Chapter Text
Itadori sort of thought he was invincible. Not literally, but he never really got sick much as a kid, his injuries were never too bad and they healed rather quickly. He always had really good stamina and he played every sport to try and find one that actually challenged him. He figured his life would always go that way. But then he turned twenty five and his body decided to rebel against him.
He was just getting a regular check up when his doctor started to poke and prod his spine a little more than normal. Itadori figured it was something to do with age, like how they have to give a little more attention to sight and hearing as you age. But no. His doctor sat down with a heavy sigh, typed silently on his computer for a couple minutes and turned apologetic eyes to Itadori. He said he’d like to send him to get some tests, but never completely explained why.
Now, he’s lying in a bed, his torso wrapped in tight bandages and a diagnosis looming in the air. This was not where he expected to be. Never in his life had it occurred to him that he could be sick, that his time on earth could be cut short out of his control. He realizes how naive he was, but it was damn nice being so ignorant to reality.
“I’m very sorry to deliver this news, but we have determined that you have Ependymoma,” the doctor at the end of his bed says. Itadori sucks in a breath and looks down at his blanket covered legs. His body sort of doesn’t feel like his own anymore and it feels like his brain is starting to float away.
“What does that mean?” Itadori asks. He’s had a million different illnesses explained to him over the past week and all the words are jumbled in his mind.
“It’s a tumour on your spine, as we expected,” the doctor says, “thankfully, we caught yours in stage 1, so things are looking hopeful.”
“So I have cancer,” Itadori says, lungs feeling like they can’t get enough air. The doctor gives him a solemn nod and scribbles something on his clipboard.
“We will discuss your treatment once we have a better understanding of the tumour and its projected growth. For now, we’d like to keep you here for observation until we start treating it,” the doctor says, “would you like to contact your family to bring you anything you need?” Itadori shakes his head, biting at his lip.
“They… live out of state,” Itadori says, not wanting to explain his lack of family, “all I really need is a toothbrush anyway. Would I be able to request that?” The doctor nods, scribbles something again, and walks out of the room. Itadori lets out a long breath and looks over at the other bed occupying his room. A coma patient who they aren’t entirely sure is going to wake up ever again.
He looks down at his hands, flexing and curling his fingers. He has cancer. He knows little more than that at this point, but cancer is a bad thing. He’s not entirely sure you can actually stop cancer. He never bothered to do much research into it, again, he never thought it would happen to him. Then again, does anybody ever think they’re going to be the one things happen to? He’s so caught up in his thoughts, that he doesn’t notice the person next to him until there’s a soft tap on his shoulder. He jumps slightly and looks up to meet deep, dark blue eyes. “Sorry to startle you,” he says.
His voice is husky, but still pleasantly light. His face is set and serious, but it seems to be a little soft around the edges. He’s holding a toothbrush and toothpaste. “It’s alright,” Itadori says, clearing his throat.
“You requested these, yeah?” he says. Itadori nods dumbly and takes them, setting them on his bedside table. He swallows the lump in his throat and squints at the nametag on the guy's scrubs.
“Fushiguro?” Itadori says plainly. The nurse smiles and stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“That would be my name,” he says, “I work most of my shifts on this floor, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” Itadori nods, still feeling a bit numb and out of place. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“I- I think I’m okay,” Itadori says, “thank you.” Fushiguro nods and grabs the clipboard hanging off of Itadori’s bed. When he reads whatever is on there, his face drops slightly and it makes Itadori’s heart ache. The doctor sounded optimistic, but cancer is cancer.
“I’ll be back in an hour for a check up, if you need anything before that, press the button,” Fushiguro says, “I’m here to help you, Itadori.” Hearing his name in that husky voice is surprisingly pleasant. Even though Fushiguro’s face is rather intimidating, there’s something comforting about his aura.
“Thank you,” Itadori says as Fushiguro goes over to the coma patient. He watches him move, admiring how dextrous his fingers are as he replaces the IV bags. He’s always enjoyed watching people do the things they’re good at, and this is no exception. He also happens to notice how wide Fushiguro’s shoulders are in his scrubs, how his biceps seem to strain against the sleeves.
Leave it to his libido to be as present as ever, even after getting life shattering news. Maybe it’s a good thing that not everything has been flipped upside down. When Fushiguro leaves the room, he gives Itadori a polite nod and salute. Itadori tries not to pay attention to the slight flush on his cheeks. He’s dealing with some scary stuff right now, he really shouldn’t be crushing on his nurse.
–
“Can I get the full history of the patient in room 427?” Fushiguro asks, leaning against the desk in the lobby. Kugisaki raises an eyebrow, barely looking up from her computer.
“Since when do you ask for patient history?” she asks. Fushiguro sighs and starts picking at his nails, failing to look anything near casual.
“Since my new year's resolution is to be better at my job,” Fushiguro says. Kugisaki rolls her eyes, finally fully looking up at him.
“It’s May,” Kugisaki says lamely. Fushiguro groans and gives up trying to be casual.
