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When Yuji Itadori, vessel for the king of curses, first-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High and soon-to-be Jujutsu sorcerer, dies and then comes back to life, he isn’t allowed to tell anyone.
It physically pains him to have to sit here in silence. When he knows Fushiguro and Kugisaki are somewhere beyond the door training, getting stronger, meeting the second years, doing who-knows-what. A part of him yearns to be out there with them. He wonders what they’ve been up to. If they miss him- well, he supposed that they still think he’s dead. Did they mourn for him? That thought settles uncomfortably at the base of his stomach. The grief that you yield when you are forced to face a tremendous loss was still fresh in Yuji’s own heart. So fresh, that he doesn’t think he could forgive himself if his own weaknesses had led to other people feeling that way too. He doesn’t like thinking about that.
Actually- he’s noticed that recently he doesn’t like thinking about a lot of things.
There’s a gnawing at the back of his mind, Sukuna’s presence more prevalent than before. A presence that he usually likes to ignore. Whenever he has a moment to himself- which happens a lot, as he’s sat in this stupid basement room all day, everyday- his thoughts wander too far and he’s once again imagining a cavernous hole in his chest and a shake to his fingers as he still feels the phantom wetness of blood and rain. He doesn’t like thinking about that either. Or if he pictures Fushiguro for too long, the final face he saw, contorted in shock and pain and sadness and so many other, unidentifiable emotions that Yuji doesn’t like to think about. Or how he didn’t even get to say goodbye to Kugisaki. Or how he sometimes still gasps in pain, shooting himself awake after a bad dream. Or how the only contact to the outside world he’s had has resulted in more death, Junpei’s disfigured face haunting him whenever he closes his eyes, distorted voice begging to be killed, begging for help.
Yeah. Recently Yuji has realised that there are a lot of things he does not like thinking about.
So he bottles them up. Shoves all those muddy emotions into an indestructible box, where he locks it up and throws away the key. That way he can plaster a smile on his face, bounce back with boundless energy in a way that people are familiar with. Where no one will look behind his grin and ask hey, what’s that box that’s labelled ‘do not open’ all about? And Yuji doesn’t have to think about said box. At all.
Most importantly, Yuji doesn’t like to think about the fact that he died. So he doesn’t. That gets locked up in the box along with all the other things that he does not want to deal with.
--
When Yuji Itadori, vessel for the king of curses, first-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High and soon-to-be Jujutsu sorcerer, dies and then comes back to life, he thinks that his return would have been celebrated a little bit more than this.
There was doubt in the back of his mind saying that going along with a plan by Satoru Gojo would always lead to failure, but he had still hoped that this time he would get a different outcome. Though, as he stands in the container, having revealed himself- revealing his very much alive self, by the way- he isn’t getting the feedback that he had wanted. Gojo- the bastard- is taunting the other principal who looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel with the way he’s seething. The students from the other school do not give him any attention whatsoever. The second years from Tokyo High stare blankly at him, at least they have the decency to look surprised.
Kugisaki is glaring at him. Hard. Fushiguro is stone-faced, completely void of emotion. A neutral expression is perhaps the worst outcome that could have come from this.
Within the commotion, his friends (who still aren’t celebrating his comeback and that sends his mind into an unwanted panic- another thing to add to the locked box) walk up to Yuji. Kugisaki kicks the container he’s stood in hard enough that he has to brace himself again the side of the cardboard to stop himself from toppling over.
“What do you say?” She demands, her voice a swirl of emotions. The anger is forthcoming, but he can sense a sadness too, much to his dismay. But perhaps there is a little bit of relief sprinkled in there as well.
“Oh, erm, sorry I didn’t tell you guys I was alive,” he stammers, partly because he isn’t sure what he should say in a situation like this because he never imagined that he would be in this position to begin with. Then partly because Kugisaki is blinking away a couple stray tears and that is also something that he never would have imagined seeing in his lifetime.
Fushiguro, he notes, does not say anything.
He wishes that he could say things go back to normal almost immediately. That he easily slips back into the familiar groove of things and is ready for the school exchange event, but that would not be the truth. Instead, he’s awkwardly thrown into the mix- where the second years seem nice enough but don’t know him at all so they aren’t trusting in his capabilities. Even when Fushiguro sticks up for him, he doesn’t make eye contact with his classmate and there’s a tenseness radiating off of the other boy that Yuji doesn’t have enough time to take apart and analyse. Kugisaki still seems a little bit pissed off at him. Really, his reunion did not happened how he had envisioned it would.
Though he doesn’t want to think about that.
