Chapter Text
Itadori Yuuji is a tough man.
He’s someone who is headstrong in his beliefs with a firm sense of right and wrong. He’s not the type to back down, and he’s not the type to just give up. He knows that he is strong — stronger than most — and he made a promise to himself to use that strength and save others; to give them a chance at a proper life and a proper death.
It’s no understatement that he’s a force to be reckoned with.
So, why is it that after one late-night conversation, Yuuji can’t help but completely fold in on himself? Softening at dark, green eyes; blushing at a low, irritated voice; and hoping — begging, even — for just a sliver of attention from the one person who can’t seem to leave his mind.
Yuuji’s always been the emotional type. It’s no surprise that he wears his heart on his sleeve, and he’s not afraid to be honest with himself about his feelings. But now, he has feelings, and he has no idea how to handle them.
Not when it’s his best friend.
He racks his brain, trying to figure what went wrong. Okay, not wrong, per se, but when did it get so complicated? Yuuji barely feels like a normal person now, and he tries to think back to when it began.
When did it begin?
Yuuji sits alone under the cover of the trees and the stars. There’s a soft breeze in the late summer night, and he’s more than content with just being outside and away. Away from his room, away from the school, away from his thoughts. He’d get away from Sukuna, too, if he could, but it’s hopeless. He’s trapped.
Sukuna may be the one imprisoned within him, but Yuuji is the one who is trapped.
“Itadori?”
A voice from behind catches his attention, and he raises his head, turning around.
Vaguely, he can see a slow-approaching figure — tall in the night — and Fushiguro Megumi appears. In the moonlight, he looks paler than usual, and there’s a tiredness to his eyes. Yuuji supposes he knows what that feels like, but the concern on his face triumphs the rest.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hey, Fushiguro,” Yuuji says. He tries to smile, but even he can tell that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What are you doing out here?”
Fushiguro only scoffs, looking off to the side. “I could ask you the same thing, you know. It’s nearly four in the morning. Is everything all right?”
No.
“Yeah.”
Yuuji glances down at the ground and takes in a deep breath. How long has he been out here? Probably an hour or so. His dreams were filled with death — people he couldn’t save, their bodies piled high before him, and a lone voice. Laughing. Hidden in darkness.
His guilt eats at him, and while, no, he’s never directly responsible for it all, he can’t help but feel responsible.
Fushiguro must know he’s lying. Yuuji’s never been the best at it, and he knew he was lying back before the Exchange Event, too. It doesn’t help that he probably looks a mess. Dark circles set beneath his eyes, his tired, broken demeanor, and his hair — though usually unkempt — is definitely a mess from where he had run his hands through it countless times.
Basically, Yuuji isn’t exactly the picture perfect description of “all right.”
Fushiguro doesn’t say anything right away, however, which is unusual.
When Yuuji looks over at him, he notices that there’s something else going on. Yes, it’s four in the morning and Fushiguro looks tired, but there’s more to it. He looks weighted. His eyes are dark, and for once, he looks a bit unsteady on his feet. There’s a hesitation in the way that he stands over Yuuji, as if he doesn’t know if he can join him. As if he’s trying to figure out if Yuuji is real.
Yuuji sighs and hangs his head. It’s his fault. It’s barely been a week since his whole sike! I’m not dead! stunt, and even after everything that happened during the Exchange Event, he can tell that both Fushiguro and Kugisaki are still reeling.
For once, Yuuji doesn’t know what to say.
He wants to say I’m sorry, but every time he tries he’s brushed off. They curse Gojo under their breath and tell Yuuji not to die again. He feels like he should say something more, but what is there to say? Yuuji’s grieving on his own right now, too. And this person isn’t coming back.
“Would you like to talk about it?” Fushiguro asks.
Yuuji turns back to his best friend, who’s still standing and looking at him, like he’s waiting for an answer first. This olive branch is so either of them could back out, if they wanted, but… Yuuji doesn’t think he wants to do that.
“Okay,” he says.
A moment of silence passes between them, and then Fushiguro is moving to sit down. Yuuji stares ahead at nothing in particular, appreciating the beauty of the night. He’s always been more of a daytime person, someone who enjoys the sun and the birds and the people. Recently, he’s found himself to be more attracted to quiet evenings, listening to the soft buzzing of insects and the distant calls of nocturnal life.
