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Yuuji loved to cook.
More than that, he loved food. Food was what gave him the energy for the day, so he could fight curses and pretend to do his homework. Plus, he just loved to eat. Yuuji wasn’t picky, but a home-cooked meal was always best, especially after a long, tiring day. There was no better feeling than cozying up in his comfiest clothes and eating a warm meal that was cooked with the love that always went into his meals. He originally learned to cook out of necessity, back when Gramps went to the hospital, but it quickly became one of his favorite hobbies. He learned all kinds of new recipes, even trying to replicate some of his grandpa’s lost ones. He always had a lot of fun with it, discovering the best ways to cook specific dishes, finding the perfect balance of seasoning. It was relaxing, too, so he never minded cooking enough for everyone in the dorms after coming to Jujutsu High. He was happy to share his food with everyone, giving a piece of the joy it always brought him. He’d even take requests, sometimes, since he didn’t have any particular preferences himself.
Point was: Yuuji loved food. He’d cook practically anything anyone asked of him, so he couldn’t help but feel a little offended by whatever monstrosity Fushiguro was currently brewing up in the dorm’s kitchen.
Now that he thought about it, Fushiguro hadn’t ever requested anything from Yuuji. Granted, Yuuji had only been at Jujutsu High for a little over a week, but still! Kugisaki had no problem ordering Yuuji around in the kitchen. Maybe Fushiguro was shy?
Either way, though, that couldn’t excuse this! Yuuji thought he’d smelled something burning, even all the way from his dorm room, so he’d come out to check. Sure enough, Fushigruo was there, standing over a bubbling pot on the stove with a large spoon clutched in his hand.
“Uh,” Yuuji said, shifting nervously from the other side of the counter. “Whatcha got there, Fushiguro?”
Fushiguro glanced over to Yuuji, beams of moonlight softening his usual sharp features. He looked kinda cute like this, Yuuji thought. Less guarded, more relaxed. Those long eyelashes drooped slightly around his emerald eyes, tired from the weight of the day. Yuuji remembered the first time he saw those eyes like it was yesterday (it was less than two weeks ago). He didn’t think he’d ever forget staring into them for the first time, having to refrain from shooting a corny pick-up line (weird, right?) because Fushiguro had looked rather serious at the time and, despite what some said, Yuuji knew how to read the room. Still, though, he had instantly gotten lost in that sea of enchanting green, and Yuuji didn’t think he had ever been so enamored with another person before. Sometimes, he felt like he was still swimming around in it, drowned by green, green, and more green, because his brain didn’t always seem to work properly when Fushiguro was involved. For some reason. Seriously, who just eats a cursed finger?
At the time, Yuuji had thought it was the most obvious decision, because he had to save Fushiguro no matter what. He didn’t regret it now, he’d never regret saving Fushiguro, but thinking back on it, he might’ve looked a little…crazy. Whipped, even. That couldn’t be right, though, since Yuuji liked girls—girls like Jennifer Lawrence. Not guys with soft, inky hair (well, it looked soft. Yuuji would need to run his fingers through it at some point to test that theory, though. For research purposes only, of course.) that stuck out in endearing spikes. Definitely not guys with a natural frown, whose cheeks puffed out slightly when he got really upset, and Yuuji definitely never wanted to pinch that face between his fingers because he found it adorable, like a kitten or some other tiny animal. There was certainly never a fluttery feeling in his stomach whenever he was around a certain pair of green eyes, eyes so deep and foresty that Yuuji could never bring himself to tear his gaze away for long. No, definitely not. This was pure friendship.
Besides, Fushiguro also saved his life for no good reason, even after Yuuji incarnated Sukuna. So, he disregarded all those mushy thoughts and shoved them down into a deep, dark corner in his mind. If Fushiguro didn’t think it was weird, then Yuuji decided this must be how it was to have actual close friends. It wasn't like Yuuji had any baseline to judge by, having spent most of his time before this alone or with superficial friendships, so who was he to say how it worked?
“Rice,” Fushiguro answered plainly.
“Cool, cool,” Yuuji nodded, his hands fidgeting in the pocket of his hoodie. He’d never smelt rice quite like that. No way Fushiguro was actually going to eat it, right? “It's just, I think it's burnt.” Yuuji stood on his toes, peering over the counter.
Fushiguro furrowed his brows (adorable), and glanced into the pot, then back over to Yuuji. “No. It’s still white.”
“Right,” Yuuji said carefully, making his way around the counter. “But it’s probably all brown on the bottom.” He flicked the stove off, now standing in front of Fushiguro. “You have to cook it on low heat or else it’ll burn.” He explained and gingerly took the spoon from Fushiguro. Their fingers grazed lightly as he did, and Yuuji swiftly turned away to shovel through the rice. “Look! I told you it was burnt. It’s all hard, too!” Yuuji pointed the spoon in Fushiguro’s face, 'tsking' like a disappointed teacher. “You know we have a rice cooker, right?”
