Archive of Our Own

Two weeks. 

It had been two weeks of “I’m glad you’re alive” and “don’t go dying on me” and Itadori was just about ready to rip his own head off before Sukuna even got the chance. Two weeks after the bridge incident, and Fushiguro had to be flirting with him. He had to. 

Itadori was new to this whole “romance” thing. And he knew he wasn’t exactly the brightest tack in the shed. But even he couldn’t be missing these signs. Right? Right?

Itadori had been whipped from the very beginning, that much he could admit. He’d spent most of that time daydreaming with hearts in his eyes but assuming that, realistically, nothing would ever come of it. Like, come on, Fushiguro got hit on so often that Gojo had created defense plans in preparation. Several of them! It was crazy to think he’d ever even bother with someone like Itadori. 

But then…who could say. Something seemed to shift. Maybe it was after they got promoted, or maybe all the way back to the detention center. Regardless, Itadori sensed something had changed in their dynamic. Fushiguro kept his gaze for a little longer. The lingering looks started going both ways.

The bottom line: he had a shot. Maybe. Sort of. Enough. 

Enough to justify trying. Itadori prided himself on giving things his all, even if that meant failing spectacularly from time to time. Whatever the case, he was going to do it. He was going to confess to Fushiguro. 

He’d made up his mind on his own a few days ago. Now he was just…waiting for the right moment. If Kugisaki knew what he was planning, she would probably tell him he was stalling, but she didn’t know about his plan. In fact, nobody did. Itadori didn’t think he could survive if he had to tell his friends he got let down.

“Hey,” he knocked on the thin door to Fushiguro’s bedroom one afternoon, lightly pushing it open. The knock was just a formality; they both knew the door was open and Itadori was welcome in whenever he wanted. That was just one of many things that had changed in the past couple weeks. 

Today is the day, Itadori told himself, dragging his bag in behind him. We’re gonna do homework, we’re gonna talk, and I’m gonna tell him. Casual. Very casual. 

He tried to look suave as he plopped down on Fushiguro’s desk chair, but he probably just looked silly. It was bound to be suspicious if he’d dressed up or anything for their usual Thursday night homework sessions, but he’d still tried to comb his hair a little bit and put on Axe. He couldn’t tell if it was working. Fushiguro just stayed on his bed, silently watching as Itadori entered the room. 

“Tch, I can’t believe Gojo is making us do actual algebra,” Fushiguro said after a moment, looking through his papers. 

Oh, so we’re really doing homework, Itadori thought, slightly surprised. They didn’t always slack off, but more often than not these “study sessions” were just an excuse to chat and play videogames on a weeknight. Cool, cool. I can work with homework. 

“I honestly got lost when we started adding the letters,” said Itadori, fishing through his bag for the worksheet Fushiguro was looking at. 

“That was, like, three years ago.” 

“I moved around a lot as a kid!” Itadori grew defensive, finally pulling out the wrinkled, beat up sheet of paper. He didn’t have folders or anything in his bag, so papers tended to get crushed. “I didn’t have a stable math education.” 

“It’s literally standardized.” 

“Your mom is standardized.” 

“My mom is dead.”

“Mine too,” Itadori stuck his tongue out in the direction of Fushiguro. “You’re not special.” 

The black haired sorcerer sighed, digging his palms into his eyes as a show of exasperation, but Itadori could see through him. He saw the way that his mouth quirked into a thin line, betraying his amusement. 

Itadori found his paper, and their banter subsided for a moment as they both tried to focus. 

“Uh, what did you get for number seven?” Itadori asked after a few minutes of giving it his best effort.

“Thirty four.”

“What! How did you do that?” Itadori clambered into Fushiguro’s bed, trying to get a look at his paper.

“Hey, no fair! Do your own work!” Fushiguro held the worksheet out of his line of sight. 

“What? That’s what friends are for!” Itadori argued back, but he couldn’t help laughing a little, almost falling into Fushiguro’s lap in his effort to grab the paper that was evading his grasp. He crawled forward on all fours, grasping at the paper until it was easier to just push Fushiguro down into the crashpad of pillows at the top of his mattress. 

Their fight devolved into a play wrestling match on top of the bed, both grappling for dominance with the paper forgotten. Itadori was laughing, and soon Fushiguro was laughing too. They rolled around, pushing and shoving. The homework lay abandoned beside them. 

Eventually, Fushiguro played dirty. While Itadori grappled from above, nearly straddling his kicking legs, Fushiguro jabbed two fingers into his windpipe. He fell over, coughing and spluttering, onto his back with his head inches from Fushiguro’s. 

“Dick,” he managed to choke out, holding his throat.

“You started it,” Fushiguro responded petulantly. 

They both paused for a moment. The room filled with the sound of their heavy breathing. They were mere inches apart, both laying down across Fushiguro’s bed. 

Itadori looked over his shoulder, and found that Fushiguro’s eyes were already trained on his. His breathing faltered, and he suddenly found his mouth very dry.

This is it. This is the time. The voice in his head screamed at him to get a move on, but Itadori found he was unable to speak. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Just tell him you like him. It’s not the end of the world.

“I—,” he started.

“You—,” Fushiguro said at the same time.

They both flushed. 

“Oh, you can go—“

“No, you go first—“

“Oh, I didn’t—Ok.” Fushiguro took a deep breath, turning his gaze away from Itadori. He stared at the ceiling determinedly. 

“You…Itadori, you’re special to me.”

Itadori couldn’t breathe.

“You’re special to me, too.”

“I just…I’ve never had anyone like you in my life before. I’ve never had anyone who made me feel…” He turned back towards Itadori, deep blue eyes meeting warm brown. Itadori refused to turn away, even though he felt like he was burning up from the inside.

“Yeah?”

“Who made me feel…like I was their best friend.”

Itadori nearly choked. 

“I—I’ve never had a best friend either,” he said after a long pause. “I’m really glad you’re my…best friend.”

He looked once again at Fushiguro’s face. He was staring at him, and, after a second, his mouth jerked awkwardly. Fushiguro was smiling. It looked foreign and a little uncomfortable, to be honest, but Itadori couldn’t help thinking it looked nice. He looked nice. He flushed a deeper shade of red, and abruptly tore his eyes away.

“I don’t think I’m doing any more of that math homework tonight,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. His voice was strained as he tried desperately to calm his pounding heart. He felt like he’d just had a near miss with a bullet. Tense, on edge. 

“We have time,” Fushiguro said thoughtfully. 

“We do.” 

“Here,” Fushiguro lifted himself off the bed with a grunt, rubbing the back of his neck while he looked around the room. “Let’s watch one of your dumb space movies.”

“You mean Star Wars?” Itadori’s brow furrowed as Fushiguro located his laptop. “Those are classics! They’re not dumb.”

“I guess we’ll see,” said Fushiguro, sounding unconvinced. But Itadori knew that, whatever front he put on, Fushiguro wanted to watch them with him. He looked forward to these study nights as much as Itadori did, and he knew full well that they never ended in studying. 

They watched the movie on Fushiguro’s bed, hovering inches away from each other in a desperate effort to maintain the platonic nature of their relationship. To Itadori, the inches separating him from Fushiguro felt like miles. The gaping chasm between them echoed back the conversation they’d had. 

Best friend, he thought. Maybe the plan was stupid anyways. I don’t need to tell him after all. Best friend is good enough. 

He wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he’d rather be silent than ruin what they had right now. So he sat, and he watched the movie, and he let the miles between them go unmentioned.

Some other night. Yeah.

***

Best friend. 

The words echoed over his shoulder and Fushiguro whipped his head around as if looking for the source of the noise. Even though he knew damn well the taunting jab had come from some sordid space within his own head. Best friend. Embarrassment unfolded in his gut while he screwed his eyes shut against the memory. 

“God damnit!” he exclaimed, pushing his chair back from his desk with an unnecessary shove. Everything rattled with the force, and his laptop quivered on its hinges. His browser remained open, however, and the dog he’d just tamed blinked up at him, as if to say really? Crashing out over Minecraft? You’ve hit a new low, man.

Fushiguro huffed out in irritation, trying to control himself. He had hit a new low; even his stupid digital wolf was looking up judgmentally from his dark, square eyes. So much for having a relaxing afternoon. 

It was early evening on a Saturday. The sun was setting, the air was warm, and Gojo was out of the country, meaning Fushiguro could finally get a few days off. But far from taking it easy and having fun, he was wound tight as a coil. Best friend, what a stupid thing to say.

No, it wasn’t stupid. It was true. Itadori was his best friend, and Fushiguro had never had a friend like him before. If he was being brutally honest, he hadn’t really had a friend before high school (no, Gojo didn’t count). So, yeah, Itadori was special to him. That just wasn’t what he had meant to say. 

Fushiguro wasn’t what people would typically describe as “nice” or even “pleasant.” He knew that his bad traits tended to outweigh his good. But he wasn’t a liar, and he wasn’t a coward. And yet, on Thursday, he’d been both. He’d lied to himself. He’d told himself he was going to sit down with Itadori, and have the conversation that had been burning behind his lips for weeks now. But he couldn’t. He was a coward. 