Neither of them speak, just existing next to each other. They’re both waiting for something, but it’s nice, Yuuji thinks. Being here with Fushiguro is really nice.
Then Fushiguro takes a breath and starts, “You know…”
Yuuji briefly glances over at his friend, finding his eyes set on a point in the distance.
“During that month when you were… gone,” he pauses, guilt rises, and then he continues, “I would go into your room and just… stand there.”
Yuuji presses his lips into a thin line. They never really talked about the month that he was supposedly dead, but now must be as good a time as any. There’s an inflection in Fushiguro’s voice, a slight waver, and he can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him.
“I can’t really say why,” Fushiguro says. “I— we had already cleaned out your room, so it’s not like there was anything to look for. I guess… I just wanted to be near you— or rather, be near what was left of you. Kugisaki, she always shut herself in when it got bad. She claimed she didn’t care much and that she wasn’t the type to cry over a guy she barely knew. I could see through her though. I knew it hurt her just as much, but I also knew that she was the type to grieve silently, so I let her be.”
Yuuji rests his chin in his hand, letting it ball into a fist in front of his mouth. He doesn’t know what to say. What is there that he could possibly say? Most importantly, why was Fushiguro telling him this?
“However, for me,” Fushiguro continues on, letting the heavy topic weigh them both down. “I don’t know, I guess I just liked to be reminded of you. Of the things you liked. What you didn’t like. For a time, your room was completely untouched, as if you were just stepping out for the day and would be back in the evening. Before we cleaned it out, that’s what I would do. Pretend. Like you were just gone on a mission and would be back.”
A pause.
“Well, I guess I wasn’t too far off with that…”
Fushiguro huffs out a small laugh and bumps Yuuji with his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood. All Yuuji can do is offer a smile in return, appreciating the effort. He’s never the type to joke like that. No, that’s always Yuuji’s strong suit.
Something about Fushiguro trying though, it just makes Yuuji feel warm. Even with everything that happened, he can’t help but feel warm with Fushiguro around. He supposes there’s an understanding there that allows that. They both lost someone. Even if Yuuji came back, Fushiguro still mourned him.
“I guess what I’m trying to get at is that the people you lose aren’t entirely gone. There are still remnants of them, imprints they left on the world and the people around them,” Fushiguro concludes. “Even if they aren’t there anymore, their memory is alive, their place in the world is still there. Even long after all of us are gone, there’s still proof that we were here, that we lived. When you were gone, I needed to be in your room and see your things — see your life. I stood there for God knows how long, just taking in you, remembering you.”
He turns his head, looking at Yuuji. It’s not expectant, just… understanding.
Fushiguro understands him.
Yuuji sits there, still staring ahead, seeing Fushiguro in the corners of his eyes, and he understands him. He’s already fighting tears, and he hasn’t even said anything yet. What can he say? Fushiguro is out here because he’s still coming back from a place mourning. This is a pain that Yuuji has caused, and he can’t help but feel responsible.
Add Junpei, the transfigured humans, and Fushiguro’s grief to a long list of things that Yuuji has been feeling responsible for lately.
“I’m sorry,” is all he can manage, and even then, it’s quiet and broken.
Fushiguro only shakes his head, sighing. “You’ve already apologized; you don’t need to do it again. I just want you to know that no matter what happened or who you lost, you carry their memory, and you keep them alive.”
You keep them alive. You keep them alive. You keep them alive.
Yuuji swallows as the tears continue to well. It’s no use keeping them in, and a warm, steady stream falls down his face. He carries so much guilt. A part of him knew that getting into this meant facing death. He knew it back when he first burst through his former school’s window just to save his friends, and he knew it when he ate that finger to save the boy sitting next to him.
But somehow, it’s so much more real.
“There was a boy,” he tries. “A little bit older than us. Junpei… I tried to save him—”
His voice cracks, and he covers his face with his hands.
Fushiguro lets him cry, offering nothing more than his presence for just a moment as Yuuji lets it out. His shoulders shake with every breath, and all that runs through his mind is, why didn’t I do more? as he grieves the loss of someone he could have saved.
“Itadori…” Fushiguro starts. He sounds hesitant. “I know you. I know you did everything you could have to save him.”
That’s not true, he thinks. He could have saved Junpei. He could have at least avenged him. Yuuji did neither, and that makes him a failure.
“Sometimes we just can’t save them all,” Fushiguro says. “But that doesn’t reflect you, and that doesn’t mean you didn’t try.”