Fushiguro snatched the spoon back with a scowl, moving the pot onto the counter, where a plastic bowl was already waiting. He watched in disbelief as Fushiguro began filling the bowl up with his half-burnt rice, while Yuuji's hand was still outstretched in the air, hovering over the now-empty stove. Was he seriously going to eat that?
“Wha– Fushiguro!” Yuuji swiped the bowl before Fushiguro could, backing away toward the trash. “You can't eat this. How do you not get stomach aches eating burnt food?”
“It’s just food.”
Yuuji gasped and clutched his chest dramatically, feeling like he could faint. Just food? Just food? Did Fushiguro care that little about what he ate that he’d eat some burnt rice? No way could Yuuji allow this. Fushiguro’s eyes just hadn't yet been opened to how great food could be. That had to be it, because no way he just didn't care, right? You can’t just not care about what you eat—at least not to the degree of willingly eating hard, burnt rice. Fushiguro must not know how to cook. That was probably why he was so indifferent about it. He wasn’t some robot, Yuuji was sure; he’d seen Fushiguro picking bell peppers out of his meal when they got lunch after a mission the other day, so clearly he had some preference.
“You’re not eating this. I don’t think it’s even edible…” Yuuji stared down at it sadly. What a waste of rice…
“What am I supposed to eat, then?” Fushiguro crossed his arms, lips set in a hard line.
Yuuji dumped the rice into the trash and tossed the bowl into the sink, dusting off his hands. If Fushiguro didn’t know how to cook, then Yuuji could teach him. He had to show Fushiguro the art of a true home-cooked meal. After Yuuji was done with him, he’d never want to eat burnt rice again.
Fushiguro liked ginger, so Yuuji should pick a recipe that pairs well with it. He hummed, tapping his chin thoughtfully, eyes shut as he sifted through the imaginary list of recipes in his mind. It would be better to pick something easy, too, so Fushiguro could remember how to make it himself when needed.
“Uh, Itadori?—”
“I’ve got it!” Yuuji suddenly lit up, pointing a finger in the air as if to say 'eureka!'.
Fushiguro jumped and stumbled back in surprise. “Don’t just do that! What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me, Fushiguro. It’s you.”
“Wow. Thanks.” He drawled, scowling at Yuuji.
“Wha– I mean that you can’t cook!” Yuuji said, pointing at the pot between them, which had burnt flecks of rice stuck to the bottom.
“I can get by just fine,” Fushiguro muttered, looking away.
You wouldn't think it from looking at him, but Fushiguro actually got embarrassed pretty easily. He didn’t always get like this, though, all awkward and trying to hide; it was more common for him to express his embarrassment with anger, giving Yuuji a smack on the head or yelling at him to stop acting like an idiot in public. Sometimes, Yuuji would do things to embarrass him on purpose, because he thought the reactions were funny (cute), but that wasn’t what he was trying to do now. If he set Fushiguro off, he’d run away and not listen to a thing Yuuji said. He couldn’t have that if he was going to save Fushiguro’s appetite.
“I’m sure you can,” Yuuji nodded, trying to sound sincere. He had to hold his tongue, because he really wanted to say that there was no way Fushiguro could 'get by' if all he ever ate was plain, burnt rice. “But, I still think it’d be good for you to learn how to cook… other things.”
“I’m not sure I want you to teach me anything…” Fushiguro mumbled, looking weary.
“Hey, I’m a great teacher!” Yuuji huffed.
“Right…”
Yuuji decided to ignore that. “C’mon, Fushiguro,” He closed the few steps of space between them, spinning Fushiguro around by his shoulders and ushering him toward the fridge. Fushiguro bristled and tried to complain, but Yuuji ignored him again.
“You’re gonna learn to make some meatballs! I promise you can put as much ginger as you want.” Yuuji, not being able to resist, poked Fushiguro in the ribs teasingly.
Fushiguro yelped—a sound Yuuji had never heard from him before— and swatted him away. He didn’t run, though, and still let Yuuji teach him the recipe. He actually listened as Yuuji explained the steps, watching as he mixed ingredients together and prepped them for the stove.
It almost felt domestic, but Yuuji didn’t linger on that thought for long.
So. Yuuji had died. Like, literally died—heart ripped from his chest and everything. Then, for some unknown reason, Sukuna had belatedly decided to bring him back to life.
He shuddered whenever he remembered it; the feeling of his heart being torn out, the way Sukuna’s nails had dug through his flesh.
It was just a reminder of how much stronger he needed to get. He couldn’t let that happen again, could never let Fushiguro wear that sad expression of solemn acceptance again—the kind of expression you had when your friend was dying and there was nothing you could do about it. He wouldn't be a burden anymore.
