title from the poem "Little Sleep's-Head Sprouting Hair in the Moonlight" by Galway Kinnell

i rewrote this instead of studying oops

SPOILER ALERT: allusions to the Shibuya arc but they're pretty vague imo


He stands in the middle of a convergence of roads atop the precipice of a cliff. Masses of graves cluster like grapes at the end of each, stark and sharp despite the distance between them and himself. His stomach flips over itself the longer the silence persists, like he's stuck on one of those teacup rides at the amusement park, churning violently until his throat burns and the taste of bile coats his tongue. The sensation of sweat beading against his forehead only to roll down his face and neck, sticking the tattered remains of his uniform jacket to his skin like papier-mâché, is stifling. There's a putrid stench, like burnt flesh, that permeates the air alongside flecks of ash—or, what he hopes is ash—and dust from the debris that floats around him like snow. Yuuji looks out over the ruined remains of Shibuya, more crater than city now, and mourns the countless lives he has inadvertently snuffed out by selfishly clinging to his own.

Two girls in a subway. 32% phone charge. An explosion—brick and piping, skin and bone—scattered to the wind like confetti.

The silence is oppressive, creeping in on all sides until he feels crushed by it; he wants to close his eyes, turn away, hide his face in his hands until it all goes away, just go away, but he can't move.

Foolish child, Sukuna sneers gleefully from his throne of skull and carcass. What right have you to flinch away? Bear witness to the outcome of your actions.

A pair of hands cup his face from behind, another on his shoulders, and wrench his head to the side to force him to look. Paralyzed, Yuuji stands rigid upon his own makeshift dais of ruin, eyes wide open to the wasteland before him. The hands on his shoulders slide down his arms, deceptively gentle, until their claws dig into the tender skin of his elbows and yank, twisting his body around until he's face-to-face with the grinning maw of Mahito, hands outstretched as if he were offering a welcoming embrace.

"You are me."

Yuuji recoils, adrenaline racing through his blood as he readies a fist, but the ground beneath him crumbles and he tumbles along with it, spinning spinning spinning through a dizzying swirl of gray until he lands with a silent splash in a dark pool in the subway. Here, bodies surround him—distorted, bloated in unnatural ways—piles upon piles of them between the rubble.

He drags his gaze across the wreckage, heart pounding in his chest and reverberating off the damp walls, sending vibrations through his body like the bass at a concert. The tempo quickens in time with his pulse, mirroring ripples in the water catching his eye so that he follows them to where they slide against the dark shape lying at his feet, and he already knows who it is, doesn't want to look, don't make me, but like a marionette he can't stop his head from tipping towards his chest, can't force his eyes closed before they settle on the dark gaping blotch where a fiery hazel eye ought to be—

Oh god, he thinks as realization dawns on him that the pitch dark pool he's standing in is—

Sorry brat, Sukuna purrs. Here, there's just you and me.

His laughter echoes around Yuuji, bouncing off every surface with such force that the world begins to shake around him, until he falls to his hands and knees. The grit of gravel and glass slices into the skin of his palms but the pain is muted. Heaving, Yuuji lifts his head only to choke on his next breath.

Dark, blank eyes stare back at him from beneath a fringe of black hair matted with blood. It blooms a stark, fresh ruby against the rest of the world's monotonous gray; a river from crown to heart, spattered against the ruins the same way a careless child tosses paint.

"If you die again, I'll kill you."

No, Yuuji prays with steadily mounting panic. No, no, no no no not you too, please, please I can't—you can't be

Sukuna coos sweetly at him from behind. Ohh, poor Itadori Yuuji. One tattooed arm snakes around his shoulders in a crude imitation of sympathetic compassion as he whispers, mocking, How will you be surrounded by friends at your funeral if you've killed them all, hmm?

"Please," Yuuji pleads, reaching out his blood-soaked hands even as Sukuna's arm snakes up to tighten around his throat, "Please."

He wakes to the sound of the Curse's cruel laughter in his ears and the ghost of his grip fading from his neck, tears blurring the silver-lined furniture of his dorm room as his breath tears from his lungs in harsh pants. It's too hot, sweat dripping down his brow even as his body trembles with chill. He fights with his blankets for a moment before finally flinging them to the side as he swings his legs over the side of his bed. The cool surface of the floor against the soles of his feet grounds him a little but it's not enough.

