Chapter Text
“Hey, Megumi, did you fall ill in the summer?”
Gojo approached from behind and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. He glanced curiously at what Fushiguro was looking at so intently in his palm and froze instantly. The silence hung thick and still, as viscous and stifling as an August midday.
“I guess so.”
Fushiguro held small, round petals in his hand. They seemed almost unnatural: the silky flowers looked just as delicate and fresh as if they had only just been plucked. Were it not for the drops of blood splattered upon them, one might have thought he had only just gathered them from the bush.
Fushiguro finally raised his eyes to Gojo. In them there was a dull longing and weary acceptance that calmly said, “I will get through this.”
“If only I had as much peace of mind as you have now, when I found out I had hanahaki.”
Fushiguro blinked sharply, his mask of humility cracked. His eyebrows rose, and air caught in a sharp lump in his throat. Someone beside him shared this experience. He was not alone in this suffering.
He had so many questions, yet at the same time they all seemed like mere dust swirling in a storm within his head.
He would still have time to ask about it, wouldn’t he?
“For us sorcerers, it’s not a terrible thing at all,” Gojo began with his usual smile. “You can live peacefully with it for the rest of your days. But I’d advise you to start training in the reverse cursed technique as soon as possible. Unless, of course, you want to spend your whole life running to Shoko.”
***
Megumi jolted up and bent in half from a violent fit of coughing. Each spasm grew more painful, as if shards of broken glass were tearing him apart from the inside. It felt as though, in another second, his lungs would burst into pieces under the pressure, leaving him without a drop of oxygen.
His chest heaved heavily, and he gasped for air with dry lips, accompanied by a gruesome, wet wheeze. When Megumi finally managed to look down, a shiver ran down his spine. His palms were soaked through and sticky with hot blood, in which delicate, lacy petals were drowning.
Exhausted, he threw his head back against the cold wall, closing his eyes. Gathering the last shreds of control, Fushiguro directed the flow of the cursed energy within himself, forcing it to flow in the opposite direction to patch up his torn lungs. The reverse cursed technique still did not come easily to him — it was a very slow and exhausting process.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Megumi leapt out of bed, trying to find the tissues as quickly as possible. But, as if to mock him, they had vanished without a trace.
Before Fushiguro could shout ‘wait’, the door swung open. Itadori was standing in the doorway. In the darkness of the room, it was hard to make out his expression, but the alarm in his voice said it all:
“Fushiguro, are you all right?” Itadori’s silhouette shifted, and Fushiguro watched in horror as his hand reached for the light switch by the door. “I’ve never heard you have such a bad asthma attack be…”
Click.
The light immediately struck his eyes, and Itadori fell silent at once. The last unspoken word caught in his throat, turning into a muffled, ragged exhale. His gaze darted straight to Fushiguro’s bloodstained hands and the petals scattered across the bed and floor. Itadori fell quiet, a silent question frozen on his lips.
Fushiguro covered his face with his hand, hiding from his gaze.
“You should have waited until I let you in…”
“What if you were dying in there?” replied Itadori.
Fushiguro exhaled heavily and finally looked up at Itadori.
“It’s all right, don’t worry,” he said evenly. “For us sorcerers, it’s not a terrible thing at all.”
He silently pulled out a drawer from his desk. The tissues he’d been frantically searching for a moment ago were lying right there. Fushiguro methodically wiped his fingers and lips, then tossed the blood-soaked tissues into the trash.
Itadori had been watching him intently the whole time. His fists would clench and unclench involuntarily until he found the courage to break the silence:
“And how long have you had… this?”
“Hanahaki?” Fushiguro asked. After waiting for Itadori’s uncertain nod, he replied. “About a year.”
Itadori’s face instantly contorted with genuine bewilderment. One eyebrow rose comically.
“Huh? Did you even try to confess to this person?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Why?!” Itadori was about to snap, but suddenly fell silent.
He gave Fushiguro a very attentive, appraising look from head to toe. As if pondering something extremely difficult and complex, he rubbed his chin, squinting his eyes.
“Well, first of all, you’re a handsome guy. Few can resist that.”
Fushiguro froze, blinking in confusion. His mind had completely short-circuited.
“Secondly, you have such a calm and dependable nature. When I’m with you, I can relax and not worry about the little things.”
It became unbearably awkward for Fushiguro to listen to so much praise in such a context. His hands itched to smack Itadori on the back of the head to shut him up, but, remembering that his hands might still be stained with blood, he abruptly raised his palm in front of Itadori’s face and cut him off:
“You make it sound as if these things alone are enough to make someone fall in love,” he snapped, his irritation masking his embarrassment.
“Then we’ll make that person fall in love with you!” declared Itadori.
Fushiguro was speechless. He desperately searched Itadori’s face for even the slightest hint that this was a joke, but, much to his dismay, the other was completely serious.
“We?” Fushiguro asked hoarsely.
“Yes! And you’ll no longer suffer from hanahaki.”
“But what if the feelings are still unrequited and I die of a broken heart?”
Itadori froze instantly: his lively face stiffened with genuine horror, and his shoulders tensed. As soon as Fushiguro saw this fear, a laugh burst from his chest. Perhaps it wasn’t right of him to joke like that, but let it be a small act of revenge for Itadori. He’d cornered him with his thoughts, so perhaps this would snap him out of it.
“I’m joking. Nothing will change for me.”
Itadori exhaled loudly, as if a tonne of weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and finally managed a faint smile.
“You really have to scare me like that, when I don’t know much about hanahaki…” Itadori’s eyes lit up with excitement and energy, and he continued confidently. “I suggest we meet tomorrow and work out our own plan to win her heart!”
Fushiguro swallowed hard.