So, he fought during that exchange event, and he fought hard. Almost lost himself to his anger when he saw the blood dripping from Fushiguro’s mouth, ready to lose it on the curse for daring to harm him, but Todo had been there to snap him out of it. Literally, he’d straight-up slapped Yuuji across the face. He couldn't say it didn’t work, though, even if Todo was… strange, to put it lightly.
Anyway, that wasn’t the point now. He was finally reunited with Fushiguro. God, he’d missed his friends so much. It was so lonely those two months, watching movies all by himself in that secluded basement, his only company being Gojo-sensei. He had been so happy when he got that mission with Nanamin, when he meant Junpei and thought he finally wouldn’t have to be lonely anymore. But then…
He wasn't going to let anything like that happen again.
Well, he can dwell on that some more later. For now, he was just happy to see his friends again. Kugisaki was probably still asleep in her dorm, but Yuuji had woken early and decided to make some breakfast, which he brought over to the infirmary. It was weird, finally being back, and he hadn’t slept that well while he struggled to get used to it. Being sleep deprived had him wondering if Fushiguro’s lashes had always been that long, or if it was just Yuuji’s mind playing tricks on him—a drowsy haze. He’d noticed them when Fushiguro blinked in surprise, watching Yuuji barrel toward his bed with two bowls of food. Yuuji had studied the motion, the way Fushiguro's lashes kissed the apples of his cheeks, and thought, 'huh'.
Yeah, blame it on the sleep deprivation.
“You didn’t have to…” Fushiguro eyed him, gingerly taking the warm bowl from Yuuji’s hands. Yuuji just shrugged, collapsing into the seat at his bedside.
“It’s no problem. I made too much, anyway.” He lied, knowing full well he had been cooking with Fushiguro on his mind the whole time.
“Idiot,” Fushiguro mumbled.
“I heard that!”
“You were meant to.” He retorted. Yuuji huffed, and Fushiguro brought up his chopsticks, taking a bite of his food. He grinned when Fushiguro let out a quiet, appreciative hum at the taste.
The banter came easily, which Yuuji was grateful for. It felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders, and he could finally relax. He had been worried that things would be different, that Fushiguro and Kugisaki would’ve moved on and forgotten all about him by now. He was glad that wasn’t the case, even if Kugisaki did bully him for his surprise return. He’d done whatever she told him to, though, because he felt bad for making her cry. Distantly, he’d wondered if Fushiguro had cried for him too, but that was a crazy, weird thing to think so he pushed it away.
Yuuji talked around the food in his mouth (to Fushiguro’s evident distaste, if the look on his face was anything to go by), knowing it was bad manners but being too excited to hold himself back. He’d asked about everything: what he and Kugisaki had been up to, what Yuuji missed out on, and how the hell a Panda was enrolled as a second-year. To Yuuji’s delight, Fushiguro actually indulged, answering even the more ridiculous questions. He must’ve missed Yuuji more than he let on.
Eventually, the conversation petered off into a comfortable silence. Yuuji watched a bird building its nest on a tree outside the window, squinting against the early sunlight, while Fushiguro finished his breakfast. (Yuuji had scarfed his down within minutes. Fushiguro was a pretty slow eater, he’d noticed, and all graceful and neat with the way he ate and held his chopsticks.)
“Here,” Fushiguro’s voice broke the calm silence, and Yuuji blinked out of his thoughts, tugging his eyes away from the window. He looked down at the bowl being pushed toward him, no more than a bite-sized portion left at the bottom. “You can have the rest.”
Yuuji blinked again. In itself, it wasn’t a weird gesture, but it made Yuuji feel a little… concerned? Fushiguro needed to eat if he was going to recover. Plus, Yuuji hadn’t even given him that big of a portion, knowing Fushiguro had a smaller appetite than himself. Then there was the fact that the last thing Fushiguro ate was some pizza yesterday, and that had been well over twelve hours ago by now. Surely he was hungry enough to at least finish a simple breakfast?
“I’m all good, Fushiguro. Eat. You need energy to heal faster!” Yuuji brushed him off, lightly pushing the bowl back.
“I’m fine,” Fushiguro insisted.
“Dude, there’s literally a hole in your stomach.” Yuuji deadpanned, meeting Fushiguro's eyes with an unimpressed glare. That curse's roots had really done a number on him. “Just eat. I’m full, anyway,” Yuuji said, using more force this time to push the bowl into Fushiguro’s lap. Fushiguro grumbled about it, which Yuuji thought was kinda cute, and unhappily shoveled the last bite into his mouth.
Now that he thought about it, this wasn’t the first incident. The only time they really had meals together pre-Yuuji’s death was after missions, since Yuuji hardly ever ate at the same time as Fushiguro back at the dorms. Whenever they did eat together, Fushiguro always ended up offering the last of his food to Yuuji or Kugisaki, no matter how small or large the portion was. Yuuji always thought that Fushiguro just had a small appetite, but maybe it was something else?