What, he was worried about how Itadori would respond? What a cop out. Fushiguro’s whole thing was not caring about what anyone thought. When had that changed? 

Years ago, if he was being honest. Ever since that albino deviant stalked him on his way home from elementary school and promptly forced his way into his life. But that was a conversation he wasn’t willing to have yet. Easier to keep people at arm’s length. 

Easier to keep everyone far away, where Fushiguro was just a hazy concept: badass, calculating, and totally untouchable. That’s just how life worked—some people were built to…let people in, or whatever. Some people lit up a room, made you feel included. Some people could move the tides with the gravitational pull of their smile. Gojo. Tsumiki. Hell, even Kugisaki.

Itadori. 

But not Fushiguro. He wasn’t one of those people. 

And yet…he wanted. He was selfish, and this was just another thing he coveted. Stupid pink hair and hands that could punch through walls and a sunny beam that would never betray the power brimming beneath his skin. He wanted what he did not deserve, but, because he was selfish, he was going to try anyway. It’s what he did. He was an honest guy, and he wasn't afraid to own up to his feelings when necessary. And when Itadori inevitably shot him down for someone who was soft, kind, warm, and all the other things Fushiguro was not, it would be okay. Because Fushiguro would have been honest, and that’s what mattered to him. 

That had been the plan, at least. But he was a coward. Best friend echoed again in the silence of the bedroom.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, standing up from his desk and stretching his arms above his head. He couldn’t keep wallowing. And besides, he was starting to get a cramp in his ass. Some other time, he thought, I’ll tell him some other time. 

While he stretched and sighed and generally felt bad for himself, his stomach rudely interrupted to remind him of how long he’d been camped at his desk. He needed to eat something. And he should probably drink some water while he was at it. 

The kitchen was, blessedly, Itadori-free. Not that he was avoiding his friend, because he wasn’t, but now just…wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the time for feelings, platonic or otherwise. He just needed to shove some food down his throat and figure out his next move.  

“Watcha making?” A voice snapped him out of his dissociative headspace several minutes later. He looked down at the pot of water in front of him, quickly approaching a rolling boil on the stove top. 

“Uh…” His eyes darted over to the carton of Kraft mac and cheese he had already pulled out of the cabinet. 

“Oh, mac and cheese! Awesome,” said Kugisaki, waltzing into the kitchen. She slung her arm over his shoulder and affixed him with a smile that was at once too-bright and devoid of light. 

“Do you want some?” Fushiguro asked perfunctorily, because obviously she did. That was probably the only reason she’d come into the kitchen in the first place—because she saw his mop of dark hair and figured that whatever he was cooking up was bound to be leagues better than anything she could manage. Even if it was only boxed mac and cheese. 

“You know, I wouldn’t mind,” Kugisaki said, as if she’d just then considered the idea. “Yeah, if you could make another box.”

He hummed a response, grabbing another off the shelf. They often interacted in this way, Kugisaki telling him what she expected wordlessly, and Fushiguro responding as if he’d come up with the idea himself. It spared both of themselves from a deeper sort of conversation. One where Kugisaki had to ask for things and Fushiguro had to admit that he cared what other people wanted. No, much easier to keep it this way. Playing the pretend game. 

“So,” Kugisaki lifted herself onto the kitchen counter, “I’ve been thinking—“

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Fuck off,” she scowled. “I was gonna do you a favour, for the record. But never mind now.”

Fushiguro huffed, and it was almost a laugh. “What is it?” he asked after a moment, to satiate her pride. 

“Well,” she looked smug, “I happen to know a guy who knows a guy, and someone from my hometown who goes to university in the city is hosting a party next Saturday. I was wondering if you and Itadori wanted to come?” 

Fushiguro didn’t respond, too busy rifling through the refrigerator for butter and milk. He took in her offer wordlessly, turning it over in his mind. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” She insisted after he went several seconds without reply. “It’s a house party, no IDs or cops or nothing! It’s pretty cool of me to be invited with all these college kids, to be honest. You should thank me.”

“Thank you,” Fushiguro said dryly, still not sure how to answer. 

He stirred the noodles into the pot, moving automatically and letting his thoughts run. He wasn’t a fan of big crowds, loud noises, or really anything of the party variety. But he did like drinking. And, after all, he was looking for an opportunity like this, wasn’t he? 

Kugisaki babbled on beside him, mostly speculating on what she should wear and how excited Fushiguro should be to come. He ignored her, and she faded into a dull buzz in one ear. 

I want to ask him on a date, don’t I? He reasoned. What better opportunity than this? Even if Fushiguro wasn’t the biggest party guy, he could suck it up for an evening. Maybe even have fun. And Itadori would no doubt love it—the socializing, the high-energy atmosphere, the stupid party games. That all seemed right up his alley. 

Maybe Fushiguro didn’t have to confess. Maybe a heavy, touchy-feely talk wasn’t the right way to go about this after all. He’d proven that on Thursday, hadn’t he? He had no follow through. But this—a date—he could manage. 

Fuck, maybe he should thank Kugisaki. She’d planted the opportunity right at his feet. All he had to do was reach out and grab it. 

“Okay,” he said finally, reaching over the stove to turn the burners off. 

“But blue totally doesn’t go with—wait, really?” she exclaimed, eyes popping open wide. “Sweet! I didn’t think you’d be up for it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing, I just—you don’t really go out with us.”

“I’m out with you all the time,” his eyes narrowed while he poured boiled water out into the sink. Steam clouded his vision. 

“Work doesn’t count.” She flicked his ear, hopping down from the counter. “This is going to be so much fun!”

He grunted, opting not to answer while he finished cooking. Never go out, he thought, I’ll show her. I’ll go out so hard. And I’ll have a date, too. Beat that, Kugisaki. 

Well, he would try his best to have a date, anyways. He didn’t have any clue what would happen when he asked Itadori out. Usually he was pretty good at reading people, but Itadori made it hard. He was just so goddamn nice all the time. It was difficult to tell when he was being genuine versus when he was just trying to spare someone’s feelings. Fushiguro didn’t want to be a recipient of one of those half-assed grins while Itadori tried to figure out how to let him down easy. 

But risk was part of the game, which was what brought Fushiguro to awkwardly fidget in front of Itadori’s door several hours later. He’d mulled it over a little bit more, largely while Kugisaki talked in one ear and out the other about the latest season of some American reality show, and decided that this was what he wanted to do. He wanted to ask Itadori, point blank, if he would go out with him. He didn’t want to give some mushy speech about how much he cared, how much Itadori made him feel. He wanted a question that Itadori could answer for him. And if he said no, he’d go out anyway. Get trashed and tolerate college kids and force Kugisaki to take care of him. 

He raised his hand to knock on Itadori’s door, feeling stupid at the formality. He didn’t even know if Itadori was there. He could be out exploring the city or training or just hanging out with someone else. Yeah, he reasoned, I don’t even know if he’s home. I shouldn’t rush into this. I should…

He should go back. Sit down on his bed and devour some novel he’s already read and deal with this feelings stuff some other time. He had a week, after all. Tons of time to ask. Yeah, he really shouldn’t make any rash decisions. 

Just as he was preparing to step back and return to his own room down the hall, someone else made the choice for him. The door swung out, almost knocking him square across the face. 

“Oh, Fushiguro! I was just gonna look for you.” Itadori grinned, seeing his friend waiting behind the door he’d just opened. 

“Oh,” said Fushiguro flatly, refusing to acknowledge the way his stomach swooped at those words. 

“Were you—did you want something?” Itadori tilted his head when he asked the question, and Fushiguro had to fight down the mental image of his Minecraft dog that swam to the surface of his memory. 

“Kind of,” Fushiguro bit his lip, “can I come in?”

“Yeah, oh, yeah! For sure. Uh, mind the mess, I guess,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, stepping back to let Fushiguro into the room. 

It was a nightmare. Like, as if a hundred hurricanes had swept through his room. Clothes littered every possible surface, and an assortment of other random objects coated the floor. Fushiguro was pretty sure he saw a toothbrush jammed into a pencil sharpener, lying atop a heap of socks at the foot of his bed. 

“This is worse than it usually is,” Fushiguro snickered, picking his way across the room and settling on Itadori’s bed. “I didn’t even know you owned this much crap.” 

“I told you there was a mess!” Itadori defended, hopping on the bed beside Fushiguro. “I was actually gonna go find you about that, though. Have you seen my dvd copy of Godzilla 4?”

Fushiguro blinked at him. “No.”

“Damn,” he looked dejected, “I really thought you might’ve.”

“I cannot stress enough how much I do not care about Godzilla 4.”

“What, what do you mean?” Itadori looked affronted. “Have you even seen it?”

Fushiguro scoffed. “I don’t need to see it—it’s called Godzilla 4. Trust me, I think I’m good.”

