Work Text:
Megumi Fushiguro was a timid man in love with the ambitious. Growing up, he’d watch competitors soar through race tracks. On the back of his closed eyelids, he would imagine himself behind the wheel, working through the harsh curves of the road and winning gold at the end of each race. Gojo teased him about it a few times, making Fushiguro shy away from channels that aired races whenever he was around. Though, after being pushed around in a cardboard box in many laps around the living room, the boy found enough resolve to keep the channels playing, whether Gojo was there or not.
After the threat of curses became minimal, Fushiguro had to pick up a day job. Being a caregiver wasn’t the worst, but he couldn’t handle the awkward conversations that came with the job. A year wasn’t a long time, but it was more than enough time for him to get sick of it. It didn’t take much consideration for him to put his two weeks in once his dear friend, Yuuji Itadori, invited him to join a driving club. As time passed, the two’s skills had developed well enough to be allowed to begin racing. Though, his improvement was nowhere near as impressive as Itadori’s. Fushiguro could feel his feelings grow for Itadori more and more with each passing day. This time, their affection for each other was fairly comparable. Fushiguro’s kisses before each match gave Itadori more than enough motivation to win. Though, admittedly, Itadori would often exaggerate how much motivation he needed.
It took many words of encouragement and well-timed pecks on the cheek from Itadori to convince Fushiguro to join a competitive race. Despite his reservations, he knew that it was what he dreamt of when he was young. After securing his helmet for the third time, he wiped the delft blue trunk of his car clean of debris before leaving the rest to his mechanics. A short distance away, Itadori was talking with Ino and Hakari. The three of them were perched on a bench, laughing loudly. Fushiguro caught himself smiling and turned away in embarrassment. In public, Itadori and him were simply friends. They’d tell everyone eventually but, for the time’s sake, they were nothing more than friends. Since the ground he chose to watch in his embarrassment wasn’t that interesting, he decided to find something else to occupy himself with.
“Fushiguro!” A familiar, sweet voice called from a distance away. Trying to maintain his usual indifference, he waited a bit before turning to acknowledge Itadori. “Fushiguro, how’s it going? Are you nervous?”
“A bit, yeah.” His face did not reflect it.
“Don’t worry,” Itadori placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re a great driver. Just keep your eyes on the road and you’ll do great.” Fushiguro’s usual stoic face broke into small slivers of doubt. Itadori leaned in and whispered playfully, “You’ll be fine, Romeo.”
“Tch, idiot…” Fushiguro whispered back, flustered. Itadori greeted Fushiguro’s mechanics before leaving to check back in on his own car.
The crowd was moderate, not much compared to what Itadori had seen many times before. To Fushiguro, the crowd was intense. He tried his best to ignore the people’s cheers as he entered his car, and struggled to keep his composure as everyone drove through the course during the practice lap. By the time everyone was lined up and the countdown began, his heart was pounding out of his chest. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Itadori told him to manage his breathing and simply drive like he always did. He watched the light closely, just as he was told.
Red, his eyes were fixed on the track ahead of him, leaving the blur of the light in his peripheral vision. Still red, he gripped the steering wheel a little bit tighter. Red, red… Green. Fushiguro’s foot hit the pedals and he sped forward. As everyone went deeper into the track, most other cars overtook him. He pushed his foot against the accelerator a bit harder but, terrified of the ridiculous speeds that the other cars were going and the growing distance between him and the person in front of him, settled for only a little bit faster than his usual and an overall loss. Of 18 people, Fushiguro got 16th. As usual, Itadori got first, meaning he’d proceed onto the next race. After the race, photographers and videographers swarmed Itadori, desperately looking for a headline, quote, or anything to use in an article. Itadori gave them nothing more than he usually did, waiting to see Fushiguro. He searched the parking lot for his love, who’d become a drop in the ocean of eyes on him at that moment. Itadori pushed through the crowd, apologizing for each foot he stepped on as he went. Eventually, he found the pair of eyes he was searching for and the two got into his car.
“So, McDreamy, how was it?” Itadori asked.
“... I got 16th place.” He replied, ignoring Itadori’s increasingly embarrassing pet names.
“Not that, how did you like it?” Itadori reiterated. Fushiguro thought for a second before replying.