Moonlight paints everything in tones of silver and gray. There's an uneven lump in the corner near his closet, awkward and unnatural, that has his throat tightening with anxiety. Shadows from the plants on his windowsill stretch across the floor like creeping fingers and he wants to draw his feet back up onto the bed to cower beneath the blankets like a child.

The image of red flowering against porcelain-tainted skin flashes in his head. Suddenly he finds himself crossing the room to yank open his door until he's hurried the short distance down the hall and stands before the door to Fushiguro's room. The sound of his fist against the thin wood startles him, too loud in the quiet of the night, but he feels something akin to relief to hear it at all. He should feel guilty for making such a ruckus in the middle of the night but he can't bring himself to care; they're the only people in this section of the building anyway. Even if they weren't, Yuuji doesn't think he'd be able to stop. He has to know, has to see Fushiguro himself, even if waking him up earns him a knock to the head. He won't mind, won't complain even a little, because it'll mean—

The door opens on his fifth knock to reveal a disgruntled Fushiguro, eyes half-lidded and soft with sleep but alive, he's alive, thank heavens.

"Itadori, what the hel—" The words fade from his tongue as he takes Yuuji in. He can imagine what Fushiguro sees: sweat-dampened hair in disarray from tossing and turning, wet eyelashes and tear-stained cheeks, hands that won't stop shaking no matter how hard he clenches his fists. A mess, if ever there was one. Yuuji thinks he probably ought to be embarrassed but the walls of the hall feel suffocating and he can't find it in himself to care how he looks right now.

"Sorry," he whispers, reaching up to twist the hem of his T-shirt between his fingers, "Sorry, Fushiguro, I know I woke you up, I just—I needed—"

To know you were still here. That you're alive. To make sure I didn't lose you too.

"To see you," he finishes quietly, swallowing around the lump in his throat and dipping his chin to his chest rather than meet Fushiguro's too-sharp gaze. He's not sure if he wants to be seen right now, not in the way Fushiguro tends to notice him; he's already made a big enough fool of himself. Silence stretches between them for several increasingly-awkward moments before Yuuji turns on the ball of his foot with a hurried, "Okay, uh, sorry for bothering you. I'll just—"

Warmth encircles his wrist before he can finish or even step back. It takes him a second to realize its Fushiguro's fingers, wrapped around the quickening beat of his pulse, secure but not restrictive. Yuuji lifts his gaze to meet Fushiguro's with a confused crinkle in his brow.

"Itadori," Fushiguro clears his throat, reaching up with his free hand to rub the back of his neck as he tips his head to the side, dark eyes sliding away when he continues softly, "You can come in if you want."

Yuuji blinks dumbly for a second, trying to process the invitation without success until the warmth around his wrist begins to slip away. Eyes widening with realization, he stumbles over his tongue until something resembling agreement manages to escape his mouth. With a nod, Fushiguro steps aside to make room for him to enter then closes the door behind them both.

It's a silly thing to realize at three in the morning right after a nightmare but this is the first time Yuuji's been allowed in his room. Before, they usually hung out in the common area or outside in the courtyard. It's too dark to really appreciate any details beyond the silhouettes of furniture but he can tell it's kept tidy and clean. It suits him, Yuuji thinks, and something about the mundaneness of it all helps his heart start to settle. He pauses in the middle of the room as Fushiguro gets back in bed, unsure of what to do now that he's starting to calm down.

"Well?" Yuuji jumps at Fushiguro's expectant tone. "You coming or not?"

He's holding back one edge of his comforter, a clear sign that he's waiting for Yuuji to join him. Despite the darkness he sees Yuuji, knows what he needs without even having to ask, or realize it for himself. He beckons impatiently again when Yuuji only stares at him.

Uncertain but grateful, Yuuji inches his way towards the bed until he settles tentatively atop the mattress like he's afraid it'll dump him right back off if he puts too much weight on it. A pillow hits him in the face a second later.

"Lie down already," is the grumbled order that follows. Fushiguro's already made himself comfortable again, back against the wall as he faces Yuuji with an expectant look. There are dark bags beneath his eyes, made all the more obvious next to the gauze and bandages that seem to layer most of his body. Yuuji regrets waking him for something as selfish as this when he's so obviously exhausted. He shouldn't intrude further by invading his personal space.

