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Minutes before a fight, Yuuji experiences the feeling of being on the receiving end of Fushiguro’s shadow technique for the first time.
He’s humming a cheerful tune to himself, feeling a little fidget-y, a little restless. In a totally positive way, for the first time in a long while.
Wired. Yuuji’s wired, excited to test his physical skills in a way that wasn’t about to end in death and horror and decay.
(For once.)
Yeah, the two of them—he and Fushiguro—are here for an important reason, but that doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to get a little excitement out of it. It feels like it’s been months since he’s wanted to smile this much, and sometimes for no good reason at all.
Just because.
Just because he’s here—and because Fushiguro’s here, too, but he wouldn’t tell the other sorcerer that. Saying such a thing would garner an unimpressed blink at best, and at worst, a slap upside the head for being all dumb and cheesy.
Here was dingy, dirty, and very illegal, in all honesty, and also reeked pretty bad. Dried blood, sweat, and the sharp tang of alcohol permeated the air. Fushiguro would look at him like he was insane if Yuuji admitted that he was kinda having fun at a place like this.
Stuff isn’t okay, might never be okay again, really. There’s a lot of things to be done, a lot of uncertainty and—and things Yuuji would, uh, prefer not to put too much thought into, because if there’s one thing he’d learned over his time spent in Shibuya, it’s that thinking about things you can’t change never does you any good.
So he isn’t!
Instead, Yuuji’s gonna sit here and half-sing, half-hum some generic radio hit underneath his breath while he waits, gaze unfocused, smiling softly at absolutely nothing.
Just because he can, and he wants to.
He pauses mid-chorus when a curious chill runs up his spine. His posture goes rigid instinctively.
It’s an utterly strange feeling, disarming and unsettling, and Yuuji’s brow furrows—
A heavy hand descends on his shoulder.
Yuuji flinches back with a badly-concealed squeak, whirling around with wide eyes.
Fushiguro stares back at him, a single arm still raised. His expression is set in the usual frowning neutral aside from the slight cock of his eyebrow. The black of his clothes, his hair, blend completely into the darkness. It makes an eerie image.
“F-Fushiguro! Phew,” left Yuuji’s mouth in a long, relieved exhale, hand going to his chest. “Dude, you scared me!”
Fushiguro stares at him a little longer, and then, dryly, “I suppose my technique is doing the job fairly well, then.”
Yuuji’s mouth opens and closes a few times while he gapes like a fish.
“You–were you trying to scare me on purpose?” He flounders.
Fushiguro rolls his eyes and sighs, like talking to Yuuji for any amount of time was a chore for him. It might be, to be fair.
Painstakingly and condescendingly, as if talking to a child he particularly despised, Fushiguro tells him that he’d just wanted to go over their plan again, make sure Yuuji got the gist of it.
Yuuji only believes him a little bit, because he saw the glint in the other boy’s eyes when Yuuji made an absolute fool out of himself, tripping over his own feet in his shock.
“Oi, Fushiguro!” Yuuji calls with a hand cupped around his mouth, surveying the ruined city that loomed over them all. Man, was it easy to lose a guy as quiet as him. “Fushiguro, man, where are—ohmygod.”
Yuuji stares down in abject horror as his friend’s disembodied head peers up at him from the concrete sidewalk. Inside the murky depths of Yuuji’s shadow.
“What.” Fushiguro says so flatly it’s barely a question.
Yuuji backs up a bit. He looks up at the darkened sky for a second just to get his bearings, trembling hand resting on his chest like some sort of scandalized grandma.
When he looks back down, Fushiguro’s still staring at him. His mouth is set in a tense line, now, almost as if he’s trying not to–
“Don’t laugh at me!” Yuuji whines, stomping his foot like a little kid. “And quit using my shadow for your creepy ability!”
Fushiguro makes a show of rising from the ground, unnatural and freaky and, okay, maybe a little badass-looking. Whatever.
“I’m not laughing.” He deadpans like the lying liar he is, edge of his mouth quirked up, now. Yuuji groans, running a hand down his face. “It’s your own fault, you know. Be more perceptive of your surroundings.”
