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“I’m an asshole,” Yuuta announces late that night, unprompted.
They’re both crammed into Yuuta’s twin bed, Toge tucked neatly between the wall and Yuuta’s ribs. They’ve been falling asleep like that more often than not lately, Toge taking the liberty of letting himself into Yuuta’s room on the nights that missions keep him out late. Yuuta will return, and Toge will be sitting at his desk chair, yawning and tugging at the drawstring of his hoodie. He never goes to sleep before Yuuta gets there, no matter how many times Yuuta has told him not to wait up.
Toge is good like that. He’s so good. And Yuuta is a terrible, pitiful excuse for a human being.
“I’m an asshole,” Yuuta repeats, now that Toge appears to be awake enough to understand him. Besides, it’s doubly true now. Not only is he an asshole, he’s an asshole that woke Toge up just to bitch and moan about it.
Hair mussed and eyes barely cracked open, Toge slowly looks up. His eyebrows crinkle with confusion.
“Hmm?” he manages. “Takana?”
Yuuta feels even worse when he sees the strain in Toge’s eyes as he tries to wake himself up. He must be exhausted. Toge danced all night at the concert they’d attended tonight, eventually dragging Yuuta into the frenzy with him. The two of them thrashed for hours with strangers to songs they’d never heard before. Yuuuta had felt ridiculous at first, but after a few minutes, his inhibitions melted away and the two of them reached some strange, euphoric state that stopped their feet from hurting or their lungs from giving out on them. They were covered in sweat the whole train ride home, but they were smiling.
Yuuta hasn’t smiled like that for a long time. He’s not sure Toge has either.
But tonight, they stared at each other on that train ride home, grinning wildly at one another and not saying a word. Nothing needed to be said. They both knew what a great night it had been, and they both knew that there wasn’t anyone else in this world they’d rather have shared it with.
The more Yuuta thinks about how unexpectedly wonderful it all was, the worse he feels about the way he acted on their way out the door.
“I was such a jerk earlier,” Yuuta mumbles. “I’m really sorry.”
Toge cracks an eyebrow at him, still confused.
Yuuta sighs. Toge is so good that he didn’t even notice Yuuta’s behavior earlier.
They’d woken up that morning and realized that they had a rare weekend day to themselves, neither of them on-call for missions or required to attend any kind of training. Toge had announced with a broad smile that he had the perfect plan for them. Two minutes later, he had purchased tickets to some heavy metal concert in a hip area of town Yuuta had never been to before.
Yuuta then spent the rest of the afternoon watching in amusement as Toge tore through the closets of all their friends for outfits. A clear theme had emerged right away- black, leather and studs. Apparently, Toge wanted them to dress the part for this concert.
It was fun, and spontaneous and exactly what the two of them needed. Yuuta just wishes he had been able to understand that from the start.
Toge reaches his arm across Yuuta’s chest, stretching to flick on the lamp on the bedside table and sitting straight up in bed. He’s totally awake now, and he looks completely baffled.
“What are you talking about?” he signs.
Yuuta sighs again, chest feeling incredibly heavy.
Over the last few months, Yuuta has taken to wearing baseball hats and beanies and even the occasional sweatband whenever he’s off-campus and off-duty. That way, civilians wouldn’t have to stare at the forehead stitches and wonder what on earth had happened to him. He didn’t need to be anything more to them than some random guy on the street or on the train- someone they could see once and never think twice about.
Somewhere along the line, Yuuta had gotten comfortable with taking cover all the time. He wouldn’t even go into the convenience store without something to shield the stitches. Soon enough, he was wearing stuff like that around campus, too.
He hadn’t realized the attachment he’d formed until Toge was very gently tugging a baseball cap out of his hands on the way out the door.
Look at us, Toge had said, referencing their new, punk rock looks. You don’t need it.
He’d been right, too. The people at the concert were into it. Yuuta had even gotten compliments, or, at the very least, approving grins from passing strangers. Toge had too, with his sigils on full display like proud tattoos. In that company, the two of them looked utterly cool.
Clearly, Toge had known that would be the case. Maybe that’s why he’d picked that venue in the first place. He was looking for an escape for both of them.
