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“Kugisaki, if you knock me off the road again I swear to god–”
Yuuji doesn’t even need to turn his head to picture Kugisaki’s maniacal grin. “Get shelled bitch!” She yells.
Yuuji watches in horror as Kugisaki launches three perfectly timed green shells at his kart, shoving him straight off the map. Then he turns and tries to shove her off the bed.
“Hey!” Kugisaki thrusts her controller up and out of the way as Yuuji nearly clobbers her. “It’s not my fault that you suck! Worry about your dumbass Yoshi bike!”
“You don’t need to target me every single time,” Yuuji grumbles, before swiveling back to his position on the floor. “And the Yoshi bike is cool ,”
Kugisaki doesn’t seem impressed, leaning forwards from where she was perched on the edge of Yuuji’s bed to lock in on the gameplay. “Don’t hate the player, man. Hate the game.”
Yuuji watches as his Yoshi bike gets rescued from the depths of Dolphin Shoals by Lakitu. “I will hate the player, the player hasn’t let me win a single round for the last hour!”
“Yeah, well I actually play to win– Oh shit !” Kugisaki sits up as her cat cruiser gets passed by a CPU Donkey Kong right at the finish line. The Switch’s miniscule screen loudly announces her second place victory, and she flings her controller at the floor. “This game is rigged!”
Yuuji dodges out of the way as he finishes at a respectable fifth place. “Yeah, that’s why I said we shouldn’t play at 200 cc.”
“Whatever, I need some actual competition before my brain starts withering from boredom. Ugh!” Kugisaki flops backwards onto Yuuji’s bed. “Fuckass game. This is why Smash Bros is better.”
Nodding half-heartedly in agreement, Yuuji sighs and leans back against his bed frame. He and Kugisaki were enjoying a rare lazy afternoon, chilling in his room and procrastinating on their homework, while the rest of their classmates were out on missions. They’d borrowed Inumaki’s Switch and had spent the last few hours bickering over different multiplayer games, before eventually settling on a Mario Kart tournament (that Kugisaki was undoubtedly winning). They had the patio door open to let in the breeze, the last dregs of summer heat permeating through the mesh slider. If Yuuji closes his eyes, he can almost imagine he’s back in his old house, with the cicadas buzzing and the musky smells of the forest mixing with the worn carpet under his legs and the cheerful audio from whatever was on TV. It’s strange to think that instead of getting ready for his regular high school term to start up again, he was training every day to exorcise curses at a secret facility tucked away into the mountains. Things used to be so much simpler. But it was nice to know that summer evenings would always feel the same.
“Hey Itadori,” Kugisaki starts, snapping him out of daze. “Why do you have that poster up?”
“Which poster– Oh,” Yuuji leans his head back on the mattress to blink up at the pin-up poster he’d tacked over his bed. The image of the blonde model smirks down at him, half-obscured from the sunlight’s glare. “Because she’s hot, I guess?”
Kugisaki snorts. “Oh, I thought you had an appreciation for beach photography. Of course it’s because she’s hot,” She swings her leg out to try and kick Yuuji’s head. “It’s just totally killing the vibe of your room,”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuuji asked, slightly miffed. There wasn’t much of a vibe to his room to begin with; just a couple of polaroids and movie stubs taped to the wall above his nightstand, stacks of manga littered across the carpet, and a pile of unfolded laundry teetering on his desk chair. The pin-up poster was the only real decoration he had.
Truthfully, he had bought the thing on a whim, during an impromptu outing with some classmates in middle school. The other kids had been buying Playboy and swimsuit magazines for fun, and Yuuji had joined in. The magazine he picked at random turned out to be a special edition, coming along with the pin-up poster tucked inside. And well, Yuuji did find the model pretty hot. Putting it up in his childhood bedroom paradoxically felt like both an act of rebellion and something that was expected of him as a run-of-the-mill teenager. His grandfather had already begun staying nights at the hospital by that point, and Yuuji seldom had guests over, so no one really paid the poster any mind. Eventually, it started blending into the architecture of his bedroom, becoming as familiar as his childhood comforter and the plants he’d been growing on his windowsill. Even when his whole life was uprooted, it seemed wrong not to bring it with him to the dorms.
“I mean,” Kugisaki flipped from laying on her back to propping herself up on her forearms to shoot Yuuji an unimpressed look. “Posters are for broadcasting your interests to the world. Having this up just lets everyone know you’re into hot curvy swimsuit models as your first impression. Is that reall y the vibe you’re trying to give off?” She frowns in consideration. “Actually wait, you’re friends with Todo, this makes perfect sense for you.”
Yuuji leans his elbow on the mattress. “Well, if that’s the case,” he jokes. “Maybe if you put up a poster of, I don’t know, Rhea Ripley in your room, Maki might actually catch on about your feelings.”
His suggestion is met with a pillow to the head. “Shut up! I‘ve got everything handled.” Kugisaki asserts, while Yuuji nearly falls over, clutching the pillow to his chest and laughing.
Still, her comment does rattle at the back of Yuuji’s brain. Was keeping the poster up really the type of signal he was giving out? That his type was hot blonde women? That couldn’t be further from the truth at the moment; recently he’d been more into–
There was a knock on the door. Kugisaki perked up. “Oh, that must be–”
“Fushiguro!” Yuuji beams, practically vaulting over his laundry-laden chair to throw open the bedroom door as fast as possible. He can hear Kugisaki snickering at him under her breath, but nothing could dim his excitement as he greeted his friend. “How was the mission?”
