Work Text:
itadori is a normal teenage boy with a normal teenage life. he wakes up, he goes to school, he goes home, he does his homework, and then he goes to sleep. sometimes he’ll hang out with his friends, but that’s about it. there is nothing else, and he yearns for something else.
but there never is, it’s the same cycle with the same tired feelings that plague his thoughts. his mind is cloudy and gray with the sun nowhere to be seen. if he was meant to be the sun, he was the sun that burned icarus.
it was such a sharp touch, one that formed dark, deep red lines, drawing blood as itadori just stared, his eyes blank and lifeless. it has been four years, nothing has changed. it has been four years, what is he meant to do at this point? it has been four years, everything feels small. it has been four years.
itadori has tried, he has been trying so hard, but he is tired, so, so tired. each year brings something new, something he can’t get over, something that he has to live with. the hands of others on his skin, the growing hatred of his own reflection, the bags that seem to get darker no matter how much sleep he gets. he’s tired, more than life will know.
he wondered if his child-self would be proud of him; he wondered if he was proud of him now.
then, he gets a call, the small buzzing of his phone mimicking his slowing heartbeat. he checks who it’s from; it’s from fushiguro. what was he doing up so late? he usually didn’t like to call anyway, so what was this about?
still, itadori answered. he would never leave fushiguro like that. itadori doesn’t cry, maybe sometimes, but he wasn’t crying right now. even so, he tries to hide his voice, putting on that strong facade that he wishes someone would break through.
“hello?” what was he acting so formal for?
a fit of giggles came through the phone, light and airy breaths followed by high-pitched snickering. itadori contemplated hanging up.
“hey!” fushiguro borderline-squealed, laughing as if he had gone insane. “wow, everything is so crazy right now!”
“..what do you mean by that? are you ok?”
then, a small, muffled thump came from the other side, leaving itadori with even more worries.
“fushiguro!” itadori quietly yelled, not wanting to wake his family up. “are you ok?”
the only response was another bundle of giggles and an elongated hum.
“yeah, i just fell down! it’s ok, i’m fine!” fushiguro reassured, his laughter getting more feathery and flimsy. “i’m just a little drunk right now!”
itadori choked on his own spit, the pain in his stomach leaving his body.
“wait, what? what happened?”
with a soft sigh, fushiguro’s laughter died down. “i’m at a wedding right now, and uh, my cousin gave me a lot of drinks and shit.”
itadori just hummed. he wasn’t mad at him or anything, just worried. they were just sixteen, did he know his limit? itadori trusted him though, after all, he did call him.
“oh, well, how was it?” itadori asked, hoping their conversation would keep him from doing something stupid.
“it was fun,” fushiguro answered, “i don’t really know anybody though.”
“did you enjoy yourself at least?”
“...yeah, it was cool.”
why did he pause? itadori didn’t dwell on it. “so if you’re having fun, why are you calling me?”
“wanted to talk to you,” fushiguro answered almost immediately, “it’s fun here, but i don’t have anybody to talk to. just a bunch of shitty adults being shitty adults.”
itadori hummed and didn’t respond. it was nice to know that somebody enjoyed his company. hell, he didn’t even enjoy his own.
there was silence on both sides, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable, just strange. itadori was able to wallow in a quiet solitude with fushiguro, but they were normally extremely talkative around each other. it’s not that itadori didn’t want to talk to him, but fushiguro just felt off. he was drunk, yes, but there was something else to it.
still, itadori didn’t bring it up. maybe there was something going on, but he’d let fushiguro tell him when he wanted to. whether that be now or in the future, itadori was going to let him tell his story. so he stayed quiet, wondering if fushiguro could see the stars where he was at.
“i think i wanna kill myself,” fushiguro said like it was a simple hello; but it wasn’t.
“what?” was all itadori could say. his throat felt tight, his head started to pound, and his heart wouldn’t stop beating. why were his thoughts coming out of fushiguro’s mouth?
“i’ve wanted to for a while, just never told anymore. i’m supposed to be this genius or whatever, i’m not supposed to feel these things, nobody expects me to. but i do, everyday, for the past three years.”
“oh,” itadori stupidly responded. was there nothing better for him to say?
fushiguro muttered a quiet ‘yeah’ and sighed before keeping quiet. itadori just stared at his ceiling, his bleak ceiling with a dusty fan. everything was still setting in, and he needed to process everything. fushiguro wanted to die? he wanted to kill himself? if he went through with it, there would be a time where itadori didn’t have him. if he went through with it, itadori would never get to see him again. if he went through with it, he would be losing fushiguro, both as a friend and his first love. he would be losing him.