Itadori spouted some retort about not respecting good media, which quickly divulged into the two of them arguing over which comic book superhero they could take in a fight. Before either of them knew it, Fushiguro was helping Itadori clean up his room, and both of them had entirely forgotten about why he’d come over in the first place.

This was what Fushiguro would miss the most if Itadori shot him down. The casual nature of their closeness. The domesticity. He’d never had a friend who he would help to clean up their room before. He doubted he ever would again. 

Fushiguro snapped to attention quickly, his wandering mind reminding him of why he was over at Itadori’s to begin with. The mission he’d set out to achieve. He glanced across the room at his friend, who was folding socks begrudgingly. Somehow, it was cute. The way his eyebrows scrunched when he searched for a matching pair. The light that sparked behind his eyes when he found one. 

“Uh,” Fushiguro’s throat went dry. He set the earbuds he’d been untangling on the desk behind him, and stepped closer to his friend. “Itadori?”

“Yeah?” Itadori looked up, getting to his feet and leaving the socks on the ground. “What’s up?”

“I was talking to Kugisaki earlier,” he focused on a chip in the paint just above Itadori’s left shoulder. “She was telling me about—she asked me—well,” he coughed, “there’s a party this Saturday. Down in the city at some university townhouse. Somehow she knows the host, and she’s invited.” 

“That sounds fun! I’ve never been to a party before,” Itadori jumped on the idea, dropping the socks that he was holding. “Doesn’t really seem like your scene, though.” 

“Yeah, it’s not,” Fushiguro admitted, summoning his courage to shift his gaze onto Itadori’s face. Their eyes met, and he suddenly felt kind of stupid, like he couldn’t make the words come out how he wanted. “I don’t usually—I’ve never—parties, y’know?”

Itadori nodded, being kind as Fushiguro fumbled for what he wanted to say. 

“But, it seems like something you would like. And we’re invited. So I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?” His eyes were back on the paint chip. He couldn’t do it, not with Itadori’s doe-eyed look directed at him. But the words were out, that’s all that mattered. They floated around, bouncing off the tacky posters and framed knick knacks that adorned Itadori’s walls. Fushiguro didn’t even have a chance to take a breath and appreciate what he’d said before Itadori was responding. 

“Oh, sure!” he grinned, “we should totally go! It’ll be a nice change of pace.” 

“No,” he felt himself saying. He wasn’t getting it. “Itadori, I’m asking you to come with me. I’m asking you,” his breath hitched, and he brought his eyes back to Itadori’s. His expression had changed, narrowing slightly and holding an understanding that Itadori rarely possessed, like things were starting to click. “I’m asking if you and me, if we can go together.” He emphasized the last word, and Itadori was silent for a moment afterwards. 

They stared at each other. Light pink dusted Itadori’s cheekbones, and Fushiguro realized then that he was blushing, too. Everything in him begged to look away, to storm out of the room or make a fuss or do something to cut through the seconds of silence that sat thick against his eardrums. But he wouldn’t, not like last time. No fake outs. 

“Yeah.” Itadori grinned. “Yeah, I think I get it.” He swallowed, wiping his hands against the sides of his pants before sticking them in his hoodie pockets. “I’d really, really like that Fushiguro. It sounds fun.” Now it was Itadori’s turn to look away, eyes darting around at the various piles of clothes on his bedroom floor. He seemed pensive, which he rarely ever was. His blush darkened. 

“Cool, cool,” said Fushiguro, nodding automatically. “I’m gonna, um, start on your closet, if that’s alright? Your hangers are all twisted up.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Itadori’s head jerked back towards the offending closet. “That’s probably a good idea. I’m almost done with socks. I think I’ll make a laundry run.” 

“Right.” Fushiguro stepped towards the closet, and the moment dissipated. Fuck, he thought, fuck that was awkward. That was awful. 

But, another voice jumped in, it’s done. Not only was it done, it paid off. He said yes, Fushiguro realized, pulling a hoodie onto its hanger. He actually said yes. Itadori is going out with me. 

He didn’t bother controlling the smile that crept up on his lips. His face flushed while he worked, and he wasn’t even annoyed by the catastrophic mess of Itadori’s closet. 

The two boys worked in relative silence over the next hour. By then, it was late enough that Fushiguro could excuse himself for bed without seeming like he was trying to avoid him. 

Alone, in his room, Fushiguro stared up at the ceiling and finally let himself realize what had happened that afternoon. He played their conversation over and over again in his head, and the full weight of it settled on his chest. Itadori was going out with him. Itadori, presumably, liked him. No, they hadn’t discussed it in full, but that was a conversation best left to the party itself, under dim lights and with the alcohol as a shock absorber. If Fushiguro fell asleep with a smile pasted to his lips, that was nobody’s business but his own. 

***

Monday morning brought Gojo back, for better or for worse. Apparently his journey to somewhere along the Balkan coast—judging by the artful assortment of ceramics and thick, sweet candies he brought back—had done nothing to dampen his energy. They were onsite facing a group of cursed spirits that had occupied an old wing of a hospital that very morning. Despite the three of them each being up for Grade 1 promotion, Gojo insisted that they work together as much as possible. Something about not letting each other drift apart, or whatever. 

The spirits were hardy and numerous, but Itadori, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki were good at their jobs. As they rounded up the last of them, Fushiguro thought the whole exercise was good for getting his blood pumping, but not much else. He’d barely even used his shikigami the entire time. 

“Dammit,” he heard Kugisaki hiss somewhere to his left. He whipped his head around just in time to see her beating one of the smaller ones to death with her hammer. “You bastard!” she screeched, “I’m gonna have to go back across town looking like this!” 

He noticed then that her uniform was torn, likely by one of the many arms of the spirit she was currently mashing into a fine pulp. It didn’t seem like a bad tear, and there was minimal blood to be seen. “Don’t freak,” he said, knowing that it would do nothing to stop her from freaking. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she glared at him. Itadori crushed the last cursed spirit as they were talking, and Fushiguro shrugged while he made his way towards the exit of the building. “Hey, don’t just walk away!” she insisted, following him down the stairwell. “I seriously can’t go out like this.” 

“Kugisaki, what’s wrong—oh,” Itadori ran up behind her, drawing back breath when he saw what she meant. The three of them stopped on one of the landings, and Fushiguro turned to see exactly what she was talking about. 

Her shirt was torn almost straight down the middle, flapping a little in the damp breeze of the stairwell and not at all something Fushiguro wanted to see at 11 in the morning (or ever, really). 

“Do you want—I can give you,” Itadori started to say, and Fushiguro could see that he was already poised to start taking his own shirt off. 

“Fine,” said Kugisaki, clearly looking uncomfortable with having to accept help from him, but seceding when she looked down again at her tattered uniform. 

“Do you have to—” Fushiguro started to say, voice catching in his throat, but by then Itadori had already torn his shirt off and handed it to Kugisaki. 

“What’s wrong?” he cocked his head, and Fushiguro turned an ugly shade of red. He looked down at the grimy concrete landing, and muttered something about Itadori always taking his clothes off for no reason. 

“Well, I’m grateful,” Kugisaki said to be a dick, throwing an arm around Itadori’s bare shoulder. “Plus, look at those abs! You should find a reason to take your shirt off at the mixer—you’ll be a hit!” she beamed. 

“Mixer?” Fushiguro looked up. He and Itadori had said it at the same time. 

“The singles mixer,” she blinked between the two of them, pulling her arm back. “It was a joke, Jesus. You don’t have to be weird about it.” She started down the stairs once again. Fushiguro followed her, belatedly comprehending her words. 

“Singles mixer?” Itadori said after several seconds. Fushiguro and Kugisaki turned back to see him still on the landing above him, face blank and eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“The party this Saturday?” Kugisaki looked at him. “Fushiguro said you were coming,” she side-eyed him, “aren’t you?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Itadori said weakly. “He did ask me…I mean, I am.” His brow furrowed. “I’m cold,” he announced eventually, words echoing in the awkward space of the stairwell. “I’m gonna go outside.” 

With that, he started down the steps, not pausing when he passed Kugisaki or Fushiguro. They heard him round the corner at the bottom of the stairwell, the exit door swinging shut behind them. 

“That was weird.” Kugisaki scoffed, coming back to herself and following Itadori’s path. 

“What did you mean, singles mixer?” Fushiguro finally asked. “That’s not what you first told me when you mentioned the party.” 

“Uh, yeah I did?” She looked at him quizzically. They were much slower taking the stairs than Itadori had been. “Were you not listening? I gave you a whole story about it.” 

“Oh. No, I guess I wasn’t listening.” Fushiguro said bluntly. 

“You always do this,” she sighed. “The guy who’s hosting it just broke up with his long-term girlfriend. It’s like a party for single people to meet other single people. There are gonna be a lot of people there our age, so don’t worry about that. You don’t have to mingle if you don’t want to, you can totally just go there to party. I’m not trying to, I don’t know, pressure you or whatever.” 

