Dirty Laundry

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/30618308.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Multi
Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)
Relationship: Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji/Kugisaki Nobara
Characters: Fushiguro Megumi, Kugisaki Nobara, Itadori Yuuji, Gojo Satoru
Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Sharing Clothes, Getting Together, Domestic Fluff,
Fluff and Humor, no beta we die like junpei, one day i'll write a fic
where megumi is not oblivious about his own feelings, but today is not
that day :)
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Itafushi Week 2021
Stats: Published: 2021-04-11 Words: 6,017 Chapters: 1/1
 Dirty Laundry
by lyrebirdswrites

Summary

The first time it happened, Fushiguro was ready to call it a one time thing. The second time it
happened, it was a moment of weakness. The third time, he has no choice but to admit it to
himself: he's a changed man. Previously, he was Fushiguro Megumi. Now, he's Fushiguro
Megumi, Guy Who Finds It Comforting To Wear His Best Friend's Clothes.

He has no idea how he ended up here. Absolutely no one is allowed to find out about this; he
might actually die of embarrassment.

Notes

This was supposed to be for the itafushi week day one prompt 'sharing clothes', but once I
started brainstorming for that concept set in canon I realized I was entirely incapable of
leaving Kugisaki out of it. So now it's itafushikugi agenda hours :>

See the end of the work for more notes

On laundry day, Fushiguro finally realizes he is well and truly doomed.

He's a little late in connecting the dots. Laundry day is not the day that dooms him; his
downfall begins earlier in the week, when Kugisaki walks into the dormitory kitchenette
wearing a hoodie that most certainly does not belong to her.

This hoodie is several sizes too big. She's swamped in it, and when she reaches for the cereal
she has to pull the long sleeves up to reveal her hands so she can actually grab the box. The
color is familiar, though it's not one that appears frequently in her own wardrobe; a soft,
sunny yellow, like duckling down. She looks bundled up and toasty warm and incredibly
pleased with herself.

She looks very cozy.

Kugisaki shakes out a serve of cereal. She opens the fridge and she closes the fridge and she
pours milk into the bowl. She says, pointedly, "Good morning, Fushiguro."

With a start, Fushiguro realizes he's been staring at her since she walked in the room.

"...That's Itadori's hoodie." Fushiguro feels silly, stating the obvious, but it seems to be the
only coherent thought his brain is capable of putting together in the moment.

"It sure is." Kugisaki stretches her morning sleepiness away, raising her arms over her head.
The ends of the sleeves flop where they extend past her fingertips. Somehow, she manages to
look even more self-satisfied than she did before. "Itadori let me borrow it when we were
watching movies last night."

"You were watching movies?" Fushiguro does not remember being invited to movie night.
He frowns.

Kugisaki huffs, releasing the stretch. "You were out like a light after Shoko fixed you up, and
it was only, like, 5 pm. We had time to kill."

Fushiguro's expression clears. He supposes that makes sense. It does not, however, solve the
mystery of why Kugisaki is wearing Itadori Yuuji's clothes on a weekday morning.

His confused frown promptly returns. "Don't you have your own sweaters?"

"Boys' sweaters are way better than girls' sweaters, up to a certain price point." Kugisaki
carries her breakfast to the common room table, stealing the one seat that gets a patch of
sunlight coming through the window at this hour of the morning. "They make them sturdier.
The fleece is thicker. I'm convinced fashion companies design thin miserable jackets for girls
so they can sell us layers."

"Like what they do with the pockets?" He's heard that rant from her before.

"Exactly." She points her spoon at him. "I'm telling you, it's deliberate."
Fushiguro joins her at the table. The answer satisfies him, until it doesn't. "...But you don't
buy cheap thin stuff. You buy really nice clothes."

Fushiguro doesn't mean to go poking holes in her explanation. He's aware that he's making a
big deal out of what is ostensibly a small thing. There's just something about the sight of
Kugisaki wearing Itadori's hoodie, though. He doesn't know what it is, but whatever it is, it's
taking up far too much space in his brain. It's very inconvenient for him. He's having trouble
getting to the bottom of it.

"Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to wear someone else's clothes for a change," Kugisaki mutters.
"It was there. It was warm. It smells nice."

"It smells nice," Fushiguro echoes in disbelief.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it does." Kugisaki glares at him defiantly. She is not half as
intimidating as she intends to be, because she's still swimming in Itadori's hoodie, all soft
shapeless lines and sweater paws.

"You like the smell of Itadori's body odor." Fushiguro's delivery is deadpan flat.

Kugisaki's expression scrunches up in disgust. "Oh, gross! No! I'm not talking about his
stink! I mean his—"

She stops short. Fushiguro isn't about to let her off the hook. He stares her down, silently
demanding an answer.

Kugisaki squirms under the scrutiny, sinking down into her chair. Or rather, she sinks into the
hoodie, hunching up and hiding the bottom of her face within the neckline of the garment.
She mumbles something into the yellow fabric.

"You're going to have to speak up," Fushiguro tells her.

"His scent," she repeats a little more forcefully, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "It
smells like him, okay? It's nice."

Fushiguro stares at her, blinking.

"You've lost it," he says finally. "You've gone mad."

Kugisaki thwacks him upside the head.

Usually, Fushiguro is pretty good about keeping up with household chores. The three of them
have a roster, copied from the schedule tacked to the wall in the second years' dormitories
across the path, and rare is the week where Fushiguro lags behind in the communal duties
allocated to him. Instead, when life gets busy and something has to give, it's the individual
maintenance tasks which fall to the wayside first. Like his own laundry, for example. Better
to stare down a dwindling supply of clean clothes than to have Itadori and Kugisaki
complaining that he didn't clean the main bathroom when it was his turn.

Calling the last week or two busy would be an understatement. The missions came one after
another, grueling battles and long car rides that left him sapped of all energy and checking in
at the infirmary more often than not. He did find time to vacuum, and stop by the general
store to stock up on the extra goodies the school doesn't provide. He did not find time to
throw the contents of his clothes basket in the washing machine.

He's regretting that now, as he ferrets through his wardrobe and triple checks his chest of
drawers. It's official: Fushiguro has run out of clean shirts. He sighs, grimacing at the
mountain of clothes overflowing from his hamper in the corner of his bedroom. Looks like
he'll be spending Sunday in his pajamas until he sorts this out.

Fushiguro performs the walk of shame through the common area towards the laundry room,
an awkward waddle which involves bracing the heavy hamper against his front and leaning
backwards so the precarious stack of clothes on top slopes towards him instead of falling on
the floor. Kugisaki snorts in amusement at his expense; Itadori says, "Aren't you gonna get
dressed? It's practically midday."

Fushiguro cranes his neck to scowl at Itadori around the pile of clothes. "I'm running low on
shirts that aren't blood stained, mud stained, shredded to bits, or all of the above. In case the
walk of shame doesn't give it away."

Itadori winces. "You've gotta learn to dodge, man."

Fushiguro grumbles, disappearing into the laundry room to begin sifting through his clothes,
separating the dark items from the light ones. His mind wanders while his hands work; it's
not the kind of task that requires an awful lot of concentration.

His scent, Kugisaki had said. What a bizarre concept. Fushiguro doesn't doesn't understand
the appeal in the slightest.

The washing machine chirps a cheery tune as he turns it on. Fushiguro hums along under his
breath, dumping a scoop of powder into the draw and pressing the right buttons. He leaves
the hamper and the second load in the laundry room for later, emerging into the common area
again.

Fushiguro is fond of the common area, mostly because he associates it with fond things;
Kugisaki showing off her shopping hauls, Itadori's movie marathons, board game nights
where they invite the second years or even Gojou or Nanami to play. There's ample couch
space in front of the television, and beanbags scattered around the coffee table, and no matter
what time of day it is the lighting's always nice. Fushiguro appreciates the privacy of his
bedroom, but there's something to be said about a place that Itadori, Kugisaki, and himself
can stake an equal claim on without intruding. He can curl up here with a good nonfiction
book, Kugisaki can sit at the table to paint her nails, Itadori can whip something up in the
kitchenette, and it's pleasant, hanging out in this mundane sort of way. The realities of their
lives as sorcerers feel very far away.
It wasn't the same, when they thought Itadori was dead. Every time they return from a
mission, safe and relatively sound, Fushiguro counts his lucky stars that he's coming home to
Itadori and Kugisaki both; that all three of them are still here to share this space together.
Maybe that's what makes the common area feel so welcoming. There's always someone
happy to see him here when he walks in the room.

