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itadori smiled and kissed fushiguro back on his lips. he could feel fushiguro grin into it, and it meant the world to him. for just a moment, love hurt and pained itadori more than he could ever imagine. but the feeling soon faded, and it was nice again, all thanks to fushiguro.
“of course, anything for you.”
.
.
.
ONE YEAR LATER
fushiguro looks out at the world from his balcony, smoking a pack of cigarettes as his mind is clouded with grief and turmoil. he’s alive, but he doesn’t feel like he’s living. he’s breathing, but he chokes on the air that he depends on. he’s here and present, but he can’t stand to live another day without him, the one he loves more than anything with his whole heart and soul.
death follows him and everybody around him, for that was just what the life of a jujutsu sorcerer had entailed. gojo was gone, nanami was gone, and tsumiki was gone; so, so many people were gone. each death full of despair broke down all their spirits, killing each jujutsu sorcerer’s soul off one-by-one.
all their deaths hurt, and fushiguro won’t deny that the tears he shed are for them too, for his chosen family that cared for him like he was their family. he misses them with all that he is, his spirit and soul broken down to nothing, absolutely nothing. he’s incomplete, he’s tarnished and ruined, he’s practically just as dead as they are.
fushiguro misses and cherishes them all, but the photographer behind his smile leaves his heart for him in his camera, and fushiguro clings onto the only life he has left of him.
a year has passed since sukuna ryoumen was thoroughly exorcized. there was no chance of any cursed spirits taking advantage of his power and killing any more innocent lives. sukuna was gone from this world and every other following it, his reign of destruction a thing of the past. jujutsu history was made, and the world was one step closer to becoming a safer place.
a year has passed since itadori yuuji was executed. kugisaki watches those stupid worm movies he always loved when she misses him, crying before they even start. shoko doesn’t have anyone to share and understand her grief with anymore. the second and third-years keep his fighting spirit alive only for it to be fueled by resentment and anger.
as for fushiguro, he sits in itadori’s old room all day, slowly killing himself in hopes of joining him in the afterlife. he starves himself, his body frail and fragile as he pukes out what should be food, but is only acid from his empty stomach and soul. he has no energy to move or fight, but he can’t rest or fall asleep either, not without itadori by his side.
so his bed is left empty, wandering into itadori’s abandoned room and isolating himself from everybody and everything. the higher-ups threaten him and tell him to get his act together, but there is not a single bone in his body that cares about anything they have to say because they don’t care about him. if he isn’t useful, he isn’t important.
that went for everybody, not just fushiguro. itadori was nothing but a tool, a means to an end, and now he’s gone. do the higher-ups care? not a single bit. so fushiguro doesn’t fight, he doesn’t exorcise any curses. he’s tired, and it’s not his job to keep the world safe. he’s not innocent or a hero anymore, but he doesn’t need to be. he just needs itadori.
he picked up smoking and occasionally drinks because he doesn’t care enough to healthily cope with his emotions. he’s barely seventeen and gets closer and closer to death with each passing day because he refuses to take care of himself. he’s lost his will to live because how can he not when he’s already lost everything?
not a moment goes by where fushiguro doesn’t wish it were him in the casket, that it were his decaying body buried six feet under. he didn’t deserve to be standing here, wasting away this pathetic life of his. itadori deserved it so much more, he could’ve done so much more; itadori was so much more. he wasn’t a tool or a monster, he was human, through and through.
itadori was light and life itself, more deserving of love than anybody here. fushiguro wanted to love him, he wanted to be able to like the sun rises and sets, like the moon illuminates the night sky. he wanted to love itadori like it was easy and natural, like it was nature’s calling for him to encapsulate itadori in everything that he is, his heart and soul.
it was supposed to be easy and natural, it was supposed to be everything they wanted. fushiguro loved itadori and itadori loved fushiguro, and that was all there was to it. it was supposed to stop right there. they were going to live out the rest of their lives with one another, hand in hand as they traversed this blissful life they shared.
but since when has anything fushiguro asked for come true? of course he wouldn’t get the happy ending where the guy gets the girl, the fairytale happily-ever-after with his prince. he was, is, and always will be a jujutsu sorcerer. he didn’t get happy endings, and he certainly didn’t get the love of his life with him.
fushiguro’s weak and hopeless without him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. what would it mean if he was happy with an unwavering resilience without itadori? that he didn’t need him? that although his death is tragic, it won’t affect him too much? fushiguro couldn’t fathom a world without itadori where he is not miserable and in pain.
if his destiny was to love itadori, then so was losing itadori.
