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There's a petal stuck at the back of your throat again.
It's feathery light but persistent. You do your best to be attentive to the conversation— nod, meet their eyes, ask questions you already know the answers to. Thankfully Itadori and Kugisaki are loud enough for both you and Fushiguro, who are dragged along the discussion, willing or not.
Except it's a bit harder today. When your lung insists it wants to be hacked out of your rib cage, there's little you can do. But you swallow it down, and chuckle appropriately at Nobara's sharp remark as Fushiguro tries his hardest to act like he isn’t having fun. Itadori is beside you, cackling, sharp teeth flashing as he slaps the table hard enough to create new orders on the menu.
Condiments stain your sleeve, and he's quick to grab tissues as Nobara rips him a new one for the soggy soda-fry combo, while Fushiguro's water spills on his plate, and he's visibly disgruntled at his half-eaten burger, now moist.
Your pancake unwittingly drenched in ketchup, butter, and honey. Still, it's nothing compared to how mortified you are when he's this close, too focused on wiping it away as you try to stop him, only to spread it even more. His elbow knocking against yours, knees tangling together. Now his too big hand wrapped around your wrist as he says sorry, while you try not to combust.
To cope, you start rationalizing despite your heart begging otherwise. It's a losing game your intent to win. You would’ve preferred it if there wasn’t a curse growing in your lungs skewering things. You couldn’t have been a normal teenager with an unrequited crush, could you?
You brush him off with a thin smile, it really isn't a big deal, you insist, and he gives you these sad puppy eyes, fingers tightening minutely before letting go of your wrist. The ketchups not even visible with your dark uniform overlaid the shirt sleeve, but the way he looks at you makes it seem like the world is ending.
Briefly you catch the time on your watch. Lunch break is nearly over, you announce and Kugisaki groans.
“You gonna to drink that?” Itadori points at the bottle of water you bought at a vending machine earlier. It's halfway empty, slick with moisture, and the implication of an indirect kiss doesn’t go over your head. Which is juvenile but you can work with scraps. Though with how easily he asked for it, this probably means nothing— just a friendly thing friends do.
So you treat it with the same levity, with a shrug and a muttered sure, while you hand over your share of the bill for the meal to Fushigiro. Itadori takes the bottle, plastic crumpling under his strong grip, brushing against your arm. It's fleeting. Gone as soon as it came. Like you, who said that?
Poking stems at your chest unhelping, you look at anywhere but him. Can’t stare at his lips this close without being too obvious, but the table reflection is a good alternative. Is it ridiculous to say he looks good even in the pale imitation on the stained dining surface?
What? It's not your fault your clan agreed to a Heavenly Restriction centuries ago without your consent. There is a part of you that wonders if your feelings are true, that the curse, restriction, or whatever just magnifies the desperation. Your looming death, high-risk missions, and teenage hormones certainly add to the pile. Could be all of it together. Or maybe it's the biology homework you've yet to submit.
But it is nice. You're getting the full high school experience and extra. But where are you supposed to go from here?
You'd rather not intrude on the dynamic, complicated feelings with Itadori don’t need to be announced to the world. Kugisaki is merciless, she’d insult you while Fushiguro looks on with disappointment. Worse, if Itadori does reject you, their gazes would turn pitiful. You'd probably be dead by then though or him! How convenient is that.
Plus you like it just like this. It's comfortable, and you indulge in the company of your friends, knowing your nearing expiration. Being a jujutsu sorcerer had meant you’d die, inevitably— but the growing curse in your lungs made sure of it. So you lean back and stare, the harsh mid-afternoon sunlight bounces against their hair, expressive faces vibrant with life contrasting the dark uniforms turning blue-violet under its glare.
You keep all it away, selfish as you look, in the tiny furrow of Kugisaki's brow, noticing her new lip balm. It's orange tinted this time, a better compliment than the glossy pink she wore yesterday. She’s waving her cracked phone at Fushiguro, showing him shops she orders him to 'accompany' her to.
He was quick to say no, fluttering lashes squinting, nose crinkled, sharp jaw clenching lower lip jutting into a disgruntled pout. He smells like fresh linen and fabric softener, you noticed when you brushed past him earlier, but you’re struck back to reality when he closes his thick leather wallet and counts your groups haphazard collection of change.
Rubbing at your dry eyes, there’s an uncharacteristic frown on Itadori's face when you meet his eyes, before he smiles and fumbles for your near empty water bottle.
“There’s something in the water.”
“Huh?” You lean in to look, distantly hearing an underpaid waiter trudging off, coins and plates clinking after him.
“Yeah, see?” He tilts it, and air squeezes out of your lungs as a small petal sits serenely in the middle, a dainty muted pink not too unlike the color of his hair.
“Must’ve fallen in earlier.” You manage to reply, just in time not to make it sound too late or too early. Voice perfectly level as you meet his eyes in feigned surprise.
He shrugs, gulps it down, before sticking a tongue out and plucking it between his fingers. Wow, you're making out at this point. Still, that's has been in your lung and you pray to whomever that they don’t sense the cursed energy. Thankfully Kugisaki blanches in disgust instead.
“That’s not the worst thing he’s eaten.” You add unhelpfully.
“Still gross.”
Though Fushiguro's brow crinkle together giving you a worried look. You ignore him, pointedly.