"Yo, Fushiguro! Catch!"

That's all the warning he gets before Itadori tosses something colorful and large in his
direction. Mercifully, it's not heavy, because the object lands square in Fushiguro's face
before falling into his arms.

It's Itadori's hoodie. The one Kugisaki was wearing the other day.

"If you've got nothing to wear, just borrow something of mine." Itadori sits down on the
couch, picking up his Switch again. "I don't mind."

Fushiguro stands there, fixed in place while his brain catches up with his eyes. He's stuck on
the memory of Kugisaki at the dining table, golden in the sun and blushing something fierce;
it smells like him, okay?

In front of him on the couch, Kugisaki raises one suspicious eyebrow.

"...Thanks." Fushiguro gets a proper hold on the hoodie draped over his arms and heads for
his room. "I appreciate it."

"Anytime!" Itadori calls after him, before Fushiguro shuts the bedroom door.

Fushiguro picks out a pair of sweatpants at random and gets changed. He very deliberately
does not think too hard about this, or about what Kugisaki looked like wearing this, or about
the casual ease with which Itadori had instigated this. Honestly, he doesn't even intend to
check his own reflection before he walks out of his room again. But the door to his wardrobe
is still wide open from when he had been searching for a shirt before, and the full length
mirror affixed to the inside of it is right there. When he catches a glimpse of himself on the
way out, he stops walking.

Yellow is not a color that Fushiguro would pick for himself; when it comes to fashion,
vibrant tones aren't really his thing. It's a shade far better suited to someone like Itadori, who
naturally radiates this sort of warmth, or Kugisaki, who only looks more striking when she
pairs her outfit with such a vibrant hue. But right now, Fushiguro can't bring himself to mind
that it's not anywhere close to his usual style, because. Well.

It kind of looks like he's obviously wearing someone else's clothing. Itadori's clothing,
specifically.

He expected the hoodie to dwarf Kugisaki, but he's a little surprised to note that it seems big
on him too. The dark pants he'd thoughtlessly grabbed suit it better than he thought they
would; they match the black drawstrings at his neckline. Itadori's hoodie is as well made as
Kugisaki made it out to be, sturdy and thick with just the right weight to it, the material soft
on his skin. It's actually really comfortable.

Fushiguro stares at the mirror. His reflection stares right back. Comfortable. Comforting? Is
that the right word?

He shakes his head clear and shuts his wardrobe firmly, intending to leave the room. He
doesn't make it more than a few paces before he stops again, hesitating a moment more.
When he slowly lifts his hands, it feels ridiculous and irrational, like he's abandoning all
reason in favor of some long obsolete instinct. Yet his curiosity gets the better of him. He
takes hold of the front of the front of the garment and raises it up; he ducks his head, and
closes his eyes, and breathes in.

Kugisaki is right. It does smell of Itadori. And not in a bad or unclean way, like the hoodie
would be better off lumped in with the rest of Fushiguro's clothes in the wash. Not like that at
all. There's only really one word which comes to mind when Fushiguro tries to define it. The
material carries Itadori's… scent.

Oh no, Fushiguro thinks, a very small and vulnerable voice in his head, and immediately he
knows there's there's no coming back from this thought. He knows, beyond a shadow of
doubt, that he's done for.

That smells kind of nice.

The first time it happened, Fushiguro was ready to call it a one time thing. The second time it
happened, it was a moment of weakness. The third time, he has no choice but to admit it to
himself: he's a changed man. Previously, he was Fushiguro Megumi. Now, he's Fushiguro
Megumi, Guy Who Finds It Comforting To Wear His Best Friend's Clothes.