Yuuji glares at him, cheeks puffed in a pout, “The whole point of that ability is that you can’t be sensed. I’m not stupid, man.”
“One,” Fushiguro holds up his index finger, “Yes, you are. And two,” another finger, “By non-sorcerers, maybe, or newbies. You’re neither of those things. Gojo-sensei would feel me coming before the idea even crossed my mind.”
Yuuji tries to ignore the small twinge of guilt at the mere mention of their teacher, “Yeah, well, that’s Gojo-sensei. He’s basically God or something. I’m just a—“
Yuuji startles when Fushiguro is suddenly so much closer, staring him down. The collar of jacket is grabbed as he’s yanked up, bringing the two of them nose to nose.
“Uh, okay,” Yuuji says, squirming a little. His face feels warm.
“You’re a sorcerer who happens to be strong enough to contain Sukuna.” Fushiguro states in a way that leaves absolutely no room for argument. Yuuji tries not to flinch when he feels Sukuna perk up at the mention of his name. “Don’t downplay yourself. It’s pathetic. And it makes you look weak, when we both know you’re not.”
Yuuji averts his gaze somewhere off to the side with a slight incline of the head, feeling thoroughly chastised. He blinks when he’s stopped by a hand grabbing at his chin, making him face Fushiguro and his too-intense eyes once again.
“Yuuji.” Hard, unrelenting.
Yuuji can feel Fushiguro’s every exhale against his mouth.
“Okay!” Yuuji gives in quickly, voice high. He’s staring at the sky instead of Fushiguro’s glare, and his thick eyelashes, and pursed mouth, because shut up. “Okay, okay! I’m strong and cool and need to start loving myself or whatever, I got it!”
There’s a loaded pause. Fushiguro abruptly releases him.
Yuuji stumbles back, clothes all mussed and face crimson.
“I never said that.” Fushiguro sighs, perfectly composed, not a hair out of place. Yuuji wishes he could hate him sometimes. “Just be aware of your own abilities. You’re here for a reason.”
You’re here for a reason.
Huh.
Despite everything, Yuuji can’t help the smile tugging at his mouth. That…that actually kinda helps, weirdly enough.
Thanks, Fushiguro, he wants to say.
“Man, you kinda suck at comforting your friends.” He says instead and then laughs, a genuine guffaw, even as a fist collides with his shoulder. A glaring Fushiguro tells him to shut up, idiot.
There’s a few things in life that you just can’t prepare yourself for.
Sinking into the floor like it was made of gravy is one of them.
Yuuji gasps when he’s suddenly boneless and falling, a terrifying feeling, like missing a step on the stairs but ten times worse. His hands scrape against the floor, trying to find something to cling on to before the black mass engulfing him consumes his lower half, too—
Something grabs his pant leg and yanks.
Yuuji would like to say that he goes kicking and screaming, but really, he mostly just hyperventilates a little and wriggles in place while he falls through pitch black, through absolutely nothing—until he’s abruptly returned to the world once again. His back is against the ground, and he’s staring up at Fushiguro with fuzzy, wide eyes, chest heaving.
“Fuh.” Yuuji says eloquently. He isn’t sure where he’d been going with that, because his brain is as mush as his mouth right now as he comes down hard from panic. “Uh.”
“Huh,” Fushiguro comments, hands on his hips. “So I can pull people through shadows. Noted.”
Yuuji blinks up at him slowly.
He exhales slowly through his open mouth, eyes drifting close once he starts to finally calm, heartbeat slowing. He’s not dying, at least. Just got yanked through his own shadow. No biggie.
“I’m gonna get you back so good one day,” he says, a little slurred, voice hoarse. “Gonna make you cry, dude.”
Fushiguro ignores him.
The first time that Fushiguro not only uses his shadow technique on Yuuji, but also proceeds to grab him by the ankle and wrestle him to the ground, he’s convinced that the other boy just thinks it’s funny.
“Fushigurooo.” Yuuji whines into the floor. His cheek is smushed against dirt and grime, held there the other boy’s hand against his head. “This is just bullying at this point, man, come on!”
“It’s not bullying.” Fushiguro corrects haughtily from atop Yuuji’s back, knee digging into the arch of his spine. “It’s training.”