“Can I see the patient's history or not?” Fushiguro asks. Kugisaki hums like she’s actually thinking about it, a playful smile on her face.
“Not until you tell me why,” Kugisaki says, “it’s been a while since anything interesting has happened around here. Give me the juicy details.” Fushiguro shakes his head. Why does he even bother?
“There are no details,” Fushiguro says.
“Well, then no history for you,” Kugisaki says, “you’re not even allowed to have it, really. Only the history in the patient's room.” Fushiguro sighs and turns to walk away. He’s just going to have to go the old fashioned way and talk to the patient. He can’t say he’s super excited about that idea. Despite working a social job, he’s not very good at socializing. “Stop, fine. Get back over here.”
Fushiguro grins slightly before he turns back around. He knows Kugisaki well enough to know she hates not knowing things. Even if he won’t explicitly say his reasoning, she’ll figure it out soon enough. She riffles through a drawer and pulls out a file. She glances around them and slides it to him. “Make it quick,” she says. Fushiguro hums and opens the file.
He reads over it quickly. He’s not entirely sure what he’s looking for, only that he has an insatiable desire to learn more about Itadori. Maybe it was the pink hair, maybe it was the diagnosis, maybe it was the emptiness of his only request being a toothbrush. When he feels like he’s gotten the information he wanted, he slides the file back to Kugisaki and gives her a small nod in thanks.
“I’m onto you,” Kugisaki says, “I’m going to figure out why you’re being weird.” Fushiguro shrugs.
“Good luck with that,” he says, turning to go back to his duties. He really does think she’ll need luck. He’s not even sure why he’s being weird. He’s worked with thousands of patients at this point, people of all varieties, so he’s not sure what’s special about Itadori. But he’s past the point of caring in all honesty, he wants to learn about him and it feels good feeding that urge. If it feels right, albeit weird, why not go for it?
–
It’s like the diagnosis flipped a switch in Itadori’s brain. Before this all happened, he felt perfectly fine, no pain, no aches, just his normal self. Now that he knows what’s wrong, his back is aching and his legs don’t seem to want to work properly, which is not great considering his bowels seem to be angry too. He’s been stable enough on his feet to get himself to the bathroom, but he’s not sure how long that’s going to last.
They sort of left him in the dark after dropping the diagnosis on him. Fushiguro came by in a rush to check his vitals then whisked out of the room mumbling about an annoying patient a couple rooms over. He’s had almost four hours alone and he’s managed to avoid the urge to look anything up. The internet always tells you you’re dying and he’d rather not plant that seed in his head right now. When his panic is starting to crescendo and he’s literally reaching for his phone to look his symptoms up, Fushiguro comes into the room.
“Hey,” Fushiguro says, a lot less flustered than before, “I’m sorry no one got to you sooner, the doctor who was supposed to give you the run down got thrown into a surgery at the last second.” Itadori nods, pulls his hand back to his chest. Fushiguro is better than the internet, that much must be true.
“I- what are the symptoms of the… what is it again? Endopemomi?” Itadori says. He should know what cancer he has, but it’s only been five hours since his diagnosis, cut him some slack.
“That’s what I’m here for, I’m going to give you a bit of a rundown, okay?” Fushiguro says, pulling a chair over, “let me know if anything I say doesn’t make sense or overwhelms you.” Itadori nods and pulls the blankets closer to his chest for some form of comfort.
“Do nurses normally do this?” Itadori asks. Fushiguro shrugs and grabs the clipboard hanging on Itadori’s bed.
“Not exactly, but I’m better than nothing, aren’t I?” Fushiguro asks. Itadori cracks a slight smile and nods. “So, you have a tumour on your spine and it’s cancerous, that much is simple. Since it’s your spine, your symptoms won’t be as bad as the ependymoma which happens in the brain.”
“I could’ve had brain cancer?” Itadori exclaims. Fushiguro takes a deep breath and gives Itadori a soft look.
“You technically still do, but that’s not important right now,” Fushiguro says.
“I think that is. This is my brain we’re talking about here,” Itadori says. Despite what he’s feeling, it comes out in an almost playful way. “Without my brain I’m just a- a guy with abs!” Fushiguro’s lips quirk ever so slightly and it’s the closest thing Itadori has seen to a smile on him. It looks nice.
“Don't get ahead of yourself,” Fushiguro says, “I haven’t even gotten to your prognosis yet.” Itadori nods and tries to give his most serious expression. “So, you’ll probably have some pain in your neck and back, sort of an ache. Your balance might be a little off and your legs will feel weak.” He looks down at the clipboard and checks something off, “you might also notice some differences in your bowel movements.”
Itadori can’t help the pathetic chuckle that leaves his lips. For some reason, seeing Fushiguro say bowel movements with such sincerity is comedic. Something about the seemingly permanent grumpy look on his face is charming. Fushiguro raises an eyebrow and Itadori shakes his head. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t laugh at bowel movements, I’m not sure why I found it funny,” Itadori says.