And something about his words flick in Yuuji’s mind. They remind him of their argument in the detention center, just before everything went down the drain. They mock Yuuji in their own warped and twisted way, not because Fushiguro is mocking him, but because his guilt is.
“I could have tried harder,” Yuuji says, firm, raises his head to meet Fushiguro’s gaze. He can feel his jaw clench and unclench, eyes piercing, as the two of them stare at each other.
All Fushiguro does is raise an eyebrow, however, and he replies, “Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.”
It causes Yuuji to huff in reply.
Nanami had once said something similar and reminded him that, as a kid, he shouldn’t have to carry everything on his shoulders. And maybe that’s true. Maybe that’s what Fushiguro is getting at, but…
“How did you do it?” he asks. “How did you keep going after I— after everything that happened? I just… I just feel so weak…”
He sighs as he lets his hands drop.
Fushiguro exhales slowly, shifting in his seat. The question lingers in the air, hanging between them like a reminder of all the pain that they’ve both gone through. When you see death, when you watch someone die right in front of you, knowing you couldn’t have done anything to save them, how are you supposed to keep going?
“I just… kept thinking of you,” he finally says. Fushiguro’s words are slow, careful, with a lot of weight behind them that tugs at Yuuji’s heart. “I kept thinking about how I needed to get stronger. How I couldn’t fail you again. You were gone, and I needed to be stronger, so I wouldn’t have to worry about losing anyone close to me like that. So, I could protect the ones I love.”
Love.
Yuuji doesn’t know why, but it makes his heart skip. Something about that word — the weight behind it, the insinuation of it all — it echoes in his mind. He steals a glance over at his friend, tracing the silhouette of his profile.
Fushiguro’s hair is dark and erratic, untamed in the same way that he fights. Like a brewing storm, waiting for something bigger to happen. He sits there, staring at the sky and the stars beyond, with his arms resting on his knees, hands interlocked, and for some reason, Yuuji wants to be closer.
“And… on the really hard nights?” he asks.
Fushiguro blows out a puff of air and lets his head drop, staring at the ground. “They were really hard,” he admits. “I could see your body even with my eyes closed. The rain and the— the blood…”
He pauses, and all Yuuji can do is wait.
“But I knew that you would’ve wanted me to remember you alive,” Fushiguro continues. He raises his head, just a little, enough for him to look back at Yuuji. “Smiling and talking about Jennifer Lawrence or whatever Hollywood idol it is that you obsess over—”
That causes Yuuji to laugh, a short bark of surprise that dissolves into quiet chuckles. Fushiguro smirks a little, watching him.
“So, on those really hard nights, I just tried to think about the good things,” he says. “How you and Kugisaki would annoy me during training and in between lessons. How you liked to hoodies, because it’s easier than planning an outfit. How you always worked on different impersonations in your dorm, because you thought I couldn’t hear you—”
Yuuji flushes and lets out an embarrassed groan. “No way. You could hear me?”
Fushiguro chuckles and nods. “The dorm walls aren’t the most soundproof, you know.”
“At least tell me they were good.”
“If I’m being honest, they were better than I thought you’d be at impersonations.”
At that, Yuuji smiles. The two of them share something in that small moment — just for them. He always thought impersonations were kind of cool, and somewhere along the way, it just became something that he did. He never thought that Fushiguro could hear him though.
“It’s a secret skill of mine,” he jokes. “Only me and—”
And then he stops himself.
“Only Junpei knew,” Yuuji finishes, a bit softer than before. A bit duller. When he looks over at Fushiguro, he catches a brief look of confusion and explains, “I did a — frankly, bad — impersonation of an American movie once when I was having dinner with him and his mom. Just to make them laugh.”
Fushiguro nods in understanding, but doesn’t say anything more.
“Nobody else knows. I’m saving the skill for a rainy day,” Yuuji quips, bumping him with his shoulder.
“Well, I know now,” Fushiguro replies. “What are you going to do about that?”
“Guess I’ll have to kill you to keep the secret,” Yuuji laughs. It’s the first real laugh he thinks he’s allowed himself in a while. It feels good, sitting here with Fushiguro, laughing with him. It makes him feel normal.
Fushiguro just hums, shaking his head and smiling. “Don’t worry, Itadori. I won’t tell a soul. It’ll be our secret.”
