp, clean images. The mission went well. It went exceptionally well. He distinctly remembers all of them meeting at the front of the hospital afterwards, Yuuji and Nobara singing the songs of their conquests while Fushiguro sat silently and listened, unnoticing of the glances Yuuji kept sneaking his way, as he always was. They went out to dinner afterwards.
So...how had he wound up here?
The night breeze
Carries
Something sweet
A peach tree
Yuuji was released from Ieiri's clinic without much fanfare. He was told to not overdo it at practice and come back if for some reason he was still experiencing discomfort. Ieiri was good enough at her job for both of them to know it wouldn't be necessary.
Days passed unceremoniously, and Yuuji continued his studies as usual. Kugisaki had fared much better than he had, released a couple of hours before him and cleared to go on missions earlier. Itadori was a bit jealous, but he'd been informed that he'd taken a much more brutal hit than she had, a result of him actually jumping in the way to protect her. He was still unclear on what exactly he'd shielded her from, but it sounded like something he'd do. He didn't think much of it.
He asked Ieiri when exactly he should start worrying about the mysterious amnesia, and she in turn asked him a series of questions pertaining to the events before and during the mission. He could answer all of them, but when it came to after the mission, his mind drew a blank. She assured him it was nothing to worry about just yet, Yuuji figured it'd come back to him eventually.
Curiosity eventually began to gnaw at him, and he sought out the help of his classmates to fill in the lapses in his memory.
Fushiguro had just finished sparring with Kugisaki, and Yuuji gingerly slipped into the locker rooms behind him. The three had planned on going out that night, but they all had their reservations about discussing missions during down time. Work was work, after all, and no one wanted to think about work on their night out.
Yuuji sat on the bench outside the shower rooms, twiddling his thumbs in his lap waiting for Fushiguro to finish up inside. He'd give Yuuji an earful if he made him sit down and talk in the locker rooms still caked in dust and drenched in sweat.
After waiting for several minutes, Fushiguro finally exits the shower, a puff of steam following him back out to the lockers. "I thought I heard you out here. You aren't really good at sneaking around, you know," Megumi comments as he walks past Itadori, sat a few feet away from Fushiguro's locker. A towel is draped over his hips and falls over his legs, which is the full extent of his clothing.
Yuuji and Fushiguro were quite accustomed to seeing each other half nude, so it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to be so casual around Yuuji like this, with nothing but a towel between Yuuji and the lithe form and wiry muscle of Fushiguro's body. Yuuji was thankful that he had turned around to retrieve his clothes from a locker, because he was moments away from being caught staring. Yuuji swallows hard and turns to the wall beyond Fushiguro's head.
"Really? I've been working on it, too," Yuuji pouts.
Fushiguro shakes his head. "Word of advice, don't make sound effects when you do it."
"It's not as cool without them," Yuuji retorts, pride wounded.
"It's not sneaking around if you announce where you are," Fushiguro counters. "What're you doing here?"
Yuuji perks up. There's a slight discomfort in his throat when he turns his neck, but he tries to ignore it. "Oh, right, yeah, okay," he rattles off, trying his very hardest to prevent himself from looking down at Fushiguro's bare legs once he slipped his boxers on and dropped the towel to the floor. "I've been meaning to ask about the mission we went on. I'm still kind of lost on a few things."
Fushiguro raised an eyebrow, turning to Yuuji with his arms suspended in the air, his shirt wrapped around his forearms. "Still?"
Yuuji nods. His eyes start to slip down to Fushiguro's bare chest. He has to make a conscious effort to keep them up at eye level. The problem with keeping his gaze on Fushiguro's face was his susceptibility to staring into the deep blue expanse of his irises. No matter where he looked, a blush was bound to spread across his cheeks. There was just no winning when it came to Megumi Fushiguro.
"I remember the mission, and I remember that we got yakitori afterwards, but…what happened after that?" Yuuji asks with an innocent head tilt.
Fushiguro finally pulled his shirt over his chest, straightening it out over his shoulders. Yuuji couldn't believe himself for the breath he released once the raven haired boy was finally covered up.