“i don’t want that,” itadori said ever so softly, “i don’t want that.”
left speechless, fushiguro didn’t respond, the only sound being his soft breathing and the gushing of wind around him. itadori didn’t mean to say his thoughts out loud, but now that he did, he hoped fushiguro would say something. maybe not now, maybe in a few minutes. the silence was killing him, and the only hands he wanted to die by were his own.
“i know,” fushiguro said, “i know. i don’t really fucking care though. sorry, itadori.”
hearing fushiguro curse was always such a surreal experience for itadori. it wasn’t like he was some goody-two shoes, it just felt weird.
“i can’t seem to give a shit if people don’t want me dead. too fucking bad, i guess. i’m tired, too tired for all of this.”
he let out a pained chuckle, his voice dry and hoarse. where was this coming from, what happened? why didn’t itadori notice, why didn’t he know?
itadori didn’t know what to say. it seems like he never did these days. as time passed by, more words only got stuck in his throat, choking, suffocating him. they lingered only to hurt him.
“i love you.”
why did he say that? out of everything, why were those the words that left his mouth and are now dangling out in front of him? what was wrong with him? what has he gained saying this, what has he gained from hearing this?
“i love you too,” fushiguro said back, his voice stern and serious for once. was the booze wearing off or was that just what he felt?
“i mean it,” he added. seems like he was serious.
what were they doing confessing at a time like this? fushiguro was drunk out of his mind and wanted to kill himself, and itadori was relishing in the moment as his skin burned from his own doings. neither of them were in a place for love, but somehow still found it in them to love each other like they were going to stay for each other.
itadori didn’t say a word, and neither did fushiguro. it was a night full of awkward silences, and neither of them knew what to do. conflicted by this new information, itadori felt his head spin, his body going cold and frigid. what was he thinking, what was fushiguro even thinking?
“where are you right now?” itadori asked, clutching his shirt over his heart.
“uh, some hotel venue near the mall,” fushiguro answered, his words less light and flowy. maybe he really was coming down from his high.
“ok, i’m on my way.”
there was a pause, then a quiet “ok.”
itadori half-expected fushiguro to protest, saying that it was cold out and it was way too late to be leaving his house. but he didn’t, he simply accepted it. itadori wondered if it was half because of the alcohol or because he knew that no matter what he said, he would still leave and go see him. he was stubborn like that.
grabbing a thick coat and putting on some mismatched socks, itadori shoved his half-charged phone into his pocket and ran out. he knew where fushiguro was talking about, and it was close enough that he could run there.
he ran with everything he had in him, the cold air flushing his tan skin and pounding against his body. he saw his heavy breath fog up in the air, lingering like the aftertaste of a cigarette, something he might know all too well for a sixteen-year-old boy. he could really go for a smoke right now. maybe he and fushiguro could go to a gas station nearby and talk the cashier into handing them one; it almost always worked.
itadori ran and ran and ran until he finally reached to the venue, searching for fushiguro’s figure on the grass. then, he spotted him, and it seemed like he saw him too. with his disheveled suit and unruly hair, fushiguro got up and ran to him, and itadori did the same.
bodies crashing together, fushiguro tumbled backwards with itadori on top of him. before they knew it, they were both crying, crying and holding each other in their arms.
“don’t leave me,” itadori begged, cold tears running down his cold face, “don’t leave me, fushiguro, please.”
“i won’t,” fushiguro said it like he meant it, “i won’t, itadori.”
itadori didn’t know if he could trust those words. after all, they just contradicted what fushiguro carelessly said five minutes ago.
but holding him in his arms and being held in his arms made everything feel so different, so surreal. the quiet sniffles added sincerity, the low glow of the moon provided a new grasp on reality, and the opposing temperatures of their bodies pressed together brought a closeness only the sun and moon could hope for.
for once in their lives, fushiguro was warm and itadori was cold; it was as if the moon and sun switched places, controlling day and night differently.
“please don’t go,” itadori pleaded, “i love you, fushiguro, don’t go.”
“i won’t, i promise,” fushiguro sobbed out, “i love you too.”
there were no fireworks, no butterflies, no nothing. for a love confession, there was nothing special about it. it was sad and pathetic. there were only tears and torture, but it fit them in it’s own twisted way. the world was only spinning because life moved on without them while they stayed right there, heart to heart.
if love was beautiful, neither of them had seen it. love was not made for lives that were not worth living. love was not made for people like them.
but with cuts and scars as red and vibrant as they come, fushiguro would kiss them away like they were never there to begin with.
with tired gazes and lifeless movement, itadori would bring a new kind of light that sparked a flame in weary hearts.
right now, they were the only people in the world, forever and always.