It's weird, right? It's definitely weird, Fushiguro is certain of that. But wearing Itadori's stuff
is also relaxing, in a way that he can't quite put into words. The life of a sorcerer is already so
stressful; Fushiguro will take every scrap of solace where he can find it. And so, laundry
starts to sink lower and lower on his list of priorities. Not in an obvious way, and not to an
inconvenient degree. If it just so happens to pile up every so often, though, Fushiguro can
blame it on being busy. And if he just so happens to run out of shirts or pants on occasion,
Itadori is willing, even eager, to lend him something.

Fushiguro never outright steals anything from Itadori; he always asks first, and he is careful
to give it back before too long. He doesn't want to be an inconvenience. (Besides—after a
while, that scent fades away, and then half the incentive for wearing it in the first place is
gone.)

He has no idea how he ended up here. Absolutely no one is allowed to find out about the
reason behind his newfound guilty pleasure; he might actually die of embarrassment.
Which is unfortunate, since Kugisaki knows exactly what he's doing. He can sense her
judging him, whenever he casually mentions that the laundry got away from him again.
Fushiguro would be significantly more concerned about the potential for blackmail there if
she wasn't just as compromised as he is. As things stand, they're at a stalemate; a promise of
mutually assured destruction. She could run her mouth to Itadori about his ulterior motives.
But if she did that, Fushiguro could turn around and say the exact same thing about her.

Because lately, Kugisaki has been getting lazy with her laundry. Not in an obvious way, and
not to an inconvenient degree. But every once in a while, she'll come out of her room
complaining that there's not a single clean blouse in her wardrobe. Fushiguro will give her the
look she always gives him, the one that says you're not subtle, and Itadori will find her
forgetfulness endearing and go looking for a shirt or a jacket of his own to pass along.

Most of the time, it's fine. Once Fushiguro and Kugisaki realize that neither of them are
capable of spilling each other's secrets without also throwing themselves under the bus, they
settle into a tentative truce. It's the minimum requirement for peaceful communal living: don't
step on my toes, and I won't step on yours. And honestly, Fushiguro gets it; he's long since
come to understand what drove her to start seeking this favour from Itadori in the first place.
He can hardly begrudge her this indulgence when he's just as weak for it himself.

But sometimes it really is a problem. While one person forgetting to wash their clothes every
once in a while can't be called inconvenient, two people getting lax about it starts to
complicate matters—especially when they're working around Itadori's own laundry cycle.

"Itadori," Kugisaki calls, plaintive and drawing out the vowel at the end of his name. "I've
run out of shirts again."

"What a coincidence." Fushiguro, sitting on a bean bag in the common room and still wearing
his pajamas, cuts in before Itadori can respond. He turns a page in the book he's reading. "I
don't have any shirts left either."

Kugisaki pokes her head out of her bedroom door, staring at him from down the hallway with
narrowed eyes. Fushiguro raises his eyebrows, unimpressed at the challenge in her expression
and nowhere close to backing down.

Itadori looks between the two of them from the table, eyeing the silent battle going on.
"...Seriously?"

"Yes." Fushiguro and Kugisaki say it at the same time. Their glares intensify.

Itadori puts down his pen. "Okay," he sighs, though there's a note of affection in it which
makes Fushiguro feel warm and fuzzy. "I'll see what I can find. No promises, though. I was
planning to do my own laundry today, I don't have much left."

Itadori vanishes into his room. Fushiguro and Kugisaki are left to keep on awkwardly staring
at each other as the sound of drawers being pulled open and pushed shut fills the air.
Fushiguro supposes that perhaps the sensible thing for them to do, in the future, would be to
give each other a heads up when they're thinking about pulling this stunt. That way they can
avoid accidentally doubling up and putting Itadori out like this. But coordinating to such a
degree would involve actually talking about the fact that they both have a problem, which
definitely violates their mutual policy of non-interference. Fushiguro isn't sure he wants to
cross that line, speak it out loud and make it any more concrete and real.

When Itadori comes back, he's only got one shirt in his hands; the old one he wears whenever
he sets out to touch up the roots of his hair. The stormy gray cotton has softened with age,
and there are little faded splashes and patches of pink where the shirt came into contact with
developer or dye.