“It wasn’t so bad. Everyone goes really fast.”
“Yeah, that took me a while to adjust to too. Don’t worry, though. You know what you’re doing. With practice, you’ll be going that fast in no time!” Itadori beamed a smile at Fushiguro. Even if they hadn’t exchanged any words upon getting in the car, Itadori’s smile alone would still have been enough to cheer Fushiguro up. “You down for ice cream? I’m sure you’re hungry after all that.”
“Whatever you want.” Fushiguro said, checking his pockets for his wallet.
“Ice cream, then!” Yuji replied joyously, pulling out of the parking lot. The sky melted into a deep orange, casting a dim, but beautiful, light on the mountains nearby. The rest of the car-ride was occupied with small bits of idle chatter and quiet music. They pulled into the parking lot of a nearby ice cream shop, carefully shutting their doors behind them. Fushiguro stopped to check his pockets again as Itadori continued forward. After feeling his pockets enough to be sure his wallet wasn’t a part of his imagination, he pushed the cold metal doors open. The ice cream shop was a cozy place, lined with summer themed decorations like beach balls and crabs, despite summer having been long gone. Itadori always suggested that they visit the place whenever they discussed going out. Before then, Fushiguro never accompanied him; He wasn’t fond of sweets but Itadori was and, for his sake, Fushiguro decided that dates at the local bakery weren’t so bad. The air conditioning was blasting and behind the counter was a familiar face. Fushiguro turned to Itadori, who was already waving.
“Inumaki, what’s up!” He shouted across the room. As Inumaki raised his hand to acknowledge the two, Fushiguro nudged Itadori in the ribs. Itadori’s expression soiled as he turned to his boyfriend. “Hey, what was that for!?” Fushiguro remained silent, watching the other customers’ attention fall on them, and waited for Itadori to move on. “I’ll have cookie dough. What about you, sweet cheeks?” Taken aback, Fushiguro whispered.
“Weren’t you the one who wanted to keep it a secret?”
Itadori leaned in close and whispered, “He knows, I told him.” Itadori didn’t move back, leaving Fushiguro even more flustered than he already was. Yuuji Itadori knew that he was Megumi Fushiguro’s biggest weakness, and he loved using it against him.
“Vanilla,” He said, burying his face in his jacket to hide the deep shade of red he was. “Get away from me.”
“Vanilla, wouldn’t have guessed that. You seem much more like a cookies and cream type of guy.” Itadori commented, reaching for his wallet. Fushiguro placed his hand on Itadori’s, looking him in the eyes. “Hm?” Itadori verbalized, hoping Fushiguro couldn’t feel the beats his heart skipped in his pulse. It seemed two could play that game.
“Nothing, Yuuji.” He said, pulling his hand back.
Itadori continued digging through his pockets and found his wallet. Pulling his credit card out, he slid his payment across the counter. “My treat, princess.” He said sillily, pushing his hair back and winking at Fushiguro. Fushiguro nodded slowly in response, suppressing a smile as Inumaki handed him his card back. “Huh, when did you give it to him!?” He asked astoundedly. “Come on, you paid last time too!”
“You knew it wouldn’t be that easy.”
“Cookie dough, vanilla?” Inumaki repeated to the two, breaking their immersion in each other.
“Yeah, I think so.” Itadori pouted at Fushiguro, almost convincing him to let him pay next time. The two made their way to a booth, sitting down on the red cushions across from each other. A few minutes passed and an employee called Fushiguro’s name. Itadori sprung out of his seat and yelled “I got it!”. Fushiguro rubbed his temples, embarrassed about the scene they were causing. Embarrassment melted into warm affection as soon as he saw the big grin plastered across his lover’s face. Itadori’s smiles were always easy for Fushiguro to find. Something as simple as an ‘I love you’ from Fushiguro could make his face light up, no matter how often they said it to each other. Fushiguro wasn’t complaining though, he loved Itadori and his smiles more than he loved the quiet and his free time, though he did wish Itadori would be quiet sometimes. Itadori placed the two cups on the table and offered Fushiguro a bite of his ice cream. Fushiguro declined and spooned a bit of his, holding it up to Itadori. Itadori smiled, opened his mouth, and closed his eyes. A bit passed before he felt Fushiguro pry his fingers open to place the spoon in his hand.
