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Itadori and Fushiguro are walking side by side. The path they walk on is old. There are sprouts of grass peeking through the dirt, dry and well-trodden. Small bits of gravel crunch under their shoes as they walk, almost like a cheer as they continue forward. Trees stretch along Fushiguro’s side of the path, allowing him to stay in the shade as much as he wanted. The two continue down the path, just walking in each other’s presence. Neither of them speak, they don’t really need to. There were many days where the two of them could just be together, living in the other’s company, breathing the same air as they offered a silent support—a simple “I am here, and you are not alone.” The sun is peeking through the leaves of the trees above them, a warm golden glow contrasting against the vibrant green. They sway gently, leaning over the two boys, branches reaching as they try to cover them in a cool shade. Shadowing them, protecting them. The sky above them glows, painting the clouds a beautiful mass of oranges, yellows, blues, and purples. The sun was setting and it was beautiful. Fushiguro walks under the trees, continuing in the protection of the shade, never one for the harshness of the sun as it bores down on him. He was never particular about the beaming bright light in his eyes, blinding him and consuming him. His head is down as long strands of black hair lightly brush against his face. There’s something to be said in the way that his hair falls and frames his eyes. The way that they shine through his bangs, piercing and the same shade of green as the leaves above him. He steals glances at the boy next to him, wanting to be closer but keeping his distance. He moves slowly. Itadori is walking ahead of him, just barely, hands behind his back as he bounds forward, eyes bright and reflecting so beautifully in the golden glow of the sky above them. He’s humming as he walks, an absentminded habit that’s been with him for as long as he’s known. Pink, unruly hair ruffles in the light breeze, soft and light, just like him. Itadori walks in the light. He loves the sun, lives for those bright days where the warmth wraps around you like a hug from an old friend. He walks with a purpose, but never straying too far from the other teen. Warm brown, almost honey-colored in the light, eyes shine as he looks to Fushiguro. He doesn’t want to leave him behind. But they don’t speak. The silence hanging over them, though comfortable, is heavy. They both know why they are here. Fushiguro continues in the shade. His hands rest in the pockets of his uniform. A uniform that was old, more worn, but a comfort to him in the recent events that have taken place. There’s a chill in the air, but he would still rather walk the darker path, allowing Itadori to soak up the sun the way he was always meant to. There’s a chill in the air, but also a feeling of contentedness that hangs around him as he continues. He was never one for brightness anyway. Well, he used to be. He’s glowing. In the sunlight, Itadori just looks beautiful. There is no other way to put it. The way the light captures his eyes and his hair sways gently atop his head, Itadori is just a beautiful person. He’s not donning his classic hoodie-sweatpants combo, the Tokyo Jujutsu High uniform instead taking its place. There’s familiarity in the way that he looks. As if he’s worn that uniform all his life. As if he’s been a sorcerer all his life. As if he wasn’t forced and thrusted into the cruelty of the Jujutsu world, his own kind of curse haunting and plaguing his every move—every choice. A small breeze blows over both of them and Itadori turns in time to catch Fushiguro’s hair lift and sway. He’s staring. “What?” Fushiguro finally breaks the silence, the fragility of the word is clear in his voice. This isn’t just about Itadori staring. But Itadori just chuckles, smiling to himself and shaking his head. “It’s nothing, Fushiguro. I just think that you’re really beautiful.” Fushiguro looks down at the ground, continuing to walk and not really responding. Itadori’s pace slows as he comes to match the other in step. “I don’t mean that in, like, a weird way,” he says. “Just that, I think you’re a very beautiful person.” Green eyes might’ve stolen a glance to the left. “I think that beauty is subjective.” Itadori chuckles, “Yeah, you would. But I always admired your strong morals and resolve. I think you move through life with a clear goal