"I guess it makes sense. You got pretty banged up," Fushiguro offhandedly comments. "We were heading back to the school when we all sensed the residuals of a powerful cursed spirit. The mission went better than anticipated, and we were all up for the challenge, so we asked Gojo what we should do about it. He said to leave it alone, but all four of us knew that wasn't happening."
As Fushiguro began the recount, Yuuji followed along as best he could mentally. There were still plenty of missing bits and pieces hiding around the ol' thinker somewhere, trying to breach the surface but never quite reaching it.
"So we followed it until we sensed it coming closer and closer, and then before I even knew it...you and Kugisaki were both on the ground, and the spirit, residuals and all, were just...gone. You must've seen it coming before my demon dog even picked up on it, because you pushed me out of the way and shielded Kugisaki from it. I tried chasing after it, but…it didn't leave a trace, and you and Kugisaki were in no shape to be left alone like that, so I brought you back to the school."
Yuuji bit his lip, furrowing his brows in contemplation. He does remember following that residual trail down a residential area, but, he doesn't remember ever encountering the curse. His mind draws a blank whenever he tries to think about the spirit itself. He wonders if Kugisaki remembered anything about it. He'd have to ask her some time later.
"I was really worried about you, you know."
Yuuji is snapped out of his thoughts, returned back down to earth where Fushiguro is now standing beside him. He's outrageously close, bodyheat practically radiating off of him and onto Yuuji's cheeks. (Or at least that's what he tells himself to justify the rud in his face). In reality, Fushiguro is at least half the bench away from him.
"You...were?" Yuuji asks. He has the sudden urge to clear his throat.
"Yeah. Kind of. You were pretty banged up. Something was dislocated," Fushiguro shrugged. "Both of you were in pretty bad shape, but you got the worst of it. And I wasn't even able to do anything…"
Yuuji blinks. And he blinks again. Had he heard him right? Fushiguro was...worried about him? Fushiguro...worried about him? Yuuji's heart skipped a beat in his chest. He felt ridiculous, getting all flustered over a simple sentiment, but coming from Fushiguro it was far from just simple. It felt...warmer, coming from Fushiguro. Warmer than it would've with Kugisaki or Gojo. It felt like a nice, cozy hug. This'd probably be the closest he got to one from him, and he revelled in every uninterrupted moment of it.
"Are you making it weird?" Fushiguro asks, pulling him from his fuzzy thoughts and back down to reality.
"What?" Yuuji croaks, voice succumbing to the soreness he couldn't shake. His throat felt uncomfortable and scratchy, he tried clearing it once, and when that doesn't work he tries to force himself to cough up whatevers lodged in there, to no avail.
"...Are you okay?" Fushiguro asks, taking a step closer to Itadori.
Yuuji tries to wave him away, but his hand is caught in mid air before he throws the same arm around his mouth to cover it. He instead nods his head, eyes welling up with tears in his attempts at holding the cough in.
"You don't sound okay, I can go get Ieiri–"
"Don't!" Yuuji blurts out, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to restrain himself. He only breathes through his nose, feeling whatever is stuck in his windpipe tickle against the sides as air flows through it. Yuuji grimaces, putting his sleeve over his fingers and wiping away the tears from his face.
Fushiguro looks at him with concerned eyes, unsure of whether or not he should heed Yuuji's request or not. He's still biting back a cough for his own sake, and its blatantly obvious he's not selling it well.
"Maybe we should postpone tonight. There's always some other time, and you sound like shit."
Yuuji reluctantly nods. "Yeah, maybe–" Yuuji makes the mistake of pushing his luck and immediately goes into another fit of coughing. He raises up onto shaking legs, trying once again to fruitlessly hold back his coughing. He tries to convey the rest of the sentence to Fushiguro in hand gestures, though there's no universal gesture for 'maybe we should, but I don't want to be the one to tell Kugisaki'.
Fushiguro follows suit with his gestures, waving Itadori away. "I'll take care of it," despite Yuuji's struggles, he seemed to get the message anyway. "Feel better, Yuuji."