“I’m not spoon feeding you here, idiot.” Fushiguro muttered under his breath weakly.
“Eh, worth a shot”. The pink haired boy shrugged, placing the spoon in his mouth. “You know, 'Gumi bear,” Itadori said muffledly, “I’ve been thinking,” Fushiguro faked a shocked expression, drawing a small chuckle from Itadori before he continued. “I think I’m ready.”
“For…?” Fushiguro asked.
“To tell everyone about us. After the race in January, I’ll get everyone together, maybe here, and we’ll tell them about us.” He said, swishing his spoon through his ice cream before digging his spoon in once again.
“Are you sure? How will everyone react?”
“I mean, we’ve all experienced Shibuya and Shinjuku, I don’t think we’ll be the craziest thing they’ve seen in their lifetimes.” Fushiguro nodded, looking at his boyfriend’s scars. It rarely occurred to him that not everyone left the jujutsu world in as good of a condition as he did. He frowned at Itadori, remembering the burning guilt he must have carried. “We’ll be okay, Megumi.” Itadori smiled bitterly. He took another bite of his ice cream but, that time, it didn’t taste so sweet. “Anyways, Yuuta should be joining us some time now. I invited him just a bit ago.”
“Alright.” He replied, continuing at his own ice cream. The two, accompanied by Yuuta, visited a few more shops.
“Are you sure you don’t want any ice cream, Okkotsu?” Fushiguro asked, hoping to break the one sided tension he felt around him.
“Yeah, I can’t really handle brain freeze, especially not in this weather.” He replied, “Thank you, though.” Fushiguro nodded along with each word he said, marking their interaction as a success. “So, Itadori, you excited for January?”
“Yeah, can’t wait to grill everybody and get gold again!” He said proudly, throwing an exaggerated gesture.
“You know, Hajime Kashimo will be there too. I’ve heard he’s really good at racing.” Yuuta commented. Fushiguro’s gaze drifted back to Itadori, waiting for a response. Yuji thought for a bit, thinking back to the lists of registered drivers he’d seen before releasing the breath he was holding.
“Oh, that guy. Yeah, he’s good, but I’m not worried. I have a few weeks to prepare.” After a few conversations that grew increasingly shorter, the three decided to end their get-together for the day. Itadori and Fushiguro waved Okkotsu off before getting into their car.
“So,” Fushiguro started, “what brought you to tell Inumaki?”
Itadori grinned as if he were waiting for Fushiguro to ask. “You know he won’t tell anyone.” He joked, humoring himself more than he did Fushiguro. Idiot. Fushiguro rolled his window down and enjoyed the cold winter air against his face as they sped past other cars.
Only a few days remained before the race. The two boys practiced together consistently and both showed remarkable growth, even if Itadori’s was significantly greater. Fushiguro pushed himself a bit harder whenever they practiced together. He felt his feet press against the pedals a little bit more whenever they raced. He noticed how much sharper his focus was whenever he made particularly rough turns. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to be dead weight on Itadori, but part of him knew it was, at least in the slightest, because he loved hearing Itadori ramble on passionately about his improvement. He didn’t really like praise, but praise from Itadori was okay if it meant he got to hear him speak.
Fushiguro seemed to be more worried about the race than Itadori was, despite not being the one who was going to compete. It wasn’t that he doubted Itadori, he just had a feeling deep in his gut that something would go wrong in the race. He felt like something would happen and leave Itadori dissatisfied or different . Itadori reassured Fushiguro as many times as he needed and, eventually, Fushiguro’s nerves were soothed. It seemed that Itadori was more nervous than he let on. The day before the tournament, the muffled noise of TV programs woke Fushiguro up in the dead of night, leading him to a restlessly awake Itadori. Tiredly, he grabbed his boyfriend by the hand and led him back to bed, rubbing the back of his head until he fell asleep.
The early morning came before either of them were ready but, wasting no time, the two got ready for the day ahead.
“Are you ready, Yuuji?” Fushiguro asked, placing a hand over his mouth as he yawned.
“Yeah, I think I am.” Itadori replied. He spoke with confidence but Fushiguro could tell he was nervous. “If I win this one, you have to promise that you’ll let me pay for the rest of our dates. You know, as a reward?”