“All right, all right,” he exhaled quietly, giving in.
His throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t because of the flower petals. He understood perfectly well just how devastating the consequences of this lie would be, and what a deep trap he had just driven himself into.
They exchanged a brief ‘goodnight’, and the door behind Itadori finally closed. Fushiguro sank exhausted onto his bed. His mind was anything but at peace. It felt as though sand was grinding between his teeth from the bitter sensation of guilt and regret. He berated himself for not being able to say ‘no’, for not being able to refuse Itadori’s childishly naive desire to try and save him once again.
Itadori had no idea that he was the one Fushiguro was in love with, did he? That he was the very reason Fushiguro had decided to accept this illness as something that would be with him for the rest of his life.
Fushiguro had never thought of imagining them together as romantic partners, or even of confessing his feelings. Isn’t it sad to see yourself becoming the cause of another person’s pain? How do you cope with the guilt afterwards, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it?
Itadori was a bright, warm light that everyone around him instinctively gravitated towards. Somewhere ahead, his destiny still awaits him, someone who will be his true equal; someone who can walk beside him in the sunlight, rather than dragging a trail of shadows behind them.
Sooner or later, this idiotic plan will reach a dead end, and he’ll have to tell the truth. Until then, he’ll have to play along.
Maybe he could lie later, saying that, in the end, his feelings weren’t reciprocated — that’s an option too?
***
“Good morning!” Itadori exclaimed cheerfully, spotting Fushiguro in the kitchen doorway.
When he walked in, he’d expected Itadori to bombard him with a barrage of questions about the object of his affection or offer a whole host of ready-made strategies for winning her heart. However, it seemed nothing had changed. Their weekend began, as always, with the sizzling of frying pans and the boiling of water.
Bright early sunlight streamed through the window, flooding the room with golden light. The birds chirped and twittered tirelessly. Their ringing voices filled the morning. The stifling and intense heat that would inevitably come with the sun at its zenith had not yet settled over the land. The air was fresh, cool and surprisingly clean. It was easy and pleasant to breathe. Every breath brought a sense of calm.
“Good morning. What are you cooking already?” he asked, peering over his shoulder.
In front of Itadori, scrambled eggs sizzled in the frying pan; he was carefully folding them with a spatula. The smell of food in the kitchen was already making his stomach rumble.
“Tamagoyaki.”
Fushiguro snorted and asked:
“How about some toast? We can make both savoury and sweet.”
“I’m all for it,” Itadori replied with a smile, turning round.
Recently, they’d developed an unspoken tradition: every weekend, the three of them would have breakfast together in the shared kitchen of the hall of residence. Sometimes they’d plan something special or even themed, and sometimes, on the contrary, they’d whip up something simple and quick.
However, this morning, Kugisaki had clearly overslept. Fushiguro and Itadori had already set the table and made coffee for everyone, but she still hadn’t shown up.
Itadori took a small sip, and his gaze darted towards the door for a moment. After making sure the corridor was empty, he leaned forward ever so slightly, moving closer to Fushiguro, and began in a hushed voice:
“I spent a long time last night thinking about how you actually make someone fall in love, and to be honest, I’ve no idea how any of it works!”
“He hasn’t forgotten,” Fushiguro realised with a heavy heart.
“I’ve seen it in films, on TV shows, even when my classmates started dating, but that was already the result or the moment leading up to it. Do they really just instinctively feel it and realise: “This is it”?”
“Do you want me to give you the answer to that question?”
“Well, yes. Of the two of us, you were and still are the one in love.”
Fushiguro rested his forehead heavily on his palm, hiding his eyes. He simply couldn’t believe that a person who had no idea how love worked had so enthusiastically decided to help him. Was this the very same absolute, blind self-sacrifice of Itadori?
“I don’t know, I started coughing when I thought about them,” Fushiguro replied flatly, without even changing his expression.
Itadori’s face immediately fell with disappointment.
“And you don’t smile when you think of them? Don’t you get butterflies in your stomach? Don’t you want to be with them all the time? Doesn’t your heart beat faster when you stand too close or when your palms accidentally touch?” Itadori blurted out in one breath.
“So you lied to me, saying you didn’t know anything,” Fushiguro said menacingly, giving him a gentle tap on the head.
“I read it on the internet!” he defended himself as if nothing had happened, rubbing his head. “I was just curious if it was true for you too.”
Fushiguro sighed almost imperceptibly. If Itadori was that curious, he would be honest. After all, a little truth wouldn’t do any harm.
“Not exactly. Maybe it was like that at first, but over time I got used to it and just started ignoring it. It hasn’t felt like something… special for a long time now.”
“But will it never go away completely?” Itadori asked cautiously.
“Perhaps it’s hard-wired into our nature, like a timer counting down to an explosion. If your feelings aren’t reciprocated, you’ll die, and there’ll be no ‘forever’. But, as I’ve already said, for us sorcerers, that’s no problem. So, I suppose, yes, it’ll never go away for me.”
Itadori’s expression darkened noticeably. His shoulders slumped.
“How unfair it is not to have another chance,” he said quietly, propping his cheek with his hand and staring into his cup. But a moment later, his eyes flashed once more with that familiar, stubborn fire. He slammed his palm down on the table. “Then we’ll fight for that chance for you!”
“How?” Fushiguro asked bluntly.
“You’ll go after them!”
“Huh?”
“First, we’ll study the theory: how to do it properly, and go through some examples,” Itadori began counting on his fingers. “I thought we could watch a romantic film together, but there are hardly any normal characters our age in them, and the plot is usually completely detached from reality. I thought long and hard about where to find inspiration, and… manga! So I suggest we go to the bookshop today and…
Listening to this absurd yet sincere plan, Fushiguro eventually couldn’t help but let out a soft, barely perceptible smile. There was something about Itadori’s boundless energy that simply made it physically impossible to stay angry for long or sink into despair.