-
the few times fushiguro does leave his room is to visit itadori’s graves. it’s in the middle of the woods where the sisterhood goodwill event took place, resting atop a short hill. every time he’d visit, he’d bring itadori’s camera with him. not to use or cry with, just to feel a little bit closer to him as he talks to his dead, lifeless body.
“i love you, yuuji,” fushiguro mutters, staring at itadori’s tombstone as if it were his eyes. he says that first thing every time. fidgeting with his fingers, he doesn’t know what to do, where to put them. they once fit so perfectly in itadori’s hands, and now all they’re used for is to hold cigarettes. fushiguro doesn’t smoke when he visits itadori though, he knows he wouldn’t like it.
“i didn’t do much today,” fushiguro says, talking about his day. “maki asked me to spar with her, but i didn’t really feel like it. i’m always tired, and i feel so weak.”
fushiguro knows why he’s like this, he knows this better than anyone. it’s a habit he won’t quit, a habit he knows that itadori would scold him for because he’s worried and loves him.
“that’s because you’re not eating enough! do you want me to cook something for you? and then we can just watch a movie together if you want! i have some that i think you’d really like!”
with a faint smile, fushiguro chuckled at the thought, his hollow heart warming up while breaking more and more. itadori’s nagging was all fushiguro wanted to hear right now, to be bothered by his lover because he cared enough to.
“i talked to kugisaki for a bit too. she’s thinking about getting her nose pierced.”
fushiguro knows that kugisaki is mourning, that she’s grieving itadori’s death in her own way the best she can. she’s moving on while keeping him in his heart, and fushiguro can’t help but resent her for it. he wants to move on, he wants to live out a normal life where his body and soul is plagued by this never-ending grief of his.
but how could he? how can he bear to live without his reason to live?
“really? that’s cool! i think it would suit her, both a stud and a ring! i could also see maki-senpai with piercings, a bunch of ear ones and maybe a lip ring too.”
it's always been in itadori’s nature to ramble on about a certain topic. fushiguro never minded though, finding comfort in itadori’s talkative behavior. he listened and loved, following the movements of itadori’s mouth. what he wouldn’t give to kiss them again. what he wouldn’t give to just have him here again.
“how are you doing, yuuji?” fushiguro asked, already knowing the answer in his heart and soul. itadori was the type of person to lie and put others first, suppressing his feelings for the supposed ‘greater good’. right now, he’d smile and laugh, telling fushiguro that he was doing alright, that it wasn’t all that bad.
and maybe he meant it. besides being dead and away from all his loved ones, he could finally rest now. he made an impact, he did what had to be done, and now, he was at peace. he didn’t have to fight anymore, he didn’t have to suffer and writhe in pain, he didn’t need to do any of that anymore. itadori yuuji was gone, and it was the happiest he’s felt in a long time.
fushiguro was happy for him, he really was. knowing that itadori was off in a better place was all he ever wanted, all he could ever ask for.
but that didn’t make him want to bring itadori back any less than he did now. but not to this world, never to this world where death will only ever be your escape. fushiguro wanted to see itadori and kiss his eyes and talk and tell him how much he loved him and live through a day without seeing a single curse; he wanted to live a normal life with itadori.
before he knew it, tears began to run down fushiguro’s flushed face, feeling like his body was going to give out on him.
“i just wanted to live with you,” he cried out like he was begging to itadori’s grave, “i just wanted to live with you without having to wonder if i was going to lose you the next morning.”
fushiguro clung onto the camera draped around his neck, the only living piece of itadori he had. “i just wanted to stay by your side, to hold your hand without the callouses and bruises. i wanted to come home and have you greet me after a long day, i wanted to go to college and learn and create a better life for us. fuck, i wanted to marry you!”
sobs growing louder, fushiguro fell to the ground, the grass grazing his skin as he poured his heart out like he was being ripped apart.
“is that so much to ask for?” his voice softer, fushiguro’s grasp loosened, feeling weak and weary. he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up, to keep living like this. “is it?”