"Sorry, Fushiguro," Itadori says regretfully, handing the shirt to Kugisaki. "This is all I've got.
I gave you something last time, so..."

"It's fine." Fushiguro commits the page number of his book to memory and closes the front
cover, preparing to get up. "I claim first dibs on the washing machine today, though."

"Seems fair to me." Itadori beams at them both, pleased to have found a compromise, and
returns to the table to keep working through his homework. Kugisaki rubs her victory in
Fushiguro's face with a smug, triumphant smile the moment Itadori's back is turned: I win.
Fushiguro rolls his eyes in response, leaving the bean bag and the book behind and mentally
preparing himself for all the washing and drying and folding he's going to be doing today.

Truthfully, he doesn't really feel like he's lost to her. In fact, he's feeling rather smug himself.
It's a shame that he doesn't get the chance to wear something of Itadori's—but the fact that
Kugisaki will be the one walking around in that shirt today more than makes up for it.

She looks different, lounging about on lazy weekends wearing clothes that aren't her own. He
can't help but keep an eye on her as they go about their day. Athleisure leggings and an
oversized top, simple and unadorned. Bare feet and no makeup, her hair a little messier than
she usually allows it to be; a rare glimpse at a Kugisaki who has let her guard down. Itadori's
large shirt hangs loose on her frame, and it only serves as a reminder of how much physically
smaller she is than both of them. Instead of tucking it into something high-waisted or
collecting up the bottom of the fabric into a knot the way she usually styles her outfits,
Kugisaki prefers to leave this one alone, content to let the hemline brush against her thighs
when she walks.

And then there's that air of self-satisfaction about her. The privilege of being gifted a new
piece of his clothing to wear has this subtle buoyant effect on Kugisaki's confidence, as if it
pleases her to be seen in something that belongs to Itadori. The effect of all this on the
garment's real owner is not lost on Fushiguro either; the whole experience seems to
subconsciously please Itadori too.

At long last and all at once, Fushiguro realizes what had been grabbing his attention so much
the first time he ever saw her in that yellow hoodie. The sight of Kugisaki, in Itadori's clothes
—he likes it. He likes it more than he should.

And doesn't that turn into a small personal crisis of an afternoon. They sit together on the
floor amid a small mountain of clean laundry, helping Fushiguro fold his clothes. Fushiguro
spends half of that time openly staring at Kugisaki and the other half of it trying desperately
to look like he's not staring, looking anywhere but at her. Anywhere but at Itadori admiring
her from afar, because after the first epiphany, he rather rapidly discovers just how much he
likes that aspect of all this too.

He's not entirely certain that he succeeds in keeping it subtle.

Kugisaki must know that she looks good. Possibly because of her own sense of confidence;
probably because Fushiguro and Itadori are an open book whenever they glance her way. A
few weeks later, she comes home from a shopping trip and shows off her haul to the two of
them in the common room, lifting a new sweater out of one of many bags.

"I've decided that the oversized fashion trend suits me," she proclaims airily, holding the
sweater up against herself. It's a lovely lavender cable knit, heavy and so very soft.

"It's pretty!" Itadori has stars in his eyes.

"I like the color," Fushiguro comments. Kugisaki glows under their affirmations.

A thought occurs to Itadori. "Does this mean I can have my wardrobe back?"

Kugisaki hums in contemplation, though it's very obvious that she's not contemplating her
answer at all. "I should think not."

Itadori whines, and Fushiguro is as amused as he is unsurprised. But the mental image of her
latest purchase lingers in Fushiguro's mind, like an unwelcome house guest. He can't get the
thought out of his head. If Kugisaki has her own big sweater now, a few sizes too large and
hanging from her body in a very familiar way—

Theoretically. Hypothetically. He and Itadori could fit into that.

"You three are taking an awfully long time to get ready," Gojou sings from the common room
one day. "This curse isn't going to exorcise itself, you know."