“And exactly where are you planning to go?” came a voice, hoarse from sleep.
Yawning and stretching lazily, Kugisaki entered the kitchen. Taken by surprise, Itadori and Fushiguro nearly jumped out of their chairs in unison. Nobara stopped and narrowed her eyes suspiciously, watching their overly nervous reaction. But her own plans interested her far more than other people’s secrets.
“I actually need to buy some new sandals and a swimsuit. Maki’s suggesting we go to the beach, and I’ve got absolutely nothing!” she muttered under her breath, sitting down at the table next to them as if she owned the place.
“Good morning to you too, Kugisaki.”
“Sorry I overslept and missed breakfast, but how sweet of you to leave something for me,” she said, reaching for the plate.
“Your yoghurt’s still in the fridge,” Itadori helpfully reminded her.
“Right. Thanks.”
In the end, that was exactly how they agreed to head into the city centre together.
At the weekend, the streets of Tokyo were buzzing with countless people. Noisy groups of teenagers passed them by, laughing, whilst couples in love strolled leisurely, fingers intertwined, chatting quietly about something. The whole crowd merged into a single living hum, which blended with the incessant noise of the traffic.
Strolling through the bustling streets, Kugisaki scanned the shop windows on both sides of the road. Behind the immaculately clean glass, a wide variety of outfits were on display: from cute everyday looks to daring evening dresses. The choice was simply endless, and Kugisaki’s eyes sparkled with genuine excitement.
They had already managed to pop into several shops and buy a pile of things that were completely off their original list. The most obvious proof of this was the three identical T-shirts featuring prints of their favourite animals, which they had just impulsively bought in the sale.
As soon as they stepped out of the shop, Itadori was struck by another idea: he suggested they put on their new clothes right away. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned his back to the road, grabbed the hem of his old T-shirt, and with one swift, fluid movement pulled it over his head. And in the blink of an eye, he was already sporting his new T-shirt.
He cheerfully nudged Fushiguro to follow his example, but Fushiguro, having cast a single, involuntary glance at the crowd on the street, flatly refused. Instead, he nodded and, together with Kugisaki, turned back towards the shop to change in peace in a proper changing room.
Fushiguro understood Kugisaki’s true motives perfectly well. She hadn’t dragged them along just for a stroll. Firstly, she needed reliable, free carriers for her bags, and secondly, she needed advisors who could constantly help her choose.
But it was still fun. Fushiguro couldn’t help but smile as he opened the changing room door.
They continued on their way.
Kugisaki’s attention was suddenly caught by another bright shop window. She grabbed Itadori and Fushiguro by the sleeves and decisively dragged them inside. The moment they crossed the doorway, it became glaringly obvious where they had ended up — it was a women’s lingerie boutique. Plastic mannequins all around were dressed in semi-transparent lace sets with ruffles, and the air in the room was permeated with a faint, sweet, powdery scent.
Fushiguro glanced at Itadori. He stood as straight as a pulled string and was already staring back at him tensely. In Itadori’s slightly frightened eyes, a silent, panicked question remained frozen: ‘Is it even legal for us to be here?!’
Fushiguro decided not to react to this at all. He simply turned back to the nearest rack to examine the various swimsuits. Since Kugisaki had dragged them here as advisors, it would have been easier to do their job and leave quickly; otherwise, Itadori would burst with tension any moment now.
“What do you think of this one?” Fushiguro asked Kugisaki with complete composure, taking a one-piece swimsuit in a pleasant caramel shade off the hanger.
Itadori, desperately trying not to look at the wall of revealing lace bras next to them, forced himself to focus entirely on the fabric in his friend’s hands and stroked his chin with an air of expertise.
“Hmm… Maybe we should look for something brighter? But the cut is really nice,” replied Kugisaki.
So they wandered around the whole shop, and Kugisaki eventually gathered a whole pile of different options and headed to the fitting room. The boys had no choice but to stand by the cubicles, like two guards, meekly holding all her shopping bags.
“Did you see the bookshop across the street?” Itadori asked in a whisper, giving him a gentle nudge. “Let’s check it out while Kugisaki’s trying on clothes.”
Fushiguro looked at Itadori and, after a moment’s hesitation about whether to do it, nodded. They slipped out of the boutique unnoticed and ran to the bookshop, immediately scanning the shelves for the manga section. Fushiguro was the first to spot the right shelf with the large sign reading ‘Romance’ and tugged sharply at Itadori’s sleeve.
Their eyes were immediately overwhelmed by the choice.
“Fushiguro, listen,” Itadori began slowly and somewhat uncertainly, his gaze skimming over the spines of the manga, “are you in love with a girl or a boy?”
Fushiguro panicked inwardly. He was absolutely determined not to reveal a single, even the tiniest detail that might in any way point to Itadori. His brain simply refused to process the question, so before he had time to think, the words flew from his lips:
“I don’t know!”
Before Itadori could ask a puzzled follow-up question, a shopping assistant emerged from behind him.
“Can I help you, young men?” she asked with a gentle smile. Her voice was so even, quiet and drawn-out that her words seemed to simply hang in the air.
“Y-yes! ” Fushiguro snapped to attention, switching into rescue mode. “We’re looking for a present for our friend. She loves romantic stories: both shōjo and shōnen-ai. But we need some short, complete stories, preferably in a single volume!”
“O-o-oh… I see exactly what you’re looking for.”