of what you want it to look like, and you will do whatever you can to make it happen. I think that’s beautiful, is that so wrong?” “I think,” Fushiguro starts, “that your idea of beauty is unique.” A bright smile meets a neutral face. “Maybe so,” Itadori says. They continue a bit further, no true destination in mind. It occurred to one or both of them that they needed to go back soon. That it couldn’t stay like this. But the weather was so nice. Being together was so nice. There was a certain level of peace that enveloped them. The fights, the wins, the losses, the death—it had all just been so much. In the end, both boys were just plain tired. They were tired. And any moment away from the chaos of it all was just a moment that was welcome and cherished. The past year had been a lot. There were a lot of failures on their part that they both blamed themselves for. Both thinking I could have done more. I should have done more. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. Both were willing to take the blame from the other so he could live with just a little more peace. Both wanting to save the other. Of course, they knew this moment couldn’t last forever. Nothing ever does. The two of them walking under a golden sky. There’s a tranquility in the air as the breeze picks up and the leaves rustle in the trees. The path frames them, walking together, intertwined, fated to walk on it for as long as it deems. But just this once, they would like to pause the narrative and continue in this moment forever. Just walking, side by side, with no true destination in mind. “I’m sorry,” Itadori says, breaking their silence. “Why?” “I should have died.” Itadori’s words hang in the air the way a detached leaf falls from a tree. There’s a slowness in the realization of what he said that reaches Fushiguro. It falls from his mouth to his ears, slowly with deliberation. But unlike the cycle from summer to fall, a process that is considered inherently beautiful and natural, these words are ugly. They plant themselves in his mind like a virus, boring down and multiplying into a whirlwind of other thoughts. These words are ugly. There’s so much sincerity in them, the hateful kind—the kind of hate that comes from a long time of self-loathing and doubt. It twists in Fushiguro’s mind, angers him. He can’t think of any reason why Itadori should be dead. If anyone deserves life, it was him. Someone who was just so beautiful and a shining light for everyone’s darkness. Fushiguro’s darkness. “Itadori,” he said, slowly, painfully. There is a fleeting moment where brown meets green. The warm honey color of Itadori’s eyes looking to catch the intense gaze of emerald. There’s anger in his eyes, a fire of extraordinary and harsh burning that cuts through to Itadori’s heart. His eyes hold so much anger, hatred even, towards the words just said. “I should have died.” Yeah, right. Itadori knew as soon as he said them that those were the wrong words to say. But he can’t bring himself to take it back. Not if that’s truly how he felt. There’s an intense, overwhelming, suffocating amount of anger in Fushiguro’s eyes. But there’s also just sadness. A sense of loss, regret, hurt that swims in the pools of his eyes and settles in Itadori’s stomach. He knows what he said is wrong. He wants to take it back, he knows that he can’t—that he’s just saying how he feels—but with the way Fushiguro’s eyes glisten with the threat of tears, he wants nothing more than to assure him that everything will be okay. That he wants to be alive. Itadori knows he has a purpose. He knows that he’s not just another number in a growing pile of Jujutsu sorcerers that have met or will meet their untimely end one day. He knows that there is more to life than just going with orders, doing what needs to be done to survive, and living for another thing to keep adding on and on and on to his growing list of regrets. He knows that. But there’s always been this nag, this voice in his head, that tells him that if he just died, then everything would have been okay. All of the people that he met, that he cared for, that he loved, would still be here. Laughing, smiling, joking around. Kugisaki wandering the streets of Tokyo, looking for the best deals and the latest fashion release. Nanami sipping wine and enjoying the warmth of Malaysia. Gojo doing his best to change the structure of the system, teaching a new generation of sorcerers who would one day break the cycle. And Fushiguro… –
Fushiguro.