“No, I’m not worried about that,” he shook his head. They had reached the bottom of the stairs. The exit sign gleamed in front of them, taunting him with its bright red lettering, reminding him of his stupid blush. He made a move to push through the door, but Kugisaki’s arm stopped him. 

“I’m serious, what’s up? You and Itadori both seemed disappointed. You really don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” 

“I know that,” he snapped. He was about to push past her despite her efforts to talk, but then he remembered who was waiting on the other side of the door. His hand faltered. “I thought it was just a party,” he said after a beat. 

“Like I said, you can still just treat it like it is.” 

“I asked Itadori to come with me.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay? I know that. That’s why he’s coming.” 

“No,” he looked at her. “I asked him out. I asked him to this party like I was asking him out. On a…on a fucking…”

“On a date.” She supplied for him, looking floored. “Oh my god,” her eyes widened, “you! You and Itadori! You like h—”

He slammed a palm over her mouth. “He’s right outside,” he hissed. “Yes. Yes, okay. I asked him out on a date to a singles mixer.” 

A whole host of emotions ran across her face at once. “Oh my god,” she whispered, prying his hand off of her face. “Well, did he say yes?” 

“Fucking, obviously. But now he thinks that—I don’t know what he thinks. It can’t be good.” 

“Hm,” she looked off to the side, contemplating. “That’s bad.” 

“You think I don’t know that!”

“But don’t worry, not all is lost!” She clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Just leave it to me, I promise I’ll sort things out.” 

That was the last thing Fushiguro wanted, if he was being honest. But…well, he clearly wasn’t very good at this on his own. He was going 0 for 2 right now. Kugisaki at least seemed like she had some experience in that arena. The way she drifted off sometimes when she talked about her hometown. Some of the names she’d dropped over the months. Fushiguro didn’t like to assume, but maybe this was a safe bet. Maybe he should let someone take the reins. 

“Fine.” He said curtly. “Just not here. And don’t get it twisted,” he locked his gaze upon hers. “I am not asking you for help with boy problems. Nobody hears about this.”

“Of course,” she grinned, “I would never betray your bleeding heart.” With that, she slammed the door open and walked out to where Itadori and Gojo were waiting. 

My heart is not bleeding, he fumed internally, following her and trying not to look at Itadori. 

***

“He didn’t get out again, did he?” Gojo’s brow furrowed beneath the black blindfold. He popped another foreign sweet into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully while he waited for his student to respond. 

Itadori had no clue what he was talking about. His heart was racing and stomach was uneasy and his mind was filled with nothing but hollow voices echoing around a dirty, unused stairwell. 

Singles mixer. What was wrong with him? Why had he…he’d actually thought…

Fushiguro just wanted a wingman. A wingman in a house full of cool, drunk college girls. And Itadori was an idiot who had never been asked out on a date before. He thought he knew what he was doing. Clearly he didn’t. 

Good thing you never got around to confessing, huh. The voice in his head was cruel; he almost wondered if Sukuna was talking to him. Regardless, it was right. All Itadori would have done is embarrass himself. He’d already done enough of that. 

A clicking pervaded his senses and he realized Gojo was snapping to get his attention. He looked at his teacher, who was frowning. “Why’s your shirt off, kid?”

“Oh,” he looked down. His shirt was off. That always seemed to be happening to him. “I took it off.” 

“I sent you guys up there to take care of cursed spirits. Not to…whatever you do on your time off.” Gojo shook his head, mouth quirked in amusement.

“Kugisaki’s shirt was torn. I thought I should…it was dumb.”

“Sounds like you were being chivalrous.” 

Itadori frowned. That was the problem. The big, stinking problem. He hadn’t done it for Kugisaki. He’d been trying to impress Fushiguro. Stupid, he thought. Stupid thing to do. 

As if summoned by their conversation, he vaguely noted rising voices coming from inside the stairwell. Kugisaki seemed to be shouting at Fushiguro. Of course they noticed how I acted. Go right out and tell everyone that you thought Fushiguro was asking you out, why don’t you?

“What are they—” Gojo started to walk towards the stairwell, but, just then, the door slammed open, and Kugisaki walked out with Fushiguro in tow. 

Gojo grilled them on what had taken so long. Itadori stared at the ground and continued feeling sorry for himself. The ride home was long and awkward, while Itadori did everything in his power to act like Fushiguro wasn’t there. 

Usually he sat in the middle. He didn’t mind the crowding and it allowed him to talk equally with Fushiguro and Kugisaki. Often, the two of them would lay on his shoulders when they passed out. It was a good balance. 

Today, however, he rushed to the car first, pointedly taking the left side, the side opposite of where Fushiguro always sat. He didn’t think he could handle talking at the moment. And Fushiguro definitely didn’t want to talk to him, based on the way he was ducking his head and barely speaking—even more quiet and cut off than usual. 

Kugisaki, for once, didn’t seem to bitch about someone taking her car seat. She sat in the middle without comment, which only cemented Itadori’s assumption that they had noticed his odd behavior. Christ, now even Kugisaki was pitying him?

By the time they got back to campus, the sun was up to its full height in the middle of the sky. Itadori was hungry and tired and irate, but, above all, he was disappointed. Part of him wanted to be angry—probably the part of his soul that sat closest to Sukuna—but Itadori just couldn’t stop thinking about how happy he’d been. For those two, short days his worries had been eclipsed by the overwhelming, Earth-shattering belief that Fushiguro liked me back. He should’ve known it was too good to last. 

When the car pulled into the school, he slunk off on his own, muttering something about grabbing food. He knew that Fushiguro and Kugisaki couldn’t stand to sit around in their dirty uniforms after a mission, which meant that he had a safe period of time to be in the kitchen before either of them would be around. 

Usually, he would try to seek out someone to talk to at a time like this. Itadori wasn’t one to bottle up his feelings. He’d always been told that was unhealthy. With a pang to his chest, he found himself wishing that he could sit down with his grandfather one last time. Lounge around and tell him everything and maybe start to get a grip on what he should do next. His new friends were great, that was for sure, but it just wasn’t the same. Plus, all of them knew Fushiguro. He couldn’t talk to anyone about how he was feeling without revealing the whole humiliating backstory.

Instead, he spent thirty minutes shoving microwave ramen down his throat and hoping that he’d choke to death on one of the noodles. By the time he left the kitchen, still shirtless and grimy, he at least felt like he had moped sufficiently for the day. He trudged back to his room, pretending he didn’t feel the tension in the air when he passed by Fushiguro’s bedroom door. Secretly, he hoped that Fushiguro would swing his door open as Itadori walked by, and….whatever. It didn’t happen. Itadori made a promise to himself at that moment that he would start living in the real world. No more fantasies. No more trying to read between the lines. 

As the door to his bedroom slammed shut behind him, he hardened his resolve. From this point forward, he was going to leave Fushiguro alone. For both of their benefits. 

***

Kugisaki was deep in thought while water ran in thick rivulets down her back. Vaguely, she noted that it was growing gradually cooler. How long have I been in here, she wondered, grabbing for the shower handle to turn the water off. 

Kugisaki was a problem solver, a planner at heart. True, she had been accused more than once of acting without thinking, but that was just because she compartmentalized. She understood that some problems were best solved with fists. But give her an issue of the social, cultural, or, dare she hope, romantic variety? She would sit all day trying to solve that puzzle. It was fun for her, and she got to help out a friend in need. Win-win.

Plus, Fushiguro’s problem was of particular importance to her. She saw these guys everyday, she didn’t think she could stand it if they suddenly became awkward around each other. And she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, even though she knew damn well she had told Fushiguro it was a singles mixer. She should have known he wasn’t listening. 

Whatever. This was fine. She would make it fine. 

When Kugisaki had first pulled up on that train to Tokyo, she had been disappointed for a few reasons. Some of them were simple naivete—she hadn’t realized how far the school was from the city center. She didn’t know they would be doing actual schoolwork on top of their sorcerer training. But some reasons were, in her opinion, a little more substantial. She hadn’t expected a class of three, including herself. She certainly hadn’t expected to be the only girl. That had worried her a little bit—she didn’t want to be treated as the weak one, and, worst of all, she didn’t want to be the only option. The only age-appropriate girl tucked away in their small, cloistered compound when pent up teenage hormones got out of hand. 

So, suffice it to say she was relieved to notice that things were going…in another direction. The first clue had been Fushiguro, who screamed “closet case” so loud that even her country bumpkin ears could detect it. Next had been…she actually wasn’t sure about Itadori. She couldn’t say whether or not something would have happened in another life. But in this one, it was pretty clear that she was not on his radar. Not in that respect, at least. Ever since they’d been to that middle school where everyone knew Fushiguro’s name, Itadori had looked at him differently. There was a tension that even she was aware of. 

Still, she’d been wrong about this type of thing before. That’s where she should start, she decided as she stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and considering again her conversation with Fushiguro. The first thing she should do is try to gauge Itadori’s interest. 

A dinner. A dinner would do it. Get them out of the school, out of this high-pressure environment. She would invite Itadori and Fushiguro, get the tension building, and then find some excuse to leave halfway through. Get them alone together. Force the date to happen.