Before the event starts, Fushiguro stops him. Then eyes Yuji with a look that can only be described as dissecting. He squirms under the gaze, under the eyes that are no doubt picking him apart and trying to decipher what’s going on underneath. Though that would mean that Fushiguro is going to find the box labelled do not open if he looks hard enough, and Yuji does not want that. Of all people, he really doesn’t want Fushiguro figuring him out. There was something between them- he thinks- though he’s not entirely sure what that 'something' was. Maybe because of what they had been through or because of the forced close proximity since there are literally only three first year students. Or perhaps it was something else entirely. It’s just that he knows when Fushiguro looks at him through those long lashes Yuji has to make sure his heart hasn’t stopped again. When it misses a beat and he’s juggling more unwanted thoughts that he really cannot be dealing with right now.
“You okay?” Is what Fushiguro asks, and Yuji knows that that is a prodding question. It’s a trap that has been laid out and Fushiguro is seeing whether he is going to get caught up in it or not.
Over the past three months, a lot has happened. Too much, some might say. From Sukuna, to Mahito, to Junpei, to dying, to living, to training, to everything, everything, everything.
“I’m good,” is what he says back. A smile that doesn’t hold its usual softness, but instead feels rigid, graces his lips. Fushiguro gives him a look that shows he doesn’t believe Yuji’s words. Though there is simply no time to speak about it since they’re almost starting the event and so Yuji turns to go-
A hand grabs his wrist. His eyes dart to it, then follows the arm up to Fushiguro, who looks just as surprised at himself about what he’s doing. Yuji’s heart is in his throat as the contact burns through his skin- he’s not felt the touch of another human in such a long time. Perhaps when he first woke up with Ieiri hovering over him, poking a finger just below his ribcage, ready to slice open his body. Perhaps that was the last time he had felt another human touch him. Then, moving forward, whenever he craved the affection, whenever he craved just to feel safe- to feel anything- he locked those desires away. Yep, you guessed it, locked away in that pesky box that is probably going to overflow if he keeps continuously cramming his problems into it.
The tension is suffocating, the air thick as Fushiguro doesn’t let go for several long moments. In fact, he holds on until Yuji finally musters up enough courage to ask, “what are you-”
“Sorry.” Fushiguro cuts in hastily, dropping Yuji’s wrist and it leaves his skin feeling unpleasantly cold. “Just checking,” he adds, voice mumbled. Quiet enough that Yuji almost misses what was said. He wants to question what Fushiguro had meant by that, but his friend is already pushing past him and heading to their starting positions.
His own fingers brush up against his wrist, they don’t bring him the same searing touch that Fushiguro’s did. Instead he’s met with clammy skin and the faint thrum of his own pulse.
Oh. His pulse.
Something clicks. Whether he’s right about it or not, something clicks regardless. His eyes wander to Fushiguro again, traces the back of his frame as he wordlessly gets ready to charge into the exchange event. Yuji swears he can feel his pulse stuttering under his own grip, faltering ever so slightly as an unwanted heat burns the tips of his ears. Whatever this is, whatever is brewing up in his stomach and making it cramp uncomfortably, can be added to the box of unwanted things.
There is no time to stand back and reflect on any of this.
Instead he powers forward through the event. Focuses on the other students, on Todo, then on the curse that has charged in unannounced and brought along utter chaos. It’s the same one that he had briefly encountered before whilst he was with Gojo. Now Yuji wants to fight it. Knows he can fight it- if only to let out something that is pent up inside of him. When he sees Fushiguro, bleeding and kneeling in the water, a switch is flicked. The box- that damned box- is practically bursting at the seams at this point.
Fushiguro doesn’t help Yuji’s churning feelings when he raggedly calls out, voice hoarse, “if you die, I’ll kill you myself!”
Though Yuji does what he does best and ignores it. Turning his attention to the curse and letting the simmering thoughts send static through his enclosed fists.
--
Baseball was an unexpected distraction, but a nice distraction regardless.
Out on the field he doesn’t have to think about curses. Or about the past three months. Kugisaki hasn’t uttered a word to him today but at least it looks like her competitive side is shining through and she’s too focused on the game to direct her anger towards him. Fushiguro hasn’t said anything else to him either. Yuji had left both of them to heal up after the main event. An awkwardness (something that he doesn’t appreciate his mind supplying him with) holds him back. He’s partially to blame for this whole ‘no talking’ thing that they’ve got going on- though he doesn’t know where to start to make things right.
What if they ask too many questions? Questions that he’s too afraid to face.
He inhales, steadies himself in his stance, and when the ball comes flying towards him, he swings.
--
When the exchange event finishes, he holes himself in his room again. A part of him wants to chalk it up to tiredness but there’s an energy buzzing through his veins that he can’t seem to douse. He knows the real reason. As soon as he gets a moment of peace with Kugisaki or Fushiguro, he knows that they will need to talk. He was missing for three months, he would also want answers if he was in their position.
Though, he doesn’t want to give them answers.
“You done sulking yet, brat?”
Yuji startles. Sukuna had been so quite throughout the whole exchange event that Yuji had almost forgotten about the curse entirely. Though the fleeting moments of blissful peace are often short lived, as proven right now, when Sukuna barges through with his crude remarks and snarky comments. Yuji, like he often does, pays no attention to him.