– Maybe he would be laying in the shade, resting in the grass outside of his dorm. A book in one hand, his Divine Dogs resting and fighting for attention from the other. Maybe he would be promoted to a higher grade, learning the ins and outs of his technique and being able to summon a full, complete domain. Maybe he and Gojo would have found Kenjaku. Maybe they could have ended the curse placed upon his sister, and she could have woken up. Maybe then he could have lived the life that he meant to build. A life where she stood out in the sun as a source of true warmth and kindness. Someone who lives unconditionally, loves unconditionally. But all these maybes pile up and horde in Itadori’s mind. They infest his thoughts with all the things that could have been if he had just died that first night. If he wasn’t so stubborn, so naïve to think that finding Sukuna’s fingers and then dying would have been an easy task. Sure, there were a lot of unknown factors that played a role to get to where they are now. But one thing is for certain: Everyone would have lived if Itadori just died. It’s Fushiguro who pulls him out of his own head, away from the dark thoughts that plague his mind, as he says, “Please. Never say that again.” Itadori’s eyes stay fixed on the ground. They stopped walking at some point. “I saved you for a reason,” Fushiguro continues. “I told you once that I never regretted saving you, and I meant it.” “But why?” Itadori asks, catching and holding his gaze. There’s a look of finality on his face, as if the answer won’t change his opinion. Fushiguro thinks for a moment, considering the things that Itadori has said. Is it true that if Itadori had never consumed Sukuna’s finger, that everything would be okay now? Possibly. But things could have gone a whole lot worse. He could have died that night. Itadori was the one who saved him, twice technically—the first time being when he crashed through that window and the second time being when he swallowed that finger. He thinks about how he could be having the most mundane day ever right now. Well, as mundane as it could get for the life of a sorcerer. He’s 16 now, maybe he would have gone out to a nice dinner with Gojo to celebrate. He would have woken up to a crowd of faces: Inumaki and Maki standing to the side, indifferent in their expressions; Panda beaming down at him; Gojo wearing a shit-eating grin on his face, trying to take a picture of him as he just woke up. They would have trained like any other day, Maki being relentless in combat, uncaring of his birthday. They would have ended the night in the common area, maybe watching a movie, a giant cake sitting on the table, a pot of coffee to the side. But then Fushiguro thinks about all of the people who would have been surrounding him in this alternate timeline. In this so called “better life.” It doesn’t take him long to come to the conclusion that none of those little moments matter if there’s not a certain pink-haired beacon of light standing there next to him, smile bright, eyes crinkling, laugh soft and comforting. He saved him for a reason. “I don’t know,” Fushiguro said, shrugging smally. “Maybe you could call it love or something. But I saved you so I could meet you. I’m certain of it.” Love. The word comes forward more than anything else that Fushiguro said. It opens the clouds in his mind the way the sun peaks through the sky after a particularly bad storm. It shines down on him, basking him in a warmth that he’s long since forgotten. Love. What was love for them? What did that mean? It’s not like they were lovesick teenagers, passing notes in the halls and stealing glances during class. Love. It’s something that burns a lot deeper, a lot hotter for the two of them. Love. Love for them was second nature. It wasn’t just a high school crush. It wasn’t just a simple romance. Love for them was just as natural as saving each other was. It grew into something that transcended what either of them thought it could mean. –
He swallowed that first finger to save me… So don’t tell him.
–
Hey. Don’t say that to Fushiguro. Don’t you dare say it.
– It wasn’t just “love” anymore. It wasn’t something that could be defined by a single word. It wasn’t a simple emotion, romantic and light and endearing. This kind of “love” burned through them. They had to save each other. They know why they did what they did. It was to see someone as beautiful as them continue to live through such a cold and uncaring world. This was a desire to always be there to support, protect, and grow for the other. They would always be there because it was just natural. Itadori and Fushiguro. Fushiguro and Itadori. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t something that Fushiguro could capture with his words. This wasn’t something that you just say. This was an action. This was something that you do. Saving him. Protecting him. Fighting by his side. Searching for him when he disappeared and telling him you’ll shoulder the burden of his life with him. –
So, start by saving me, Itadori.