“Right,” Fushiguro broke a slight smile. “Do your best and I’ll consider it.”
There were already a few cars in the parking lot and still plenty of time before the race by the time they arrived.
“I’ll be in the stands.” Fushiguro said, shutting the car door behind him.
“Alright, I’ll win this one for you.” Itadori replied, pressing a gentle kiss on Fushiguro’s forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
An hour passed and the crowd grew larger than any Fushiguro had seen before. Nearly every seat was full, and the stadium echoed the thundering voice of the crowd. Every once in a while, he would hear the sound of Itadori’s name, causing his ears to perk up. He never could quite find where it was coming from. Eventually, the cars rolled out and ran their practice lap around the track. Once they all settled in their positions, the countdown began. 3, 2, 1…
The cars zoomed from their positions, kicking up dust as they flew forward. Itadori’s car was in the lead, seemingly tied with a light blue car that matched the description of Hajime Kashimo’s that he’d read about on the internet a few days prior. The two navigated the track closely behind each other, each pushing their speed a little bit harder to keep up with the other. The first round concluded with Kashimo as the winner. Fushiguro felt a little salty, but continued watching intently. He was confident in Itadori. The racers returned to their starting positions, and, with the same count, began the second round. Again, Itadori and Kashimo were in the lead, pushing for the first place spot even harder than before. The two approached a curve in the road and neither of the two leading contestants were willing to give up their speed. In a reckless effort to get Itadori to give up his speed, Kashimo merged into Itadori’s lane just as they turned, causing Itadori to swerve to avoid a collision. No longer in control of the car, Itadori crashed into the wall. The crowd erupted into gasps of shock and Fushiguro’s world fell silent.
He’s okay. He’s okay. Fushiguro curled up, trying to hold back everything he’s ever eaten from coming up his throat. He has to be okay. He gagged and choked, watching their coach run over to the car and pry the door open. He watched the horrified expression on his coach’s face as a few men with first aid kids ran to provide any assistance they could. He looked into the crowd and saw the phones of many, out and recording. The whole world’s eyes were on Yuuji Itadori, and Fushiguro wanted nothing more than to hold and shield him from their gaze. After what felt like an eternity, an ambulance came to retrieve him. Megumi Fushiguro watched him, bloody and raw, being wheeled away. Springing up from his seat, he ran. He sprinted down the flight of stairs they had ascended together weeks before into the parking lot they had only entered together that morning. He made it out just in time to see the ambulance doors close. His unspoken begs for them to take him with them were left unheard. He watched as the ambulance sped off, and left with nothing else he could do, he prayed.
Fushiguro laid on the couch. He couldn’t bear the idea of being in bed without Itadori. The house was uncomfortably quiet. Echoes of Itadori’s voice played in Fushiguro’s mind, but it didn’t make the silence any less deafening. The room was the same as they had left it the night before, the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, though now stale, was in the same position that Itadori left it in. The TV remote was still right next to the bowl with a slight smudge of butter on it. Since the rest of his family was dead, Itadori trusted Nobara to make any decisions on his behalf regarding his health. He knew she would choose what was best for him, even if it would hurt. Fushiguro had no choice but to wait on her to deliver the news, and it killed him. He wrapped his arms around a pillow to fill the empty space between his arms that Itadori would usually fill in times like this. It smelled vaguely like his cologne, and was almost as soft as his hair, but it wasn’t him. It was at times like these that Fushiguro yearned for one of Gojo’s hugs, as stupid as they felt when he was alive. Fushiguro held on weakly, praying that Nobara would only come bearing good news. He didn’t think he could handle anything else.
After the pillow was soaked with his silent tears, he moved out onto their balcony. Some fresh air always helps, Itadori's advice echoed in his head. The cold wind brushed against his face, reminding him of times where he’d enjoy such a breeze. Fushiguro knew that Itadori’s warm voice had likely gone cold by then deep in his guts, but he gripped onto the railing the same way he gripped onto the hopes that, by some miracle, Itadori was fine. He was fine, he had to be. The clouds covered the stars that night. Fushiguro’s judgement was beginning to cloud too. He looked over the edge at the concrete below. Itadori was his everything, his reason for anything. If Itadori really was dead, he’d have no point in continuing to live. But what if he isn’t? What if he’s alive, and I killed myself? The thought struck shivers down Fushiguro’s body.