“You know exactly why you don’t want to talk about everything that’s happened.” Sukuna continues, causing Yuji to roll his eyes. He hopes that maybe the curse would be able to see- or even perhaps feel- the action and take that as a sign that Yuji isn’t interested. “Because then you will have to admit to Fushiguro that you killed people. That you are a danger. Even after you promised him that you wouldn’t be.”
“Stop it,” he spits out. Surprisingly, Sukuna does actually shut up. He leaves Yuji to dwell on the heavy comment, echoing laughter fading out in the back of his mind.
Whilst he wishes he could forget Sukuna’s judgement, it does not go away. It annoyingly stays prevalent in his mind and Yuji can’t help but feel the guilt crawl up his throat as he thinks about Fushiguro. What if the person you save ends up hurting others? He takes a moment to think about the fact that he was saved and look how well that turned out. Others had died because of him. His own death, whilst it had not been proper, he didn’t seem too fussed about (at least, that is what he has kept telling himself anyway). Though he can’t help but picture Junpei, writhing on the floor, a swollen hand groping at the cuff of his trouser leg.
Yuji curls up into his bedding. He isn’t tired. Though he forces his eyes shut and wills his body to fall asleep.
When he opens his eyes again, he’s engulfed within a deep crimson darkness. There are bones protruding out of the ocean of red, sharp and jagged. He recognises where he is, though the curse that usually roams this domain in nowhere to be seen-
Suddenly Sukuna materialises in front of him, as if sensing Yuji’s confusion. Cackling and without warning he sticks his pointed nails into Yuji’s chest. Yuji gasps, scratching at the fingers pushing past his clothes and skin. Feels blood crawling up his throat, as each breath becomes a struggle, thick and heavy like molasses pushing down on his tongue. Shaking under the curse, his knees give out but the hand deep within his chest keeps him upright. Sukuna is unreadable, still laughing manically and finally he pulls back, a wet pop fills the air and Yuji tumbles forward. He chokes as sweat, blood and tears run down his face, then looks up to where the curse is still towering above him.
In Sukuna’s claw is a heart. Beating feebly, the last handfuls of blood being sluggishly pumped out and trailing down his forearm. A heart. Oh shit, that’s his heart. Sukuna’s mouth isn’t moving but Yuji can still hear the overwhelming laughter, ringing out like metal drums. His teeth are sharpened into an evil grin, then he opens his jaw wide as he brings the trembling organ to his lips. Yuji tries to reach up, but he can’t breathe- can’t breathe- he’s dying- he tries to reach up, but Sukuna’s canines clamp down into the scarlet muscle and a squelching tearing sound cuts through the air. He watches as a chunk of his organ- a chunk of his body- makes its way down Sukuna's throat.
He- oh God- he’s-
Beneath him the ground opens up. The hole looks just as big as the one in his chest feels and there is no time to react. With nothing but gallons of blood to hold onto, Yuji is falling, falling, falling. Falling. With Sukuna staring down as Yuji tips over the edge, the light fading out around him, leaving only a shadowed silhouette of the curse. His grin managing to be the only thing that Yuji can make out within the darkness, white teeth dipped with red.
He lands on concrete, though no pain shoots up his side. His body completely absent of feeling, void and numb. Its grey below him. Its grey to either side of him. Above him too, he is just met with grey on grey on grey. A monotone prison where it’s endless and engulfing and horrible and inescapable. Each breath is a struggle as his chest pushes out more of his own blood, it’s already beginning to pool around him. There’s too much. Too much. He’s dead, he thinks. Dead again. Dead. The blood is pooling. Too much is pooling around him. Enough so he can see his reflection and when he punches down into the liquid mirror, the ripple distorts the image.
Yuji’s face is changing in the reflection, darkening to a nauseating green and elongating into something hideous and deformed. Something familiar, he realises then fears and then begs for it not to be true. Though his chest is still a cavern, and his breathing is fleeting and the image in the blood pulls upwards, breaking through the surface and bringing amalgamated flesh towards him.
“Yuji-” It’s voice is cracked. Barely human at this point. Warbling raw anguish and fear. “Help- help me-”
He wants to scream I’m sorry. He wishes he could throw endless pitiful apologies Junpei’s way, but he can’t. All that comes out of his mouth is a thick stream of blood, stinging the back of his throat as he gags. The shell of a human- because he doesn’t even know if he can call it a human anymore- paws at his soaked knees, claws lightly down his trousers again and again in a final plea. Yuji can’t do anything but watch in horror and fear and disgust and guilt and sadness and-
He feels another presence nearby. He swallows thickly but it doesn’t do much. He thinks he’s stopped breathing by now, the rushing blood not slowing down. He’s probably dead. Carefully, he lifts his head and freezes as he meets Fushiguro. As he meets a gaze filled with so much contempt and regret that Yuji hacks up bile as his insides burst.