– This wasn’t love. This wasn’t just love. This was a profound, deep understanding of the pain and the ache and the exhaustion that weighed on his shoulders because he knew what it was like to be responsible for so many people’s lives. “You can’t say things like that, Fushiguro,” Itadori sighs. “It’ll just make what’s about to happen a lot harder.” “So, then don’t think about that,” he replies plainly. “Just walk with me.” They continued down the path. “I know that I was meant to meet you, Itadori,” Fushiguro says. “I know now that our lives were intertwined and we were always supposed to get to this point.” “You can’t mean that.” “I do.” Their eyes meet. “’This point,’” Itadori echoes. “Like here, here? Or like.. emotionally?” Fushiguro shrugs. He lightly kicks a rock with his shoe, watching it bound down the path, landing in the sun from where it had previously been in the shade. “This isn’t a goodbye,” Itadori says. “What is it then?” Fushiguro asks. Itadori falters as the question is left to fade around them. They walk, side by side. Sun and shade. Light and dark. “It’s the beginning. We’re going to be okay,” Itadori says, finally. “We don’t know that.” “We’ll make it happen.” “We don’t have that kind of power.” “Why do you want to die so badly?” Itadori’s question cuts sharply into Fushiguro. He doesn’t miss the way that he flinches slightly, head hanging a bit lower than before. “I didn’t,” he says. “Don’t.” There’s a beat of silence, only the sound of the leaves rustling above them and the ground crunching below them could be heard. “I just,” Fushiguro continues, “I just know that if I were to continue going, it could only be with you by my side.” “I’m not going anywhere.” “Not yet.” Itadori looks at Fushiguro, studying him. His eyes won’t meet his own, but he can see the way a frown overtakes his features. He wants to say something, to tell him that he’s wrong, but he can’t find the right words to say. “You are just so selfish, you know that?” Itadori looks back up, and this time is caught in the glare of Fushiguro. “And you’re not?” “I never said that I wasn’t,” Fushiguro replies, matter-of-factly. “What else am I supposed to do?” he asks, somewhat defensively. “Something,” Fushiguro says. Then with a whisper, “Anything else.” “I don’t think we have a choice.” It’s getting darker now. The warm orange tones of the sky have faded into a deep blue. The kind of blue that reminds Itadori of Fushiguro’s uniform. The kind of blue that he’s always learned to associate with the boy walking next to him. The kind of blue that just works for him, engulfs him like a never-ending sea and leaves Itadori left thinking that this kind of blue could be his favorite color for the rest of his life. “It should be me,” Fushiguro says. “I was the one who was weak.” Itadori stops them, grabbing him by the shoulder and moving in front of him, reminiscent of a time that now feels like lifetimes ago. – Fushiguro! Fushiguro, snap out of it! Make sure she’s safe first. It was truly so long ago. – “You are not weak,” Itadori says. His eyes are piercing, they cut into Fushiguro with such certainty. “You were never weak.” “I gave up,” Fushiguro meets his gaze, equally stubborn and just sure. “So did I,” Itadori counters. “Does that make me weak?” He starts to continue he walk forward, leaving Fushiguro behind. Fushiguro’s face falters, his eyebrows raise the tiniest bit and his eyes widen ever so slightly. He has to jog to catch up a little, the words Itadori had said were still loud in his mind. “You… you what?” “I gave up.” Itadori says the words so plainly, so easily. “When? On me?” There’s a slight hesitation in Fushiguro’s voice, scared of the answer. “No— no, never!” Itadori stops abruptly and turns to once again face the other boy. “I… it was after Kugisaki— when Mahi— when she… I just wanted to die. I wanted nothing more than to give up and die. I wished for it. Begged for it, even.” –
Todo, I… can’t… fight anymore…
–
I’m just a murderer! What I thought was my conviction was just an excuse I made for myself!
–
I can’t… forgive myself anymore.