“Our secret…” he echoes. And he’s not sure why, but he smiles. A small blush forms on his face, thankfully hidden in the dark, and he can’t help but think about it, over and over again. Our secret. Something about having it, only for them, it’s nice.
“So… your friend, Junpei,” Fushiguro starts. He hesitates for a moment, swallowing, then continues. “Could you tell me about him? What was he like?”
Yuuji takes a minute to study his face, pressing his lips together. “Do you really want to know?”
“Sure,” he offers. “I’d like to know who else is cool enough to know about the secret skills of Itadori Yuuji.”
There’s another teasing smirk, Fushiguro’s eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight. Something about it makes Yuuji’s heart leap, and he can feel himself teetering over the edge of a cliff. Looking at his best friend, for once, he thinks that he feels okay here, and all of the pain from the last couple of months fades into background noise.
He thinks he’d like to stay out here a little longer.
“Yeah… okay, yeah. I can tell you about him,” he says with a small huff.
And then they just talk.
Yuuji talks, and Fushiguro listens. He explains his first meeting with Junpei and how he had pantsed some guy before running around the block just to get him alone. He talks about their shared love for movies, his voice cracking when he mentions that they had planned to see one together. They never got to.
It feels nice though, having Fushiguro here. Yuuji recounts the life of a boy that no one else would bother to remember otherwise, and he kind of does feel like he’s saved him. He’s the one keeping Junpei alive, and Fushiguro is willing to help. He smiles to himself, looking over at his best friend, his battle partner, his… something, and he thinks that Fushiguro and Junpei would have been good friends.
He rants, too.
It’s not fair, he thinks, and he lets his anger guide his words. Junpei was a kid, just like him, and he didn’t deserve to be manipulated and killed the way he did. He didn’t deserve it at all. Junpei had potential, and Yuuji could practically still see it now: An image of everyone at the school, sitting in the sun under a tree.
The grass would sway from the light breeze, a picture perfect kind of day. Everyone would be gathered together — laughing and chatting and sitting around a picnic blanket. There would sandwiches and drinks and snacks, and it would just be so happy.
And Junpei would have been there, too.
He’d be next to Yuuji and smiling softly, wearing a sorcerer’s uniform, because Yuuji would have saved him. There would be no reason to worry about that curse, Mahito, and they would have taken care of it. Together. Yuuji could have done something right. He could have.
But whatever it was that he imagined for Junpei, Junpei would never get to be. It was an image of something impossible. A dream. Just out of reach, fuel for the nightmares that plague his sleep.
Yuuji knows it’s nothing more than a hopeless fantasy. As he recounts the story to Fushiguro — him begging for Sukuna to save him, desperate enough to propose a Binding Vow — all he can think about is how badly he had failed.
Fushiguro sits there, listening. His attention is unwavering as he let’s Yuuji let it all out.
It feels nice. Before tonight, the only people who knew the details of the case were Gojo, Nanami, Ieiri, and Ijichi, and none of them are really the spill your feelings and talk to me type. Having this moment with Fushiguro, just being there with Yuuji, he finds that it’s not so bad.
As the hours pass, the sun finally starts to peek over the horizon. It’s another beautiful day, with hints of autumn starting to emerge in the coloring leaves and the cooler morning air. The night fades away, the stars saying their last goodbyes, and the two of them decide they should try and rest.
“Thank you for tonight,” Yuuji says, standing before the sliding door to his room.
Fushiguro pauses at his own set of doors, ready to enter, and he waits. He doesn’t turn to look at Yuuji, but he doesn’t need to. His tone says everything else.
“Thank you, Itadori.”
When Yuuji walks back into his own room, he finds that he feels much lighter than before. It’s probably the lightest he’s felt in a long, long time. But even with all of that baggage off of his shoulders, it’s clear that he still can’t rest.
Something else has taken over his mind.
Sleep calls to him, but it’s no use. Instead, he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling, deciding that it’s not worth it. Not when all he can see is a pair of dark green eyes peering at him every time his eyelids flutter shut. Have they always been more of a sea green? Or was that just a result of the cool moonlight? Yuuji had never really paid attention to Fushiguro’s eyes before, but he can’t help but think about them now.
Oh, he thinks.
Oh, no.