And that’s when all the trouble started. She moved as though time around her had slowed down threefold. Very, very slowly, like a weary turtle, the consultant leaned towards the bottom shelf. Her fingers ran over the spines with excruciating slowness: one… two… three. Fushiguro felt as though he could physically hear the relentless ticking of their life’s clock.
Finally, she straightened up — just as smoothly — and handed them a few brightly coloured volumes.
“We don’t have that many short stories, but these are… the most popular…” She paused deeply between words, as if savouring them. “You know… lots of girls and even boys choose these ones. For example, in this story, the author places an extremely strong emphasis on..."
And she began to summarize the plot. It went on for what felt like an eternity. Out of mere politeness, they tried to listen at first and nodded actively, but with every passing second, a sticky dread grew ever more real. Fushiguro’s imagination was already painting a clear, terrifying picture: Kugisaki comes out of the fitting room, sees that there are no bags or carriers, and then there’s just more questioning from her.
Fushiguro quickly scanned the manga covers in the sales assistant’s hands. Suddenly, his gaze caught on one of the characters depicted. The lead’s romantic interest painfully reminded him of Itadori: the same athletic, short-haired guy with a broad, sunny smile.
“This one!” Fushiguro blurted out sharply, pointing his finger at the cover and rudely cutting the woman off mid-sentence.
So it wouldn’t look too suspicious, he grabbed another manga at random from her outstretched hands.
“And we’ll take this one too! Ring it up quickly, please!”
And so they left the shop, holding a new bag with two volumes of manga. They ran back to the shop as fast as they could to find Kugisaki, and, luckily, she finally came out just a few seconds later.
“I’ve chosen,” Kugisaki declared triumphantly, stepping out of the changing room and holding up a cream-coloured one-piece swimsuit with a palm leaf print.
“Cool,” Itadori replied quickly and a little nervously, shifting from foot to foot.
“Do you want to go for lunch? I’m absolutely starving after a whole day of wandering around the shops.”
They headed to a place Kugisaki had recently spotted on social media. According to her, this was where they made the most delicious fluffy pancakes in Tokyo — both sweet and savoury. No sooner had they all placed their orders and the waiter stepped away from the table than Kugisaki suddenly broke the cosy silence:
“So what are you hiding from me?” she rested her elbows on the table and swept them with a piercing, almost X-ray-like gaze.
They felt a chill run through them. Fushiguro could think of nothing better than to try to keep a straight face and lie boldly:
‘What are you on about? We’re not hiding anything.’
“Really?” Kugisaki smiled sweetly, though there wasn’t a shred of warmth in her eyes. “So where were you when I was trying on swimsuits? I wanted to ask you to bring me a size smaller. I peeked out of the changing room, and you’d vanished into thin air.”
That’s it. A disaster. There’s no way they can explain this away now. If it hadn’t been for that unbearably slow sales assistant, they would have made it back in time!
“What’s that new bag? — Nobara nodded towards the bookshop paper bag that Fushiguro was desperately trying to hide under the table with his knees.
“It’s a gift for you!” Itadori exclaimed loudly, flashing his widest, most sincere smile.
“It’s a manga,” Fushiguro admitted quietly at the same time, deciding to tell a half-truth.
A tense silence hung in the air. The boys turned sharply towards each other with looks as if they were ready to unleash their damn techniques right there in the middle of the café. Itadori looked at Fushiguro with reproach: ‘Why did you give yourself away?!’, and Fushiguro looked at Itadori with horror: ‘What sort of present is this?!’
“I don’t actually read manga, so I don’t see how this could be a present for me,” Kugisaki said sceptically, raising an eyebrow. She held out her hand, palm up, and beckoned with her fingers. “Show me. I’m really curious now.”
Fushiguro took only one volume out of the bag and placed it on the table in front of her.
“Huh? I thought schoolgirls usually liked this sort of thing,” Kugisaki said, eyeing the bright covers sceptically. “But it’s not for me to judge your tastes… Everyone has their own.”
Fushiguro finally gave up. He simply turned towards the window, pretending that the view outside was the most interesting thing in the world, and leaving Itadori to fend for himself.
Kugisaki, meanwhile, unceremoniously pulled the volume towards her. Her fingers tapped sceptically at the glossy cover, where a boy was pressing a girl against a wall. In the most theatrical, saccharine tone, she read aloud the description on the back cover, then slowly lowered the manga and stared at them:
“Are you serious? Itadori, you’re the one who cries over action films. And Fushiguro only ever reads some boring non-fiction. Since when have you been into sappy romance?"
“Hey, it’s a really deep book!” Itadori began to defend himself feverishly, though a tell-tale bead of sweat had already appeared on his temple. “There’s such… psychological depth! Great character development!”
“You’re lying,” Nobara replied coldly. She leaned over the table so close that Itadori instinctively pressed himself back against the chair. “Your eyes are darting around faster than cockroaches in a kitchen. Why do you need this? Tell the truth, or I’ll tear this book in half right now.”
Fushiguro remained silent, visibly tense and mentally begging Itadori to keep his mouth shut.
But under Kugisaki’s piercing gaze, Itadori began to crumble. He shifted his gaze from the silly manga to her, and suddenly something clicked in his head. Why did they need paper books full of made-up advice when sitting right in front of them was a lively, self-assured girl who knew exactly how all this romance worked, at least in theory?
“Okay, I give up!” Itadori raised his hands in surrender. “We didn’t buy this for the plot. We needed… a practical guide."
“A guide?” Kugisaki blinked in surprise, stepping back slightly. “For what?”
“How do I make someone like me?” Itadori asked.
“You mean...?”
“Romantically.”
Kugisaki looked over at Fushiguro in utter disbelief, searching for a clue on his face, but he didn’t even bother to meet her gaze, pretending that the view outside the window was the most interesting thing in the world.
