Chapter Text
By the time the moon had risen, Itadori wasn’t sure why he was out anymore.
Trailing loosely behind some other university student ahead of him, he was strolling through campus during the quiet hours. He should’ve been in his dorm studying for his upcoming Intro. to Psychology quiz, but he had chosen to walk around and clear his mind instead.
He was lightly humming to himself, enjoying the quiet, clear night that was above him. In the sky, the blinking lights of an airplane cut a steady line across the darkness, slicing through whatever was around it. Itadori wondered if the people inside were finally coming home or if they were fleeing toward something new. He smiled at the thought; it was nice to imagine that everyone was going somewhere, each life a different story unfolding in the dark.
The oversized yellow fabric of his hoodie bunched at his elbows as he shoved his hands into his pockets, listening to how the wind picked up slightly around him. Itadori inhaled sharply, breathing in the faint scent of food from the dining hall and the slightly musky city air.
Ahead of him, the student started walking faster, the scuff of their boots frantic against the pavement. Itadori frowned, worried that he was making them nervous or anxious and being the reason as to why they sped up. He considered calling it quits and going back to his dorm after that, but something stopped him.
A neatly folded piece of paper slid right past his field of view, carried by the wind.
In a flash, Itadori ran to catch the paper, not wanting something important to be left behind. He snagged it out of the air just before it could tumble into a nearby hedge, catching his breath. The paper was light and felt crisp under his thumb, and the words written on it were jagged, pen ripping through the paper in some parts.
The paper didn’t look like trash. It looked kept.
"Hey!” Itadori called out, his voice cracking the quiet of the night. “Wait up!”
To Itadori’s surprise, the student didn't stop at first. If anything, their pace hitched for a second before they continued heading somewhere outside of campus, shoulders hunched as if trying to shield themselves from the sound of a human voice.
Itadori jogged a few steps to catch up, not side-by-side to the stranger but holding the paper out like a peace offering, "You dropped this! I think it belongs to you.”
When the stranger continued to ignore Itadori, his frown deepened. He didn’t recognize the student by name, but he noticed his black, spiky hair that looked almost styled. He still hadn’t acknowledged Itadori’s presence, and his back was oddly straight with his hands curled into fists, clenching tightly.
“Are you okay?” Itadori questioned, lowering his voice as he crept closer to the student, a worried expression landing upon his face.
The student kept walking forward as if Itadori wasn’t even there. The grip Itadori had on the note tightened as his concern shifted into something uneasy.
Can he hear me?
Instead of giving up and walking away like he should’ve, Itadori pushed. He sped up and turned around, ending up right in front of the student’s face. His breath caught in his throat as he glanced over the student’s appearance—too close now, too sudden.
Deathly pale skin was worn by a distant, lost expression. The student’s spiky hair turned downward on his face, covering most of his forehead and eyes. His eyelashes were long and prominent, casting even more shadow over his ghostly skin and emphasizing the dark, encompassing circles that lay under his eyes. Jaw shut tightly, his lips were chapped and subtly scowling as Itadori noticed how closely his eyebrows were knit together.
The student’s blank eyes flicked to Itadori’s, dusted emerald meeting bright topaz, “What do you want?”
“Oh! You’re Fushiguro, right?” Itadori smiled brightly despite the discomfort lingering from the state of the boy standing in front of him, proud of himself for recognizing the student. “I’m Itadori! You came to book club a few times!”
“Is that all you needed to ask?” Fushiguro’s tone was distant as he started walking away again and pushed past Itadori, like he was already gone.
“No, I—“ Itadori’s voice stuttered and the paper crinkled where he loosened his hold, taken aback by how cold Fushiguro was being, “What are you doing out so late?”
Clenching his jaw, Fushiguro forced a shrug but didn’t respond out loud. He picked up speed, his back fully to Itadori, swinging his arms more aggressively and taking longer strides in his step. Even from afar, Itadori could hear his breath picking up.
Swallowing harshly and before Itadori could stop himself, he caught up to Fushiguro, “Wait, you dropped this paper, though! It fell out of your pocket.”
As if he didn’t hear him, Fushiguro continued walking, his silhouette beginning to blur into the shadows of the edge of campus. He didn't speed up or slow down, he didn’t even look back at Itadori, whose mouth was agape and his chest heaving slightly.
Itadori stood alone on the path, the city air suddenly feeling much colder against his thin layers. He looked down at the paper in his hand, seeing the folding at the edges where he had been careless. The paper felt heavier now, like Fushiguro’s dismissal had settled into its fibers.
He knew he should have thrown it away, or at least left it somewhere for Fushiguro to come back for and retrieve when he was in a better headspace.
Open it, a voice echoed in Itadori's mind, sharp and intrusive. He shook away the thought, the guilt of invading Fushiguro's privacy building in his chest. He didn't have the right to whatever had been written on the paper with such desperation and urgency.
Instead, he slid the note into the front pocket of his yellow hoodie, and as Itadori turned around to return to his dorm, the paper sat in the wrong pocket.