It was perfect, fool-proof. It even had a built-in failsafe: if things didn’t seem to be heading in the direction they should, she just wouldn’t leave. The three of them had been out to eat before, it was nothing new. 

She grinned smugly, scrubbing a towel across her damp hair and feeling good about things. Fushiguro was right to come to her. She would romance them both so hard, and, when she got to speak at their wedding, everyone would know that the plan had been hers to begin with. 

***

Kugisaki wasn’t alone with Itadori until the next evening, when she noticed a pair of sneakered feet dangling from the roof in front of one of the windows along the vast corridor between classrooms and the residential building. 

How did he even get up there? She narrowed her eyes in confusion, continuing down the hall. 

Knowing Itadori, he probably jumped. Or maybe there was a big, obvious ladder she wasn’t aware of. Regardless, Kugisaki had to do things the hard way. Breathing heavily after shimmying up a drain pipe, she made a mental note to tell Fushiguro just how much she was doing for him. If this panned out, he owed her. Big time. 

“Relaxing, huh? I didn’t take you for the peace and quiet type of guy,” she announced her presence, taking a seat beside Itadori on the roof. 

“Oh, yeah,” he looked over as she sat down, apparently unbothered by her interruption. “It helps me feel a little far away from everything. Even Sukuna is quieter up here. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He nodded towards the view as he spoke, and Kugisaki shifted her gaze out onto the wide expanse in front of and below them. 

“Oh,” she breathed. It was beautiful. The sun was barely kissing the tops of the trees spread out in front of them, and golden light bathed the entire valley. She could see the sweeping curves of the mountains, temples and homes peeking out of the foliage here and there, interrupting the sea of trees and stone. In the distance, under the haze of sunset, she could see the buildings and roads of the city. Rivers snaked their way down to it, light gleaming off the running water. Wind whispered through the tree tops and swirled around her legs, dangling off the roof beside Itadori’s. 

The two of them sat there for several minutes, silent aside from the breeze. Kugisaki felt a familiar pang of love for Itadori deep in her chest. Friends had always been important to her, but it had taken months before she was willing to accept Itadori and Fushiguro into that closest ring of her heart. She remembered once more what she’d come up to the roof for. Her resolve to help them out grew stronger than ever. Itadori was just so good, good in a way she was not. He deserved nice things. And it wasn’t fair that he was at their school with them instead of off living whatever simple life he’d been living before. It wasn’t fair that—that he had to—that after everything, they were just gonna—

It wasn’t fair that every step they took towards hunting down those cursed fingers was another step towards the end of his life. 

“Hey, Itadori,” she said softly, trying to derail that train of thought, as she always did. “We should get out of this place, shouldn’t we? Just for a night.”

He looked at her, but didn’t say anything. His hair waved a little in the wind, and she noticed how tired he looked. Drained, even. 

“Are you talking about the—,”

“I’m not talking about the party.”

“Oh.” 

Something flitted in his expression. 

“You don’t have to go to that,” she frowned and looked down. “It probably won’t be as much fun as I thought anyways.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let’s go to dinner,” she looked over at him. “Somewhere in the city. We can go back to Roppongi, do it right this time.”

“Yeah, for sure,” he grinned, “just us? Or would…”

“Fushiguro, too,” she asserted. He seemed, somehow, nervous when she said that. He nodded assertively and looked back out across the horizon. He seemed to be thinking deeply, which was out of character. 

“Say,” she said eventually, trying to keep her voice casual, “what do you think of Fushiguro? Like, as a friend?”

Itadori’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline when she said that. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and shifted on the tiled roof. He made several false starts before answering, seemingly unsure what to say. 

Weird, she thought, watching him shuffle. 

“I think he’s cool. He cares a lot, even if he doesn’t show it.”

She grunted in assent, trying to think more about how to approach things. That’s nice, Itadori. Real vanilla. Give me something raw, though. 

“He’s a nice guy.”

“Sure,” Itadori said noncommittally. 

“He’s kinda hot, isn’t he?” She cut right to the chase. She bumped his shoulder with her own, and noted that he was blushing. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, pointedly looking ahead. “You think so?”

“I’m the one asking you.”

“I guess you are.” His mouth turned into a thin line. “Have you asked him to dinner yet?”

“No,” she said honestly, “I’ll do it tonight. Now that I know you’re in.”

“Sure am,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in it. Jesus, thought Kugisaki, I’ve never seen him put out like this before.

“You, um,” she thought for a moment, “you seem disappointed. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course,” he turned to her, smiling. She was a little put off by it, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, she wasn’t gonna pry. He was probably uncomfortable being put on the spot, she reasoned. It was kind of awkward for her to be grilling him on his crush like this. 

“Ok, then,” she acquiesced. 

“I’m happy for you, Kugisaki,” he said, still grinning. “You should just ask him to dinner. You don’t need me there.”

“I want you there.”

He took in her words, nodding slowly. “Okay. Okay, then. I’ll go with you two. And, for the record, he is really pretty.”

Jackpot!

She grinned wickedly, and she opened her mouth to ask more about what he meant, but he had already pushed himself off the ledge of the roof. 

“Itadori!” she gasped, leaning forward to watch where he’d fallen. 

“What’s up?” he asked her from the ground, peering up at her, totally unscathed and generally looking confused. 

“You just fell off a roof.”

“I pushed myself off.”

“Goddamnit,” she grumbled, unwilling to let him one-up her. She pushed herself off after him, swearing as her feet slammed into the ground. “Is that how you always do that?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Of course.” 

***

Itadori felt nausea swell up in his stomach as he landed on the hard, packed earth. Kugisaki said something about going to find Fushiguro, and Itadori nodded in response, worried that if he opened his mouth his writhing guts would find their way onto her freshly shined shoes. 

Fuck. He had gone onto that rooftop in the first place for a little escape. A break from this stupid, social knot he’d found himself in. Now, things were worse than ever. 

He walked aimlessly around the outskirts of campus, every once in a while reliving parts of the conversation in lucid detail. What do you think of Fushiguro? He’s a nice guy…kinda hot. Let’s go to dinner. 

“Oh my god,” Itadori pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling a headache bloom behind his eyes. His feet trudged onwards, into the quickly darkening woods. 

“Everything is fine, everything will be fine,” he muttered, kicking rocks as he came upon them. “They’re good for each other.”

Kinda hot….nice guy…I’ll do it tonight.

They were probably off together on their own at that very moment. Laughing and planning a wonderful evening that he was, for some ungodly reason, being dragged to. 

Fushiguro and Kugisaki. Talking about dinner. Sitting together in the empty living room—maybe even one of their bedrooms—bantering, each thinking about how hot the other is. Getting closer. Locking eyes. Heads tilting, moving forward—

“Bitch!” He yelled, kicking one stone in particular so hard it made his big toe throb. Vacantly, he noted that it soared across the tree tops, whistling with speed until he could no longer identify it in the darkening sky. Serves it right. 

First he’d been worried that he humiliated himself. After the mission yesterday he couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation in the stairwell. He thought he embarrassed himself by assuming that Fushiguro was asking him out when he was actually asking for a wingman. 

But, no. The situation was so much worse than he could have ever imagined. Because Fushiguro hadn’t just been asking for any old wingman. He didn’t just want to get with random college girls. He wanted to get with Kugisaki. 

God, what an idiot he’d been. 

Kugisaki, who was assertive and knowledgeable and feminine. Who balanced out Fushiguro’s personality, brought him out of his shell. Kugisaki who was a better sorcerer than Itadori, who actually had a cursed technique while he was still puttering around with kicks and punches. They’d probably met years ago, back when Itadori was still toddling around with the rest of the ignorant non-sorcerers and Fushiguro and Kugisaki were already enrolled in advance at the school. 

Kugisaki, who Fushiguro was with right now. While Itadori wandered around the grounds and dragged patterns into the dirt path with his shoe. 

When Kugisaki had initially proposed the dinner, Itadori was excited, if a bit nervous. He had been sure that, while things between him and Fushiguro were awkward for the moment, they would smooth over eventually. That was just another hope that was dashed this evening. If he was this much of a wreck just because he misinterpreted a platonic gesture from Fushiguro, what was he gonna do when he started dating Kugisaki? There would be no reprieve. 

It wasn’t until Kugisaki asked Itadori what he thought of Fushiguro that he got suspicious. But, of course, it made sense. He was Fushiguro’s best friend (he remembered their conversation from Thursday bitterly). He was the best person for her to go to to determine if they would be good together. 

Then, then, came the nail in the coffin. Itadori sneered, staring at his feet as they marched around aimlessly. He’s a nice guy….kinda hot, isn’t he?

Why did she have to rub it in his face like that? He wanted to be happy for them. He really did. There was a lot to like about Fushiguro, he couldn’t fault Kugisaki for falling for him (obviously). And it was unfair to be mad at Fushiguro for liking her back. Neither of them owed Itadori anything. He should be happy for his friends. He should be happy that they were happy. 