It’s not- I’m sorry-
But he can’t say any of that. Can’t make up excuses for his own terrible actions. Fushiguro stares at him, stares right through to his soul. Then he asks, voice icily cold, “what did you do?”
He doesn’t wake up screaming. He wakes up panting heavily. Quivering in his own skin as he rolls off the side of his bed, his movements clumsy. Next he stumbles through the suffocating darkness, reaches out blindly until he feels smooth metal and hears the jostle of a plastic lining, and then heaves up the content of his stomach into the bin. Sweat dampens the collar of his t-shirt and his knuckles whiten as he holds onto the edge of the bin for dear life. As his erratic breathing subsides, he swears the echo of a laugh can still be heard in the back of him mind.
There is no point in trying to sleep again, that much is clear. Instead, Yuji switches into some shorts and a clean t-shirt, puts on his trainers and grabs the binbag so he can throw it out. The idea of having the consequences of his horrific dream sitting idly at the bottom of his bin is something that he does not want to think about. So he ties the handles and then exits his room as quietly as possible.
Though his silent stealth mission instantly fails as he almost slams directly into Fushiguro, who is just ominously standing in the hallway. “Oh, sorry,” Yuji says quietly, inwardly cringing at the way his voice breaks.
Fushiguro is giving him that look again. The one where he unravels Yuji entirely and picks apart what’s left inside. “You going somewhere?”
Ah, his outfit. “Yeah, going for a run.”
“A run?”
Yuji hums an affirmation, then tries to veer the conversation in a different direction, “what are you doing?”
“I felt a sudden influx of cursed energy coming from your room,” he admits carefully, still eyeing Yuji’s outfit and then finally taking notice of the binbag clutched in his fingers. “It’s almost three in the morning and you’re going out for a run now?”
So it looks like he can’t avoid this conversation then, no matter how much Yuji wants to ignore his rapidly beating heart and colliding thoughts. “Sorry if I woke you,” is what he decides to go with, “just a bad dream.”
“Bad dream?” Fushiguro’s voice holds a tone that sounds like he wants to ask more but is almost hesitant to do so.
“Yep.” Yuji pops the p in hopes that the abruptness shows that he doesn’t want to talk about it. In fact, he’s already slotted that dream into the box with the lock, so he doesn’t have to face it ever again.
Luckily, Fushiguro understands. Though he doesn’t look satisfied with the outcome. Yuji is going to decidedly ignore that look too because he simply doesn’t want to face it. Not because of the crushing guilt that smothers him whole. That totally isn’t the reason at all.
“Alright-” Fushiguro’s voice trails off as his eyes land on Yuji’s chest, glancing exactly where his heart should be. He watches it rise and fall, even matches the speed of his breathing, the actions mirrored by his own body.
“Just checking?” Yuji asks, voice hushed.
“Just checking.” Fushiguro confirms and doesn’t look up to meet his eyes, instead he turns around and slinks back into his room.
Following that interaction, there are many things that Yuji wants to do. A part of him wishes to organise his thoughts until they are at least semi-coherent, so he can look through them and decide which one’s he’s going to keep, and which ones are going to be thrown away.
However, he doesn’t do any of that. He just lets his feet hit the ground as the brisk air fills his lungs, taking in the school campus whilst running.
--
He doesn’t know why he’s feeling worried as he hovers outside of Kugisaki’s door, he just is. His fist almost knocking against the wood but not quite, he contemplates just turning back and abandoning this mission. These past few days- ever since he was almost cornered by Fushiguro after his bad dream- he’s purposefully been keeping to himself.
A part of him thinks it’s because he can’t hurt anyone else if he's isolated.
Then he tucks that line of reasoning away and decides to never touch it again.
“I know you're out there Itadori,” a muffled voice calls to him, loud enough that he realises Kugisaki is on the other side of her door currently. At first, Yuji doesn’t dare move, frozen like a deer in headlights. “I can sense your overwhelming cursed energy, you gonna stand outside my room like a creep or open this door and say what you’ve come to say?”
With a sigh- he isn’t sure if it’s relieved or apprehensive- he opens the door and as he expected, Kugisaki is stood right there. Her arms crossed, an unamused look plastered on her face. “Well?” She prompts.
“I’m here to apologise.” Yuji starts. “I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys I was alive, I really did want to, but Gojo had told me that we needed to keep everything hidden so the higherups didn’t find out. So I spent three months training and doing shit and thinking about you guys because I missed you and I’m sorry.”
For a brief moment, for a very quick second, Yuji thinks that Kugisaki is going to slam the door in his face. Though she surprises him as she grins, “see? That wasn’t so hard,” then pulls him into a bone crushing hug.
Rendered breathless, he leans into the embrace. Her hair smells of vanilla and honey, a scent Yuji didn’t realise he had missed. He had only known her for a short period of time before the fated incident but the silent nights of watching movies would’ve been so much better if he had had someone there with him who matched his loud, obnoxious energy. Who would use brash words to stop him from sulking when the world seemed to come crashing down around him.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again and Kugisaki just tightens her arms around him.