But Yuuta had tightened his grip. He’d practically muscled it back as Toge gently tried to coax the garment out of his hand. The only reason he’d eventually relented was that Toge had pulled a dark bandana out of his sweatshirt and tucked it artfully into the back pocket of Yuuta’s jeans- giving him a security blanket of sorts before heading out for the night- and even then, he’d been snappish about it.
Yuuta sighs, feeling worse and worse about all this by the second.
“You told me I didn’t need the hat, and I knew I didn’t need the hat, but in the moment it really felt like I needed the damn hat, and I didn’t even consider how thoughtless and hurtful that was.”
Toge scrunches his eyebrows. “Hurtful? In what way?”
“Because me saying that I need the hat is like me saying that you need the mask, and you don’t.”
Yuuta says the words as quickly as he can, purging the sentiment from his body like a toxin.
Toge’s face falls. He starts shaking his head, over and over again. Yuuta has the urge to bury his head in the closest pillow.
“I’ve always told you you shouldn’t feel like you should have to hide your face.” Yuuta feels his voice wobble, but can’t quite seem to steady it. “And now look at me. I had the opportunity to put that into practice myself, and I didn’t. I just dug my heels in like an idiot.”
“Okaka. Okaka,” Toge says, still shaking his head.
“You don’t have to pretend like it’s different,” Yuuta says miserably.
Both of them had these indelible marks now- these physical features that distinguished them from other people, permanently painting them as sorcerers. The stitches on Yuuta’s forehead that would heal but never fade were a remarkably similar concept to Toge’s sigils. They would both wear the proof of their sorcery until the day they died.
“It is different,” Toge insists, switching back to sign language. “I was born like this. I’ve had my whole life to get used to it, and I still hide sometimes.”
Yuuta doesn’t want to argue, but he’s not sure he agrees. Toge shouldn’t have had to get used to anything in the first place. Yuuta had the chance to show him that, and he blew it.
“But I don’t think you should have to hide,” Toge adds tentatively, “Considering all that you’ve done.”
This time, Yuuta does bury his face in a pillow. He flops on to the bed chest first, cheeks hitting his pillowcase with a satisfying smack.
“Don’t,” he groans. “Don’t make it about that.”
Yuuta has found that he’s been tired lately. Or maybe tired isn’t the right word, because physically, he’s fine. Emotionally, though? He’s spent. And the thing that’s contributing greatly to that weariness is everyone being so fucking grateful to him all the time.
He hates it. He doesn’t want to be thanked or appreciated or credited for what he did in the fight against Sukuna. In fact, most days, he doesn’t even want to be reminded.
Toge places a hand on Yuuta’s back, rubbing gently. Yuuta is very aware of the fact that he woke Toge up to apologize, and now somehow he’s the one that’s being comforted. He really just can’t seem to get it right tonight. Still, Toge sits with him, as caring and patient as always.
“Sujiko,” he beckons after a few moments.
Reluctantly, Yuuta peels his face back, turning towards Toge. One look at him informs Yuuta that they’re not about to drop their previous topic. They’re still in Shinjuku, taking that final stand that cost all of them more than they could ever begin to calculate.
“None of us would be here if it weren’t for you,” Toge tells him.
Yuuta shakes his head. “That’s all of us, though. We all contributed. It wasn’t just me.”
The expression on Toge’s face is grave and unyielding, yet so full of care.
“You gave more.”
Yuuta can’t resist his urge to frown at that. He’s so sick of everyone saying things like that, and somehow, it’s even harder to hear it from Toge. Toge never lies or embellishes or does anything that wastes even a single word. It’s one thing to dismiss a notion like that when it comes from someone else, but not with him. If Toge’s saying it, it’s really true. He’s taken the whole complicated situation and managed to boil it down into one singular, undeniable fact.
“Okay, fine,” Yuuta levels. “Maybe I did. So what?”
He pushes himself back upright, suddenly all fired up.
“Why is everyone making such a big deal about it? I knew what I was doing, right? And It wasn’t like I was being entirely selfless or anything- I didn’t want to lose anyone, either. So why does everyone keep fixating on this?”