“Itadori was declared dead at 5:43 AM.” Nobara sighed somberly. “Hey, Megumi, you should quit racing. You’ll die on the roads.”
“Ah,” Fushiguro exhaled, lowering the phone from his ear. Of course he was going to die. Why would he think any differently? He saw Itadori, bloody and raw, on that stretcher. Fushiguro choked. He wanted to thank her for telling him, after failing to suppress his tears, he simply hung up. The love of his life was dead.
His funeral felt even more bitter than receiving the word of his death. Seeing Itadori in a casket full of roses shattered Fushiguro. After sour words of goodbye and a collective prayer, the service was dismissed. Fushiguro approached his love for the last time before he’d be laid to rest. His now pale face had more scars than it did before the crash, and his skin seemed to droop. Despite what the crash had done to him, he was still as beautiful as he was the morning they left. Fushiguro absorbed the sight of his lover one final time before leaving, knowing he’d never be closer than 6 feet above Itadori ever again.
Fushiguro spent weeks in mourning. He hated racing now, he hated the rough turns, the need for speed, and the crowd’s inhumane roar as Itadori died. He wanted to give it all up, but he also wanted to win gold for Itadori. He wanted to win and let the whole world know it was for Yuuji Itadori. What did Nobara’s words matter to him? If he did die, it would only reunite him with Itadori. Fushiguro had nothing more to lose.
The nights Fushiguro usually spent painfully in his lonely apartment were given to the roads. Every press on the accelerator, every turn of his steering wheel; none of them were about reaching a destination. He told himself he drove to practice for the race he had signed himself up for; he needed to practice if he wanted to win. Deep down, though, Fushiguro knew he was holding on to any bit of Itadori he could.
Fushiguro’s beating heart nauseated him, what happened to not being able to live in a world without Itadori? As much as he hated feeling the way did, he hated feeling better more. Every positive step to recovery felt like a hammer against a shattering promise he never spoke into existence. He’d roll down the windows so that the wind could drown out the noise of his suffocating feelings. Feelings were the least of his concern at the time, he needed to win gold for Itadori. For weeks, his time would be spent on abandoned roads. The noise in his head would grow increasingly louder, reminding him that he wasn’t still the same mess that he was weeks before. Each night, his foot would press on the pedals a bit harder, and the winds would flood the car a bit louder. Without an empty head, Fushiguro may have lost his resolve.
Fushiguro hadn’t done as much as even touch the door of their room since Itadori died. His nights were spent in his car or sleeping on the couch and the day was spent working. Though Fushiguro felt better, the burden he carried was still no lighter than the day Itadori died. In the room grew a curse, one with a familiar face. It was a face Fushiguro loved dearly, simply younger. It had a voice Fushiguro would give anything to hear again, simply less mature. It had everything Fushiguro wanted back, yet was also the thing he hated most.
Fushiguro was terrified. Terrified he’d displace something and lose a little bit of Itadori with it. Even the bed they shared remained untouched, though their couch did change. As time passed, Fushiguro began to feel a looming presence develop around the room. It was cruel. The room would call his name with the vague whispers of Itadori’s voice, only slightly different. It was just as loving, but sounded newer, as if it hadn’t adjusted to talking. Maybe Itadori never died, and simply became the door to their room. Maybe it was Itadori’s voice, and Fushiguro was simply forgetting. Maybe Fushiguro couldn’t bear the answer to that question.
If I don’t touch anything, the room will be the same way he left it. Fushiguro reassured himself, breathing heavily. He grasped the door knob and pushed through. The curtains were drawn, allowing the bright sunlight to enter the room. Fushiguro shielded his eyes with his hand as they adjusted. Were the curtains drawn that day? He lowered his hand, squinting as he entered the room. The bed was unmade, clothes were scattered across the room, and the closet door was open. It was unusually messy. Fushiguro thought back to that morning. They were in a rush, but were they really that reckless? He took a double take of the room, noticing an oddly human-shaped lump under the covers of their bed. He froze. A squatter? His heart beat felt a little more noticeable than it usually did. After a few moments, he let out a sigh. I’m being dumb.