– “Itadori,” Fushiguro says, reaching out for him, “that wasn’t… you didn’t do that.” “It didn’t matter,” Itadori looks at him, flinching away from his touch. “It doesn’t matter.” “You were so strong,” Fushiguro doesn’t pull back, leaving an olive branch out towards the boy in front of him. “You never gave up on me.” “How could I,” their eyes meet, “when you’re all I have left?” They stood there for an unknown amount of time, Fushiguro’s hand outstretched towards Itadori and Itadori standing there, small, unwilling to take it but unwilling to back away. “How am I supposed to go on without her here?” Fushiguro asks. His voice is small, he sounds almost like a child. “Without him here? Without you here?” “You’re strong, Fushiguro,” Itadori smiles at him. A true, kind smile. There’s a softness in his eyes and in his words. Like he truly believes it. It’s almost enough to make Fushiguro believe it too. The sky was getting darker now. The sun hung low on the horizon, allowing for a true nautical blue that envelops them, but one thing that Fushiguro can’t help but notice is that Itadori still looks so bright and shining. Like he’s his own light source, brilliant and magnetic. They walk a little further and it doesn’t take a genius to see that the path before them diverges. They started on this path together and now it’s splitting, pushing them to go a different route. Itadori’s path continues under the trees, the leaves blocking the sunlight and guarding him from the bright sky. Fushiguro’s path continues, but the trees dwindle as it stretches on and leave him walking in the light before long. It doesn’t look like they will converge again. “It’s not fair,” Fushiguro says, looking at the path, seeing where it leads. “It’s supposed to be me. You’re the kind of person that the world needs more of. Not me.” Itadori looks ahead and smiles softly. “I think you’re exactly what this world needs.” “I’m coming with you.” Itadori just shakes his head. “You could do that, sure.” He turns to meet Fushiguro’s gaze, placing a light, warm hand on his shoulder. “But what would change if you did?” Fushiguro doesn’t have an answer. “We can take this path together, but then what will become of all of Gojo-sensi’s hard work? Everything he’s done to build a world where people like Inumaki-senpai, Maki-senpai, Okkotsu-senpai could live? Where I could live?” Fushiguro exhales, his breath shaky as he fights against the lump in his throat. “But you won’t be there to see it. Isn’t that what you deserve?” Itadori looks down at the ground, the old beaten path that’s cursed them. The path splits not even three meters before them. The weight of reality is pushing down on them, dragging their shoulders down, slowing their steps. They both stop and stare at the path before them. It’s an old one. As if it’s been walked on before. If they looked close enough, they would see older sets of footprints lining the path. They would see how one set goes one way, and another set goes the other way. There’s a chill in the air. It’s a while before Itadori finally speaks. “What I deserve is to be surrounded by the people that I saved, by the people that I love. That’s all my grandfather asked for. That’s all I could ever ask for.” “And what about what I deserve?” Fushiguro counters. “You deserve so much more than I could ever give you.” “You don’t get to decide that.” Itadori smiles sadly, his hand dropping from Fushiguro’s shoulder as he brings it around to lightly grasp the other’s hand. It’s not an interlocked hold. Itadori knew better than to be selfish at a time like this. Instead, he holds his palm and allows an out should Fushiguro decide to take it. He doesn’t. His hand stays where it is. Itadori looks up and sees the way Fushiguro is looking at their hands. Their hold is loose, like the other is fragile. Slowly, he raises his head and catches that same sad smile. The kind of smile that’s only reserved for kids who don’t understand death. “I’m coming with you,” Fushiguro says a second time. “Or you could come with me.” Itadori sighed, squeezing his hand. “I don’t think that’s possible.” Fushiguro’s eyes glistened. “That’s not fair. I saved you, it should be my choice.” “Let me be the one to save you, Fushiguro,” he says. “But what’s the point of it all if you’re not there?” Fushiguro’s grip is now tighter. He’s holding onto Itadori like a lifeline, as if letting go means it would be the end of their conversation right there. Forever. “To change the world,” Itadori says. And there’s so much hope, so much wonder in his words. He says it like he says a prayer, like he believes Fushiguro Megumi placed all of the stars in the sky just for them to stare at until the end of time. He says it with so much belief and conviction that Fushiguro just knows he’s speaking from the heart. As if Fushiguro Megumi really has the ability to change the world. “I can’t do that without you there to ground me,” Fushiguro’s voice cracks. Just a little, but enough for Itadori to pick up on. “You don’t need me to be there to ground you as long as you remember me.” “How could I ever forget someone like you, Itadori Yuji?” Itadori smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He slowly loosens his grasp on Fushiguro’s