Unconsciously, Yuuta has gestured to his forehead. He lowers his hand immediately. The two things- what he did in Shinjuku, and the mark it left on his body- had gotten tied together somewhere along the way.
Toge raises an eyebrow, incredulous- as if the answer should be obvious to Yuuta. Yuuta deflates, letting out a sigh.
“You can’t expect people to forget what you did for them,” Toge suggests.
He lifts his hand to the same spot Yuuta was gesturing to a moment ago and sweeps his thumb across the surface of the scar. The touch is so gentle that Yuuta briefly forgets how jagged and bold those markings really are. Toge treats them with the reverence of famed, perfect brushstrokes.
“I wish they would though,” Yuuta admits, voice going small. “It’s in the past. I don’t want you, or anyone for that matter, thinking that they’re indebted to me somehow for the choices I made.”
Toge considers that, hand falling through Yuuta’s hair and resting on his cheek for a moment before pulling away to sign.
“Not indebted.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Grateful. Can we be grateful?”
He tilts his head at Yuuta, genuinely curious.
“Not every time you look at me.”
There’s a moment of silence between them, both of them somewhat stunned by the intensity behind statement. Yuuta’s not sure he realized he felt that way until he’d said it out loud. Something in Toge’s face shifts.
“I am, though,” he says slowly, sheepishly. “I’m grateful every time I look at you. Not because of what you did, but because you survived it.”
He looks up to Yuuta’s forehead, seeming to trace every line there with those dusky eyes of his before looking back down to meet Yuuta’s gaze.
“When I see those scars I don’t see the monster,” he continues, tentative. “I see the boy who didn’t care if he lived or died, but fought to come back to me anyway.”
Tears well in Yuuta’s eyes, clouding his vision so effectively that he barely sees the next words that Toge gives him.
“How could I be anything but grateful for that?”
Toge’s eyes are clear, sparkling and pure. Yuuta unravels.
“Toge.”
He just barely manages to choke out the name, so moved that he has no way to express himself other than to pull Toge as close to him as possible. Toge is more than willing to indulge him, crawling onto his lap and nestling his head into Yuuta’s collarbone.
There’s no use in pretending that Yuuta wasn’t a drastically different person when he arrived at Jujutsu Tech. Shrouded in darkness and wielding his apathy as a shield, Yuuta had well and truly given up the hopes of ever leading a happy or even a normal life. Toge is right. There was a time where Yuuta truly didn’t care if he lived or died.
Toge didn’t just have a front row seat to Yuuta’s change in mindset, he’d been actively involved in the process. So much of what Yuuta is now- the joys he’s been able to let himself experience- are a tribute to Toge’s patience and quiet care. He slowly drew Yuuta out of his shell, making him smile and making him laugh and stretching his heart back into shape. He set Yuuta’s world ablaze with excitement and distraction and the best kind of chaos, never trying to erase Yuuta’s past, but always pointing their path towards the future.
He’d cared about Yuuta long before Yuuta had learned to care about himself. On their first mission at the shopping mall, and again during the final stand against Geto- he was willing to use his last words on earth to save Yuuta.
What on earth had Yuuta done to deserve someone like that?
Even today, in his quiet and sneaky way, everything he’d done was for Yuuta’s benefit. The tickets, the outfits, the bandana stashed away in his pocket. He’d been thinking of Yuuta the whole time.
“Of course,” Yuuta assures him. “Of course I came back.”
It kills him that Toge had to doubt that for even a second. Perhaps that was why Yuuta still hated being thanked for his efforts: the situation had been awful for all of them, not just him. Yuuta was too caught up in the heat of the battle to be properly scared for his life, but that wasn’t true for his friends. They sat with his lifeless body, having no way of knowing if he’d ever return to it. Yuuta regrets putting them all through that- Toge especially.
“I’ll always come back to you,” he murmurs, having every intention of making good on that promise.
After all, wasn’t this what Yuuta was coming back for in the first place? To have these serene, perfect moments with Toge? To finally find some sense of normalcy in their lives- going out to concerts and holing up in Yuuta’s room each night, spending time with one another without feeling like they’ve pulled one over on the universe by being happy.
Isn’t this exactly what Yuuta was fighting for?