“You big fat idiot, you scared us so fucking much. You pull a stunt like that again and I will personally kill you myself, you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
They stay like that for a while, Kugisaki’s face flush against his chest until she eventually pulls away, “your heartbeat sounds nice.”
“That might be the creepiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
This elicits a swat to his arm as she rolls her eyes at him, “dumbass. You know what I mean.”
And it clicks. Just like it had with Fushiguro, when he had simply stated that he was ‘just checking.’ It clicks that her words hold a far deeper meaning to them. Yuji’s heart is beating and that alone is a nice sound. It means that he’s alive. He is, in fact, not dead.
Briefly, his most recent dream fills his mind, and he forcefully pushes it away. Filling up any silence that could let it reappear by saying, “now all I need to do is speak with Fushiguro.”
She eyes him with a look that certainly does not fill him with hope. “Good luck with that. You two emotionally constipated idiots are going to struggle with opening up to each other.”
“Rude. I opened up to you, didn’t I?”
“Not really.” She shrugs, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear. “You mentioned that you did ‘other shit’ whilst away for three months but didn’t go into the details. There is something else that you’re not telling me, but I’ll wait for you to be ready rather than forcing it out since I'm such a kind and considerate person.”
“Wow, thank you oh kind and gracious one,” Yuji shoots back sarcastically, this time expertly dodging the slap that comes his way. Though he is secretly grateful that she hadn't pressed further. If Kugisaki pushed him any more, then the box might be forced open and Yuji isn’t ready to face that just yet. In fact, if he can have it his way, he will never have to face it ever.
“Good luck with confessing your love-”
“Wait what?”
Kugisaki blinks. “Confessing your love? Do not tell me you haven’t realised your own Goddamn feelings for him?”
“Wait what?”
“Unbelievable.” She laughs. Kugisaki actually laughs at him as she steps backwards. “Good luck with figuring things out.”
“You can’t just leave it at that-”
“Oh, by the way,” She says when the door is already partially closed, a mix of mischief and sincerity swirling in her pupils, “glad you’re back Yuji.” Then the door slams shut.
--
When Yuji Itadori, vessel for the king of curses, first-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High and soon-to-be Jujutsu sorcerer, dies and then comes back to life, he doesn’t think that he would be faced with the idea of having a crush.
There are many things he’s had to deal with. Many things he’s ignored too. Though on those two lists he had never imagined that gaining a crush would be on either of them. Really, he wants to add it to the ignore pile but he can’t ignore it when his heart is actively aching within his chest. Not when he pictures Nobara teasing him and apparently stating the obvious. Not when he closes his eyes and sees calloused hands holding his own, back spiky hair and rose-tinted lips.
It makes sense. He hates to admit it, but it makes sense. His heart had gone haywire when Fushiguro had grabbed his wrist, the touch igniting sparks under his skin. How Yuji comes undone beneath Fushiguro’s gaze and feels so open and vulnerable being watched by those emerald eyes. How the guilt is eating him up from the inside out as he can’t seem to face Fushiguro because his classmate had saved Yuji- for some reason- and now Yuji had done terrible things. Had killed people, even if Ieiri was adamant that they were dead long before he got his hands on them, he never truly believed those words. He had lost a friend whereas if he was quicker, or stronger, he could have saved them.
Those thoughts- those sickening thoughts make him hesitate to reach out. He wants something more. He want’s to learn what Fushiguro’s favourite colour is. Wants to know if he gives all of his Shikigami names. Or if he's the type of guy to carry around an umbrella, just to be safe. Yuji wants to know if he prefers apple pie or apple crumble, or if he’s not opposed to either and doesn’t have a preference. All the little things. He wants to learn about every single one and keep them in a box that he can rifle through, so he can grab a fact whenever he’s feeling sad and admire it earnestly. Though the other box- the one with the lock- is weighing him down, shackles on his legs that make it hard to move.
He doesn’t think about that. He doesn’t. He can’t.
It means that he’s left lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling because sleep would mean facing the horrific dreams again and he can’t face them right now. He can’t. He wont. He can’t. Another day has passed where he has yet to approach Fushiguro. Nobara had made fun of him for being so useless. Though who can blame him- he’s so afraid of what Fushiguro might think when he finds out. He’s scared that his friend is still pissed off with him because Yuji disappeared for three months when, realistically, he could’ve reappeared at any time.
Then there is a knock at his door.
Getting up, he pads across his room and swings the door open, surprised to see the boy that he had just been thinking about stood outside in the corridor.
“Hey.” Fushiguro greets, his presentation slightly dishevelled as if he had tried to fall asleep, but his voice is alert enough to show that he hadn’t been successful.
“Hi.” Yuji says back. Then without thinking, “do you want to come in?”
Fushiguro nods and follows him back into the room, door shutting behind them both. Yuji can’t help but feel awkward as he sits down on the edge of his bed whereas Fushiguro continues to stand, staring at him wordlessly.