But…Itadori swallowed, suddenly reaching the bank of a tiny creek running through the forest. He sat down on a large rock by the water, and watched everything glitter in the fading sunlight. 

“I’m not happy,” he whispered, sharing his secrets with the miniscule fish running between rocks and leaves in the shallow stream. “I’m not happy,” he said again, louder this time. 

It wouldn’t hurt so bad if it wasn’t such whiplash. Shock after shock. He’d let his guard down when he thought Fushiguro had asked him out. So each revelation just hurt like a blunt knife to the heart. 

He snickered derisively. If I had a nickel for every time I got my heart ripped out at Jujutsu High…

Whatever. It was whatever. He had to make them happy, that’s all he could do for the moment. His own happiness would follow. He just had to…give it time. Let things scab over. Accept the new reality. 

He would go to dinner. Hell, he would even go to that party, if Fushiguro and Kugisaki still wanted to. He would work and he would fight and he would train and he would hold onto his friendships, even if he started fading out into the background, coming second to their duo. Itadori would give Fushiguro the world if he wanted. But Fushiguro didn’t want the world. He just wanted one person. So, Itadori would let him have that. And he would stand in the background and drink up the dregs and be happy because his friends were happy. 

Selfish, emotional reasons. That was why any of them did anything, right? Fushiguro had taught him that. 

***

Dinner was on Thursday. They got permission to leave campus, which mostly just consisted of Gojo waving them out the door while he was engrossed with Yuta on the phone. They were going to a diner in Roppongi—somewhere fun, cheap, a little touristy if anything. Itadori had had scant time to really explore the city since coming to school. He’d been everywhere, of course, but only the seedier parts. Every neighborhood has an underbelly. 

This was not like that. This was three teenagers with allowances to spend and hours to waste, wearing trashy clothes and desperately trying to coordinate travel on public transit. Fushiguro knew the city well, but one of the lines was down for construction, and, while he was figuring out an alternate route, Itadori and Kugisaki had wandered off into the first stores that caught their eye. 

Things were better than Itadori had expected. By which he meant that they were almost normal. Except for the fact that Fushiguro would barely look at him and Kugisaki was looking at him a little too much. Figures, he thought, examining a Tokyo keychain in one of the shops he’d found, they don’t know how to act around me. 

He was refusing to nurture that line of thinking. After he’d gotten back to his dorm Tuesday night, he promised to himself that things would not be weird. He would let Fushiguro and Kugisaki do whatever they wanted. He wouldn’t make them feel bad for living their lives. So far, he was doing an okay job of that. At least, he could talk to Fushiguro without wanting to rip his eyeballs out of his skull. But, still, things were different. 

This explains the tension for the past few weeks, he thought, wandering past an assortment of cheesy snowglobes. Fushiguro wasn’t interested in me. He was trying to figure out how to ask me about going out with Kugisaki. 

That was why Fushiguro was so insistent on letting Itadori know he was his best friend. He wanted him to think that nothing in their relationship would change. Well, he was right. It wouldn’t change. Itadori wouldn’t let it. 

“There you are,” he heard an exasperated voice over his shoulder, grabbing his sweatshirt by the hood and yanking him out of the shop. 

“Fushiguro!” he exclaimed, hoping he came off as friendly and not desperate. “Did you finally figure it out?” 

“I figured it out ages ago. I just couldn’t find you two.” 

“Oh, well Kugisaki is just…” he turned around. Where was she? 

“Over here boys,” she walked up to them from another store. She threw an arm around Fushiguro’s shoulder, winking at Itadori. “Sorry to interrupt your alone time. Kind of a romantic atmosphere, isn’t it?”

This was going to be a very long dinner. 

They made it to the diner in decent time by Fushiguro’s standards. They got a booth by the window; big, fat cushions and a stunning view of the twinkling night lights of the entertainment district helped soften the awkwardness of their seating arrangement. At first, Kugisaki had moved towards the booth across from Fushiguro, maybe because she felt weird about Itadori being there. Itadori stepped in to block her path, grinning innocently while he slid into that side himself. He didn’t want her to change anything just because he was with them. Besides, this was supposed to be a first date for Kugisaki and Fushiguro, they should sit next to each other! 

The waitress watched the interaction unfold with an unamused gaze. By the time they had settled—Itadori on one side and Fushiguro and Kugisaki on the other—she was already looking around for which table to serve next. 

Despite the early awkwardness, Itadori held fast to his resolve to make things normal. More than that, he was determined to make this a good date for Kugisaki and Fushiguro. He wasn’t totally sure, but he felt like helping his friends get together might do something to help with the gaping wound in his own heart. Something about focusing on the things he could change, not the things he couldn’t.

The first part of dinner went well. Itadori and Kugisaki got Shirley Temples; Fushiguro got water. They told stories and joked about past traumatic events while trying to figure out what to order. If Fushiguro and Kugisaki were having an abnormal number of conversations with their eyes, Itadori was pretending not to notice. 

The first real problem started with a sharp buzz that reverberated on the diner table. Kugisaki picked up her phone, looking at whatever notification she received. Apparently, it was of interest, because she continued to look down at her phone for the next ten minutes. 

Itadori didn’t think about it initially. He was asking Fushiguro about his childhood, what it was like to grow up in the big city. Fushiguro was telling him that it was nice, that it toughened you a little. He was just starting to recount the story of the time his sister talked her way out of being mugged in high school—Itadori loved the way his expression softened whenever he talked about Tsumiki, the upward lilt of his mouth when he said something funny—when Itadori realized that Kugisaki was ignoring them. 

She was staring at her phone, clearly scrolling through social media based on the motions of her fingers and the glazed look in her eyes. Itadori hadn’t even noticed—he’d been too busy ogling Fushiguro. A wave of shame washed over him. Dammit, he thought, I’m totally hijacking their date. 

Not for the first time, he wondered why Kugisaki invited him. Clearly she must’ve wanted the courage booster, but now that he was actually there she found it unnecessary. 

“But by then—is something wrong?” Fushiguro interrupted himself, glancing between Itadori and Kugisaki when he noticed he had become distracted. 

“No, no, everything’s fine!” Itadori insisted, perhaps a little too forcefully. He had never been good at acting. “I’m wondering if everything’s okay with you,” he looked between Kugisaki and Fushiguro, who seemed confused at his questioning. 

He heard one of them kick the other under the table, probably Fushiguro kicking Kugisaki based on her reaction. He glared pointedly down at the phone in her hand. 

“Oh, sorry!” She made a show of setting her phone face down on the table. “Just letting you two catch up, I suppose.”

Itadori looked between the two of them again, and his eye caught on Fushiguro’s, who he noticed was staring at him. Not only that, but Fushiguro was blushing.  

Feeling a surge of pity for his friend, Itadori’s mind raced as he tried to think of ways to spark up conversation between the two would-be lovers. Fushiguro had asked him to be his wingman after all; Itadori couldn’t let his best friend down. 

“Cool, cool,” said Itadori, catching Kugisaki’s eye. She nodded encouragingly. “What about where you grew up, Kugisaki? Really different from the city, right?” 

She shrugged, considering, and things gradually became normal once again. They ordered their food, and Itadori tried not to think about how Kugisaki was talking significantly less than she usually did. Generally, when the three of them were out, she was the one who carried conversations. Itadori liked to tell long-winded stories, and Fushiguro would speak up when appropriate, but Kugisaki was the real socialite of the three of them. She wasn’t doing that now, much to Itadori’s disappointment. He felt like a rock in someone’s shoe. The dried up end of a loaf of bread. The very worst kind of third wheel. 

Fushiguro had barely looked at her all night. He seemed too preoccupied with Itadori. Maybe sitting across from them was a bad idea. Kugisaki’s attention wandered frequently. It was like she didn’t even want to be there. 

Nonetheless, Itadori still found moments to enjoy. He had almost entirely forgotten about the awkward circumstances of their dinner several minutes later, when Fushiguro was telling a story about Gojo from when he was in middle school that made him laugh so hard Shirley Temple shot out of his nose. 

Itadori losing his shit made Fushiguro lose his shit, and soon the two of them were being obnoxiously loud in the diner, breaking into another fit of laughter whenever one of them made eye contact with the other. Itadori couldn’t stop himself from noticing how good Fushiguro sounded when he was laughing. How nice it was to see him happy, even if it was at Gojo’s expense. He was pretty even when he was wiping tears from his eyes. Graceful even when he was receiving pointed looks from the family at the table next to them.

That moment was good. So good, in fact, that Itadori should have expected the bomb to drop. He should have seen it coming when Kugisaki picked her phone up once again, becoming engrossed in something she was reading. 

He was just debating with himself whether or not he should bring up her lack of attention, when she suddenly jerked into action. 

She and Fushiguro had another one of their eye conversations. This one was much more intense than the last one, and it ended with Kugisaki leaning to the side in their booth to whisper something in Fushiguro’s ear. His mouth set in a hard line, and he nodded once. Itadori felt like he was going to be sick. 