Or, maybe Yuuji was just making something out of nothing. There wasn't anything wrong with sharing, right? He was probably just being overly concerned since Fushiguro was injured, and it had been a while since Yuuji last saw him. He had a lot of… confusing feelings toward Fushiguro, so it was likely just that messing with his head. That made more sense. It wasn’t concerning, exactly, just something Yuuji had picked up on. It was almost funny; Yuuji had never seen someone get so prickly about not having to share before.
Weird. But it was probably nothing. Everyone had their quirks, and Fushiguro’s just happened to be… insisting on other people eating his food.
“Shit!”
Yuuji hissed as the curse's hand scraped across his bicep, long, jagged nails breaking his skin. He could already feel the blood seeping through his sleeve, but he ignored the pain for now, recovering quickly and heaving himself forward to land a kick. Fushiguro’s dog charged toward the curse in time with Yuuji, jaw snapping and snarling.
“Fushiguro!” Yuuji called over his shoulder.
“Yeah, I know!” He yelled back, sounding irritated. Fushiguro’s Toads sprang from the shadows, their tongues shooting out to hold the curse in place so they could land more effective attacks.
Yuuji was glad they were in the woods, because Ijichi hadn’t set a veil before they started the mission, and there would’ve been a ton of structural damage by now if they were in the city. They had been caught off guard, being given incorrect information. The mission report stated the curse was a grade-two, born from the fear of forest fires, but they were instead attacked by a high-grade-one. They seriously needed to get someone to do more thorough investigations on this stuff.
With the curse restrained, Yuuji mustered up all his energy and landed a direct hit, driving his fist through the curse’s stomach. Yuuji cringed as it exploded, curse blood splattering over his clothes and face. As a comfort, he thought about the long bath he’d take later, and wiped his jaw off with his sleeve. At least it was exorcised now, he told himself, grinning as he crouched down to give Fushiguro's Shikigami head pats. He knew that ‘they’re familiars, not pets, blah, blah, blah,’ but the dog was so cute! He couldn't not pet it.
To his dismay, though, the Shikigami suddenly dissolved into the shadows before Yuuji got the chance to even graze its fur. He pouted, thinking Fushiguro was punishing him for daring to even think about it.
“Fushigurooo, come on–” Yuuji began his complaints, whipping around to shine some puppy dog eyes. He expected Fushiguro to be standing there with crossed arms, rolling his eyes or something, but instead he was stumbling and leaning against a tree.
“Fushiguro!” Yuuji yelped, already rushing over. His hands skirted and hovered all around Fushiguro’s uniform, searching for injuries with a worried tick to his brow. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Fushiguro rubbed at his forehead like he had a migraine and mumbled, “I’m fine. Just… took a lot of energy to summon multiple Shikigami.”
Yuuji frowned. “Yeah, but you’re usually fine after using two,” He leaned forward, looking into Fushiguro’s unfocused eyes. “You don’t look so good. You’re paler than usual and can barely stand! Did you eat anything today?”
Fushiguro blinked. “... I forgot.”
Yuuji blinked. “...You forgot?”
Fushiguro grumbled and shoved Yuuji away with half effort, swaying slightly as he pushed away from the tree he’d been using as a crutch. “It’s normal to forget sometimes. Let’s just head back.”
Yuuji sputtered as Fushiguro brushed past him. “Wh- It’s ten at night! Maybe it’s normal to forget one meal every now and then, but it’s not normal to forget to eat for over a day!” Yuuji jogged after him, his shoes crunching over leaves and sticks. Was Fushiguro serious? They’re sorcerers; how did he expect to fight without any fuel? Yuuji could only go a few hours between meals before he already felt starving! He couldn't imagine fighting a grade-one curse without a hearty meal beforehand. “Did you not, like, I dunno, get hungry?”
Yuuji had caught up with Fushiguro, and decided to hover his arm behind his back in case he keeled over or something. He’d really like it if his best friend didn't pass out and collapse into the foliage. What if Yuuji wasn't quick enough and he rolled down the mountain?
Fushiguro furrowed his brows like it pained him to try and remember, sparing a quick glance from the corner of his eye. “I mean, no? I didn’t really think about it,” He mumbled.
“I don’t think that’s… normal,” Yuuji said, trying to keep his tone light. He wasn’t sure how Fushiguro would react to being directly confronted with his abnormal behavior, but he didn’t think it’d be great.
“I’m fine,” Was Fushiguro's clipped reply, before he immediately stumbled, nearly falling over when they reached the sidewalk. The sudden shift of the ground must've been disorienting for him.
Yuuji squeaked and grabbed onto the back of his uniform to steady him, clutching the fabric in his fist to hold him up.