“Did you need something?”
Fushiguro seems to have an internal battle for a few moments. His face a mixture of embarrassment and something else, though Yuji can’t quite decipher what that something else is. “I, erm, yes,” he begins, and Yuji has never heard him stutter before, so that’s a first. “I couldn’t sleep.”
When Fushiguro decides that he doesn't want to elaborate, Yuji furrows his brows. “Okay, do you need my help with anything then? I’m kind of struggling to sleep too,” he decides to throw the truth on the end, in hopes that it makes Fushiguro maybe a little bit more comfortable in his current predicament.
“I just- this is so stupid,” Fushiguro groans, running a hand down his face before forcing out, “don’t laugh. I just needed to check.”
Yuji doesn’t laugh. Of course he doesn’t. Instead he melts under those words, guilt bubbling in his chest that he immediately stamps down because Fushiguro is currently stood in his room, checking that he’s alive and Yuji is briefly thinking about how he might’ve been better off staying dead. Into the box that thought goes. He thinks he should add another lock and key, the extra protection would probably help stop anymore unwanted ideas from slipping out through the cracks.
Pushing his duvet to the side, he lies down on his bed, “that’s not stupid. I’m sorry for worrying you. And I'm sorry for- you know- for not telling you guys that I was alive. I wish I had said something instead of staying quiet about it all.”
“It’s not your fault,” Fushiguro reassures quietly, a gentle pink dusting his cheeks.
“Why don’t you come lie down next to me?”
“Wha- pardon?” His friend splutters.
“Lie down next to me,” he repeats as he pats the empty space on his bed. “We both can’t sleep, this might help?”
He doesn’t know why he’s offering this. Lying next to Fushiguro might be the end for him, it might make him spontaneously combust because of the mere intimacy alone. In fact, he almost backtracks his stupid idea but Fushiguro glances to the bed, back to the door, then with a resigned sigh he walks around the frame and lies down next to him. With the duvet fully discarded, they are shoulder to shoulder on his covered mattress, the lamp on his bedside table illuminating them in a warm amber glow.
For a while its silent. Though that’s making his thoughts go wild, the box is practically vibrating, begging to be freed. Determined to not allow that to happen, he fills the void with words, as that’s what he does best. “I truly did mean it when I said I'm sorry.”
There is no movement next to him which means Fushiguro is still looking up at the ceiling. “And I meant it when I said that it wasn’t your fault. It’s nice that you’re not dead. Who cares if you had to stay silent for three months.”
“A lot happened in those three months.”
That is what causes Fushiguro to move. He shifts so he’s on his side, full attention directed towards Yuji, “yeah?”
Yuji hesitates before doing the same, so they’re now facing each other. Suddenly he’s getting lost in those eyes, a deep forest against pale skin. He hums. “Yeah, a lot happened.”
The box is teetering on the edge- so close to the edge that it’s blatantly telling Yuji that it’s ready to fall off the side now. It’s ready to snap the chains holding it back. Subconsciously Yuji grabs onto it, knuckles sore from how aggressively he rolls his balls into fists, imagining that the box won’t falter from his grip.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Fushiguro offers.
No. Never. “Not right now.”
“Alright.” Fushiguro doesn’t pry further but the face he pulls tells Yuji that he’s still going to follow up on it at a later point. Yuji isn’t sure why he had said not right now because he knows that the box is never going to see the light of day if he can have his way with it.
“And you?”
“Pardon?”
“You said that you couldn’t sleep either,” Yuji points out gently, “do you want to talk about it?”
“I kind of already did.” His friend admits with such softness, such cautiousness that Yuji is scared one wrong move might send the other boy retreating at any given moment. “I- I still think it’s stupid, but I just sometimes need to know you’re alive. I need to see it for myself, confirm that this isn’t a dream because I need it all to be real.”
Yuji swallows. His eyes trace Fushiguro’s face. Across the browbone, down his nose and along the jaw. Further down, to his chest and arms, eventually landing on his hand. Hesitantly, he reaches out for it and when Fushiguro doesn’t pull away, Yuji wraps his fingers around his palm. The touch melts away every single atom that currently makes up his body. It dissolves his heart and soul. He’s left with ignited skin and heated fingerprints. Then, slowly, he lifts up Fushiguro’s hand and places it on his chest, his palm resting just above Yuji’s beating heart.
When Yuji removes his own hand, Fushiguro doesn’t follow, leaving his fingers resting up against Yuji's chest. Feeling the beat, each pulse, an anchor telling him- telling them both- that he is alive. That this is all real.
Everything about this is intimate. From the way Fushiguro’s eyelashes flutter as he blinks slowly at his hand. As Yuji shuffles in closer, they’re practically chest to chest by now and neither of them are moving away. As he slides an arm around Fushiguro’s back, feeling the warmth radiating from it, sending electricity through his fingertips.
“Megumi, I’m here.” Yuji whispers.