He approached the lump, as if to prove to himself silly in the head. He pulled the blanket off, revealing a small boy with pink hair.
“Huh?” Fushiguro mumbled. He blinked hard, staring at the sleeping child. It was impossible, Itadori was dead. He saw him die himself, and heard the confirmation too. I must have lost it, he convulsed with quiet hysterics. Right, I’ve lost it. After rubbing his eyes raw, he figured it wasn’t his imagination. He reached to the boy’s hair, running his fingers through it. Soft, the same as Itadori’s. Fushiguro knew there was something wrong, but he allowed himself to indulge, only for a little. He deserved it after all.
The boy’s eyes opened slowly. His eyes darted across the room and eventually fell on the strange man beside him. He sat up and, after a long moment of silence, spoke.
“'Gumi.” The boy mumbled.
Fushiguro never wanted kids. Part of him couldn’t stand their obnoxious and loud lifestyles. A kid version of Itadori was different, though; he wasn’t nearly as snotty. Another part of him didn’t fully trust himself to live up to the role of a father, but he figured that no one else would raise Itadori if not himself. The two devised a system: Itadori would hold onto the legs of Fushiguro’s pants, and he would hold onto the hood of Itadori’s hoodie. Neither would lose the other, and it would spare Fushiguro the painful embarrassment of leaning over to hold the hand of someone that no one but himself could see.
A few days before the tournament was an important festival. Fushiguro helped Itadori into winter attire and took him out to explore the city. Usually he wouldn’t care about such sentiments, but it was for Itadori. The pink haired boy was dressed in many thick layers, which Fushiguro had hurriedly bought just hours before. Like he had decided before, Fushiguro held onto Itadori by the hood. The young Itadori would attempt to wander off, only to be pulled back by the strange black haired man who he knew nothing more than the face and, oddly enough, the name of. The two entered a local soba shop together and placed their order at the front. Fushiguro considered asking Itadori what he wanted but, remembering that no one but him could see young Itadori, he kept his mouth closed.
“Alright, so one yakisoba, correct?” The man behind the register repeated back to Fushiguro. Fushiguro nodded and retreated to his table. It was cedar and was well furnished with fancy napkins and condiments. To a normal human, Fushiguro would have seemed to be an anomaly. The second he sat down, the salt and pepper shakers near him immediately started hovering and crashing into each other wildly. Fushiguro grabbed Itadori’s arms gently and pushed them under the table, where Itadori continued to play with the shakers. The shakers started as monsters, then turned into planes, and finally race cars. Fushiguro did his best to ignore it, as much as it hurt.
“Alright! Here is your yakisoba, enjoy!” The waitress said, placing the bowl on the table carefully. Fushiguro thanked her. He pulled the shakers from Itadori’s hands and placed them back onto the table. With a quick prayer, the two dug in. Fushiguro only hoped that no one noticed the noodles beside him vanishing into thin air as they ate.
The two left the store, being met by the bright orange sunset. The warm orange melted into a fierce red before being overtaken by the cool grays and blues of the night. Fushiguro opened his mouth to talk but hesitated. He realized only then that it would be his first time talking to this kid. It felt odd to him. He knew everything about him and everything that he would become, but, to Itadori, Fushiguro was simply a stranger who cared for him.
“We’re going to look at the lights now.” He managed, tugging on the back of Itadori’s hoodie. Itadori’s face lit up and he beamed an adorable smile. Well, as adorable as a smile gets when someone’s missing two of their front teeth. Itadori’s smile was something that Fushiguro had come to miss. Though it wasn’t the real thing, it felt pretty close. The two traversed the downtown, pointing away at the cute decorations strewn across trees throughout the city. As the night grew deeper, Itadori grew more and more tired. Seeing that Itadori was struggling to stay conscious, Fushiguro pulled the small pink haired boy into his arms and carried him to their car.
He drove back home, ensuring that he drove a little bit smoother than usual so as to not disturb Itadori, who was sleeping in the back seat.