-
it took a while for fushiguro to calm down, running out of tears to cry. he sat there quietly across from itadori’s tombstone, staring at his reflection in the camera lenses. he looked awful, just awful. swollen and red, his eyes held dark circles underneath them. his pale skin only made them stand out more as did the lack of life in them.
how cruel it is to love and be loved.
fushiguro’s heart ached, unable to look itadori in the eyes. “you know, in another life, i would’ve really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you, even if you’d get confused and mess up the numbers.”
fushiguro chuckled at the thought. how nice that would be.
“or maybe just washing the dishes,” fushiguro continued, his smile soft and somber, “and taking turns making breakfast. you’d do a lot better than me though.”
fushiguro imagined waking up a tuesday morning to the smell of pancakes and bacon. he’d walk up and hug itadori from behind, kissing him good morning before making coffee.
going through all the pictures itadori took, fushiguro could still remember each one as if it were yesterday. what he wouldn’t give to get those times back.
“you’d probably still have this camera in every life. you’d be behind the camera, and i’d tell you to stop taking pointless pictures of me. but deep down, i love it when you do.”
it’s happened countless times already, and each time, it’d end with itadori saying that it was because fushiguro was so beautiful, he couldn’t help it. fushiguro would tell him to shut up, and then they’d kiss because that was what itadori wanted all along. fushiguro knew that, he always did. but even so, he’d fall for his antics everytime, simply because he wanted to.
fushiguro felt robbed of these memories he could never make, robbed of the future he was supposed to have with everybody, with a new version of himself he might never get to meet. was it so wrong for him to want to be happy, to be happy with the person he loves most? maybe it was, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“i wish you were here,” fushiguro says as he continues to scroll. he’s seen them all a dozen times over, memorizing every hint of itadori that poked through each other. from the occasional thumb-in-the-camera and soft smile he wore, fushiguro cherished it all. he knew each picture by heart, and it kills him that it has to be this way.
with no family to carry out his legacy, only this camera with barely any pictures of him, itadori died a lonely death. fushiguro would give up everything and more to have been able to hold his hand, to tell him that he’ll be there soon and that he’ll look for him again and again. he wants to live, but he wouldn’t be opposed to dying with itadori.
he keeps scrolling, reliving each moment he should’ve cherished more. there’s a picture of itadori and him at a local cafe. there’s a picture of fushiguro brushing his teeth with half-lidded eyes. there’s a picture of the two of them with kugisaki out shopping. there’s a picture of gojo and nanami together, followed by one of him and itadori they asked nanami to take.
there’s so many, but it’s not enough. there’s so many, but it will never be enough.
there’s so many, but why can’t there be more? why can’t they make more?
why did itadori have to leave? why couldn’t fushiguro go with him?
it’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair, it’s not fair at all; it’s not fair.
with tears spilling out of his eyes faster than he can cry them, fushiguro reaches the end, or so he thought. there’s enough room for one more picture, but he swears it wasn’t there before. he goes through all these pictures everyday, practically every other hour, any chance he gets. so why is there an empty space?
slowly, fushiguro looks up at the grave before him. he imagines itadori’s wide, one-of-a-kind smile as the creases by his hazel-brown eyes speak for the life that is within them. he imagines itadori laughing, asking him if he likes his little surprise. he imagines itadori doing this on purpose, giving him purpose with this last, empty piece of him.
fushiguro knows how unlikely that is, that he probably just didn’t notice it before, which also seemed unlikely. but the thought of it brings back the stars in his eyes, giving him some hope, some sense of peace that he can search for. he smiles with itadori, imagining the warmth of his embrace that heals him like he never left.
so he wipes his tears away and places the camera about itadori’s neck, giving back the life he once lost, the life and love he gave fushiguro.
“thank you for everything, yuuji,” he says ever-so-softly. he kisses his fingers and places them on itadori’s lips that are still smiling. “i love you, more than anything, and i always will.”
maybe in the next life, they’ll fill up that slot because in the next life, they’ll be together simply just to love and to live like they were meant to. with itadori behind the camera, fushiguro will smile for him always, he’ll smile because of him. fushiguro knows that with his heart intact, it’ll reach him, and itadori will smile back.
it’ll be as simple as that in the next life. itadori will exist, and fushiguro will exist with him.