“Awful,” Fushiguro deadpanned. He definitely looked worse for wear– there was a large bruise already starting to purple on his cheekbone, his entire right sleeve was torn to shreds, and two of his fingers had been hastily taped together in a metal splint. Despite the damage, Yuuji couldn’t help but admire the way Fushiguro’s hair managed to look effortlessly windswept, even after a four hour-long mission. Most days, Yuuji couldn’t even roll out of bed without looking like he’s been mauled by a leaf blower. But Fushiguro always has an air of competence and dignity around him– it was something Yuuji had always loved admired about his friend.
Fushiguro swipes at some of the dried blood under his nose and thrusts a grease-stained paper bag at Yuuji’s chest. “We got takeout on the way back,” He explains. “There's some pork shogayaki and grilled eggplant for you. Maybe some potato sticks, if Inumaki hasn’t finished them all.”
Warmth swells in Yuuji’s chest as he accepts the bag, and not just because he’s hungry. It was kind of Fushiguro to pick up food for them, even when he was injured and exhausted. Fushiguro was always so much more considerate than he believed.
“Thank you,” Yuuji replies, breathless. He clutches the takeout to his chest like the precious gift it was. “But dude, you should seriously go see Shoko; that bruise looks nasty. Want me to walk you?”
Fushiguro shakes his head. “I‘ll be fine.” He stares at Yuuji for another moment, with those tired, grumpy eyes that Yuuji would go to war for. Yuuji wants to hug him. Would that be weird? He’s grateful for the food, and for the fact that Fushiguro had made it back (mostly) in one piece. It felt like his affection for the other boy had been growing exponentially every day, threatening to spill out unless he could find some way to express it. But straight up hugging Fushiguro might be too far, second only to outright confessing, which would be an absolute disaster –
“Hey, Fushiguro!” Kugisaki calls from Yuuji’s bed. “What do you think about Itadori’s poster?”
Yuuji whirls around so fast he nearly cricks his neck. Kugisaki’s wearing her signature evil grin, which she usually reserves for first-grade curses or Wii Sports. The effect was slightly ruined by her trying to inch across the floor to grab her discarded controller without getting up, but a chill still ran down Yuuji’s spine.
“That’s not–”
“Shhh, I need a second opinion,” Kugisaki waves her hand, nearly sliding off the bed in the process. “Well?”
Yuuji nervously glances back at Fushiguro. He seems exhausted, but pensive, as his eyes darted across the bombshell poster. Yuuji wanted to melt into the cracks in the floorboards.
“It’s not bad,” Fushiguro shrugs. “She looks nice. I don’t really care about other people’s design choices, if that’s what you’re asking,”
“Ugh, that was the most non-answer ever! Both of you are useless!” Kugisaki declares. Her mission to retrieve the controller without getting off the bed had clearly failed. She was now flopped on the floor with her legs vertical against the bed frame.
Yuuji grimaced and pulled the door shut slightly, obscuring Kugisaki from view. “Please ignore her.”
“Sure,” Fushiguro stifled a yawn. “Well, if that’s all–”
“Wait!” Yuuji’s hand shoots out. He was aiming for a friendly touch to the shoulder, but he ends up grabbing Fushiguro’s bicep instead. His thoughts immediately go incoherent. Dang. Fushiguro’s got pretty good muscle definition. Yuuji always forgets how built he is, especially with all those baggy clothes he wears and-
Fushiguro glances down at where Yuuji is holding him and clears his throat. Yuuji jumps and drops him like he’s hot (not that Fushiguro wasn’t hot, he’s actually very hot, maybe even too hot, but if he keeps thinking about how hot Fushiguro is he might blurt out something stupid like how he’s got these big, massive feelings –).
“Sorry,” Yuuji retracts his traitorous hand and uses it to scratch at the back of his neck instead. “Just wanted to know if you’d still be coming with us tomorrow to go shopping.”
“Probably not,” Fushiguro replies. “I‘m already exhausted and Shoko’s RCT is going to zap me even more– I‘ll probably be asleep for half of tomorrow.”
Yuuji tries not to let it get him down. “That’s fine!” He says with a smile instead. “You need your rest. And don’t worry–”
He leans in a fraction closer, and whispers conspiratorially. “I‘ll make sure Kugisaki doesn’t buy you any clothes that are too embarrassing,”
Fushiguro finally cracks a laugh at that one. He presses his hand to his mouth to stifle the sound, but Yuuji can see the amusement dancing in his eyes. It makes him smile even wider. Fushiguro does his best to suppress any genuine emotion, but Yuuji likes getting a reaction out of him. Even if it’s a small laugh or a groan, it makes him feel like he’s won the lottery.
“Whatever, just eat the food while it’s still hot,” Fushiguro rolls his eyes and pushes himself up from where he was slouched against the doorframe. “See you later, Itadori.”
Yuuji waves as Fushiguro sets off down the hall. “Bye Fushiguro! We’ll miss you! Feel better soon!”
“Feel better soon Fushiguro!” Kugisaki mocks in a high-pitched voice from the floor. “We’ll miss you Fushiguro! Come back and give me a kiss Fushi– Hey!”
Yuuji kicks the controller from Kugisaki’s grasp and sits down next to her in a huff. “You are the worst , you know that?” He places the takeout bag between his crossed legs protectively. “Why’d you have to go ask him about the poster?”
“I am not the worst , I‘m helping you guys!” Kugisaki punches the air. “Neither of you can take a hint or take advantage of a golden opportunity, but sure, blame it on the innocent third wheel.”
“Don’t play with me, I‘m going to eat this entire thing right in front of you.” Yuuji scowls and lifts out the deli container of shogayaki.
“Wait!” Kugisaki lunges for the food, and Yuuji swipes it out of reach. “Please, I‘m sorry! I‘ll let you win a round of Mario Kart!”
“Not good enough.”