On the day of the tournament, Fushiguro prayed like never before. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale just like Itadori had taught him. After he prepared himself and the young Itadori, they left for the circuit. At times, Fushiguro felt like young Itadori had retained his memories, knowing he didn’t. Despite knowing nothing of their past life together, Itadori seemed to always know exactly what meant what to Fushiguro. Itadori’s attempts at encouragement provided Fushiguro with comfort. They were familiar, and it was fascinating that they stayed the same, even in adulthood. Fushiguro left Itadori’s old phone with young Itadori in case he needed to call the boy. It was mainly to act as a method of communication, but the tracking that their life360s offered wasn’t half bad either. Stationed at a corner of the circuit by Fushiguro, young Itadori stared at the tracks with a sense of longing. The road was difficult, but had forgiving curves. The cars, including Fushiguro’s, lined up at the beginning. A loud countdown began on the speakers. Deep breaths, he reminded himself.
“ Three, Two, one…” the commentator enunciated, “Go!” Fushiguro’s foot hit the pedal, sending his car flying forward. He sped through the track, navigating each curve on the track as close to the inside as he could. Fushiguro maintained his speed, doing his best to stay in first place. After one rough turn, Takuma Ino took the lead. The round concluded with Ino on top. Fushiguro would have to win the next two rounds consecutively to win first place. Silver wasn’t good enough, he needed to win for Itadori. They lined back up and started the second round. Neck and neck, the two battled it out for first. With each turn, one overtook the other. In a tight turn of events, the second round was just barely secured under Fushiguro’s name.
Every car lined up for the third and final round, the round that would decide who’d be biting gold. Beads of sweat ran down Fushiguro’s forehead and a loud ringing flooded his ears. Go, that was all that he needed to hear. He couldn’t tell if the commentator was rambling on about something but he heard go. His foot slammed the pedals, sending him flying forward wildly. Fushiguro stabilized the wheel and pressed forward. He needed to win for Itadori. Each turn he took became increasingly rougher, but it didn’t matter. Fushiguro was in the lead, that was all that mattered. In the final stretch of the race, Ino’s car’s, alongside another contestant’s, closed the gaping distance that separated Fushiguro from the others just moments before. Fushiguro pressed on the pedal even harder, accelerating until he crossed the finish line. He won. Each car made their way to their pitstops. Fushiguro pushed his door open and was met by an ecstatic swarm of mechanics, all of which showered him in praise and oddly positioned hugs. The crowd was warm, a feeling that Fushiguro had been missing for a while. Though he didn’t hug any of them back, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment. After the crowd around him dispersed into a few groups, Fushiguro turned to overlook the stadium.
Itadori. Fushiguro remembered. His gaze shifted to the corner that Itadori was supposed to be in. Meeting his gaze was Itadori, but it wasn’t the Itadori he’d been seeing for the previous few days. The gaze that met him was attached to the face that Fushiguro had come to love just a year prior. As beautiful as the day he lost him, Itadori beamed another smile at Fushiguro. Itadori. The black hair boy rushed over to the face he loved so dearly. He didn’t understand what was happening but god, he didn’t care at that moment.
“Itadori,” Fushiguro gasped. “You’re…”
“Back? Yeah, sorry for being gone for so long.” Itadori laughed quietly, “You won, Megumi.” Itadori turned to the roaring crowds, who were waiting for their victor to take his place on the podium. “You should go, I’ll be here when you’re done.” Fushiguro cupped his hand on the side of his late lover’s face. Part of him wanted to check if he was dreaming, while the other part of him just wanted to bask in the beauty of the moment. Itadori broke a softer smile this time and pulled Fushiguro in, planting a kiss on his forehead. “You did good. I’m proud of you. Now go, McDreamy.”
He’ll be there when I come back. Fushiguro reassured himself. Cameras shuttered and flashed with each step he took. Medals were placed around each contestant’s neck and each assumed their position on the tall podium. This is the last time I have to hear their roars, he thought. Fushiguro grazed through the audience briefly before his eyes fell back on Itadori, who was now sitting. Fushiguro’s pink haired boy was beaming a smile full of pride, and dissolving too. Fushiguro watched Itadori dissolve slowly from afar. His arms were the first to go, then his head, torso, and legs. Bittersweet tears stung Fushiguro’s eyes. There was no reason to cry. Itadori was where he needed to be. A camera man ushered Fushiguros attention to his camera lenses and snapped a picture. Small bits of laughter escaped the grieving boy’s mouth. How ridiculous would he look crying when he won?