“No!” Kugisaki snapped, her voice hard as steel. “You won’t find a girlfriend before I find a boyfriend!”
“What?!”
Itadori just blinked, his mouth half-open, not understanding what on earth this was all about. But Fushiguro couldn’t hold it in: the tension suddenly eased, and he began to chuckle quietly, covering his mouth with his hand. Thank God. She thought it was Itadori.
“And why did you keep it a secret? I thought I was your best friend too!” Kugisaki folded her arms across her chest, looking offended. But suddenly her expression changed. Her eyes narrowed slyly. “Wait a minute… I don’t believe I wouldn’t have guessed you liked someone before. You wear your heart on your sleeve.”
She clasped her hands together, rested her chin on them, and began to shift her gaze intently from Fushiguro to Itadori and back. It was as if she were scanning right through them.
Fushiguro felt a chill run through him. He reached mechanically for the glass of water, just to keep his hands occupied. It was bad enough that Itadori had started devising brilliant plans that would ultimately have to be ruined anyway, but if Kugisaki got involved with her questioning, it would be a nightmare.
Kugisaki snorted with satisfaction. A puzzle had just fallen into place in her mind.
“Maybe…” she smiled slyly, looking straight at Fushiguro, “it’s actually you who’s fallen in love?”
Fushiguro choked violently. The water he’d just swallowed to calm his nerves nearly sprayed from his mouth. He doubled over the table in a violent fit of coughing, trying to catch his breath. His chest burned fiercely—whether from the water that had gone down the wrong way or from the flowers that had begun to grow again.
“Don’t worry, Fushiguro, I’ll definitely help you!” Kugisaki declared confidently when he finally coughed it up. She reached across the table, grabbed his hands and squeezed them tightly, looking at him with absolute sincerity.
“Hey! Why not me?!” Itadori protested.
“Fushiguro, tell me more about this person. What are they like?” Kugisaki ignored Itadori’s whining.
Fushiguro gently but firmly freed his hands from her grasp and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He felt uncomfortable. Not because he was angry with Nobara, but because lying to his closest friends was becoming harder by the minute. Their sincere desire to help only made the guilt weigh uncomfortably on his chest.
‘What’s the point of all this anyway?’ he asked, trying to maintain his usual detached tone.
‘Well, what do you mean, “what’s the point”?’ Nobara rolled her eyes, as if explaining the obvious. “You have to act according to the person. If you know and share their interests and values, it’s much easier to get close. It’s a strong friendship that forms the foundation of the strongest relationships. Isn’t that right, Itadori?”
“Yeah, one hundred per cent!” he nodded cheerfully.
Fushiguro sighed almost inaudibly. “We’re already the closest of friends,” he thought with a dull ache, shifting his gaze to Itadori.
“You’ve already found out more than I wanted you to,” Fushiguro muttered. He really hoped that would be enough to bring the conversation to a close.
He felt a headache building. He knew Nobaru well: she wouldn’t let it go until she was sure he was all right and the plan to save his personal life was underway.
Realising that Fushiguro wouldn’t volunteer any more information, Kugisaki changed tactics.
“Okay. If you’re at least friends, there’s this thing that’s really popular right now — ‘36 Questions to Fall in Love’,” she said. “I don’t know if it actually works, but it certainly won’t make things worse. It’s basically a bunch of deep questions you have to answer together.”
“This is the first time I’ve heard of it," Itadori blinked, puzzled.
“Do you spend much time on social media?" Kugisaki sighed.
“I don’t even have any accounts…”
The sun was already setting, painting the horizon in deep, warm hues. Flocks of birds soared high above their heads, and the silence was broken by the constant chirping of cicadas. A long day spent endlessly shopping in the scorching heat had drained them of their last reserves of energy. Their bodies were aching, and their heads were splitting from all the noise.
They were already heading back to their rooms when Fushiguro decided to pull out his phone and actually have a look at what these questions were that Kugisaki had so confidently suggested. Dozens of websites popped up in the search results in an instant, and he simply clicked on the first one.
“Did you find anything?” asked Itadori, leaning over and staring at Fushiguro’s screen over his shoulder.
They had stopped right in the middle of the dimly lit corridor. Fushiguro quickly skimmed through the introductory article, stopping at the list of questions itself.
‘“If you could choose anyone in the world, who would you invite to dinner?”’ Fushiguro read the first item aloud.
Itadori paused for a moment, then clarified:
“Even dead people?”
“I think so. The rules don’t say you can’t.”
“Then I’d really like to see my grandpa again,” Itadori’s voice softened, with a slight note of gentle longing. “Maybe we could finally have a proper chat like grown-ups… Though, I hope he won’t get angry with me for trying to visit him even after he’s died.”
‘Why would he get angry about that at all? ’
“Hmm. Just his nature, I suppose. He wanted me to spend more time doing something fun with my friends rather than hanging around in his hospital room.”
After a moment’s silence, Fushiguro asked:
"The day we first met… There, in the hospital, that was when your grandfather passed away, wasn’t it?
“Yes, I’d only just signed the cremation papers when you came to me asking about the finger.”
He remembered that evening vividly: a distraught yet incredibly resilient guy who had just lost his only family member, yet within hours had thrown himself without hesitation into the jaws of the curse to save others. Fushiguro suddenly truly realised just how devastating that day had been for Itadori, and how cold and uncompromising he himself had been back then.
"I’m sorry," Fushiguro breathed quietly, lowering his gaze to the floor.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Itadori gave him a gentle nudge with his shoulder, and there wasn’t a hint of resentment in his voice. His smile was bright and sincere. “You were just doing your job. Besides, if you hadn’t shown up back then, I’d never have got into the jujutsu high school and met all of you. I don’t regret a thing."