“Um. Maybe we should sit while we wait for Ijichi,” Yuuji chuckled, trying to hide his worry, already guiding them to sit on the edge of the pavement. Fushiguro slumped forward slightly as they did, cradling his head between his hands. Yuuji gnawed on his bottom lip, moving his hand from Fushiguro's back to instead rest gently on his shoulder. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Fushiguro said for the umpteenth time, straightening up and turning slightly to face Yuuji. Surprisingly—well, surprising to Yuuji, at least— he didn’t immediately smack Yuuji off of his shoulder. Maybe he was finally getting used to physical touch, Yuuji thought hopefully. It was no secret that he was a touchy person, but Fushiguro never let him linger for long, always trying to escape his grasp—though it was more likely that Fushiguro didn’t even notice, looking two seconds away from passing out. “I just got light-headed from sitting down suddenly.”
Yuuji bit the inside of his cheek, refraining from fawning over Fushiguro like a worried mother. “Oh. Sorry,” He lamented, unsettling roots of concern growing in his chest, spiraling up his throat.
Fushiguro frowned. “Idiot. What’re you apologizing for?” He chided, though his voice sounded distant, like he was on the edges of sleep. Yuuji’s fingers clutched his shoulder tighter, ever so slightly.
“Never mind,” Yuuji murmured back. Fushiguro must still be light-headed, with the way he was talking. “I’ll text Ijichi to bring you a granola bar or something. And I’ll cook some dinner when we get back to school, kay?” Yuuji told him, using his free hand to pull his phone from his pocket. Fushiguro didn’t reply, but that was okay. He was probably really tired, fighting a curse on an empty stomach like that. And he called Yuuji an idiot? At least he knew the importance of proper nutrition.
Once he finished his text to Ijichi, he pocketed his phone and turned back to Fushiguro, who was already staring at him with an unreadable expression. Yuuji swallowed, suddenly nervous under Fushiguro’s watchful eyes, feeling like his every thought was somehow being dissected.
“Um. Ijichi will be here soon,” Yuuji told him, more out of a need to break the silence. He had never been great at keeping quiet when he felt tense, his mouth rapid-firing every thought that popped up before he could think better of it. “I could make those meatballs, if you want. I’ll even put extra ginger, since I know you like it. I just got some at the store. Or, I can make, like, soup or something, if you want a meal that’s easier on the stomach. I think you should eat some kind of meat, though, if you’re feeling light-headed. I’m pretty sure that means you need protein—” He paused, clacking his mouth shut mid-sentence.
Was it just him, or was Fushiguro getting closer? Yuuji sucked in a breath, staring silently back. Fushiguro still had that faraway look in his eyes, like his mind was on everything but whatever Yuuji had been rambling about.
And, yeah, Fushiguro’s face was definitely getting closer. Yuuji swallowed again, his throat dry and scratchy. Why would Fushiguro…
Oh, god, was Fushiguro about to kiss him? Right now?
Yuuji’s hand was fully clutching the fabric over Fushiguro’s shoulder now, trying to ground himself. He couldn’t force himself to look away even if he wanted to. His eyes were stuck on the warm glow of street lights against Fushiguro’s features, painting him like a picture straight out of a dream, sparkling under the stars. The street was quiet in the late night, no cars or people passing down the old road. It was only them and the trees, the only sound being Yuuji’s labored breathing mixing with the wind. When had it become so hard to breathe?
Yuuji opened his mouth as Fushiguro came closer, trying to say something, anything, but he couldn’t croak out a single sound. Fushiguro was… He was really…
Fushiguro slumped forward, his forehead knocking against Yuuji’s collarbone.
Yuuji blinked, suddenly snapped out of his daze. He looked down, confused, grabbing onto Fushiguro’s shoulders. He tried to push him back, shook him a little, but there was no response.
Fushiguro had passed out.
Oh.
Yuuji’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he suddenly felt too warm in his uniform despite the cold of the night. Why in the hell did he think that? What had come over him? Was he out of his mind? Fushiguro had clearly not been all there, exhausted and famished, and Yuuji had been thinking about… kissing him? He was such a terrible friend!
Yuuji blushed and adjusted Fushiguro to rest against his shoulder as he waited for Ijichi, hopefully in a more comfortable position for his spine. He didn’t want him to wake up with neck pain.
He stared down at his shoes pressed against the asphalt, his mind numb, and Fushiguro's weight warming his side. He tried to distract himself by focusing on the pain from where the curse had struck him, but it didn't work. His heart hammered in his chest with a revelation.
Yuuji had thought Fushiguro was going to kiss him, and he hadn’t planned on doing anything to stop it. He’d wanted him to.
It had been a week since Yuuji’s… discovery.
Yuuji knew he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he could decipher that it was definitely not platonic to want to kiss your best friend. Ever since that night, he’d been looking back on all of his interactions with Fushiguro, realizing what a fool he’d been this whole time. He had half a mind to feel embarrassed and wonder how Fushiguro never noticed anything with how stupidly obvious Yuuji was.
Yuuji was deeply, terribly, in love with his best friend.