Yuuji lets out another loud cough, one that threatens to send the bile in his gut up to his mouth. He gives a quick thumbs up before he leaves the locker room a choked up, bleary eyed mess. He doesn't get far before he doubles over against the wall, hands anchoring himself up while he dry heaves, weakened knees giving in as he slips towards the ground.
He practically hacks up a lung, surprised that he hasn't attracted everyone in a mile radius with the intensity of the fit he's having. He musters up all of the strength he has and coughs hard, trying to clear the blockage in his throat. He puts his fingers over his mouth and throws his whole body into it, head colliding with the wall when he lurches forward.
He can feel something dislodge from his throat and fly up into his mouth. It catches his tongue, a thin, bitter sheet stuck to his taste buds. It makes him cringe, gathering up some saliva in his mouth to guide it out and spitting into his hand as opposed to the floor, both unsavory options.
Yuuji furrows his brow and tries wiping his eyes, unsure if he was seeing things or not. His vision clears, and the object remains all the same. What now lies in his hand is a black petal caked in light red tinted spit.
Wild women don't get the blues
But I find that
Lately I've been crying like a
Tall child
Yuuji tries to forget about the petal. He tries to brush it off, rationalizing that it could've just drifted into his throat without him realizing while he was on one of his big, loud, wide mouthed tangents, and that had been the cause of his discomfort. The throat ache persisted, every word he spoke disturbing his breathing, swallowing, even head turning. Anything that resulted in his throat moving, however slight it may be, could send him into a coughing fit.
As the week dragged on, Yuuji began to succumb further and further to the affliction. Eating became especially difficult, everything he ate besides light broth felt like sandpaper going down. Yuuji learned the hard way that it was more likely that food got caught in his throat than it was it'd go down. He'd tried blending up the food into a shake, but even that was too thick to swallow. At night he can only lie down flat on his back or whatever had been stuck in his throat would twist in such a way that made him feel like he couldn't breathe. Sleeping and eating, the two most basic functions of survival, became a chore.
More and more pretty black petals fell from his lips at the end of his coughing sprees. He made quick work of disposing them before anyone saw. If he was in a public space, he'd try and shove them down his sleeves or into his pockets to prevent anyone from seeing. Everyone had a lot on their plates as it was, they didn't need to worry about him, too.
He ran out of breath much quicker during training now, his notorious stamina and endurance reduced to 'however long he can go before he started coughing'.
It hadn't gone unnoticed, either.
Yuuji chocked it up to seasonal allergies and assured Gojo that he'd start taking medication to counter it. Yuuji was pretty confident in his deceptive capabilities, though Gojo saw right through him. They both knew he was lying through his teeth, but he hadn't pressed the issue any further. He wondered how long that would last.
It was a calm, sunny afternoon when Yuuji had doubled over during the warm up lap around the track.
His body was thrown to the ground with the intensity of the coughs that racked his body, forehead pressed flush against the ground. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, taut and tired from constantly pushing up air. Two distinct, black petals pushed past his lips, quickly followed by the acids in his stomach.
"Itadori!" Fushiguro's voice was barely heard over his own hacking, followed by a comforting hand on his back, something Yuuji could ground himself to.
Saliva and bile poured past his lips, his throat finally settling down. As soon as he picked his head up, he was offered a bottle of water from Fushiguro, steadying him with a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders.
Yuuji's heart raced, staring at Fushiguro with dazed, glassy eyes. He tried pushing the water bottle into Yuuji's hands forcefully, but his fingers wouldn't tighten around it. They brushed against Fushiguro's, Yuuji had never noticed how warm his hands were before. It was all he could focus on. He looks down at the bottle, Fushiguro's long, thin fingers loosely intertwined with his. It put butterflies in his aching tummy.
"Itadori, what the hell's been going on with you!? You've been coughing for days straight, literally! Don't tell me this is just allergies or whatever the hell you told Gojo. Something is wrong. Have you seen Ieiri?"
Yuuji shakes his head, another light cough causes Fushiguro's arm to tense around him, bracing for the worst. Luckily, just the one comes out.