“Maybe it’s part of the drink?” You suggest idly, checking your phone in an attempt to keep your eyes away from Itadori's piercing gaze, your hands minutely shaking as you shove it into your uniform pocket. “Should we get going? Gotta cram for Ieri-sensei's homework, she's going to do a demo today too."
Kugisaki narrows her eyes. “Is she going to try to do the thing where—“
You nod, and she makes a gagging noise as you shrug. “It’s not so bad. Her technique is always pretty cool to watch.”
“Course you’d say that you weirdo.” She says with no real bite, and you shrug. Fair. It is pretty gross if you aren’t used to bone and muscle and tissue reforming, and the sharp smell of copper and tearing sinew does get to you even in the best of days.
Fushiguro raises his brows. “How's your progress?”
“I can heal a dissected frog now.” You raise your chin a little. “But next time she said I could take out it's heart and build it from scratch—“
“Don’t forget to get the bag!” Kugisaki calls, already halfway out the door, Fushiguro already behind her.
You sigh, moving to take the paper bag of your questionable leftovers from the table, but Itadori swipes it first before you can, a bright smile in place. “I’ll carry it.”
“If you insist.” Lips pressed together as you try not to cough, suppressing it down for an hour probably wasn’t a good idea, clearing your throat in an attempt to keep it at bay. “Thank you Itadori.”
“Yuuji.” He says, dragging the vowel before he grins, sharp canines and all. “You don’t have to be so formal, y'know?”
Caught off guard, the squeeze in your chest presses just a little bit more, and your smile falters. Trying to speak seems impossible right now, so you nod instead. He seems half-convinced, brows furrowed as his eyes search yours, effectively trapping you in the seat booth.
“What?” You manage to rasp.
“I know you don’t like me,” he pauses, frowning, a thoughtful look crossing his face and you tamp down the strong urge to strangle him. “I know I get too loud so I give you full permission to tell me off. You can even hit me! But not too hard.”
You snort. “I’m not going to hit you.”
“You can though.”
“I won’t.”
“But— you should!” He says, leg shaking side to side listlessly, and you take a very deep breath, as much as the garden in your lungs let you anyway— before breathing out. You’ll overthink this conversation later, for now, you need to go before you start coughing up a bouquet.
“Yuuji.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s go.”
“Oh, right, yeah!” He quickly stands up and out of the bench and you quickly scoot after him, as he fidgets and waits for you as you brush down your uniform.
“I’m not mad at you,” you start, because fair— you haven’t been around ever since the curse took root. It felt too painful to be around him, metaphorically and physically. So you threw yourself to your studies, in training, and whatever excuse you could get a hold of. You had a crush on him, so of course your brain's natural response was to run in the opposite direction. "Just been a bit more sick lately. You... you can call me by first name too. If you'd like, of course."
His mouth forms a small ‘o’, before a smile too bright breaks out of his face and you wish you could appreciate it more. But you feel your windpipe start to close up.
“Come on, they’re probably waiting on us,” you say, voice coming a little rougher than intended, and you lightly push at the small of his back with your palm when he doesn’t move. You don’t even have time to appreciate how solid he feels as the strain in your diaphragm turns painful.
He says your name.
But you don’t hear it over the coughing fit that’s been building all throughout lunch, the curse eager to expel itself from your lungs— the scratch of stems and leaves making you gag as you try to get it under control. Your fingers dig into Itadori’s arm as you grasp for purchase, and he rushes you to sit back down, concern clear in his eyes as you grit your teeth to keep it in.
It gets worse, the taste of flowers and it's bitter aftertaste, shoulders shaking to keep it all in. Again, he says something you can’t hear, his warm hand over yours, squeezing, and you can’t bear to look at him, praying again to whomever listening that no petal comes out. Your eyelids are pressed shut, tears stinging, but he practically radiates heat— so it’s hard not to feel him as you start going light-headed.
So you curl on yourself, biting down so hard your jaw hurts, before he stands and rushes off. You miss him already, lingering warmth in your fingers that claw at your uniform, while the other is in your mouth. You’re probably making a scene.
You find it hard to care.
The bile in your throat feels acrid and you swallow it all down, stems and leaves and petals and all— as the coughing dies, exhaustion settles, walls spinning lazily. Slumping into the side of the seat, your shoulder twinges at an awkward angle. You feel strung out as you blearily stare at the grimy tile, hair hanging down your face. You want to hide, but then Itadori is there again, and he crouches and looks up at you—all brown eyes as he hands you a glass of water.
His hand is on your knee, looking up at you before you look away, hesitantly taking a sip, unsure what to do under his undivided attention. It’s all too much and not enough, and the hand on your knee keeps you steady.
You want to push it away.
You want it to stay.
“Better?” He asks.
No. “Yes.” You mumble, keeping your mouth small in case something got stuck in your teeth. Intently staring at the veins of his hands, unable to meet his eyes as your face suddenly runs hot. “Just choked on my own spit. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” He asks again, and you just nod. His mouth lilts, disbelieving, but he pats your knee after a moment— it comes so easily to him before he springs up again. “Wanna bet they left us by now?”
“Kugisaki definitely did.”
Yuuji lets out an ungraceful snort, before helping you up with an easy grin, hands brushing by your elbow before falling away.
“Thanks,” you say, graciously ducking outside when he opens the door for you.
Up ahead Kugisaki waves her arm with Fushiguro beside her, both quick to spot amongst the throng of the rushing crowd. Then Yuuji, beside you, bumping shoulders with a wide smile. For a moment your breathe deeper than you've had in a while.