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Boxes were everywhere. Some were labeled meticulously—like Fushiguro’s “Books (1 of 3)” and
“Kitchen Supplies”—while others had scribbled words that were barely legible. Itadori’s, of course, were the latter.
“Seriously?” Fushiguro said, holding up a box with “STUFF!!!” scrawled in huge, uneven letters across the top.
“What? It’s descriptive!” Itadori grinned, brushing sweat off his forehead as he carried another box inside.
“Besides, you’re gonna go through it anyway. You love organizing my chaos.”
“I don’t—” Fushiguro sighed, setting the box near the couch. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you agreed to live with me.”
The words were lighthearted, but they made Fushiguro’s pulse jump. He knew Itadori wasn’t implying anything deeper, but it was hard not to overanalyze every little thing lately.
Living together had been the practical choice.
After everything they had gone through together, they both realized that neither one of them wanted to be alone.
And of course there were other benefits, sure.
That’s what Fushiguro told himself whenever his thoughts started spiraling. Splitting rent made sense. So did keeping an eye on each other after missions. The occasional sparring session to stay sharp? Logical.
But then Itadori would smile at him like that—bright, carefree, and disarmingly warm—and logic started to feel flimsy.
“You okay over there?” Itadori asked, his voice breaking through Fushiguro’s thoughts. “You’ve been staring at that box for, like, five minutes.”
“I’m fine,” Fushiguro muttered, reaching for another box.
Before he could grab it, Itadori crouched down beside him, their knees brushing.
“You sure? You’ve got that furrowed-brow look,” Itadori said, tilting his head. “The one you get when you’re stressed or overthinking.”
“I don’t have a—” Fushiguro stopped, scowling when he realized Itadori was grinning at him.
“You totally do,” Itadori teased, leaning in slightly. “What’s on your mind, Fushiguro?”
Fushiguro tensed, hyperaware of the way their arms were almost touching. It would’ve been so easy to shift away, to put some space between them, but his body refused to cooperate.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know what this was. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew he liked Itadori more than he should—more than what was reasonable, given everything that had happened in their lives.
What he didn’t know was what to do about it. How was he supposed to act normal when Itadori was like this? When he was all brightness and warmth, pulling Fushiguro in despite the walls he tried so hard to keep up?
“Fushiguro?”
The sound of his name snapped him back to the present. Itadori was still watching him, his expression softening with concern.
“I said I’m fine,” Fushiguro muttered, tearing his gaze away. He reached for the box again, but their hands bumped, and Itadori didn’t pull his away immediately.
“Sorry,” Itadori said, his tone too casual to be sincere.
Fushiguro’s breath caught, and he hated himself for it. He grabbed the box and stood abruptly, carrying it to the kitchen.
Behind him, Itadori chuckled. “You’re not gonna run away every time I touch you, are you?”
“I’m not running away,” Fushiguro said stiffly, though the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him.
“Sure, sure,” Itadori said, his grin audible.
They worked in relative silence after that, though the tension lingered. Every brush of fingers, every accidental bump of shoulders, every time Itadori stood too close—it all felt deliberate, even though Fushiguro knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.
Could it?
By the time the sun began to set, the apartment had started to look more like a home. The couch was in place, the kitchen was functional, and most of the boxes were unpacked, though a few stragglers remained.
Itadori flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, patting the space beside him. “C’mon, take a break. You’ve been glaring at that box for ten minutes.”
Fushiguro reluctantly sat down, keeping a careful distance between them.
“You’re all the way over there?” Itadori asked, shifting closer without hesitation. “We’re roommates now. You can’t avoid me forever.”
“I’m not avoiding you,” Fushiguro said.
“You sure about that?”
Fushiguro turned to retort, but the words caught in his throat when he saw the way Itadori was looking at him—earnest and unguarded, with that maddeningly soft smile.
He hated how easily Itadori could disarm him. It was like he didn’t even have to try.
“I’m sure,” Fushiguro said quietly, though his voice lacked conviction.
“Good.” Itadori’s smile widened, and he leaned back against the couch, letting his head rest on the back cushion.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The soft glow of the setting sun filled the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Fushiguro’s gaze drifted to Itadori’s hand, resting on the couch cushion between them. It would’ve been so easy to reach out, to let his fingers brush against Itadori’s. The thought made his chest ache, and he quickly looked away.
“You know,” Itadori said suddenly, breaking the silence, “this is nice.”
“What is?”
“This. Living together.” Itadori glanced at him, his smile turning a little sheepish. “I mean, I know it’s only been a day, but it already feels… comfortable, I guess.”
Fushiguro’s heart thudded against his ribs. “It’s practical,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended.
“Yeah, but that’s not all it is,” Itadori said, his tone softening. “It’s nice having someone around who gets it. Who gets me.”
Fushiguro’s throat tightened, and he stared down at his hands, unsure how to respond.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Itadori added quickly. “I just… wanted you to know.”
Fushiguro glanced at him, his resolve wavering. Itadori’s expression was uncharacteristically serious, his gaze steady. For once, there was no teasing, no playful grin—just quiet honesty.
Before he could stop himself, Fushiguro reached out, letting his fingers brush against Itadori’s. It was barely a touch, so fleeting it could’ve been accidental, but the way Itadori’s eyes widened told him it wasn’t.
“It is nice,” Fushiguro admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Itadori’s smile returned, softer this time. “See? I knew you agreed with me deep down.”
Fushiguro rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it.
They sat there in companionable silence, the space between them feeling a little smaller, a little warmer. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Fushiguro let himself relax. Even if his heart was betraying him a little.
Maybe this could work.