“You’re alive, Yuji.”
He can feel Megumi’s breath brush past his cheek, they lock eyes for a moment, chestnut meeting emerald. The gaze holds an unspoken conversation, noses almost touching as he takes one last look at Megumi’s soft face before shutting his eyes and closing the gap between them. The kiss is slow- it's meaningful and deep. It warms his face comfortably, not overwhelming or rushed but gentle and kind. Yuji thinks Megumi’s lips are the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. A hint of strawberry lingering as he feels Megumi smirk into his mouth before pulling away.
In this very moment, the box is long forgotten. As he grins at Megumi, neither of them covered by the duvet and yet the room is far from cold. With Yuji’s hand still comfortably resting against the small of Megumi’s back and Megumi’s hand still pressed up against Yuji’s beating heart.
--
It’s as if something had been lifted. Well- obviously he’s had his moments with Nobara and Megumi which have helped ease the mood. With the former congratulating them on, and to quote her directly, “finally coming to terms with those internalised gay thoughts.”
Though he supposed that he shouldn’t have let his guard down.
A mission is what set it all off too. An easy one as well. One that should have been dealt with quickly and efficiently, leaving time to spare. Low level cursers were easy to deal with, though when he’s face to face with a cursed human, transfigured beyond recognition, he freezes. Stops long enough for it to become concerning, staring at the babbling mess of ashen skin, rough and calloused beyond what should be possible. He stops long enough for Megumi to swoop in, handling the creature easily and turning to Yuji, a subtle panic reflecting in his eyes, “what- are you okay?”
No. No. No he’s not okay. He can still hear the pleading- can still hear Junpei’s voice grating at his eardrums. Can still hear Mahito’s and Sukuna’s deafening laughter. The sound plunging into his chest with enough force that he feels the itch, which grows and grows until its searing and his heart is tumbling out onto the floor.
He staggers backwards, intakes a breath, and then nods.
“No, Yuji, what’s wrong?” Megumi asks, urgency coating his words this time.
“I’m fine.” He grits out, though he is sure that he can feel a key pressed up against the palm of his hands. The one that he had sworn he had thrown out. It’s luring him, taunting him. Goading him to just open up that box and see what happens.
“Yuji-”
“I’m fine.” He repeats adamantly. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. Not here, not now, not in front of Megumi. Not with Nobara coming in close behind them and questioning if everything was alright. Not when his two closest friends are looking at him with concerned eyes and the box is crumpling, the chains are denting the cardboard and threatening to spill all his secrets. Junpei’s last words ring in his mind. He can feel blood caking his chest, also slick on his fingers and then tricking down the side of his mouth too. It’s- It’s all- it-
He blinks and it’s all gone. “I’m fine,” he says one last time before clenching his jaw and turning on his heels, heading back towards the car.
--
It’s not fine.
It is not fine.
This is totally, most definitely, not fine.
He’s in the kitchen. Alone. Only because Megumi and Nobara had been considerate and given him space. He’s been staring at the chicken he’s been meaning to cook for ten minutes now, the juices are still stuck to his fingers and he has the urge to scrub at his hands aggressively until the feeling of drying blood is gone. His feet are glued to the floor though. He can’t move and can’t breathe all because of this fucking stupid raw chicken that he’s imagining is crawling across the cutting board begging help me, help me, just kill me. The chicken breast is flushed pink, tinted red in some places and he imagines a clawed hand, nails stained black, digging into the flesh and ripping it to shreds. The muscles withering as the final signs of life flicker away.
He can’t- he can’t move-
Finally his feet snap out of place and he stumbles backwards, crashing into one of the chairs. It goes flying, clattering against the tiles and he’s fallen onto his backside. His hands are still outstretched in front of him because the stupid raw chicken juices are still sticky against his fingers, burning into the first layer of his skin. Burning in a way that hurts, that poisons his blood and fills his lungs up with tar.
This is stupid- stupid- this- this-
“Yuji?” Footsteps are rushing towards him and of course the chair being practically thrown across the kitchen had alerted his friends. Megumi is crouching beside him, concern woven into his features and Nobara stands behind him, trying to assess the situation.
“Hey, Yuji, let me know what’s wrong,” Megumi tries but it doesn’t reach him, doesn’t cut through the crashing waves in his ears as his chest fills with blood, heavy and tight and running up his throat again. His heart is beating so fast that it feels like it’s non-existent but that would mean he’s dead again- again. It would mean that he’s dead again because Yuji has already died once-
He died. Then came back to life.
He died.
A sob is ripped out of him. Megumi throws a worried look towards Nobara who silently kneels down on the other side of Yuji, grabbing his hand.
“No- don’t- the raw chicken-” he attempts to say but his words are clogged with weak cries, blinking away the tears as he swears he can feel a breeze rush through a gaping wound in his chest.
Nobara pays no mind to the disgusting raw chicken, placing his hand over her own chest and he feels the thud, thud, thud, thud of her heartbeat. Feels her clothes rise and fall with each breath, “Yuji, I need you to follow me.”