Fushiguro sifts through his wardrobe one more time and comes up empty handed. There's
supposed to be at least one clean jacket left—the dark one with the funnel neck and the zipper
all the way down. The back panel is blue, and so is the upper section of the front. He is very
clear on what he's looking for, able to picture it in his mind's eye with ease, and he knows
where he usually keeps it. But it's gotten mixed up with the rest of his clothes by accident, or
lost somewhere.

It should be here. Fushiguro has become meticulous about keeping track of his clothes; it's a
necessity, considering that he makes the gamble of neglecting his laundry on the regular.
Usually he has something put aside until the very end, just in case an unexpected event crops
up, like a sudden mission or a surprise field trip organized by Gojou. Or both, as is the case
today. But Fushiguro's fail-safe has failed him. The jacket might as well have vanished off the
face of the earth.
Perhaps he stored it in his shadow garden for some reason and then forgot about it. Maybe
that's where it vanished to. Fushiguro crouches over by the glass sliding doors on the far side
his room where the light is strongest and plunges his arm into his shadow as far as he can
reach, feeling around blindly through the cold, viscous depths. His fingers brush against the
handles of various weapons; a few loose receipts from the last time Kugisaki used the pocket
dimension as storage space on a shopping spree; the silky fur of one of his Shikigami, maybe
the dog or the rabbits; but no jacket. He sighs in defeat, retracting his hand and standing with
reluctance. Best to just bite the bullet and get this over with, then.

Fushiguro trudges down the hallway to the common area, where Gojou is waiting
expectantly.

"I can't go," Fushiguro announces, with some difficulty. An unavoidable blow to his ego. "I
don't have anything to wear."

"It's all right if your uniform is dirty," Gojou says. "You can wear regular clothes if you have
to."

"No, you don't get it." He forces the words out. "I haven't done my laundry in ages."

Admitting such a thing to Itadori, when they have nothing to do and nowhere to be, is
something Fushiguro has grown shamelessly bold about. Admitting it to Gojou, who never
learned to mind his own business, on a day when Fushiguro's failure to wash his clothes on
time is actually interfering with their responsibilities—that doesn't feel so great.

"Megumi." Gojou's voice is full of mock disappointment. "Why not?"

Fushiguro clamps his jaw shut.

"You boys are going to have to go on without me. I don't have a single thing to wear."
Kugisaki's interjection saves Fushiguro from answering. She comes to a stop next to him, still
wearing her dressing gown. Itadori follows close behind in his yellow hoodie and his pajama
bottoms.

At least Fushiguro isn't alone in his shame today. He leans in Kugisaki's direction. "You too,
huh?"

"Yep." Kugisaki stares at the wall, her expression flat.

"Oh?" Gojou leans forward, sensing a mystery to unravel. "And what, pray tell, do the two of
you normally do when you run out of clothes?"

Slowly, Fushiguro and Kugisaki turn their heads to Itadori.

"Don't look at me!" Itadori throws his hands in the air. "I've got nothing. Nothing!"

"Are you serious?" Kugisaki grabs Itadori's hands and shoves them down, riled up by his
snap burst of energy. "There are three people living under this roof and we can't put together
one single clean outfit between us?"
Fushiguro sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, well aware of where this is headed and
well practiced at tuning out their mindless bickering.

"Don't say it like we're all equally at fault here!" Itadori wails, wrenching his hands upwards
again. Now they're yelling at each other while holding hands high over their heads, which has
to be one of the more ridiculous things Fushiguro has seen of late.

"How is it fair to blame us for skipping out on the washing, but not you?" Kugisaki keeps her
grip on his wrists, standing on her tip toes. "Where's your wardrobe, huh?"

"Oh, you two know exactly where my wardrobe has gone." The implications are thick in
Itadori's words. That's enough to shut Kugisaki up for a second—enough for Fushiguro's face
to heat up in embarrassment, his eyes flicking over to Gojou—but Kugisaki only pauses for a
second, and then they're back to petty squabbling and getting in each other's space.

"Okay," Gojou says, mild and placating. He doesn't make a dent in their argument.

He clears his throat and attempts to interrupt them a second time, a little louder. "Okay."