That wasn’t important right now, though, so he pushed it away to revisit later. What he needed to focus on was Fushiguro’s… problem, as he’d been calling it. Each incident by itself wasn’t really anything to worry about, but all of it combined… Yuuji was concerned! Even after passing out, Fushiguro still hadn’t seemed to figure out that he should consistently eat throughout the day to sustain himself. It made sense, now, that Yuuji hardly ever saw him for meals at school. Fushiguro did not eat like a normal person.
Just last night, he nearly gave Yuuji a heart attack!
He had woken up in the middle of the night, none the wiser, his mouth dry. He was thirsty, so he went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and that was when it happened. He flicked on the light, still half asleep, and nearly passed out when he saw Fushiguro there at the counter, eating whatever meal he’d prepared. Yuuji shrieked and asked why he was eating in complete darkness, and in the middle of the night, no less. Apparently, Fushiguro had better night vision than most, thanks to his technique. That answered the eating in the dark, but it didn’t explain the late hour.
Sure, it was normal to get hungry late at night sometimes, even Yuuji did, but— He had a suspicious feeling that Fushiguro was only eating that late because he’d forgotten to during the day. Again.
It was time for an intervention.
Yuuji had done a lot of preparing for this. And by preparing, he meant that he spent, like, two hours on Google. People said the best way to do this was to keep an easy tone, to make sure the person in question didn't feel trapped or cornered. You shouldn’t act overly concerned, but it was good to let them know that you’re just worried and want to help. Yuuji could do that.
So, he now sat in the common room, waiting for Fushiguro to return from his solo mission. Yuuji picked a day he knew everyone else would be out of the dorms, just in case having others around would overwhelm Fushiguro.
Yuuji’s knee bounced impatiently as he waited, watching the minutes tick slowly by on his phone. He reminded himself to try not to get too worked up, even though every bone in him wanted to shake Fushiguro by the shoulders and beg him to tell Yuuji what was wrong.
He couldn’t do that, because Fushiguro would probably punch Yuuji and then stalk away to lock himself in his room. Yuuji couldn’t have that.
Yuuji almost failed his plan instantly, though, immediately springing up from the couch the second he heard Fushiguro’s familiar footsteps approaching. He folded his hands together, bouncing anxiously on his heels.
“Fushiguro! Hey!” Yuuji greeted him with a grin, hoping he looked normal as Fushiguro walked through the entrance.
“Itadori.” He acknowledged Yuuji with a tilt of his head before crouching down to tug off his shoes.
Yuuji hovered awkwardly for a moment, unsure, before clearing his throat and speaking up again. “I was hoping to, uh, talk to you.”
Fushiguro raised a brow, peering over at Yuuji while he placed his shoes by the door. When Yuuji didn’t say anything more, Fushiguro straightened up, frowning slightly. “...Okay?”
Non-confrontational, Yuuji reminded himself.
“So, uh,” Yuuji gestured toward the couch. Fushiguro seemed to take the hint, cautiously walking over with suspicion in his eyes. Yuuji sat, and Fushiguro looked him up and down before sitting next to him.
“What’s wrong with you?” Fushiguro eyed the way Yuuji fidgeted with his hands, pursing his lips.
“Nothing!” Yuuji answered a little too fast, his voice a little too high-pitched. He rubbed the back of his neck and mentally chided himself for acting like a dumbass. “Nothing, I just… noticed some things recently.”
Fushiguro furrowed his brows, eyes flitting all across Yuuji’s face. “About me?”
“Well. Yes.”
“What, like about my technique or something?”
Yuuji pretended to think about it, tapping his chin. “No, not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
“Uh, no.”
Fushiguro huffed. “Can you just spit it out?”
“The way you eat.”
Fushiguro blinked. “...The way I eat?”
“I’ve been really concerned about you, okay? I don’t know if you’re, like, scared of food or something—”
“What?” Fushiguro’s face scrunched up. “I’m not afraid of food. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Okay, well, first of all, you were perfectly okay with eating some burnt, unedible rice because ‘it's just food’. I chalked it up to you not knowing how to cook, but now I’m pretty sure you just genuinely don’t care what you eat! And—” Fushiguro opened his mouth to rebuttal, but Yuuji barreled on, not being able to stop once he had gotten started “ —You’re always forgetting to eat, and then when you do remember, you never even finish the full thing! You try and give it to someone else! It isn't normal to not be hungry all day—”
“Yuuji!” Fushiguro yelled, cutting him off. Belatedly, Yuuji realized that Fushiguro had been calling his name during his whole ramble, trying to get his attention. ‘Itadori’ hadn’t worked, apparently, and Yuuji’s stupid heart couldn’t help but beat excitedly in his chest. He called me Yuuji, he thought dazedly, before shaking his head to refocus himself.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Fushiguro shifted away, taken aback. “I don’t do that.”
Yuuji gaped. “Uh. Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
Yuuji brought his hands up to his head, running his fingers through his hair, trying not to pull it out with frustration. He genuinely couldn’t believe this. “You passed out last week because you forgot to eat!”