“I’m gonna,” she gestured out of the booth, waving with her phone in her hand. “I’ve gotta go call someone.” 

“What?” Itadori said loudly, stopping Fushiguro and Kugisaki from their efforts to get out of the booth. “You’re leaving?” 

Kugisaki swallowed. She looked fervently at Fushiguro. “Yeah, don’t mind me. I’ve just gotta—”

“You ask me to come with you to this and you’re leaving?” Itadori knew he was being unreasonable. Kugisaki could have a very valid reason for wanting to call someone. He didn’t even know if this was about him at all. He was being selfish. But, still, he hadn’t missed those vacant looks all night. Those half-assed responses and the general lack of enthusiasm. Kugisaki couldn’t give less of a shit about being here. That wasn’t fair to either of them—Fushiguro deserved someone who would give him all of their attention, and Kugisaki deserved not to feel bored. Itadori knew he was the problem at the center of all of this. Guilt fell over him like a bucket of ice water. 

“Just let her go, it’s fine,” Fushiguro interjected, looking between Kugisaki and Itadori, who were glaring at each other. 

“What are you talking about?” Itadori swiveled his head back to look at his friend. “You’re just gonna let her go?” 

“It’s just a phone call.” 

“It is not just a phone call.” He stood up in the booth, stepping out onto the main floor of the diner. Now the three of them were standing around, awkwardly hovering in front of their table. They were starting to attract weird looks. “This is supposed to be a night for you two! I keep getting in the way. I shouldn’t have come tonight to begin with, Kugisaki. I don’t know why you invited me.” His mouth twisted into a tight frown, and he looked down at the ground, not bothering to take in Kugisaki and Fushiguro’s reactions. He just couldn’t play this game anymore. He knew it made him a bad friend, but he also knew that he needed to get out of that restaurant as quickly as possible. The walls were starting to close in on him, and the feeling of Kugisaki and Fushiguro’s eyes on him were like sharp laser pricks of heat.

“This is for dinner,” he muttered, throwing a couple of bills from his wallet onto the table before turning on his heel and marching straight out of the diner. He didn’t look back to see if either of them was following him. He didn’t want to know.

***

The door had swung shut and the conversations around them had returned to their usual level of buzz by the time Fushiguro was able to blink again. For several minutes he had just been staring, still standing up in front of the booth, stomach roiling in a sea of discomfort and embarrassment. 

Things had finally been turning around. He was fixing his mess, goddamnit, and he’d thought he was doing a pretty good job. Itadori was actually talking to him; they were having fun at dinner! Not like that stairwell, where Itadori had looked lost and confused and so much like a kicked puppy it made Fushiguro sick. And not like that horrible car ride after, where Itadori had made it obvious how upset he was by sitting on the opposite side of the car, looking out the window the entire time and not speaking. 

This was the first time they’d spoken in days. That never happened. No matter what, Itadori was always making conversation with Fushiguro. He chronically could not shut up, and Fushiguro loved that about him. But now…now everything was wrong. There was still that tension between them, but it was only a hollow mimicry of what had been before, built on scarcely acknowledged awkwardness and guilt instead of desire.

When Kugisaki had told him about the dinner, he’d actually been impressed. She wasn’t half bad at coming up with schemes like this. Fushiguro never could have done it himself, that was for sure. Even as the evening started, he really let himself believe that the awkwardness could be forgotten. That things could just go back to the way they were before. Fuck, he was so blind. This was so like him; he was so used to getting by by just pretending that everything was fine. He forgot that Itadori wasn’t like that. He was too genuine, too earnest. He remembered the hurt look in his eye as he realized Kugisaki was trying to leave. You’re leaving? He’d asked, like he really couldn’t believe it.

“Kugisaki,” he turned to the girl beside him, who had taken a seat back in the booth. Her hand was twisted into her short hair, and her face was tight as she glared down at the table. She seemed to be cursing under her breath, and Fushiguro could almost feel the guilt emanating off of her in waves.

“What?” 

Fushiguro took his seat again, trying to ignore the snatches of conversation that replayed themselves in his memory. Confusion settled in against his other feelings, sidling up with the shame, disappointment, and anger he felt. This is supposed to be a night for you two. What had he meant by that? Why was he so angry when Kugisaki tried to leave? Why did he feel so out of place at their dinner? 

“How exactly did you ask Itadori to dinner?” He asked after a pause. When Kugisaki had brought the idea up to him, it seemed obvious that it was a date orchestrated for the two of them. He saw now that it had not been quite as obvious to Itadori. 

“I told you. We were on the rooftop, and I said we should get out for a night, and I told him we should grab dinner. He asked if you were coming and I said yes.” 

“Did you say anything else?”

“I mean,” her eyes darted away. “I asked what he thought about you? I wanted to see if he was interested in…in that way.” 

“Oh.” 

“I asked…” her expression shifted into one of understanding, followed quickly by discomfort. “Oh, god,” she said, “I asked if he thought you were nice. And then I asked if he thought you were hot.” 

Fushiguro ignored the flush that colored his cheeks.

“And then he said something about how he didn’t need to come to dinner, which didn’t make any sense, and he told me that you were really pretty.” 

Fushiguro sighed, face turning even pinker. “So, he totally thought that—”

“—that you and I”

“Were going on a date.” 

“Yeah.” 

“And he was the third wheel.”

“Yeah.” 

“Fuck,” said Fushiguro. 

“Fuck,” Kugisaki agreed. 

An awkward silence fell between them. Frustration and regret roiled in Fushiguro’s stomach, and then, absurdly, their food arrived. He had forgotten about that. If the waitress noticed that Itadori had disappeared, she didn’t act like it, setting his food down in the space where he’d been sitting. His Shirley Temple was still there, half finished.

Kugisaki sighed, and sat up straighter, snapping Fushiguro back to reality.

“Well,” she said with an air of resolution, “there goes that plan. What are you gonna do now?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You have to do something!” She insisted. Fushiguro glared ahead at Itadori’s chicken tenders and fries, ruminating on what Kugisaki had said. Shit, he did have to do something. This whole time he’d been scrounging around, looking for opportunities and angles and “the right moment.” Now, he’d screwed things worse than ever. He bit his lip and pushed himself out of the booth. 

“You’re right,” he said, looking at the door Itadori had walked out of only moments before. “I have to do something. I have to do something right now.” 

“Hell yes, you do,” she smiled, looking up at him with something like pride in her gaze. “Look, Fushiguro,” she said, “I’m sorry about—”

“No, I’m sorry,” said Fushiguro, and it was kind of like pulling a bullet out of his shoulder with his bare fingers. “I didn’t do any of this right. And I’ll pay you back for dinner.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved a hand at him. “Go get your man.” 

***

Lights twinkled off the tops of buildings and stood out like stars in the hazy dusk. City nightlife was beginning to rear its head, and Fushiguro found himself pushing past tourists and bar-goers alike as he scanned the crowd in every direction. His eyes strained for a glimpse of pink hair, or the peak of Itadori’s obnoxious, neon hoodie that he’d insisted on wearing out. Fushiguro’s eyebrows furrowed with frustration, and he realized that Itadori had no idea where he was or what he was doing. 

The idiot was from Sendai, what did he know about navigating Tokyo? Fushiguro wasn’t even sure that Itadori knew where the school was, much less how to get back to it. All at once, he felt a pang of worry up alongside the desperation and guilt inside his chest. What if he had gotten himself stuck in some situation he couldn’t get out of? 

He realized, then, that if Itadori had even an ounce of common sense in his brain (and it was entirely possible that he didn’t), he would have retraced his steps. Back to the train station they’d gotten off at, and, hopefully, not any further. Fushiguro didn’t know what he would do if Itadori had already gotten on a train, already whisked himself away, and taken Fushiguro’s chance with him. 

That was melodramatic. He didn’t need to be doing this, chasing after Itadori like some pathetic cuck in a romcom. But they’d wasted so much time already, and Fushiguro couldn’t stand having a wrong he needed to right be kept waiting. He picked up the pace, finally with a direction in mind.

Itadori was reading a map when Fushiguro walked into the station. His hand rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he faced a diagram taller than he was, plastered on the tiled walls. The bright, color-coordinated metro lines snaked their way through an outline of the city, forming overlapping circles and tangents that Fushiguro knew like the back of his hand. He stood there for a moment, watching Itadori thoughtfully trace bright green from Roppongi to Shinjuku, head cocked to the side like it always was when he tried to figure out a problem in his head. Fushiguro couldn’t see his lips, but he was sure they were tracing the names of each train stop along the route, trying to commit them to memory. 

“Itadori,” he said softly, stepping up behind his friend, stopping in his tracks when Itadori’s head jerked around to look at him, clearly startled. 

“Fushiguro?” he said, looking relieved at first, but quickly giving way to discomfort. “Oh, man, don’t say you left early because of me. Seriously, go back, I can—”

“I’m not on a date with Kugisaki.” 

Itadori paused in his blabbering. “What?” 