He supposes that one summer night was the start of it all. Yuuji has found himself to now be very acutely aware of Fushiguro whenever he’s nearby. It was as if some sort of switch had flipped somewhere after that night — something that made his mind go from, “Wow, Fushiguro is so cool,” to, “Wow… Fushiguro is so… wow…”
That’s probably why he’s so on edge now, walking through the city with his two best friends. There were no classes or training lessons planned for today, and with Gojo gone on a mission, the three first years were left to their own devices. Free time like that usually means that Kugisaki gets to drag Yuuji and Fushiguro across various shops and restaurants, which is exactly what they were doing.
It started off with a simple request: Come with me to buy a new tracksuit and a pair of trainers.
It somehow turned into so much more than just a tracksuit and a pair of trainers, and Yuuji got left with carrying all of the bags. At one point, he tried to complain, but when Kugisaki started to argue back, Fushiguro got embarrassed, and Yuuji found that an embarrassed Fushiguro makes him embarrassed, so he just ended up turning into a blushing, stuttering mess.
“Look, just carry these, and I’ll buy you dinner!” Kugisaki had said.
And all Yuuji could do was just mutter an okay.
They continue through the city as the afternoon sun starts to set. The sky is a warm golden color, peaking around the clouds like a woven thread of light. Yuuji can’t help but steal glances over at Fushiguro, who looks radiant in the sun. It makes his eyes seem greener than usual, reflecting the light like a shining emerald.
Kugisaki claps her hands together to get their attention. “Okay, boys,” she says. “Dinner. I owe Itadori, and I’m really wanting some watermelon mochi. What do you guys think?”
“Ooh,” Itadori hums. “I could really go with a rice bowl right now! With lots of chicken and steak and veggies.”
Kugisaki just scoffs. “Yeah, you would. You eat like a monster.”
“Hey, I’m a growing boy!” he defends.
She shakes her head, smiling, and then turns to Fushiguro. “What do you think?”
He only shrugs in reply. “I don’t really mind. Rice sounds good. I’d like something with ginger.”
Kugisaki hums and pulls out her phone, scrolling as she walks. Yuuji shares a brief glance with Fushiguro and tries to readjust the bags in his hands before she speaks up, “It looks like there’s a yakisoba place nearby with some rice bowl options.” She pauses, looking more closely. “Oh, and it has mochi? We’re going.”
She leads them off to the restaurant, talking about some recent fad that escapes Yuuji’s mind. Every now and then, it feels like he’s being watched, and when he turns to Fushiguro, he only barely catches his eye. It’s brief, nothing to freak out over, but he still falters in his step, earning him a scolding from Kugisaki.
“If any of my bags hit the ground, you’re dead,” she warns.
“They’re bags, Kugisaki,” he retorts. “They’re meant to protect the stuff inside.”
“Yeah, but I don’t trust you.”
The evening continues on with random conversation and chatter. Yuuji sits next to Fushiguro at dinner, across from Kugisaki, and he swears he can feel every individual heartbeat the entire time.
The train ride back isn’t much better.
It’s quiet, a bit of an unusual feat for people like Yuuji and Kugisaki, who can talk anyone’s ear off. However, this time, Kugisaki leans against the window of the train, sleeping soundly with her arms crossed. The steady pace of the train and the low hum of the AC relaxes her, and Yuuji takes off his hoodie to reach over Fushiguro drape it over her frame.
Meanwhile, Fushiguro seems to enjoy the silence. Yuuji thinks about striking up a conversation, but his mind blanks, so he decides that not talking is the best way to go. Besides, he and Fushiguro are practically flush against each other, and all of the physical contact might be enough to make his stomach fall to the floor.
Still, it’s not terrible. Minus the nerves, it’s actually really comfortable to be so close to him. Yuuji considers looking over at his friend, but that would put them nearly face to face, and he doesn’t think he can handle something like that.
Then everything stops when Fushiguro’s head hits Yuuji’s shoulder.
Yuuji can practically feel his breath in his throat, lodged there by some invisible force, and it’s suddenly really hard to swallow. The soft, steady breathing from Fushiguro tells him that he must be asleep, which is fair, considering how busy they’ve been and the long day they just had in the city.
Still…
“Uh… Fushiguro?” Yuuji asks, turning his head slowly.
No response.
Okay, relax. He’s just sleeping. Friends fall asleep on friends’ shoulders all the time.
It’s what he has to keep telling himself just to keep his heart rate normal, and he tries his best to settle into his seat, careful not to disturb Fushiguro. Leaning his head back onto the window, Yuuji sighs and stares ahead. There’s a part of him that’s kicking himself, frustrated that he had to go and fall for his best friend. It’s not that he doesn’t want to like Fushiguro, it’s more like this just makes everything so complicated.