"Actually, y'know what. It's fine. I'm okay now," he tells him quietly, replacing the pillow with careful hands as he starts to get up. Just seeing Fushiguro should be enough for him. He shouldn't ask for more or inconvenience him just to assuage his guilty conscience. "Sorry, this was. Well. You rest, I'll—"

Fingers encircle his forearm before he can even plant his feet on the floor. The world tilts around him before his back hits the mattress with a bounce. Fushiguro doesn't release him.

"You rest." His voice is rough, stern but not harsh. Yuuji stares at the ceiling for a moment before slowly turning his head to meet Fushiguro's gaze. Bright, sharp eyes—not blank and sightless, not haloed in an unholy shade of rust—that meet his without fear, or judgement, or disgust. They haven't talked about Shibuya yet but they don't have to, at least not right now, because Fushiguro already knows; he sees the heavy sag of Yuuji's shoulders, his bloodshot eyes and the dark shadows beneath them, sees the strain of his smile as he reassures everyone I'm fine!

Fushiguro Megumi sees Itadori Yuuji as Itadori Yuuji and that's all.

It's more than Yuuji could ever ask for, someone who knows him for who he is, but sometimes it's too much.

There's a burning behind his eyes now, a tremble in his lip that he tries to hide by bringing his arm up so he's peering from behind his elbow, but he knows it doesn't fool his friend. Fushiguro's brow softens, the grip he has around his arm easing into something gentler; he's kind enough to avert his eyes as he reaches down to tug the comforter over the both of them and pretends not to notice how Yuuji rubs his face into his pillow.

He surprises Yuuji a moment later when he says, "My sister used to do this for me." He's looking up at the ceiling now, gaze far away as he recalls a past he so rarely shares with anyone. "Back before I knew anything about Curses or how to fight them. Just that these creepy monsters sometimes showed up and I was the only one who could see them. Tsumiki didn't know much about it either but she never questioned me when I'd say something." He looks at Yuuji then, a strangely determined set to his jaw. "Just told me her door was always open if I wanted."

And Yuuji's not always the best at picking up on subtleties, the way people hide their true feelings behind words or expressions, but even he understands this invitation for what it is. His heart suddenly feels too big for his chest, expanding behind his ribs with a raw kind of fondness and gratitude for this boy, the first person to see him and wholeheartedly believe he deserves the same chance at life as everyone else despite how much damage has come of it.

He slides his arm away so he can reach between them, tugging Fushiguro's hand away from his arm so he can tangle their fingers together instead. His smile is tired but genuine when he whispers, "That was really sweet of her."

Fushiguro hums at that, gaze flickering away again; as good as he is at seeing others, he's not too keen on being seen himself, Yuuji's noticed. But that's okay. Yuuji likes getting to know Fushiguro at his own pace, picking up every little fact that he drops like a bread-crumb trail to his heart.

A comfortable sort of quiet fills the space between them. Here, with Fushiguro, the shades of gray between the shadows don't seem so ominous; after all, how can he be afraid when the sorcerer of shadows is by his side?

His eyes start to feel heavy as he listens to Fushiguro's soft, rhythmic breathing. He can feel the easy rise and fall of his chest against the back of his hand where it's settled against his sternum, still held safely in Fushiguro's. It's a reassuring sensation, one he can't help but want to be closer to. He shifts, hoping to get closer without waking him, but a huff of warm air against his forehead tells him he's failed.

"Ah, my bad," he murmurs apologetically, face burning as he begins to inch back into place. Fushiguro grumbles unintelligibly before releasing Yuuji's hand—a sting of disappointment zips through him at the loss—only to drape his arm over Yuuji's waist to pull him flush against his chest. Breath stuttering in his lungs, Yuuji freezes in surprise against him only for a moment before slowly relaxing, eyes fluttering closed as the strong beat of Fushiguro's heart against his cheek finally lulls him into a peaceful sleep.


fun fact: Fushiguro was not asleep

writing dreamscapes is hard OTL but it was fun to try! this is actually the first jjk fic i began to write when itafushi grabbed me by the throat lol i just can't resist a good nightmare-induced hurt/comfort fic ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

thanks for reading! i hope you enjoyed ^^ feel free to come chat with me anytime on Tumblr at sawamura-daichis-thighs and/or Twitter at ms_refreshing