"Can I please take you to see her? I mean, really, Itadori. You're a reckless idiot, but this is seriously dangerous," Megumi chastises him. There's a hint of desperation in his voice that pierces Yuuji's psyche. He wants to help. Fushiguro wants to help him. Fushiguro is worried about him.
Part of Itadori revels in seeing Fushiguro like this, on his case about everything, pressing him to take care of himself. It felt nice. It was a normal thing for anyone to do, but coming from Fushiguro, it just...felt different. Everything felt different when it was Fushiguro. He always managed to make the simple and mundane feel so extraordinary and magical. It put heat in Yuuji's cheeks and a nice, cozy feeling in his stomach.
The other part of Itadori, the rational part that gets quieter and quieter as he carries on like this…feels guilty. He feels horrible for worrying Fushiguro like this. There's no reason why he can't or hasn't seen Ieiri yet. There's no reason why he hasn't told anyone what's been happening, with the coughing and the petals. He didn't even know why it was happening, so it'd be in his best interest to go and let someone know.
Itadori was torn between his two halves, and the selfish side had been winning, as of late.
"I'm fine…" Itadori rasps. It's a piss poor lie, while he sits in front of Fushiguro after puking his guts up and cutting up his throat with his thunderous coughing.
"You're unbelievable, you know that, Itadori? You're practically green and you're going to tell me you're fine!?" Fushiguro demanded, completely dumbfounded. He and Yuuji were in the same boat. Neither of them knew what was happening, and they were both worried about his declining health.
Yuuji was as headstrong as he was body-strong, unrelenting in his resolve. "Can you just–" Yuuji tries talking normally, a sore mistake he pays for in the form of another fit of coughing. It all hurts coming up, petals, saliva and blood being forcefully ejected from his body. There isn't nearly enough moisture for a smooth exit, petals get stuck to the back of his throat and the roof of his mouth, making it a long, tedious process to clear everything out, only partly aided by the water bottle that Itadori finally accepts. He takes a large swig, sloshing the water around in his mouth and spitting it back out, along with all the other grime in his mouth.
When he's finally stable, he finishes his sentence, keeping his hoarse voice low enough to not jostle anything around in his throat. "–just, help me back to my room…" he whispers.
Fushiguro's lips part, eyes drawn wide. He's completely stunned by the request. Itadori tries to gauge his thoughts through blurry eyes, corners stung by tears. Fushiguro was always better at hiding these kinds of things, and Yuuji had his own hurdles that weren't easily overcome.
Through the blood pounding in his ears, there's a hushed sigh. Reluctant agreement. "Fine. I'll bring you back," Fushiguro says. "But. If you aren't any better by tomorrow, I'm dragging your ass down to the clinic myself. No excuses."
Yuuji gives him a small smile, no accompanying nod this time around. Fushiguro brings his arm around Yuuji's hip, the other hand placed in his while he helped Yuuji hoist himself off the ground. He wobbled on tired legs, but he was able to keep himself upright, with Fushiguro's help. He leaned more of his body weight on Fushiguro for support, and the added satisfaction of being as close to him as humanly possible. His hand felt nice, a firm grip on his keeping him in place, but not so tight that it hurt. He was really...such a great guy. It was no wonder he fell for him so hard.
A tiny voice in the back of his mind says, 'if only he felt the same.'
On their slow journey across the track, the pair pass the teacher who'd sent them out here in the first place, along with two others subjected to a similar fate, though they seemed to be faring much better.
Nobara and Maki were both lying in the grass, legs intertwined and phones in their laps. They watched Fushiguro lug Itadori around like a sack of potatoes, obviously worried for his sake but not disrupting the scene. Gojo wasn't as respectful when it came to boundaries and followed right after them.
"Finally whisking Yuuji away from this cruel, twisted world?" Gojo asks, bending over to meet his precious student at eye level.
Fushiguro groans and rolls his eyes. "Can't you take anything seriously? Itadori is sick. I'm taking him back inside."
Nothing on his face changes, though he leans in closer to Yuuji, blindfolded eyes study him long and hard. "Sick, you say? What kind of sick?"
Megumi speaks quickly, before Yuuji even has the chance. "He's been coughing his lungs up for days now. How have you not noticed!?"