“That dinner. It wasn’t a date with Kugisaki.” 

“Does Kugisaki know that?” 

Fushiguro couldn’t help but smile, just a little. He looked at Itadori, and felt fondness surge through him.

“Yeah, she knows,” he answered. 

“And she isn’t upset?”

“It was never a date. Well, not a date for Kugisaki and me.” 

Itadori swallowed. A swirl of emotion played in the warm brown of his eyes, but his face remained open and undisturbed. 

“Why did you come after me?” 

“I think we should talk,” Fushiguro nodded at one of the benches by the track. “Besides, you would never figure out how to get back on your own.”

“I so would,” Itadori scoffed, but he took a seat nonetheless. “I can figure things out for myself.” 

“You couldn’t figure out that Kugisaki and I aren’t dating.” 

“That’s not fair,” Itadori pouted. Fushiguro sat down. “She told me you were hot, you know. She said you were nice, too. And since you asked me to be your wingman anyways, I guess I just figured…” He shrugged his shoulders, and looked at the ground, scuffing the concrete with his beat up sneakers. 

“Itadori.” They looked at each other. “I’m gay.”

Itadori’s jaw dropped. It was almost comical. His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up and his hand fell to his side in a way that could only convey shock. 

“You’re what?”

Fushiguro nodded. “I think you’re the only one who didn’t know that.”

“But—Kugisaki—the dinner—”

Fushiguro shook his head. “None of it. I never wanted things to go this way.” He grimaced, hating that he was admitting this, “I told her to set up dinner. Well, not exactly. I asked her for help. The dinner was her idea.”

“Help with what?”

Fushiguro took a deep breath. “You know that party that Kugisaki invited us to?”

Itadori nodded. “Yeah, the mixer. You asked me to be your wingman.”

“No,” he shook his head, “you keep saying that. That’s not what I asked.” 

Itadori blinked. “It’s not?” 

“Nope. Never was. I didn’t…realize it was a single person thing when I asked you. I thought it was just a normal party. I was trying to, y’know, ask you out. Or whatever.” He grumbled the last part, picking at a piece of peeling paint on the side of the bench. 

“Ask me out?” 

“On a date.” 

“On a date?” Itadori’s voice was pitching higher with each repetition, face still a blank canvas of disbelief. 

“Yeah, okay. A date. And when I found out in that stairwell that the party was a singles mixer, I freaked. I asked Kugisaki for help trying to figure out what to do next. I probably…I probably should have just talked to you.”

“Talked to me.” 

“Would you stop repeating everything I say,” he glared at Itadori, only to find a stunned mask wasting away on his face. Fushiguro couldn’t even tell if he was happy or sad. 

“You want to go on a date with me?” he asked finally, expression finally starting to unthaw. 

“Yeah.” Fushiguro felt a warmth bloom in his chest at the sight of his hesitant friend, surprise slowly giving way to excitement.

“Even though you’re my best friend?”

Fushiguro frowned, “don’t make me remember. I wanted to tell you that night, too. I guess I’m pretty bad with my words.” 

Itadori smiled, and it was small, real. “I wanted to tell you then, too. If you want to go on a date with me, I think that would be pretty cool. I’ve wanted to do something like that for a while now.” 

“Me too.” 

Their eyes met again, and Fushiguro was reminded of that evening on his bed, less than a week ago. They turned twin shades of pink, and Fushiguro noted that the fear was still there. The anxiety he felt whenever he was this close to Itadori, looking at him dead on. But there was something else there, too. Hope, fueled by their conversation and bolstered by the grin Itadori had broken into. 

“I was kinda stupid, huh,” Itadori said softly. Fushiguro realized he was leaning in. “I spent too much time trying to figure things out for myself.”

They were sitting too close on a shitty, peeling bench in a metro station in Tokyo, and Fushiguro suddenly couldn’t breathe. He was sucking in air, but none of it was making it to his lungs, his brain. He was lightheaded, stomach pitching forward. The background faded out, and he vacantly wondered if he was about to faint.

The only thing that was real were Itadori’s eyes. He gripped the bench more tightly with his shaking fingers, and leaned in closer. 

“You weren’t stupid,” Fushiguro exhaled. “I was the one who got in the way. I made things difficult. Couldn’t just say what I felt.” 

Itadori looked at him, all chestnut and honey in his wide open eyes. Fushiguro couldn’t tell if he was nervous or not, but then he noted the fragile timbre of his voice, the way his eyes darted hesitantly down to Fushiguro’s lips. 

“What do you feel?”

Fushiguro surged forward, stripping the inches between them down to none. Itadori sighed as they made contact, something like relief flooding across his face. Fushiguro realized that he should probably shut his eyes, so he did. 

Itadori’s lips were chapped. Fushiguro knew that because he couldn’t help but glance at them during every conversation they had. But now he knew in a different way; he could tell by texture, by patches of roughness he sought out in the darkness. Their kiss was chaste, and it was short, and it was pretty obvious that neither of them really knew what they were doing. Their noses bumped together awkwardly, and it finally ended when Itadori started giggling so hard he had to sit back. 

It was perfect. 

Itadori returned to his previous spot on the bench. Fushiguro stayed where he was, too busy dealing with his short-circuiting brain and the phantom sensation of chapped lips against his mouth. 

“I’m sorry for storming out of the diner.” Itadori said eventually. Fushiguro shook his head automatically, still trying to get rid of the buzzing in his ears. 

“Don’t be sorry.” 

“But I am,” Itadori insisted. “I made an ass of myself.” How is he speaking full sentences right now? Usually, Itadori was the stupid one. Fushiguro didn’t like this role reversal. 

“Next time something like this happens,” Itadori continued, “I want to talk to you about it. Is that okay?”

Fushiguro nodded. 

“Will you talk to me? When you’re, I don’t know, confused?” 

“Yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Itadori, I will. This was,” he grinned, “this sucked.”

Itadori laughed. “Yeah. It sucked. But I think I like how it ends.”

“How does it end?”

“With you kissing me.” Itadori wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Not when you make that expression,” Fushiguro smirked at Itadori’s dismay. 

“But you do like me,” he said, hopeful. 

Fushiguro nodded. “I like you.” 

“I like you, too.” 

Another kiss, this one on his cheek. Fushiguro hadn’t been expecting it, and he felt his face get hot immediately. 

They made conversation for several more minutes. Fushiguro was waiting for his feet to touch Earth again, and Itadori seemed content to wait for him. He talked about the city, the dream he’d had last night, everything they had to catch up on from those days they’d spent without speaking. At some point they started holding hands. Fushiguro liked it. 

“Does Gojo know?” Itadori asked after several minutes. 

“Know what?”

“That you’re gay?”

“My ninth birthday was Sofia the First themed. He knows.”

“Oh my god,” Itadori spluttered, holding his hand up to his face to hide a laugh. 

“Shut up,” Fushiguro shoved Itadori’s head away. “I wanted to be able to talk to animals,” he said.

“No, I think it’s cute,” Itadori said genuinely, looking up at Fushiguro. He smiled at him, soft and warm. Fushiguro could only hold his gaze for a moment before he had to turn away, his eyes burning like he’d been staring into the sun. 

“Fuck off,” he mumbled, trying to pretend he wasn’t blushing. 

“Hm, we should probably go get Kugisaki, shouldn’t we?” said Itadori, now that Fushiguro had gotten all of his brain back into his skull. 

“Yeah,” he grimaced. “I should say sorry.”

“You should say sorry?” said Itadori. “I was such a jerk. And I ruined her plan.”

“Don’t apologize for that,” Fushiguro snickered, “It was a stupid plan anyways.”

“It was not! It was well thought out. Maybe we should give it another go.”

Fushiguro side-eyed Itadori, electing to stand up off the bench in lieu of an answer. He held a hand out to Itadori, who grabbed it and didn’t let go. 

“And I feel bad about not going to her party,” Itadori reflected as they walked out of the station, rejoining the crowds on the busy city streets. 

Fushiguro thought. “We could still go,” he said, looking around at the views and trying to stop his hand from sweating in Itadori’s. 

“Really?” asked Itadori.

“Yeah, a party might be fun. Kugisaki knows the guy and I’m sure Gojo would give us the night off. You’d enjoy it.”

Fushiguro felt Itadori’s hand squeeze his own. He looked over at his friend, and saw that he was smiling. 

“You could even be my wingman, right?” he added, to be an asshole.

Itadori’s smile fell. He rolled his eyes and dramatically turned his head away from Fushiguro’s, making no move to separate their hands. “I’m breaking up with you,” he said.

“You’re not dating me.”

Itadori seemed to think about that response for a second. They fell back into a smooth rhythm, walking down the streets of Roppongi. 

“We’ll see about that,” Itadori said softly, and he had that look in his eye. That same gleam that meant he’d been challenged to an arm wrestling contest or he was waiting to race Maki up the steepest hill on campus. It meant he was ready, that he knew what he wanted and he was going to fight for it. 

Fushiguro squeezed Itadori’s hand back, and they walked towards the diner.