How do you even navigate something like that?
After a bit of time passes, he chances a glance. Though Fushiguro’s bangs block a lot of the view, Yuuji can see his lashes resting peacefully over his cheeks. His chest rises and falls at a steady pace, breaths light and even, and Yuuji feels like his heart is going to burst.
Fushiguro is beautiful, sure, but sitting here, he just looks like a boy.
Yuuji doesn’t think that he’s ever seen him look so at peace. It’s a little strange, he has to admit. He never really thought that he would feel this way about his friend. Sure, he cares for him, just like he cares for Kugisaki. Countless times they’ve fought together, working as one towards a common goal, communicating without words, understanding each other perfectly.
But now it’s different.
Yuuji notices so much more, and it’s only with Fushiguro.
The way that he always sounds irritated at Itadori’s spontaneous visits but never turns him away. The way that a small smirk forms when he’s right or beating him in a game. The way that he gets so focused on a book, a crease forming between his brows, leaning forward as if he were completely absorbed by the story.
All these little things that make Fushiguro Fushiguro surface in Yuuji’s mind, catching his attention like light speckling through the trees.
It’s bright and beautiful, warm on his skin. Yuuji wants something more, but how do you even go about something as complicated as this? Having a crush is one thing. Having a crush on your friend is another thing. Having a crush on your friend, who you are not even sure is into other guys or even dating in general?
Where do you even begin? How can you confess your feelings to someone without having the slightest idea of what their answer could be? And with your best friend at that. What if it ruins the friendship? What if it messes with their missions? What if Fushiguro decides he never wants to see Itadori again, because it’s just so weird that he developed a crush out of nowhere and now he stares like a creep every chance he gets?
Okay. Itadori pauses before his thoughts can race anymore. He quiets his mind and takes a deep breath. It’s better to at least try. This is Fushiguro we’re talking about. I’m sure he would be polite, even in rejection.
So, what is he meant to do other than try and figure out the best way to confess? He turns it over in his mind like a handheld puzzle, trying to see all different sides and perspectives. His deliberation takes up most of the train ride, and it’s not until both Fushiguro and Kugisaki are waking up that he realizes he needs a plan.
“Hey, Itadori,” Kugisaki says, yawning. “Don’t think too hard. I can see the steam coming out of your ears.”
She laughs and waves a hand in front of his face, causing Fushiguro to lean his head back from her arm. Yuuji blinks, turning to look at her, earning a raised eyebrow in return. Kugisaki stares back at him expectantly, now wearing his hoodie.
“Sorry,” he says. “Did you need me?”
She scoffs. “No. Just trying to make sure you don’t short circuit.”
All he does is hum, still thinking.
“Hey.” This time, it’s Fushiguro who speaks up, looking at him with a bout of confusion. “Are you okay?”
They’re close. A bit too close for Yuuji’s comfort, and he jumps, startled. “Yeah, yeah. I’m great. I’m just… you know… thinking.”
Kugisaki snorts, and they both turn to her. “That’s a first. Itadori thinking.”
Yuuji glares and sticks his tongue out at her, to which she returns the favor.
“Okay, but seriously,” Fushiguro says, turning back to him. “Are you okay?”
Yuuji falters, swallowing, and leans back. Is he okay? Well, there’s the crush, the uncertainty that it could be reciprocated, the fear that it would ruin his friendship, and the overall, general nervousness of always coming off as a complete idiot to the guy he likes.
“I promise, I’m fine,” he assures. He looks back and forth between his friends and offers a smile. “I was just thinking about what we might have to do for our next assignment. I wonder what it’ll be like. Gojo said it would be exciting.”
Immediately, Kugisaki groans and falls back against her seat. “Do not talk to me about school today. I don’t want to think about it. It’s our day off.”
All Fushiguro does, however, is hum in reply. He doesn’t say anything more, which worries Yuuji, but he also doesn’t pry, which makes him feel relieved. If anyone could pin a lie on him, it would be Fushiguro, and he’s sure he’s not entirely off the hook.
Still, all Yuuji can do is flash a reassuring smile, promising to himself one thing:
I’m going to show you how much I care. By the end of it all, Fushiguro Megumi, I hope you fall for me, too.