This complete lack of malice in Itadori, his ability to forgive and see the light even in the darkest moments, struck Fushiguro in the gut once again, reminding him why he’d fallen hopelessly in love with him in the first place.
Fushiguro found himself pondering his own answer. The first person who came to mind, without a moment’s hesitation, was Gojo-sensei. Though he was the most unbearable, loudest person on the planet, he had been by his side for most of his life.
And yet, Fushiguro felt a sharp pang of regret. He’d never got round to asking Gojo-sensei about his hanahaki. Now that question would remain unanswered forever.
“Fushiguro? Are you okay?,” Itadori called, waving his hand gently in front of his face.
Fushiguro blinked, reluctantly emerging from his memories.
“Just. . . too many thoughts,” he replied quietly. For a moment, a deep, unhidden sadness was reflected in his dark eyes.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. I’m just… a bit regretful,” Fushiguro paused briefly, gathering his strength. “Gojo-sensei also suffered from hanahaki. But I’ll never be able to hear his story now. He’s the one I would have invited to dinner.”
Itadori stood right beside him and listened to his friend in silence, with incredible attention, afraid that even a careless breath might shatter this fragile openness.
“I didn’t feel so alone with this illness when I knew he’d been through it too. And he… he helped me in so many ways.”
“Maybe someone else knows his story?” Itadori asked, uncertainly but with sincere hope in his voice.
Fushiguro fell silent. His mind began frantically searching through his memory for the names of anyone who might know anything about Satoru Gojo’s youth and secrets, and suddenly… the puzzle fell perfectly into place.
"Ms. Ieiri," Fushiguro said aloud, suddenly raising his head. "She’s known him since his student days. And she was the one who helped me keep the illness at bay until I learnt how to use the reverse cursed technique. She must know for sure."
Itadori glanced quickly at the clock on his phone screen.
"If we hurry, maybe we’ll still catch her."
Fushiguro froze. Suddenly he realised he had no idea how to start this conversation. What on earth would he say to her? “Good evening, tell me about the dead sensei’s romantic tragedies?” What if she knew nothing about it at all, and this secret would be just another painful blow to her?
But what if she did know? For Fushiguro, it was a desperate desire to learn something genuine about him, something deeply personal, hidden behind his ever-carefree smile. To understand the man who had become his family, but whom he’d never had enough time to get to know.
“Then let’s go,” he abruptly said, and bolted off towards the medical wing.
They rushed through the empty, dimly lit corridors of the school, their rapid footsteps echoing off the cold walls. Closed doors of empty lecture halls and windows, through which the last rays of the sun glinted, flashed past them as blurred spots.
As they ran, Fushiguro’s heart was pounding like mad — whether from the sudden physical exertion or from the fear of what he was about to stir up.
They came to an abrupt halt right in front of Ms Ieiri’s office door. Fushiguro was breathing heavily, trying to calm his racing pulse and the familiar, dangerous tickle in his throat.
He reached uncertainly for the handle, but turned to Itadori first. He had no intention of following him inside, this was too personal a conversation. Itadori merely smiled gently and encouragingly and gave a barely perceptible nod, making it clear that he would wait for him here for as long as it took.
Ms. Ieiri’s office greeted him with its familiar scent of antiseptics. She was sitting at her desk, looking even more exhausted than usual.
“Is something wrong, Fushiguro?” she asked, spotting his hesitant silhouette in the doorway.
“No. I just… wanted to ask you something,” Fushiguro took a step inside, feeling his mouth go dry. “About Gojo-sensei. You knew he had hanahaki, didn’t you?”
Shoko’s hand, which had been writing in her notebook, froze for a moment. She raised her dark, weary eyes to him.
“We were best friends,” she breathed quietly. “Of course I knew.”
“Did he…” Fushiguro’s throat tightened sharply. For a long time, he couldn’t find the words to finish his thought.
“He killed him,” Ieiri cut in bluntly, as if with a surgeon’s scalpel. She could see how difficult those words were for Fushiguro to utter, and decided to spare him the need to ask. “When a loved one dies, the illness retreates."
Fushiguro felt as though the floor had been knocked out from under his feet. This shocking, hideous truth struck him in the gut. He suddenly realised what an inhuman burden Gojo-sensei had been hiding behind his silly smile and black eye patch.
They talked for a long time. Ms. Ieiri fetched a packet of biscuits from her hiding place in the desk and made them some tea. It felt strangely homely, sitting in the medical wing, drinking tea and piecing together the shattered image of Gojo-sensei. Despite the bitterness of the truth, Fushiguro listened intently to every word. He wanted to take with him even a crumb of these genuine, unidealised memories of his teacher.
“You know,” Ms. Ieiri wrapped her hands around the hot cup and shifted her gaze to the dark window, looking off into the infinite distance. “They died on the very same day. The twenty-fourth of December… just a year apart.”
A very faint, broken smile appeared on her face.
“Maybe there, in heaven, they’ve finally managed to be together.”
Fushiguro left, quietly closing the door behind him. He didn’t even say goodbye — he simply didn’t have the breath for it. Itadori, just as he’d promised, was sitting right on the floor against the wall, waiting patiently for him.
As soon as Fushiguro had taken a few steps outside the building, tears suddenly streamed from his eyes. He tried desperately to stop them, clenching his jaw and blinking, but it only made things worse. He could no longer hold them back.
For a long time he had kept it all bottled up inside, but now the grief finally fell upon his shoulders with all its weight. It engulfed him like a giant black wave and simply knocked him off his feet.