“ And I‘ll only make you carry half my bags when we go shopping,” She clasps her hands together and blinks up at Yuuji imploringly.
“... Maybe you can have a little bit of the eggplant.” Yuuji relents, sliding her the container. Kugisaki cheers and grabs the bag, rifling through for the cutlery. Yuuji rolls his eyes as he watches her dig in. He knows he’ll probably end up sharing the potato sticks with her later on anyways, so he accepts the proffered wooden chopsticks and digs in.
He tries to push the encounter with Fushiguro out of his mind. It was pretty embarrassing slipping up and lingering on his arm like that, not to mention Kugisaki randomly drawing Fushiguro’s attention to Yuuji’s poster. But he did also manage to make Fushiguro laugh, so he’s counting the whole interaction as a win.
Yuuji blows on his pork and sneaks another glance at his pin-up. Blonde Bombshell continues to smile alluringly down at him.
Hm. Kugisaki might have a point. Maybe it was time to switch things up a little.
The next day, Yuuji and Kugisaki hit the town to go shopping after class. Yuuji checked on Fushiguro briefly to see if he was up for it, but his friend had still been soundly sleeping even past noon. So Yuuji just dropped off his class notes, impulsively brushed the hair out of Fushiguro’s eyes, and set out with Kugisaki instead.
Yuuji used to dread going shopping with Kugisaki, but he’s warmed up to it the longer they’ve been friends. Kugisaki can be dramatic, indecisive, and viciously demanding, but she’s also got a keen eye for colors and patterns and always knew the best way to take advantage of a sale. Yuuji had to admit that after plenty of trips together Kugisaki had definitely worked her magic on his wardrobe. Now he’s got at least three ‘going out’ fits that don’t involve a hoodie, and multiple pairs of jeans that were actually comfortable to wear on the day-to-day. In return, Kugisaki had conceded that Yuuji had somewhat nice taste when it came to finding good pieces in the racks, and could be reasonably counted upon as the deciding vote when picking between different tops. Now they usually have fun shopping together more times than not, especially when food’s involved at the end.
They’re nearing the end of a particularly successful shopping spree, and making their way back to the train station with their haul. Yuuji’s arms are laden with a box of new sneakers he’s bought himself, two of Kugisaki’s bags, several sweaters she got him, and a churro, listening to Kugisaki list off the benefits of having a Groupon account, when his eyes land on the store.
Tucked away at the end of the street, was an actual Hot Topic.
Yuuji can’t help but gawk at it. He hasn’t seen a Hot Topic store since he last visited the dilapidated mall near his house in Sendai, and even then he never went inside. The store seemed intimidating and taboo to him as a kid, with the low lighting, grungy music, and gaggle of employees sporting piercings and dyed hair. His grandfather would always harumph loudly and usher him along as they passed, muttering something about a “youth crisis”. But as he’s gotten older, Yuuji definitely started to see the appeal.
The thing that brings him to a stop, however, is a certain display he spies at the back of the store.
He pauses so abruptly that Kugisaki nearly runs straight into his back. “Jeez, what’s the matter with you?” She grumbles, adjusting the bags she had stacked on both arms. “You can’t just stop walking like that in the middle of the– Oh.”
She takes in Yuuji’s intrigued expression and moves to stand next to him in front of the glass storefront. “Can’t say I pegged you as a Hot Topic kinda guy, but whatever. I need to buy something for Fushiguro anyways. You wanna check it out?”
“Can we?” Yuuji asks excitedly. Thankfully, Kugisaki never says no to more shopping. She hums in agreement and pushes the store’s door open.
The store’s definitely a lot different from the preppy boutiques Kugisaki likes to frequent– the interior was all exposed brick walls, scuffed flooring and mazes of wooden shelves next to cluttered glass display boxes. There’s some unidentifiable early 2000’s pop-punk music playing loudly over the garbled speakers, giving the whole store an antiquated feel. Yuuji likes the place instantly.
Kugisaki makes a beeline to the wall of angsty-looking shirts at the back of the building, while Yuuji splits off towards the right wall. Past the checkout counter and a dubious-looking bin of plastic pins lies his goal: a metal rack full of posters. Yuuji beams and digs in.
It doesn’t take long for him to secure his prize. He tugs the rolled-up poster free from the rack triumphantly, as Kugisaki makes her way back to him with an armful of fabric.
“You think Fushiguro would like this?” She asks, brandishing a plain black t-shirt with words printed in white. Yuuji only catches a brief glimpse– something about being a pool boy at a vampire mansion– before Kugisaki leans in and yanks at his poster.
“Oh, you can’t be serious ,” She scowls.
Yuuji tugs it back. “What’s wrong with it? Lots of people have anime posters!” He retorts defensively.
Kugisaki throws the shirt at his face. “You’re impossible! This is somehow worse than the hot bikini bombshell.”
And with that, she stormed her way to the checkout counter, grumbling all the while.
Yuuji shuffled the items in his arms as he followed after. Kugisaki confused him to no end– he was literally just following her advice! Then again, she usually didn’t appreciate his taste (clearance bin finds aside).
But for once, it didn’t matter what she thought. This was a poster Yuuji was going to buy and put up in his room. It was something that brought him happiness and brought light to his day and reminded him of the things he loved. A thrill of anticipation went up his spine at the thought of putting it up. It was exactly what his room needed. He did hope Kugisaki would still let him use her Groupon account though. While he was more than happy to pay on his own, a little discount wouldn’t hurt. And hey, Yuuji’s had his fair share of bad ideas, but he knew he was going to have no regrets with this one.
Yuuji was having some serious regrets with this one.