It's like they don't even hear him. Gojou looks to Fushiguro for help; Fushiguro shrugs.

Gojou takes a deep breath, and claps his hands together, startlingly loud. "Oh-kay!"

Itadori and Kugisaki spring apart. There's a moment of silence where they stand still, lined up
in a row and awaiting their teacher's instruction.

"Change of plans." Gojou smiles pleasantly. "I'll be taking the second years instead. You
three can stay here. I suggest you use this opportunity to catch up on your backlog of
laundry."

The three of them wilt beneath his words like flowers in drought.

"Sorry, sensei." Itadori can't lift his gaze off the floorboards.

"We'll get on top of it," Kugisaki says, chagrined.

"You can count on us next time." Fushiguro really does feel bad. He hates to be an
inconvenience.

"I'm sure I can." Gojou spins around, heading for the front entrance. He calls over his
shoulder on the way out; "Might I also suggest opening a window or two. Until your clothes
smell like fabric softener again."

The door slides shut behind him. Itadori, Fushiguro and Kugisaki continue to stand there,
lined up and quiet.

"Well." Kugisaki breaks the silence eventually. "That was embarrassing."

Fushiguro says, "Honestly? I was expecting worse from him."

Itadori says, "I think you two need an intervention."

He steps out in front and turns to face them. He looks pained; and that sets Fushiguro's
stomach twisting with guilt far more than Gojou's flippant scolding ever could. For the
second conversation in a row, Fushiguro braces for the worst.

"Listen, guys." Itadori glances between them. "You have to go back to doing your laundry
again. This is getting kind of out of hand."

"We're sorry." Fushiguro gazes forlornly at the yellow hoodie Itadori has on. Farewell, old
friend.

"You're sorry," Kugisaki mutters. Fushiguro elbows her in the ribs. She amends her statement
more loudly; "We're both very sorry."

"I mean—don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to—I don't want to say that—" Itadori breaks off
his sentence, running an exasperated hand through his hair.

He tries again. "You know that you don't need a reason to wear my stuff, right?"

Fushiguro almost chokes on air. Kugisaki splutters beside him. Briefly, Fushiguro considers
diving head first into his own shadow, if only to escape the absolute mortification he feels
right now. The whole time, Itadori saw through them? He knew?

In front of him, Itadori is still talking. "Like, it doesn't have to be a last resort," he continues,
his face growing progressively more red. "It doesn't have to be practical, you know? You
don't need some big convoluted excuse. You can just ask."

But of course he knew, Fushiguro realizes. In retrospect, there was nothing subtle about the
sudden change in his and Kugisaki's habits. Not in the slightest.

"I told you both from the start. I don't mind. I really don't." Itadori fidgets in place, fiddling
with the hem of his sleeve, eyes trained on the floor. Quietly, he admits, "I kinda like it."

And Fushiguro thinks of the way Itadori had never once complained or treated it like a chore
when they came to him with a request to borrow something. He thinks of the way Itadori
could hardly take his eyes off Kugisaki when she had his shirt on, buoyant and in a
suspiciously good mood. He thinks about how Kugisaki isn't the only one Itadori shares his
clothes with; Kugisaki isn't the only one Itadori looks at.

All of a sudden, several things click into place for him.

Kugisaki requires further confirmation. She squints at him. "You like it like that?"

This line of questioning doesn't do any favors for Itadori's blush. But he answers, earnest and
shy; "I like you like that. Both of you."

There's a beat of silence as they process his statement.

Fushiguro blurts out, "Itadori, can I borrow your hoodie?"

"Hey! No fair!" Kugisaki punches Fushiguro in the arm. "I was half a second away from
asking!"

Their antics draw a smile out of Itadori; they chase his nerves away like the rising sun. "Yeah,
you can," he tells Fushiguro, and his eyes shine with happiness. "Whenever you want."

"Or—wait." Fushiguro deflates. "You don't have any clothes left either."

"That's okay. You can have this one." Itadori points his thumb at the hoodie he currently has
on.

Fushiguro isn't going to say no to that. "What are you gonna wear, then?"

Itadori looks to Kugisaki, hopeful.