Gojo raises his hands up and shrugs. "He told me it was allergies."
"And you believed him?"
"His allergies are none of my business," Gojo retorts.
Fushiguro's eyes narrow and he grumbles. "How did I get stuck with a teacher like this?" he grits. "You have a class to teach, and I have to get Itadori back inside. Scram."
Gojo puts his hand over his chest like an arrows been shot through it. "You wound me, Megumi! Though, it is cute watching you carry him away like a sick puppy going to the vet, so I won't hold you up anymore."
The relief Fushiguro feels doesn't last long when suddenly, unprompted, Yuuji leans forward, gasping for air. Fushiguro guides him in a gentle descent towards the ground, keeping his shoulders up while he heaved and spit all over.
Gojo stood still, watching his body try and force something out.
No matter how much or how hard he coughed, it wouldn't budge. He felt like he couldn't breathe, and blood sprayed out of his mouth with each harsh expulsion of air.
Each breath in was torturous. He could feel the object move to and fro with the erratic rhythm of his breathing, sucked down into his throat on inhale, expunged on exhale but never hard enough to send it up into his mouth. Yuuji clawed at his throat, hoping that the contact would do something to ease the pain.
"Itadori–! Don't just stand there, Gojo!" Megumi snapped, his hands fumbling around, trying to keep Yuuji up straight to help his breathing, to no avail.
Gojo spent a few moments in front of them like that, all seeing eyes lock onto Yuuji's throat and stay there.
Yuuji feels like he could die. He aches all over, what tiny bit of water that'd trickled into his throat threatened to come back up with each dry heave. He felt so light headed he hoped he'd just pass out soon.
Yuuji's jaw is grabbed gently, hands peeled away from his throat after Gojo squatted down in front of him. The nails of Yuuji's fingers dug into Gojo's wrist, conveying that which words couldn't.
Gojo's blindfold now adorns his neck, baby blue eyes free to scan every square inch of Yuuji's throat. Yuuji feels relief like he's never felt before in his life while his chin is lifted by strong hands so that their owner can get a better vantage point.
His teacher's eyes widen, and he let's out...a chuckle. "Oh, Yuuji! Where in the world did you get that?" he asks, not expecting an answer.
There's a light flick to his throat, delivered by Gojo's thumb and middle finger. There's a slight discomfort first, and then without warning– searing pain.
It felt like the flesh of his throat was being hacked away at. Blood came before anything else, filling his mouth and nose with the putrid tinge of iron. The fingers wrapped around Fushiguro's hand tightened, but he wasn't trying to pull away, as crushing as Yuuji's grip on him was.
He doesn't have the time to linger on such a menial detail, because before he knows it, a new, disgustingly bitter taste fills his mouth. It makes him queasy, and the object that's invaded his mouth cavity comes up along with the contents of his empty stomach.
It lands on the ground with a grotesque, wet squelch. Gojo keeps Yuuji's head up with his hands, though his attention has been stolen by the bloody mass on the ground. Fushiguro is in a similar situation.
Whilst Yuuji tries desperately to catch his breath, Gojo carefully leans down, catching the object carefully between the tips of two of his fingers. He grimaces, lifting it up to inspect it closer.
"Gross…" Gojo mutters, twisting and turning it in his grasp. "You ever see anything like this before, Megumi?" Gojo asks, pushing the soaked mass closer to the two.
Yuuji knew exactly what it was when he saw it, his racing heart sinking in his chest.
"It looks… disgusting. What the hell is it?" he asks, narrowed eyes unable to identify the sopping mass between his teacher's fingers.
"This, my dear Megumi, is a black lily. I must say, it's looking nice despite it being out of season," Gojo says, trying to gently flick off some of the waste that coats its petals.
Fushiguro pauses, looking down at Yuuji. "That was...in him?"
Gojo nods. "It sure was! Do you know what that means?"
He shakes his head.
"Well, I'll tell you then!" Gojo announces in a sing-song-y tone. "It means that Yuuji here is dying."
So, please, hurry, leave me, I can't breathe
Please don't say you love me
胸がはち切れそうで