He went through all the work of lugging the Sasuke poster home, painstakingly unwrapping it, patiently flattening it out with stacks of manga, using a ruler to check if it was level on his wall, making sure it looked nice in all its freshly-bought, shiny glory. As nice as a singular poster could look on the ancient, crumbling wallpaper anyways. But none of his effort really mattered, because as Yuuji sat back on the mattress to evaluate his work, panic started to set in.
If what Kugisaki said was right about his wall decor revealing his preferences, then Yuuji just made himself as transparent as Gojo’s infinity. Sure, Yuuji had nursed a small crush on Sasuke when he was younger, and he still had an appreciation for the character and the show, but come on. The dark hair, broody atmosphere, powerful technique– Sasuke was an aesthetic dead ringer for Megumi Fushiguro. The person who Yuuji had a very serious, definitely real, non-insignificant, extremely embarrassing crush on, right this minute.
Yuuji stares up at Sasuke, in all his epic, broody glory. The more he looked at the poster, the more obvious he felt. Well, he’s definitely got a type. A type that was now being broadcasted to every single person who entered his room.
He should’ve just kept the bikini model up! Maybe it was embarrassing and immature, but at least it was vague and stereotypical! God, he should’ve never let Kugisaki get to him! What if Fushiguro saw?
What if Fushiguro noticed the Sasuke poster, now in place of the hot bikini model he’d assumed was Yuuji’s type? What if he realized that hot, introspective, moody boys were actually what Yuuji was into, and then made the connection that he fit that exact niche? What if he thought Yuuji was being too obvious and too forwards and felt uncomfortable around him and never wanted to be around him anymore all because Yuuji’s a sucker for dark hair and got too excited when he saw the Naruto posters in the Hot Topic and and–
There was a knock on the door.
Yuuji turns around slowly. Please don’t be Fushiguro .
Whoever it was knocked again. Yuuji swallowed, and gently slid off the bed. He padded towards the door, heart racing.
He’d give up all his Chainsaw Man volumes, his Human Earthworm DVD’s, and Kugisaki if it meant that anyone but Fushiguro was at the door. Yuuji gripped the doorknob. Please don’t be Fushiguro .
He gingerly pulled the door open. Standing in the hallway, hair damp with a towel around his neck and loose bed clothes on, was none other than Fushiguro. Because the universe hated him. Of course.
“Hey,” Fushiguro said. He looked as calm as ever. A single droplet of water rolled down his neck, and Yuuji couldn’t believe how absolutely unfair it was that he couldn’t shut the door and scream about it for twenty minutes straight.
“What’s up man?” He replies instead. Yuuji tries to school his expression into a friendly smile instead of reflecting his internal feelings of pure social anguish. “Glad to see you finally woke up!” Please don’t notice the Sasuke poster .
Thankfully, Fushiguro doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “Wanted to give these back.” He hands Yuuji a small stack of his notebooks. “You didn’t have to drop them off earlier– I was going to ask you or Kugisaki for them tomorrow anyways.”
“Yeah, but I know you like to catch up as soon as possible,” Yuuji smiles and flips through his notes. Fushiguro had taken the time to pen in the answers to sections Yuuji had left surrounded by question marks.
Fushiguro noticed him noticing. “I hope you don’t mind,” He flexes his fingers like he always does when secretly nervous. “I ended up writing stuff without even realizing. Sorry.”
“No, this is awesome!” Yuuji gushed. He held up his history notebook to show off the most recent page of notes. Fushiguro had highlighted different chunks of text with pink marker. “I‘m really digging the color scheme.”
Fushiguro flushed slightly, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I thought you might like it. ‘Cause of… You know…” He gestured to Yuuji’s hair.
Yuuji grins wider and snaps the notebook shut. “Hm. For future reference, my favorite color is green.”
“I‘m not gonna annotate the rest of your notes for you, Itadori.”
“But you’ll help me study, yeah?”
Fushiguro rolls his eyes. “I‘ll think about it,” He smiles, ever so slightly. “Green, right? I‘ll remember that.”
Yuuji can’t think of anything interesting or funny to say next, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye quite yet. So he just stands in his doorway, holding his notebooks and grinning like an idiot. Fushiguro doesn’t make any moves to leave either. He just stays right in front of Yuuji and flexes his fingers again in that way that makes Yuuji want to reach out and grab his hand.
He was contemplating how to casually invite Fushiguro inside, when he sees Fushiguro’s eyes dart to something over Yuuji’s shoulder. “You changed your poster,” He comments conversationally.
Yuuji sucks in air through his teeth. Fuck the poster, Fuck Sasukue, Fuck Kugisaki, Fuck Hot Topic, Fuck the train that brought him here, Fuck bikini models, and FUCK Groupon.
“Uh, yeah, I did!” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. Fushiguro opens his mouth like he wants to say something more, but Yuuji barrels forward.
“I mean, the bikini lady was hot , sure, but, uh, also really juvenile, you know?” He blurts out. “And like, I wanted something that was, uh, more… representative of my current interests?” Nailed it.
Fushiguro furrows his brows. “So… you got a poster of Sasuke instead? From Naruto?”
“Mhm!” Yuuji nods aggressively. “ Love Sasuke. Can’t get enough of him! I just adore the whole show. And the manga! Such a huge fan! I really enjoy the, uh, extended metaphor about cycles of hate and generational trauma. I eat that stuff up! I just don’t own any of the manga. Or the merch. So, uh-” Yuuji gestures wildly behind him. “- Poster.” he finishes awkwardly.
“... Gotcha.” Fushiguro replies slowly. He doesn’t seem impressed by Yuuji’s lengthy explanation. Instead, he’s frowning and gnawing at the corner of his lip like he’s deep in thought.
Yuuji lets his arm fall back to his side with a dull thud .