“Training for what?!”
“Heightening your senses. You’ll be able to feel my presence with enough practice.” There’s a pause that feels very mocking.Yuuji can hear the smug tone in Fushiguro’s voice when he continues. “Eventually.”
Yuuji groans.
It continues in various intervals and at various intensities. Sometimes it’s mild, quick. A quiet, mocking boo breathed against his ear that shouldn’t be scary at all. It still has Yuuji tripping over his own feet.
Occasionally, Yuuji recieves the world’s most sudden slap on the back and twists around with an undignified yelp to find Fushiguro already gone.
Other times, it’s basically a fight in and of itself.
It’s Yuuji being manhandled to the ground, bracketed by Fushiguro’s thighs while he kept him in a—loose, to be fair—choke-hold. Fushiguro’s voice low in his ear, half-taunting and half-giving genuine pointers for what to do next time. Ways to fight back or evade.
He’s, like, 80% bullying him and 20% helping him, Yuuji thinks.
There’s probably a genuine reason for it, somewhere deep down, because Fushiguro really isn’t one to joke around much. He’s kind of a stick in the mud, really.
He probably thinks he’s helping Yuuji.
However, Yuuji’s been through this enough to notice the small smirk he’d wear whenever Yuuji eep!’d like a wuss upon Fushiguro suddenly being right there. How he’d keep Yuuji pinned far longer than necessary once he’d yanked him to the ground and twisted him like a pretzel, so effortlessly that it’s embarrassing.
(“Your form is terrible,” Fushiguro comments, sounding far too chipper, twisting Yuuji’s arm behind his back. “Don’t stall next time.”
“It’s instinctual because you keep jumpscaring me, you jerk—ow ow ow ow–“)
So, he may think he’s doing it for Yuuji’s benefit, but it’s clearly because he’s a big ‘ol meanie who takes pleasure in terrifying his buddies.
It’s despicable and Yuuji hates it.
Well, Yuuji only mostly hates it, because—
Sometimes, when he’s able to take note of anything besides the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears, and the embarrassment of being beaten so easy—he notices that Fushiguro is kind of smiling, just a little, and not solely in a smug, cold hearted way, either.
Fushiguro looks every bit his age when he does that. When he smiles. A teenaged boy having fun, instead of a narrow-eyed sorcerer forced into growing up too soon.
So, yeah. Yuuji supposes it ain’t all bad.
Yuuji’s brushing his teeth in a sad-looking, mostly destroyed public restroom when he feels it.
The chill crawling up his body.
There’s half a second to act, really, and he fails that part, because he’d barely paused before a hand is grabbing at his calf. The gesture is familiar, though, so familiar that he’s barely even thinking about it before he’s twisting out of it and breaking away.
It’s mostly instinct because it’s late and Yuuji’s kind of tired, but it’s working, fighting on the offense instead of the scared defense.
In a matter of seconds, Yuuji is staring down at the familiar face of the person he’s got pinned to the ground.
Fushiguro looks surprised, delicate mouth parted. Green eyes wide, staring up at Yuuji like he’d grown another head while the other boy straddles him, elbow against his throat.
Yuuji leans back, staying on top of him. He and Fushiguro stare at each other for a long moment, both of their chests heaving.
Then Yuuji is laughing.
He can’t help it, really. He laughs and whoops, long and not really mean, not particularly taunting, just overjoyed, because—
“I did it!” He cheers, going to grip Fushiguro by the shoulders and shaking him, grinning with toothpaste suds on his cheeks. “Fushiguro! I did it! Holy crap!”
Fushiguro clearly tries to look unaffected and fails pretty badly at it, because he’s smiling just a little, hand against Yuuji’s wrist like he’s about to stop him, or throw Yuuji off of him. He doesn’t.
“Yeah, yeah. Go you.” The sarcastic deadpan tone of it doesn’t make Yuuji perk up any less. “It only took you, what, thirty attempts?”
“Yep!” Yuuji chirps, undaunted. If he had a tail, it’d be thumping against the dirty restroom floor.
Fushiguro rolls his eyes. He’s still smiling.
(Yuuji kind of thinks that he needs to do that more.)