Fushiguro pulled his stuff from his locker and left the building before any interviewers could swarm him. The parking lot was crowded, especially with parents asking him to take pictures with their kids. He entertained a few. Afterall, none of them would be publicizing him. Once he heard the commotion of a camera man’s discovery of him, he took it as a sign to leave. He started his car engine and left the parking lot. He wasn’t going back to his and Itadori’s home in Sendai, not then at least. Maybe he’d visit Nobara and tell her of his success. He’d tell her that he, in fact, didn’t die in the race. Maybe he’d visit Gojo, pay his respects to his grave, and update him on the previous few months. Fushiguro wondered if anyone had spoken to Gojo’s grave about Itadori’s death yet. Fushiguro had no clue where he’d go, but he knew that it wasn’t going to be home.
Fushiguro sped through the forest. The trees around him were dense and teeming with life. The beauty of the scene was easy to absorb, but his surroundings weren’t. Two children, a girl whose brown hair was tied into a ponytail with long bangs running down the side, and a smaller boy with messy, black hair ran onto the road. Fushiguro jerked the wheel to the left, only praying that he swerved enough to miss the two.
His car went tumbling down a steep hill, colliding with a tree while upside down which stopped its momentum. The impact caused Fushiguro’s head to slam into the window. He was still breathing, though barely, and could still move his upper half. He couldn’t feel anything below his waist. There was blood on the window his head hit, and the boy could feel the back of his head grow increasingly wetter. Deep breaths, Fushiguro placed a hand on the top of his skull, preparing to drop once he released his seat belt. 3… 2… Fushiguro noticed the pungent smell of gasoline grow stronger. Ah, the fuel tank must have been damaged. Fushiguro prayed for any bit of fortune he could have, but the deities above must have been ignoring him that day. The car erupted into flames, and Megumi Fushiguro felt something that he would have never imagined he would feel again just weeks before; the desire to live. He couldn’t die now, not when life was just starting to look better. Itadori would be sad to see Fushiguro join him so soon. He released his seat belt, not caring about the impact that the drop had on his head. He knew he’d surely die if he wasn’t fast enough. Pushing against his door, he desperately tried to open it. Oh, it's against the tree. Fushiguro struggled over to the passenger door, still hopeful for his survival. Smoke filled the boy's lungs, asphyxiating him. Weakly, he reached to unlock the door. His hand gripped the handle and, through the window, he saw the distraught face of Yuuji Itadori. This time, instead of being in a field or their house, he was enveloped with a white light behind him and the thundering sounds of a nearby river filled Fushiguro’s ears. Tears rolled down both boys’ cheeks. Fushiguro pushed the door open and crawled through.
Now face-to-face with the love of his now completed life, Fushiguro noticed that his legs felt fine. He took a deep breath and ran his hands against the back of his head. Dry. Itadori wiped his tears from his eyes and reached to wipe Fushiguro’s.
“Megumi,” Itadori said through sobs.
“Yuuji,” Fushiguro responded breathlessly. He knew it wasn’t a curse this time. The warmth he felt was too real–too authentic–to be a recreation. If he’s here, that means I’m… It dawned on the boy that their overwhelmingly bright surroundings weren't tricks of light. He was dead. An arm wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. Fushiguro recognized the motion, having been met by it so many times before. “Gojo-sensei?” A bitter-sweet expression was plastered across his father’s face.
“So soon, Megumi?” Gojo ruffled his hair affectionately. Megumi opened his mouth to speak, to do anything but just stand there like an idiot. After realizing he had nothing, he just wrapped his arms back around his dad; something he wished he had done more often when they were both alive.
Megumi Fushiguro’s body was found an hour after the fires were extinguished. Days passed before the media revealed the death of another one of the country’s most promising competitive drivers. They spoke of how sad his life must have been, having no living relatives to mourn him. Some grieved his death itself; there were no inhabitants of the land for miles, meaning he was sure to have died alone. Others theorized that his death was a suicide, induced by his resentment for life itself. Fushiguro died the happiest he had ever been, though. He was where he needed to be: with the love of his life.