“Well, I‘m gonna go.” Fushiguro points down the hall. “Goodnight Itadori,”
He knows.
“Goodnight Fushiguro!” Yuuji responds cheerfully. Fushiguro was already halfway to his room by the time he got the words out.
Yuuji shuts the door quickly and flops onto his bed. He stares up at the ceiling for a split second, before crushing a pillow into his face and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Oh my god, he knows .
There was no way Yuuji could face him in the morning.
The next morning, Yuuji comes face-to-face with a milk crate over his breakfast.
He was minding his business, miserably dragging his spoon through his soggy cereal, when out of nowhere came Fushiguro wielding what seemed like a crate of books.
“Sorry,” He wheezed after setting down his load on the dining table. “These were heavier than they looked.”
Yuuji jumps back in surprise. He was so worried about having to interact with Fushiguro normally that day, that he didn’t even notice him creeping up on him.
“You could’ve asked me for help!” Yuuji admonishes, while moving his cereal bowl away from where it was now teetering at the edge of the table. “Also you are way too good at sneaking up on people! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” Fushiguro shrugs, not looking sorry in the slightest. He gestures for Yuuji to look inside the crate. Grumbling, Yuuji steps forwards to peer inside.
“Holy shit!” His eyes go wide. “Are these all Naruto volumes?” He gawks as he pulls out the book stacked on top. Sure enough, the entire plastic crate was filled to the brim with manga, the spines cracked and pages yellowed from use. He rapidly flips through the pages of volume seven, sending a plume of dust into the air.
“Like them? They’re all for you,” Fushiguro watches Yuuji dig through the bin with a pleased expression, eyes carefully tracking him as he thumbs through the pages.
“Are you kidding me? I love them!” Yuuji gushes. He’s never had the money to buy manga in bulk, usually buying back issues from his local used-book store or the weekly Jump from the konbini. Getting what seemed like nearly the full set of Naruto volumes in one go was a score he’d never dream of landing. Still, he can hear his grandfather's voice, chiding him at the back of his mind for his manners.
Yuuji quickly sets down the stack of volumes he was examining. “Er– is it really okay for me to have these? They must’ve cost a fortune, and it looks like you’ve been reading them a lot.”
“Hm?” Fushiguro blinks like he’s been jolted from his train of thought. “Oh, don’t worry about it– I‘ve been looking for a way to get these dumb things off my hands, so I thought they might as well go to someone who would actually enjoy them.”
“You sure?”
“I‘m sure,” Fushiguro nods. “Besides, you said you were a fan of the show but didn’t have any of the merch, so-” He gestures to the trove of volumes. “- Now you do,”
Oh . Looks like Fushiguro hadn’t picked up on the subtext behind Yuuji’s Sasuke poster after all. He was still in the clear. Yuuji lets his shoulders drop. “Thanks man. I really, really appreciate it,” He carefully places all the volumes back into the crate. “I‘m going to read these as soon as possible.”
“Cool,” Fushiguro flexed his hands by his sides. “I‘ll, uh, leave you to it then,”
And with that he was out of the kitchen faster than Yuuji could get out another thank you . Yuuji watched him go in surprise. Fushiguro had seemed pretty happy watching him just a few moments ago, but he suddenly seemed pretty eager to leave too. Whatever– maybe he needed to piss or something.
Yuuji packed up his crate and began hauling it back to his room, humming all the while. It was way lighter than Fushiguro made it seem– he really needed to hit the gym more. Maybe they could work out together? The thought makes Yuuji smile, and he smiles even wider as he looks down at his gift. Fushiguro liked to act indifferent, but he could be surprisingly perceptive when he wanted to be. Yuuji always felt lucky to be on the receiving end of Fushiguro’s kindness.
He reached his dorm room and kicked open the door, setting down his crate on his desk. Then he flopped backwards onto his bed.
Crazy that he was dreading facing Fushiguro in the morning, when the whole time the other boy was getting ready to give him the nicest present in the history of ever. And best of all, Yuuji’s feelings were still a secret. Their friendship wouldn’t have to change.
Everything’s fine.
He’s glad Fushiguro didn’t realize the full extent of his feelings, but… did he really not suspect anything?
Yuuji angles his head backwards to stare at his troublesome poster. Sasuke continues to glare down at him. Yuuji should really take the thing down, before it gets his heart into more trouble. God forbid anyone else sees it and puts the pieces together, let alone Fushiguro himself. Better to get rid of it now. Maybe he can roll it up and stash it in his bathroom.
The thought of getting rid of the poster makes Yuuji feel strangely melancholic. Like, yes, he doesn’t want Fushiguro knowing about his feelings… but in a way he kind of does?
Yuuji doubts he’d ever tell Fushiguro outright; he’s too scared to mess up their relationship. But the idea of Yuuji going his whole life– or as much as he’s got till his execution– without Fushiguro ever knowing, even suspecting how much Yuuji felt for him? That somehow felt worse.
Yuuji grimaces. It probably never even crossed Fushiguro’s mind that Yuuji liked him. Fushiguro was way out of his league anyways– smart, competent, insanely attractive, funny when he wanted to be, and kind even when he didn’t think he was. He probably didn’t think of Yuuji like that at all. Maybe he still thought of Yuuji as he was that night they first met– a nuisance, an inconvenience, someone who rudely crashed into his life and made things a million times more complicated–
No. Yuuji pushed the heels of his palms into his screwed up eyes. He would not let himself follow that train of thought. He and Fushiguro were friends. Friends! He could work with Friends. Just because Fushiguro didn’t read his inconspicuous signals didn’t mean their whole relationship was a wash! Just that he probably didn’t think of Yuuji in a romantic context. Which was fine! He’d basically accepted that his feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated the moment he became aware of them. Everything’s fine! He was not going to have his second mental spiral in the last twenty-four hours over a Sasuke poster, of all things. It wasn’t even a good Sasuke poster, like the type you could buy from a convention; he got it from Hot Topic! Of all places! For 900 yen minus the Groupon discount! Absolutely not worth all the melodrama.