She sighs. "I got chocolate on it the other day, though. I was going to wash it."

"A little chocolate doesn't bother me," Itadori insists with an imploring stare. "Come on,
please?"

"All right, all right." Kugisaki gives in to the puppy dog eyes, turning back the way she came
to fulfill Itadori's request. In the meantime, Itadori tugs off his own hoodie. Fushiguro averts
his gaze politely out of habit, which turns out to be entirely unnecessary because Itadori has
his sleeping top on underneath. And then it occurs to Fushiguro that, if the three of them are
really doing this, he probably doesn't have to worry about going out of his way to not stare
any more. So it was doubly pointless.

Itadori chuckles as he hands over the garment. "Such a gentleman. I've still got a shirt on, you
know."

"Shut up." Fushiguro puts the hoodie on. And he finds, since now he can be honest about
what it means to him, that comforting really is the right word.

Kugisaki returns with her new lavender cable knit, throwing it in Itadori's direction when she
gets close enough. But Kugisaki has made an outfit change too, wearing an item of clothing
that Fushiguro recognizes, light blue on blue.

"It was you!" Fushiguro yells, his cozy daydreams cast aside in outrage. "You stole my last
clean jacket!"

"I took it when I went shopping for my own big sweater. I knew Itadori's size, but I didn't
know yours." She waves a hand at the cable knit currently in Itadori's possession, entirely
unrepentant. "I just couldn't find the right time to sneak it back to your closet. You're too
damn observant."

So she did buy hers with both of them in mind after all. She bought it with him in mind. The
knowledge distracts him somewhat from his righteous indignation. "You could have taken a
photo of the tag."
"I could have," Kugisaki agrees easily. "But then I wouldn't have been able to wear it, would
I?"

The last vestiges of Fushiguro's irritation drain away. "Oh," he says, dumbly.

She lounges on the couch with something approaching pride, perfectly content and wanting
for nothing. This time it's not Itadori's clothes she derives that satisfaction from, it's
Fushiguro's own...

...He might be short circuiting a little bit.

Itadori laughs, pulling Kugisaki's sweater over his head. It's almost loose-fitting on him.
"Now you know how I've been feeling the past few weeks."

Itadori sits down next to Kugisaki, and she wastes no time in snuggling closer. There's a beat
where Fushiguro can only stare, processing the fact that this is actually happening—that they
can have this, that he is a part of this—and then he comes to the conclusion that he is far too
far away from them, and he joins them on the couch. Itadori wraps an arm around his
shoulders to pull him closer, too.

The conversation peters out. From the hoodie he has on and the boy he's cuddled up against,
Fushiguro picks up on the long familiar scent of Itadori; but also, when he rests his head on
Itadori's purple knit shoulder, something new. He thinks it's Kugisaki, a hint of rose perfume.

Yeah. That's nice.

Itadori says, "So I take it that this means—"

"Yes," Fushiguro interrupts him. "We like you too."

"Like that," Kugisaki adds, for clarification. Itadori's answering smile is the warmest thing
Fushiguro has ever seen. Like sunshine, and duckling down, and the yellow of his favorite
thing to wear.

And Fushiguro could stay like this forever—no curses, no classes, no missions, no fingers.
Nothing that hurts or threatens to take. Just the three of them on the couch, fitting together in
a way that feels natural and right. Despite everything they've been through, and all the danger
they've faced, they're still here. They are the best part of his day, and his happiness. And he
knows, now, that in much the same way, he is theirs.

Itadori extracts himself first, standing reluctantly with a sigh. Kugisaki tries to hold on to
him. Fushiguro complains, "Where are you going?"

Itadori walks across the room to open a window. "We have so much laundry to do."
End Notes

Thanks for reading! As always, comments and kudos make my day <3 I don't know how
soon I will get around to finishing the rest of the itafushi prompts since I have an exam at the
end of this week, but I do plan on doing more of them! I promise they'll be strictly itafushi for
the rest of the event from now on haha.

@milkyshuues on twitter drew some wonderful art for this fic! Go check it out <333

You can find me over on twitter or tumblr.

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