Fushiguro crossed his arms, shifting again. “That was a one-time thing.”
“You– You were eating at like two in the morning last night! You totally didn’t eat all day!” Yuuji exasperated, reaching out to shake Fushiguro by the shoulders. Well, so much for non-confrontational. “Do you seriously not realize?”
Fushiguro whacked his hands away, huffing angrily. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about this.”
“Because I’m worried about you!”
“Why?”
“Because you— because you’re my friend, obviously.” Yuuji sputtered, heat creeping up his neck. He was getting dangerously close to admitting something he hadn’t planned on unpacking yet. “What happens if you pass out during a mission next time instead of after? What if you get seriously hurt?” Yuuji stressed, trying to knock some sense into Fushiguro’s head.
Fushiguro stilled, hands clenching in his lap. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, like he was fumbling with what to say. The silence stretched on for a few seconds, and Fushiguro glanced at Yuuji before quickly looking away, down at his lap. “...Sorry. I didn’t realize I was being a burden,” He finally settled on, mumbling.
Something twisted terribly in Yuuji’s stomach. This was not how he wanted this to go. “Fushiguro, no–”
Fushiguro raised a hand, shutting him up. “It’s fine. I’m not going to pass out like that again. Sorry.” He moved to get up, but Yuuji caught onto his wrist and held him in place. Fushiguro jerked his head between his arm and Yuuji’s face, incredulous.
“Fushiguro, listen,” Yuuji begged. Fushiguro didn’t say anything, but he sat back down, so Yuuji took it as a win. “I’m not saying you’re a burden on anything like that. At all.” Yuuji insisted, racking his brain for some way to get Fushiguro to believe him.
Well. There was something he could think of, at the risk of being completely embarrassed for the rest of his life.
Whatever. Fushiguro is more important than that.
Yuuji swallowed, still holding on to Fushiguro’s wrist. Here goes nothing… “I really, really like you, Fushiguro, okay? I just want you to be healthy. I care about you so much, and it hurts me to see you hurt.”
Fushiguro’s face blanked, and Yuuji thought for a moment that he might’ve ruined everything—but then, the tips of his ears burned pink. Under his fingers, he felt Fushiguro’s pulse pick up.
“You… what?”
Yuuji felt like he was on fire, a swarm of butterflies exploding in his stomach, but he paraded on. “I wanna help you in any way I can, Fushiguro. But you’ve got to tell me what’s going on,” He said softly, taking Fushiguro’s hands into his own.
Fushiguro finally gave in, sighing heavily and slumping back against the couch. He didn’t pull away, though; his hands still gently cradled in Yuuji’s.
“I’m not playing dumb or anything. I genuinely didn’t realize I was doing… any of that.”
Yuuji tilted his head. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Fushiguro said flatly, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I guess I just… never thought about it much. Tsumiki and I, we— we didn’t have much.”
Yuuji nodded along, encouraging him to continue. For the first time since Yuuji had met him, Fushiguro looked small. Slightly curled in on himself, avoiding eye contact uncomfortably. Yuuji didn’t like it. He squeezed Fushiguro’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Fushiguro didn’t acknowledge it, but Yuuji saw the way the apples of his cheeks bloomed light pink.
“Before Gojo came, we had, basically, no money. There wasn’t much to go around, so I learned to not always expect food. I guess I didn’t care what it was when we did get it because of that.” He shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I’d always give Tsumiki the last of my food, since she was older and needed it more. I wanted to feel...useful. As useful as a six-year-old could be, anyway. I never realized it was still a habit.”
Yuuji’s bottom lip quivered, and he used his hold on Fushiguro’s hands to pull him forward. He grunted as he collided with Yuuji’s shoulder, and Yuuji wrapped his arms around his back in a tight hug, squeezing like Fushiguro would disappear if he let go.
“Fushiguro! That’s so sad!” Yuuji cried, ignoring the way Fushiguro struggled against him. He never knew how much Fushiguro had suffered in his childhood. He hardly talked about himself. Ever. Yuuji would have to plead for even the smallest details. He and Kugisaki practically had to force him to tell them about Tsumiki, and Yuuji had to confess just to get him to talk about his childhood!
“Let go of me, you idiot!” Fushiguro’s voice was muffled against Yuuji’s T-shirt as he continued to struggle. Yuuji let him pull away this time, but he kept him close by holding onto his biceps, fingers curling firmly around the sleeves of his uniform.
Yuuji smiled softly, “I’ll tell you what, Fushiguro. Identifying the root is the first step!”
“You read that online, didn’t you?” Fushiguro asked, unimpressed. Yuuji’s smile fell slightly, but he didn’t let himself be deterred.
“So what? That doesn’t make it less true,” He huffed. “Anyway. Stop distracting me.”
“You do that enough for yourself.”
“Hey!” Yuuji let go of Fushiguro to punch him half-heartedly in the shoulder. “Listen to my compromise.” He demanded.