Newly determined, Yuuji gets up from his bed and heads back over to his desk. He was going to enjoy the rest of his day off by reading the manga Fushiguro had so kindly given him instead of wallowing in self-pity over his hopeless crush.
He grabs a volume at random from the top of the crate and flips it open to the cover page. His eyes skim over the artwork and the authors note, but he snags on something written in the top corner in pencil.
T. Fushiguro.
Yuuji blinks. What .
He quickly grabs another volume and checks the front. And there it was, written on the top left cover in neat, flowy handwriting: T. Fushiguro .
Yuuji drops the volume he was holding. It falls to the floor as he reaches for another, and another and another. T. Fushiguro . T. Fushiguro . T. Fushiguro .
He dumps out the crate onto his desk to check faster, but they’re all the same. Each and every volume, belonging to a T. Fushiguro . Yuuji stares down at the sprawling mess of manga, front covers fluttering in the breeze from the fan, breathing hard.
Why did Fushiguro give him these?
Yuuji shuffles the volumes around until he finally finds the first one. He picks it up, wipes off the dust, and quickly flips through the pages. Aside from the T. Fushiguro scribbled on the cover page, nothing about the manga seems unordinary– until his eyes catch on something in the middle of the volume. Folded tightly and nestled in close to the spine of the book, was a thin sheet of paper, the fresh white contrasting against the faded yellow paper and black ink. Breathless, Yuuji pulls it free.
He turns the folded paper over in his hands. He can only assume it was placed there recently, and he’s got a pretty good idea on who did. Gnawing on his lip, Yuuji gingerly unfolds the scrap of paper.
Written inside in blue pen, is a note:
Dear What’s Up Hi Itadori,
I hope you liked the gift. You seemed genuinely distressed about your lack of Naruto merch yesterday, so I thought these would make you feel better.
If you haven’t noticed yet, these volumes used to belong to my sister. She was a big Naruto fan too. We used to spend weekend mornings together, watching cartoons and arguing over the remote. She’d always put on this dumb ninja show that I never got the point of. Pokemon was clearly the better show anyways . But ultimately I grew to love it, because it was something that made my sister happy. And that made me happy too.
Ever since she’s been at the hospital, I couldn’t bring myself to touch most of her stuff, but I did bring her books with me. Still, I haven’t been giving them the attention they deserve. I guess I wanted to give them to someone who could love these books just as much as she did. Someone I could trust to take good care of them. And I know you will.
And don’t think I’m just giving away her things. She would want someone like you to have them. She’s just that type of person. Unwaveringly kind. A lot like you. I’ve always admired that.
So, even though I‘m the one giving you a gift, I still wanted to say thank you.
Thank you, Itadori.
Happy Reading,
Megumi Fushiguro
P.S. Her favorite character is Naruto. I never understood why, until I met you.
Yuuji’s out the door before the letter hits the table. He bridges the distance between his and Fushiguro’s room in record time, pausing for a millisecond to catch his breath in the threshold. Yuuji throws the doors open.
Fushiguro looks genuinely surprised when Yuuji bursts in. He’s still in his sleepwear from earlier– a stretched out Fall Out Boy band tee and plaid pyjama pants –and judging by the basket of clothes he was holding in his hands, was currently in the process of doing his laundry.
He blinks at Yuuji with wide eyes. “You good?”
Is Yuuji good? Hard to say, really. He just knows he can’t go any longer without letting Fushiguro know how he feels. Fushiguro, who’s frugal with his words but can’t help but broadcast how much he truly cares through all of his actions. He makes Yuuji want to be loud too.
“You- I- I saw the letter. In the books. That you gave me,” He manages to get out, in between heavy breathing and lots of gesticulating. He’s got no clue if he’s being coherent. He probably looks insane right now, with his hands braced on the doorframe, red-faced and chest heaving. His mind feels filled to the brim with frantic, rushing emotion.
Fushiguro’s eyes tighten in the corners. “So you read it then? I hope it was okay for me to–”
“Yes!” Yuuji blurts out. “I was so touched- I- I loved it, god, I love y- Ugh, I can’t–” He brings his hands up to cover his face. His sweaty palms do very little to cool his burning cheeks.
“Itadori,” Fushiguro starts, calm as ever. “Are you sure you’re alright–”
“Fushiguro,” Yuuji cuts him off. “Why do you think I changed my poster the day after you came by?”
“Uh…” Fushiguro cocks his head to the side. “You said it wasn’t accurate to your… current interests? Like your type, or whatever.” His brow furrows even more. “I know what that means.”
Yuuji drops his hands and takes a step into the room. “Yeah. But why do you think I replaced it with a Sasuke poster?”
“Because you like the show, I guess?” He frowns as Yuuji takes another step closer. “Why are you–”
“Just hear me out. And you’re wrong, by the way.” Yuuji smiles, despite his nerves. “Wanna try again?’
Fushiguro scowls. “I don’t know. Because you like the show. Because you like the manga. Because you like the character. I don’t–”
“Wrong,” Yuuji practically whispers, breathless. “It’s because my type isn’t blonde bikini models. It’s smart, grumpy boys with dark hair, and badass fighting skills.”
It still doesn’t seem like the right thing to say. Fushiguro’s eyes shut in frustration, and this close Yuuji can see the hard set of his jaw. “Itadori,” He repeats, hands white-knuckling his laundry basket. “Look, I get it. You like someone. Someone who’s not- Don’t make me guess.”