"How merciless fate is," Fushiguro thought despairingly, feeling his chest tear apart with silent sobs.
It is blind and cruel. Death always takes the best, the strongest, the kindest—those who most deserved to live. Fushiguro had never asked for greatness or to save the world. He simply wanted to live in peace. He wanted to protect Tsukimi… He wanted to see his sister truly happy with someone she could rely on.
“Fushiguro…” Itadori stopped instantly. He looked at him with deep, sincere pain as he wept right before his eyes.
“I miss them,” Fushiguro whispered barely audibly, sobbing. His shoulders quivered. “I miss Gojo-sensei so much… and my sister. I just can’t believe they’re gone and will never be here again."
Itadori gently took hold of his trembling shoulders. He pulled himself together and tried to put on his usual, reassuring smile to be a source of strength for Fushiguro.
"Me too… I miss them terribly," Itadori replied quietly.
But the moment he spoke those words aloud, the mask cracked. Hot tears rolled uncontrollably down Itadori’s cheeks too. He leaned forward and pulled Fushiguro sharply towards him, enfolding him in a tight, desperate embrace.
Fushiguro buried his face in Itadori’s shoulder, clinging to his jacket with his fingers. It made it just a little easier for him to breathe. Itadori wasn’t just feeling sorry for him, he understood that pain with every fibre of his being. They held on to each other, bearing together the unbearable weight of despair and irreparable loss.
They must have stood like this for a very long time, just hugging each other in the middle of the yard and allowing themselves to sob loudly and desperately, letting out all the accumulated pain.
Having calmed down a little, they slowly loosened their grip. They no longer held on to each other so tightly, but they were in no hurry to let go completely, as if afraid of losing this saving warmth.
“I would eat ice cream right now,” Itadori suddenly muttered somewhere into Fushiguro’s shoulder.
“I wouldn’t refuse either,” Fushiguro replied quietly, reluctantly but gently moving away from him and wiping his damp cheeks with the back of his hand.
“We could even get a bigger bucket and sit down to read that manga,” Itadori suggested, sniffing.
Fushiguro looked up and began to carefully examine Itadori’s face. Itadori was about to ask if everything was okay, when suddenly Fushiguro smiled softly, completely sincerely, and a quiet, hoarse laugh escaped his lips.
“Your eyes are as swollen as a panda’s,” Fushiguro said, looking at his swollen, tear-stained face.
“And your nose is as red as a circus clown’s,” Itadori instantly replied, and the corners of his lips also turned up.
They laughed quietly, relieved, looking at each other. It was laughter through the remnants of tears, the laughter of people who had gone through absolute horror together, lost almost everything, but survived. And now they knew for sure: the most important thing they could appreciate right now was that they had each other.
When they finally reached the small 24-hour convenience store, it was already night outside. Crickets chirped loudly in the thick bushes, and the streetlights bathed the empty sidewalks in a soft, warm glow.
The store itself was quiet. A young man was bored behind the cash register, scrolling through his phone with interest, without even looking up at them. The blinding white fluorescent lights on the ceiling were a sharp pain in the eyes after the darkness of the street.
They were standing at the very end of the hall in front of a large refrigerator. Bending over it, Itadori carefully chose what to take. He carefully examined the bright labels, trying to choose what to take, because Fushiguro lazily said that he would eat the same thing as him.
While Itadori was pondering his choice, Fushiguro thought again. Remembering that list of 36 questions, he felt an unpleasant stab of doubt. They were interesting even just to share with friends.
But Itadori probably thought that Fushiguro would save this list exclusively for his secret “infatuation.” The irony was that this was also completely true. There was simply no separation in Fushiguro’s mind: his best friend and his secret love were the same person.
“I would like to answer all these questions together with you, Itadori,” suddenly, unexpectedly even for himself, Fushiguro blurted out. The words simply flew from his lips faster than he had time to think them through.
Itadori had just pulled out two cold ice cream containers and, upon hearing this, turned to his friend in surprise. His eyes widened for a moment, and then his face lit up with that same dazzling, signature smile that made Fushiguro's chest tighten again.
“Sure!” Itadori happily agreed. “They seem fun. Let's go through them and become not just best friends, but the best of the best friends.”
They paid and left the store, plunging into the comfortable silence of the night. The way back to the dormitory was not far, but they were in no hurry at all. Taking small plastic spoons with them, they walked side by side and simply ate the cold ice cream as they went.
“Thank you, Itadori,” suddenly Fushiguro quietly broke the silence, looking somewhere ahead of him. “If it weren’t for you… I probably wouldn’t have found the strength to give myself another chance.”
Itadori stopped. He gave Fushiguro a serious look and frowned slightly.
“Then why do you keep postponing your own happiness?”
“What?” Fushiguro blinked in confusion, not quite understanding what he was getting at.
“Why aren’t you even thinking about finally confessing to the person you like right now?”
Fushiguro looked up at him. In the pale, silvery moonlight, Itadori’s face seemed even more open and bright. He had such a big, infinitely kind heart that Fushiguro was suddenly pierced by a poignant, bitter thought: he would have been the happiest brother in the world once, if someone like Itadori had been next to his sister.
“I… just never set it as a goal,” Fushiguro looked away. “First of all, I was thinking about my own sister.”
Itadori came closer and shook him slightly, but noticeably, by the shoulder, forcing him to look at him again.
“But now you simply have to take care of yourself! Especially if you want your sister there to be happy for you!” Itadori confidently pointed his free hand somewhere high up in the starry sky. “She would definitely want to see you happy, Fushiguro. With the person you love.”Fushiguro looked at his finger pointed at the endless sky, then at his confident, radiant face, and a very soft, almost weightless smile bloomed on his lips.