hand and lets his own fall to his side. “Don’t say that, Fushiguro, please,” he says. His voice was so small, so sad. “It’ll just give me hope.” Fushiguro tries to reach out for him again, but Itadori just pulls further back. “Hope for what?” Itadori looks into his eyes. He thinks that maybe one day he could have gotten used to that stare. The kind of stare that just holds you because you know that whatever he was going to say, it would be important. The kind of stare that you just want to get lost in. A sea of beautiful green, something that Itadori could just swim in forever. “I can’t tell you,” Itadori says. “It will just curse you.” There’s a silence that hangs between them. They’re barely standing a foot apart, but they feel oceans away. Fushiguro wants nothing more than to reach out for the boy before him, but instead he looks up at the sky. Itadori’s gaze follows. The sun has set. The night sky is filled with thousands of stars, bright and inviting. It’s a different kind of light, but so warm and beautiful all the same. The sky is still a dark blue, reminiscent of the little bit of sun left from behind the horizon. It was basically nightfall, but they still had time. Fushiguro looks at Itadori and he’s just standing there, looking up at the sky in wonder. There’s a twinkle in his eyes and an expression that’s almost childlike that paints his face. All of the stars in the sky and Fushiguro is just looking at him. “Fushiguro,” Itadori says. He catches his gaze, but if he knows of his staring, he wasn’t acknowledging it. Fushiguro hummed, his gaze still transfixed on the person before him. There’s so much that he wants to say, so much that he wishes he could do. Anything to spend a lifetime with the one standing in front of him. “Please watch the stars with me,” Itadori says, reaching his hand back out, “for just a bit longer.” And he can’t do anything but nod. All of the things that he wants to say or do or wishes that could be different, they leave his mind. Because Itadori is standing there before him, his hand is outstretched and he’s asking him to look at the sky with him. He takes it. Two boys stand on a well-worn path, side by side, hand in hand, looking up at the stars. The sky stretches on and on, an infinite sea of stars twinkling above them and lighting their faces. The breeze continues around them and the trees sway lightly in the dark. The moon hangs above them, large and full. The grass is carrying the scent of the night through the air, and despite the slight chill, both boys are comfortable right where they are. It’s dark, but Itadori is so bright, and Fushiguro can’t do anything but stay there, trapped in his light. But this moment, no matter how long it may have felt, only lasted for a few minutes. It’s Itadori first who moves, releasing Fushiguro’s hand and returning to the pockets of his uniform. Fushiguro turns to meet him, there’s a desperation in his eyes, pain all over his face. “This can’t be it.” “I’m sorry, Fushiguro,” Itadori says. “I just wish we had more time.” The sun has set. “Please let me come with you.” Itadori just shakes his head. “You and I both know that that’s not the right answer.” “There’s so much more that I want to say to you,” Fushiguro voice is small, broken. His words are painted with a despair that Itadori hopes never returns to his voice again. But no matter how much he wants to be the one to fix it, he knows they need to continue on their path. Paths. So, he just settles for, “I know.” They linger there a moment longer, neither really willing to take that first step. Itadori wants to stay there with Fushiguro, listening to everything that he’s ever wanted to say to him. Drinking him in, knowing his thoughts, his regrets, his desires. But they just don’t have time. So, it’s once again Itadori who makes the first move. He takes a small step forward, tentative and hesitant. Fushiguro stands where he is, watching. Itadori turns to him, giving him the most genuine smile he could ever give. “Come on, Fushiguro. It’s time to go home.” And it’s a real, genuine smile. It’s the kind of smile that Fushiguro thinks just brightens the world. The smile that Itadori could only muster by thinking of how lucky he is to meet and know someone like the boy before him. Remembering how his cold exterior and apathetic nature could be peeled back, revealing a kind, caring, and beautiful individual. This is the smile that says yeah, I am so fortunate to know you. “It won’t ever be a home without you there,” Fushiguro says, taking his own step forward, this one leading him away from the one he wants to go with. “But you promise me you’ll try?” Their eyes meet once more. This moment is a lot softer, a lot more intimate and tender than the ones before. This was a true request from Itadori, this was his last wish. Fushiguro’s voice is barely a whisper, “I’ll try.” And those two words are all it takes for that same smile to return to Itadori’s face. His all-consuming smile, his light that shines so brightly with no risk of burning or harming others. Fushiguro could look at his smile forever. “Fushiguro,” he says, still beaming, still so beautiful. “Thank you for giving me a role to play.” And they both start walking the path.