“Come on, Fushiguro,” Yuuji teases patiently. “Can’t you think of a single person who fits that description?”
“Don’t do this,” Fushiguro’s voice comes out measured, but brittle like fresh ice– like he’s five seconds away from shattering. “Don’t do this to me, Itadori. Please.”
Yuuji decides to put him out of his misery. “Fushiguro, it’s you,” He replies. He’s close enough now that he can reach out and place his hand on Fushiguro’s shoulder. So he does. “The person I‘m into is you .”
Fushiguro’s eyes fly open. “What.”
“Yeah,” Yuuji nods. No going back now. “I like you.”
“ What ,” Fushiguro sounds dumbfounded. He drops the laundry basket on instinct, which would’ve been great for dramatic emphasis if it didn’t land right on Yuuji’s foot. He jumps away, hissing in pain while Fushiguro steps back, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Wait, wait, wait. You like me?” He asks.
“Yes, I- Ow, holy- Ow , Fushigruo what the hell do you have in that thing? Bricks?” Yuuji hops on one foot, reaching down to clutch at the other.
Fushiguro massages his temple. “So that’s the reason you switched your poster to Sasuke? Because he reminds you of me? And you like me? How was I supposed to figure that out?”
“I thought it was obvious- ahhhh do you have ice? Please tell me you have ice–”
“Obvious? How was that obvious? I had no idea!” Fushiguro scrubs a hand over his face, before pushing back his hair with the palms of his hands. Yuuji would’ve appreciated the clear view he’s getting of Fushiguro’s full face if the other boy didn’t look so distraught at the moment. His eyes are darting around the room frantically as he cracks the knuckles on one hand with his thumb. This was pretty much the worst possible reaction Yuuji could’ve gotten. “I really had no idea,” Fushiguro finishes, aghast.
Yuuji tries setting his foot down, wincing as he shifts his weight. Something’s definitely broken. Not including his heart. Well, mission accomplished– Fushiguro knows now! Yuuji can deal with the fallout, preferably with a cold compress and the Sasuke poster drawn and quartered. Maybe Sukuna would let him use Fuga on it.
“Listen, I‘m probably gonna go to Ieiri now, but I‘m sorry, okay?” Yuuji’s sure he’d sound a lot more heartfelt if he wasn’t actively hopping in pain at the moment. “I‘m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, feel free to reject me, and we can pretend like none of this ever happened–”
“Hold on,” Fushiguro grabs Yuuji’s arm as he turns to hop pitifully away. Yuuji freezes instantly. Fushiguro just looks at him for a moment, eyes searching for… something. His hand slides down from Yuuji’s bicep to encircle his wrist. “Is your foot alright?” He asks hesitantly.
Yuuji can’t focus on anything except where Fushiguro’s nimble fingers press down on his pulse point. “Oh yeah it’s totally fine, hardly feel a thing,” he lies.
Fushiguro visibly loosens. “Okay, that’s good.”
Then he tugs Yuuji forwards so that their chests are nearly touching. If Fushiguro tilts his face down a millimeter, their foreheads would be too. “You like me,” Fushiguro says definitively.
Yuuji can’t tear his gaze away from Fushiguro. Not when he was looking at him like that with those forever-and-ever green eyes. He’s still not entirely sure if this is really happening or if he died from embarrassment and was somehow lucky enough to make it to heaven. He’s worried that if he breathes too hard or makes any sudden movements, the illusion might shatter. So Yuuji just nods instead.
Fushiguro leans in, pressing their foreheads together. Yuuji swallows, trying to take in every detail he never noticed until then. The way Fushiguro’s baby hairs curl against his forehead, the mole at his left temple, his bruised lips from constant biting, the way his nose was still slightly crooked from a bad break–
“I like you too,” Fushiguro whispers into the shrinking space between them. “A lot. For a long time now. I didn’t think it was mutual.”
“Oh,” It’s all Yuuji can say. His brain feels like it evacuated through his ears, rendering him fully incapable of complete sentences. Holy shit. Holy shit. Fushiguro likes him. Yuuji’s feelings aren’t unrequited. He’s gonna have to pay for Kugisaki’s lifetime Groupon subscription and give every employee at the Hot Topic a kiss on the cheek.
Fushiguro repeatedly squeezes and releases Yuuji’s wrist, like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. “You know you could’ve just told me, right? You didn’t need to send me obscure signals through your wall decor.”
“Sorry,” Yuuji grins. “But also, you didn’t tell me either.”
“Sorry,” Fushiguro echoes with a smile. Like, an actual smile. With teeth. It’s a million times better than the dry chuckles or brief smirks Yuuji’s managed to get out of him till now, and directed at him in full force it makes Yuuji want to melt . Fushiguro’s eyes are crinkling, and one of his canines is slightly off-kilter and his cheeks are flushed and his eyelashes are fluttering and one side of his mouth curves up higher than the other–
Yuuji realizes he’s been staring at Fushiguro’s mouth for far too long. When he forces his eyes back up, Fushiguro’s looking at him too. Slowly, he brings his free hand up to cradle the side of Yuuji’s face. His palm slots perfectly against Yuuji’s jaw, thumb dancing across his cheekbones. Fushiguro exhales at the contact.
“Is this okay–”
“Yeah.”
“Can I –”
“ Yeah .”
Yuuji surges forwards and kisses him. He’s a little off the mark at first, their noses colliding painfully, but then Fushiguro tilts his head and it’s perfect, the most perfect thing that’s ever happened to him.