Fushiguro sighed. “You’re going to tell me either way.” He said, exasperated but fond. Yuuji grinned at that.
“I’ll let you give me all the last bites of your food you want, but you have to eat with me whenever I cook. You can help me with dinner, too. I was gonna cook after this.” Yuuji proposed, trying to sound a little more serious. He tilted his head to meet Fushiguro’s eyes properly, reaching out to brush his bangs from his face. “Okay?”
Fushiguro pursed his lips. “You just want my food.”
“Wha– No! That’s, like, the exact opposite of what I want, Fushiguro!” Yuuji vowed. “Last time I refused to take your food, you got all prickly about it. I figured—”
“I do not get prickly.”
Yuuji pressed his lips together tightly, trying not to smile. He was being prickly right now—
“I’m not.” Fushiguro seethed, seemingly reading Yuuji's mind, and whacked him over the head. “But, whatever. Fine.” He mumbled, pointedly averting his eyes. Yuuji couldn’t help the grin that overtook him, beaming. He pulled Fushiguro in for another crushing hug, trying to convey how proud he was. Fusiguro hardly even fought it this time.
Yuuji hadn’t really followed his original plan of calm and non-confrontational, but everything ended up working out anyway. So, he was content for now, holding Fushiguro in his arms.
Except, well…
“Hey,” Yuuji called, pulling Fushiguro back just enough to see his face.
Fushiguro squinted at him. “What?”
Yuuji gave him an expectant look, like that would convey his thoughts. Fushiguro just stared back, expression blank.
Great. So he was going to make Yuuji say it, then.
“I… You know…” Yuuji trailed off, glancing away.
“No, I don’t know,” Fushiguro replied, but there was a certain smug undertone to his voice, like he was trying not to laugh, that told Yuuji he knew exactly what he was getting at. Fushiguro was enjoying this. He was such a jerk. Yuuji loved him.
“You didn’t say anything about my confession!” Yuuji quipped, his face burning scarlet. Fushiguro’s hands twitched from where they’d found purchase on Yuuji’s waist. “I mean, you don’t have to—”
“Itadori—”
“—If it made you uncomfortable or something, I know I—”
“Yuuji—”
“—kind of just sprung it on you out of nowhere, I just wanted you to listen—”
He finally shut up when Fushiguro surged forward and pressed his lips to Yuuji’s, heat and frustration pushing against him. Yuuji froze, his eyes widening comically large. His mind blanked, his whole body zoning in on one fact: Megumi Fushiguro was kissing him. He formed half a thought, something like, 'I'm not gonna let this chance pass me by', before he got enough sense to relax into it, kissing him back. His skin buzzed pleasantly as he tilted his head, lifting his hand to run it through Fushiguro’s hair. It was soft, after all. Butterflies turned to full-on fireworks in his stomach when Fushiguro’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers scratching against the blunt hair of Yuuji’s undercut. Yuuji lost the ability to do anything else, to think about anything else besides kissing Fushiguro, his chapped lips moving against soft, surprisingly warm ones. This was Yuuji’s first kiss, and he really had no experience at all, but kissing Fushiguro felt like the most natural thing in the world. This was what he was put on earth to do, a small and slightly insane part of his brain told him.
Eventually— Yuuji had no idea how much time passed. Fushiguro was very distracting— Fushiguro pulled away. Yuuji, embarrassingly, tried to chase after his lips, letting out a small whine at the loss of contact.
“You,” Fushiguro panted, looking so very beautiful with his flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. His hair was tousled far more than usual, and fondness bloomed in Yuuji’s chest. I did that. “Are an idiot,” he finished, pointing, pressing his finger against Yuuji’s chest.
“Yeah, Megumi?” Yuuji grinned, breathless, tilting his head. Fush– Megumi gnawed on the inside of his cheek at that, face growing impossibly redder. Yuuji had been wanting to call him that for a while and thought now would be the time. Surely, he wouldn't hit Yuuji right after kissing him. Probably.
“Yes,” He affirmed. “But I like you anyway, for some reason.”
“You’re so romantic,” Yuuji breathed, leaning in again. He pouted when Megumi kept him back with that finger to his chest.
“You’re an animal. Weren’t you going to cook dinner?”
“Right!” Yuuji sprang up. He seized the opportunity to place a loud, exaggerated kiss on Megumi’s cheek as he stood from the couch, chuckling to himself. He had to shift Megumi away, since he'd somehow ended up in Yuuji's lap during their... endeavor.
“Yuuji…” Megumi groaned in disgust, using his sleeve to wipe the spit from his cheek. “You’re like a dog."
“I’ll be loyal like one, too. Aren’t you charmed?” Yuuji replied cheekily, nudging him with his foot.
“No.”
“Well, fine. I can charm you over dinner, then.”
Yuuji grinned again when Megumi allowed himself to be tugged up from the couch and dragged toward the kitchen.
Man, he was so in love.