“You too, Itadori,” he replied quietly. “While saving others and taking care of everyone around you, don't forget about yourself”
As soon as they crossed the threshold of Fushiguro's room, Itadori, with a sigh of relief, collapsed onto his back on the bed. It was pleasantly cool here. Itadori settled down right in front of the turned-on fan, exposing his hot face to the saving stream of cold air.
"What shall we read first?" Itadori asked, taking out two volumes of manga from the paper bag, still tightly wrapped in plastic.
Fushiguro, without even reading the titles on the covers, randomly pointed his finger at the one lying on the left - a typical shojo. Shōnen-ai, he deliberately decided to leave for later.
They settled comfortably on the bed, side by side, their shoulders touching. Itadori began to read the dialogue aloud with great enthusiasm, comically changing his voice tone depending on who was speaking. So far, there was absolutely nothing unusual or profound happening in the plot: a classic, naive story about a quiet schoolgirl manager who fell head over heels in love with the star of the basketball team.
Fushiguro, meanwhile, just leaned lazily back against the headboard and methodically ate his ice cream. In fact, he hardly followed the events, it was much more interesting to watch Itadori frown or squint, trying to give out the high, squeaky voice of the main character.
Finally, somewhere in the middle of the volume, Itadori gave up. Sticking his tongue out funny, he slid lower and threw his head back on the pillow.
"That's it, I'm tired. I can barely speak from all their speeches,” he sighed, handing Fushiguro the opened manga.
“Now you go.”
Fushiguro handed him his half-empty ice cream container and took the opened manga. He asked where Itadori had stopped, and in response received a finger pointing at the right text cloud.
The plot had just begun to reach a “tense” moment. The main character was carrying sports equipment to a dark utility room. She was trying to do everything she could to get home in time, because a thunderstorm was breaking out outside and it was already starting to drizzle. But as soon as she crossed the threshold of the closet, someone abruptly blocked her path with a hand and pushed her against the wall. It turned out to be the same star captain of the basketball team.
“You will replace my pillow, and you have no right to refuse,” Fushiguro read in a completely even, emotionless voice and stopped abruptly.
He slowly looked up from the page. His face twisted into an incredibly skeptical and frankly embarrassed grimace.
Itadori looked at his frozen face for a second, and then simply burst into loud, sincere laughter. He was laughing so hard that he almost dropped his ice cream on the blanket.
“What the hell?! A-ha-ha-ha!” Itadori squeezed out through laughter, leaning close to Fushiguro’s shoulder to take a closer look at the drawing on the page. “Did he seriously say that?!”
The main character on the page instantly blushed profusely, embarrassed, and the entire space around her was filled with large text clouds with a heartbeat sound “Tu-dum.”
Fushiguro grimaced and pushed the manga away with his outstretched arms, as if it were some kind of infection. On the next page, it turned out that the cool captain was actually just scared to death of thunderstorms, and as a result, they hugged for a long time in this cramped room.
That was the end of the chapter. Itadori put his ice cream on the nightstand and, thoughtfully rubbing his chin, suddenly asked:
“Can you stand up for a second?”
Fushiguro had barely managed to get to his feet when Itadori took a sharp step forward, suddenly pressed his back against the wall and slammed his palm against the wallpaper right next to his head. Itadori tensed, trying to make the most “cool” face possible, exactly like the guy in the manga.
Fushiguro could only blink in surprise. His brain momentarily shut down. Of course, he wasn't going to flinch like that shojo heroine, but the fact that Itadori was suddenly so close, blocking the escape routes and looking straight into Fushiguro's eyes, made him unbearably uncomfortable. His own heart betrayedly gave out a hollow, very real "Tu-dum."
However, outwardly Fushiguro only frowned, looking at this sudden scene of acting with incomprehension.
Seeing that this technique had absolutely no effect on Fushiguro, Itadori began to rapidly lose confidence. With every second he blushed more and more until he looked like a ripe tomato about to burst with shame. In the end, Itadori could not stand it, he abruptly pulled away and, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, asked:
“Does it really look so ridiculous in real life?”
Fushiguro, still feeling the phantom warmth of his proximity, blurted out faster than he had time to think about his words:
“It just doesn't suit you at all. You're the type of person who charms with their sincere smile. Especially since you couldn't hold back that serious expression for a second.”
“And how does he even do it…” Itadori muttered discontentedly, rubbing his own reddened cheeks. “Now you try!”
Fushiguro shook his head categorically.
“Try, ple-e-e-e-ease!” Itadori whined, tugging at his sleeve childishly. “What if this is your hidden talent?”
With a heavy sigh, Fushiguro gave up.
He took a step forward and with one smooth, absolutely confident movement, he pinned Itadori against the wall. Unlike Itadori, his posture did not look comical or pretentious. Fushiguro loomed over him and looked straight into his brown eyes, indelibly, piercingly.
The air in the room suddenly seemed too thick and hot. For a dangerous, infinitely long second, Fushiguro's gaze involuntarily dropped lower, lingering on Itadori's lips.
At the same moment, Itadori put out his hand in fear. He pressed it directly against Fushiguro's cheek, sharply pushing him away from him.
"This is too awkward!" Itadori blurted out loudly. "If you had caught the right moment and looked like that, she would have been yours for sure. Honestly, if I were a girl, I would have blushed all over!"
Fushiguro slowly pulled away
“So it doesn’t work on boys?” he asked with a slight sneer, clearly hinting at Itadori’s own reaction.
But Itadori suddenly froze. His eyes, which had been comically narrowed in shame before, suddenly opened wide. He stared at Fushiguro as if he had just solved the greatest mystery of the century.
“So you like the boy after all!”
Shit.