Fushiguro’s mouth is soft and inviting and warm , the rough slide of his lips against Yuuji’s driving him insane. Fushiguro hums contentedly, the sound sending sparks shooting down Yuuji’s spine. He steps in, throwing his arms around Fushiguro’s shoulders, tangling his hands in dark hair to pull him even closer. It’s just as soft as he’s always dreamed it’d be.
He’s rewarded with another soft sigh as Fushiguro slides his hands down from Yuuji’s face to his chest and around his torso, splaying his palm over the small of his back, stuttering over his waist before migrating back up to hold him again. Warmth blooms in Yuuji’s ribcage, right along his frantically pounding heart. Fushiguro’s touch is sure, yet gentle, thorough in everything that he does. Yuuji can’t believe he gets to have him like this.
After what seems like an eternity, they have to come up for air. They break apart, breathing hard and resting their foreheads together again. Fushiguro’s pupils are wide and his hair even more mussed up than usual, and it sends a spear of fondness right through Yuuji’s chest.
“Please go out with me,” He murmurs, holding onto Fushiguro’s forearms for support. “Let me be your boyfriend. We can get lunch, or go to the movies, or to those weird book stores you like that only carry non-fiction. I won’t even complain about the lack of pictures.”
“I‘ll be yours if you’ll be mine,” Fushiguro replies, just as breathless. “And I don’t mind if you complain a little. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Yuuji finally lets himself laugh. He can’t help it, he feels lighter than he has in months. Fushiguro holds steady as he leans against him, and Yuuji can tell he’s smiling too– his real, genuine, wide one that’s quickly shooting up Yuuji’s list of his favorite things in the world.
He leans his head against Fushiguro’s shoulder and sighs. “I‘m so relieved. I thought you’d be weirded out, or hate me or something.”
“Not possible,” Fushiguro squeezes Yuuji’s arms reassuringly. “I‘m crazy about you, Itadori.”
“So am I,” Yuuji beams up at him. “Oh my god, this is the best day ever– Should we go on a date? We should go on a date. Ooh, maybe we can take the train and go see– Ow, shit!”
Amid all the excitement, Yuuji had accidentally shifted his weight back onto his bruised foot. He quickly let go of Fushiguro to clutch at it again.
“The only thing you’ve got a date with is a bottle of tylenol, dumbass. I knew you were lying,” He clicks his tongue.
“Aw man,” Yuuji groans. “Where’s my phone? Maybe I can text Ieiri to come here since I can’t– Oh.”
Fushiguro nestles himself against Yuuji’s side, grabbing Yuuji’s arm to rest around his shoulders and curling his own hand around his waist to help support his weight. “Better?”
“Much better,” Yuuji grins. It’s slowly dawning on him that Fushiguro was amenable to Yuuji getting as close as he wants. This was awesome .
“You better limp quickly,” Fushiguro replies. “Can’t believe my boyfriend’s taking me to the infirmary on our first date. How romantic.”
“Shut up, you love me.”
Fushiguro rolls his eyes. “Lucky for you, I do,” He sounds annoyed, but Yuuji can see the glimmer of fondness in his eyes. Boyfriend, huh? Yuuji was luckier than he thought.
He shoves open the door and lets Fushiguro drag him out into the hall.
The first thing Yuuji does after Shoko heals his foot is take the Sasuke poster down. He still likes it more than the bikini pin-up, but the thing’s given him so much grief at this point he’s got to take it down for his own sanity. Good ambience is something that needs to be cultivated over time, Yuuji decides as he rolls up the vinyl and peels the tape loops off his walls. Maybe he can find some Human Earthworm or FMA posters later to put up instead. The way he sees it, Yuuji’s got all the time in the world to make his space his own.
He does add another polaroid to the wall though. Instead of putting it next to the headboard like all the others, he sticks it low on the wall that’s by his mattress, so he can look at it when he rolls over in his sleep.
It’s a picture of Fushi– no, it’s a picture of Megumi , sitting at the edge of Yuuji’s bed in the infirmary, shooting the camera an unimpressed look as Yuuji takes the photo. He’s still in his pajamas, hair rumpled like he’d just woken up from a nap, though Yuuji knows the mess is from his own hands carding through. In the photo, his hand is resting on Yuuji’s calf at the edge of the focal view, while Shoko fetches some ice. It’s already one of Yuuji’s favorite photos ever. Better than any swimsuit model or anime deuteragonist out there. He hopes he can take more in the future, till he can plaster his walls in snapshots of their life together, so Megumi can see himself the way Yuuji sees him through the camera lens. But for now, he can start with this one.
The next morning, they’re eating breakfast that they made together at the dining table, scooting their chairs close so that their shoulders can brush as they dig in. Yuuji taps his socked foot against Megumi’s under the table in a nonsensical rhythm, and Megumi makes them both tea just the way they each like it.
“One thing I‘ve been wondering about,” Megumi says around a mouthful of rice. “What did you end up doing with the posters you took down?”
Yuuji serenely takes a swill of his tea. “I gave the bikini model poster to Shoko after she healed my foot. She said she wanted it for an ‘anatomy study’ or something.”
“... Right. What about the Sasuke poster?”
“Oh, Panda wanted it.”
Megumi turned around in his chair to stare at Panda, who had just entered the kitchen and was currently pulling what looked like an entire raw fish out of the fridge.
Panda sticks his paws in the air. “Don’t look at me like that– I just like the anime. For the record, I don’t have a crush on you, Fushiguro.”
“Thank god for that,” Yuuji laughs. Panda rolls his eyes as Megumi intertwines their hands under the table, smiling.
Yuuji’s sure he’ll never get sick of making Megumi smile. If he could, he’d take a picture of it and print it out on the biggest poster he could find for his room, so everyone could see. But still, he doubts anything could ever compare to the real thing.