“Well, it’s good to see you’re in decent spirits, I guess,” Fushiguro says, “have you noticed any of these symptoms in the past couple weeks.” Itadori hums and picks at the edge of his shitty hospital blanket.
“I was fine until the doctor told me I had cancer, then my body suddenly decided to react. My back is sort of killing me and well… bowel movements. I guess my balance is a little off too,” Itadori says. For some reason he’s sort of embarrassed that his symptoms happened so suddenly.
“That’s pretty common, actually,” Fushiguro says, “it’s quite interesting how linked our minds are with our bodies. A lot of people don’t notice symptoms until they’ve been told they’re expected to have some.” Itadori lets out a breath of relief and slumps slightly in his bed. He shouldn’t be worried about this, but nothing is quite as it should be right now.
“Is the pain going to get worse?” Itadori asks cautiously, “I- well I play volleyball with my friends on the weekends and we have a tournament soon-”
“Itadori, you’re going to have to take a break from things for a while,” Fushiguro says solemnly, “you’re going to need treatment and it will interfere with your life. I’m sorry.” Itadori frowns, but he knew this already. You don’t just find out you have cancer and go back to life as normal. He was sort of hoping he would get some surgery, recover and go back to life, but he has a feeling that won’t be the case.
“Right,” Itadori says. Fushiguro puts a strong, warm hand on his shoulder.
“We’re going to help you through this, okay? Cancer isn’t an easy thing, but our goal is to make it as easy as possible,” Fushiguro says. Itadori nods, skin tingling where Fushiguro is touching him.
“You’re good at your job,” Itadori says. Fushiguro pinches his brows and gives Itadori’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before he retracts his hand.
“All I’ve done is tell you your illness,” Fushiguro says plainly.
“Yeah, but you’re good at it,” Itadori says, “thank you.” Fushiguro nods and looks back down at the clipboard. He goes into the details of Itadori’s prognosis and treatment. It all sounds horrible and scary and Itadori is really only taking in half of it. He’s still trying to process just how quickly things can change. A week ago, he was playing volleyball with his friends like normal, now he’s stuck in a hospital bed with a calculated time limit on his life.
“They’re serving dinner at the cafeteria soon, did you want anything to eat?” Fushiguro asks. Itadori doesn’t want to eat, not with his stomach so confused and queasy right now, but he knows he should.
“Yeah,” Itadori says, “can I go to the cafeteria or do I have to stay here?” Fushiguro puts the clipboard back in place and wipes his hands on his thighs.
“I can help you down there, I need some food myself,” Fushiguro says.
“Would I be interrupting your break?” Itadori asks. The last thing he wants to do is be a burden, especially to the particularly hot nurse who’s going to be tending to him.
“Don’t worry about that, I just need to eat, whether you’re there or not doesn’t affect my break,” Fushiguro says, “come on, we should go before all the good stuff is gone.” Itadori pushes his blanket off and carefully swings his legs over the bed. Fushiguro puts his arm out and Itadori uses it to stand. His legs are still pretty reliable, but he’ll take an excuse to touch Fushiguro.
When he’s stable, they make their way down the hall, Itadori keeping his arm looped with Fushiguro’s. He can feel his muscles flex as they walk and it’s a very welcome distraction from the ache in his neck and back. The cafeteria is pretty crowded when they get there, but Itadori sort of finds it comforting. It’s nice to see that the world is still spinning even though he’s completely off course.
Fushiguro sits him at an empty table and scurries off to get them food. Itadori just requested something light, since he knows the reputation hospital food has. He’s expecting the most bland food he’s had in his life. He looks around the room and takes everything in. There’s every type of person here and it sort of opens Itadori’s eyes. You never really know what’s going on in someone’s life.
Fushiguro comes back over with two trays of food and they actually look surprisingly appealing. He puts a soup in front of Itadori and a chicken salad in front of himself. “The only soup they had was tomato soup, I hope that’s okay.” Fushiguro says. Itadori is pretty sure Fushiguro could put a bowl of piss in front of him and he’d say thank you.
“Thank you,” Itadori says. They eat in silence for a while and Itadori finds that the food actually does make him feel a lot better. He didn’t realize he was feeling cold until the warmth of the soup pooled in his stomach and spread through his body.
“You’re allowed to have some visitors tomorrow before we start treatment,” Fushiguro says, “anyone you wanna see?” Itadori hums around a spoonful of soup. He should probably tell Satoru what’s going on, but he doesn’t want to bring anyone into this until he has a better understanding of what’s going on.
“Not sure yet,” Itadori says, “it still hasn’t really set in. I want to know more before I tell anyone, I guess.”
“I know it can take a while to process it,” Fushiguro says. Itadori looks down at his soup, swirling the spoon around.
“Thanks for eating with me,” Itadori says, “it’s nice to have company.” Fushiguro nods softly and pokes at his food. Itadori thinks he looks quite attractive under the dim lighting of the hospital lights.
“I normally eat alone on my breaks, so this is a welcome change,” Fushiguro says. Itadori smiles and he hopes the flush on his cheeks isn’t too evident.