So he does. At first his breaths come out spluttering and uncertain. He trips on each one as he tries to huff out apologies. Megumi rubs a hand up and down his spine, hushing him gently. Nobara doesn’t move and Yuji can still feel the thrum of each heartbeat until he’s imagining it as his own.
He hiccups wetly and glances at Nobara. This moment- sat on the kitchen floor as he’s coming back down from the panicked rush, raw chicken still staining his fucking hands- this is the moment he loses his grip on the box.
The lock flies off, cracks in two and he finds that the suffocating thoughts he had tried to shove away are fleeing- escaping now that they’ve been given the chance.
“I died,” he croaks out. Megumi wipes away some of the tears that still stubbornly fall. When neither of his friends say anything, the silence encouraging, he shakily continues, “guys, I died.” He repeats, just for good measure. “I died and it hurt so fucking much and sometimes I think that there isn’t a heart in my chest but instead it's been replaced by a hole and too much blood.”
“You’re alive.” Megumi whispers in his ear and it is so grounding that Yuji takes in a breath, managing to hold it for more than two seconds.
“I’m alive again but at what cost-”
“Don’t say that.” Nobara cuts in, not harshly but the look on her face means that she’s not going to back down if Yuji talks bad about himself.
“I- I met a guy whilst I was away,” he starts, voice cracking, “I met this guy, and he was great. Then his mom- oh God his mom died because of me and then he died- he died because he was turned into one of those ugly cursed humans. It was because of me- because I wasn’t good enough- I didn’t save him- couldn’t save him- I-”
“Breathe,” Nobara reminds him. Yuji sucks in air like his life depends on it. He feels the fabric of Nobara’s shirt under his fingers, the juices from the raw chicken mostly wiped away, dirtying her clothes. Focuses on Megumi’s presence, his hand still rubbing up and down his back. Focuses on how smooth and cooling the tiles underneath him feel, notes the warmth of the lights in the ceiling, listens to the hum of all the electrical appliances filling the room.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Megumi says after a while. “However, none of it was your fault.”
“Megumi you saved me and then I got people killed. I-”
“No. I don’t regret saving you, I never will regret saving you and you need to know that. What happened in those three months whilst you were away was not your fault. Stuff like that unfortunately happens, we’re Jujutsu Sorcerers, it’s part of the job.”
“I died.” Because he can’t directly agree with Megumi since there is still self-blame brewing inside of him, but he supposed, for now, he can let it go.
“I know.” Megumi helps him up, Yuji grabs onto him until his knuckles blanche.
“I- fuck- I died and now I’m back.”
“I know,” Nobara is the one to say it this time as she guides him to the sink, the water feels heavenly as it washes away the tremble that was deep-rooted within his fingers. Feeling smooth skin rather than coagulated juices was a blessing. "But you’re back,” she adds, a gentle squeeze around his wrist. “I can feel your pulse.”
Yuji nods weakly, feeling a wave of embarrassment crash into him as he finally lets his mental grip slip away from the box. Now that his thoughts are out in the open- now that Megumi has said he doesn’t regret saving him and Nobara doesn’t hate him for how has acted- now that it’s all exposed there is no need to hold onto any of it anymore. It can be thrown away, the snapped chains and the used key and the bent cardboard box are finally gone.
Breathe. “God, I’m sorry guys-”
“Don’t you dare try to fucking apologise to us right now,” Nobara butts in and he glances over to her and notes the wet sheen to her eyes. “You deserved to break down- and I don’t mean that in a horrible way. I think that this has been cathartic for you.”
“Can I at least apologise for getting raw chicken on your t-shirt?”
“No. I can wash it.”
Breathe. The tap is turned off and he’s handed a towel. “Thank you, guys. God, I missed you two so much.”
“Missed you too, idiot.” Nobara beams the exact same time that Megumi mumbles, “missed you as well.”
Nobara is then shoving him out the door as she makes a declaration. “Tonight, it is movie night. In my room since I have the most blankets and I actually have a rug. You two dumbasses have no interior design skills.”
Neither of them complain about the insult. Instead they happily end up in Nobara’s room, she’s gotten changed into clean clothes and is now balancing her laptop on the chair in front of them all. Once in position- with Yuji snuggled between the two of them, Nobara having already stretched her legs out across them both and Megumi resting his head on Yuji’s shoulder, his hair tickling the crook of his neck- they press play and the movie starts.
When Nobara moves a hand and feels his heartbeat, Yuji rests his fingers on her wrist and in turn feels her pulse too. When Megumi squeezes his hand, Yuji squeezes back and feels the faintest kiss grace his jaw.
When Yuji Itadori, vessel for the king of curses, first-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High and soon-to-be Jujutsu sorcerer, dies and then comes back to life, he decides that he’s going to keep on living. If not for himself, then for these guys because they are worth every single breath and each individual heartbeat.