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itafushi-week · 1 month ago

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the sun's seen through my eyes

@itafushi-week this is. over a week late for day two i fear <///3 if i could write faster i would but i can't so here i am !! this also means i will potentially be sending in late submissions for the rest of the prompts too as soon as i can drag myself to the keyboard long enough to actually start and finish fics prompt: flowers rating: T word count: 2k slight tw for emetophobia - this is a hanahaki fic so a character does technically throw up but it's described more like coughing + it's also not too graphic

It starts with a light cough.

Gojo, the bastard, is somehow onto him the moment he first hacks into his palm, and the two of them just sit together, Gojo rubbing his back with an odd seriousness while Megumi’s wheezes punctuate the silence. Once Megumi finally squeezes out the worst of whatever’s stuck in his throat, he spits it out into a napkin graciously–suspiciously–handed to him by Gojo. If he was alone, Megumi would have just thrown out the surely-disgusting glob of foodmass without looking twice, but something about Gojo’s solemn expression makes him feel unsteady. Without speaking (and isn’t that strange all by itself?) Gojo flicks his eyes down at the tissue and finally, finally talks.

“How long have you been in love with Itadori?”

“What?” Of all the questions he could have asked, Megumi would not have predicted that to be Gojo’s first words after he spent five minutes scaring the shit out of Megumi with his ominous silence. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Gojo tsks. “No denial. At least that won’t be a problem. Let me rephrase: how long have you been coughing up flowers?”

“What are you talking about?” Megumi leans away from Gojo, pinching the bridge of his nose. And to think that he was worried when all Gojo was doing was pulling a prank.

And yet Gojo didn’t seem intent on revealing the joke soon. “Open the tissue, Megumi.”

“...No.” Cupping the napkin in his hand, Megumi gets up and is about to head to the trash can to toss whatever he threw up–and admittedly, it doesn’t feel like digested food, but Megumi’s too deep now to consider playing along with Gojo’s farce–when he feels a familiar ache in his chest and doubles over, fist thumping into his chest. Gojo gives him a good whack on the back, dislodging whatever got stuck in Megumi’s throat again, and out comes…a yellow petal. Megumi stares. “Holy shit.”

“I’ll ask this again, Megumi–” and Gojo was right, goddamnit, he’s going to be insufferable, “–how long have you been coughing up flowers?”

Megumi looks up, struck by how Gojo suddenly seems aged in a way that he only gets every Christmas Eve, and answers honestly. “Today was the first time.”

Gojo exhales, lightly gripping Megumi’s shoulders. “And do you know what this is?”

Unfortunately, Megumi does. ‘It’s Hanahaki disease. It only–” here he gulps, throat dry, “It only occurs when a person’s love is unrequited.”

“Your symptoms will worsen over time. This disease causes flowers to take root in your lungs, not only clogging up your airways but also taking energy from your body that you need to survive.” Gojo guides him back to a sitting position, something grim settling over them as he continues to explain. “You’ll feel fatigued and lightheaded, coughing up these petals every day as your immune system weakens. Eventually, you could die. So!” He claps one hand on Megumi’s shoulder, his voice bright but forced. “What do you plan on doing about that?”

It’s a lot to take in. Megumi leans forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees. “I’m not telling Itadori. Yet.” He can feel Gojo’s disappointed gaze, but he forges on. “I can’t ruin our friendship over a couple of flowers. Just…give me some time.”

Gojo stands up and stretches, the conversation finally over. “It’s your call. But if I think your life is in danger, I’m taking you straight to the hospital or to Itadori’s house.”

Megumi snorts, getting up too. He knows that Gojo knows that his answer was a copout, a refusal to take action, but what is he supposed to do? All he needs is some time to figure out his next steps. Megumi can handle this.

Yet before they part, Gojo stops him with some advice that sounds a little too specific to not have come from personal experience.

“Don’t let your fear of Itadori’s reaction be what holds you back.

Be a little greedier.”

Easy for him to say. Megumi can’t exactly be greedy over someone so kindhearted, someone who gives himself away so freely to the world around him. Every week, it seems that Itadori’s fending off confessions left and right, and all Megumi can do is look away.

They’re finishing up gym class, the two of them washing up in the locker room, when Itadori finally asks the question that Megumi’s been bracing himself for. “Fushiguro, are you okay? You’re looking kinda rough there.”

Upon looking in the mirror, it’s true–with the disease sapping what little energy he has, Megumi looks gaunt, pale with prominent bags under listless eyes. He sighs, splashing water on his face in an ineffectual attempt to regain some vitality. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine,” he tells Itadori as they head out to the hallway. Itadori clearly doesn’t believe him, based on his raised eyebrow and the way he sticks just a little closer to Megumi’s side, but he’s very soon distracted by one Yuko Ozawa approaching the two of them with fidgeting hands and a bright flush.

“Itadori, could I talk to you for a moment? Alone, I mean.” Ozawa twists her fingers, voice hesitant and shaking. Before Itadori can respond, Megumi’s already walking away. Sue him, he doesn’t need to watch Itadori receive his fifth declaration of love that week.

Once he’s out of earshot, Megumi takes out his phone for something to do while he waits for Itadori to inevitably rebuff Ozawa’s heartfelt advances. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Ozawa’s blush becomes even more prominent while Itadori grins widely, presumably giving Ozawa a goodbye as she ducks her head and darts away. Megumi puts his phone away, cocking one eyebrow in question as Itadori approaches.

Unbidden, pain rises in his chest at the sight of Itadori’s blinding smile, but he pushes it down to ask, “What was that all about?”

“Ozawa asked to spend some time with me after school, so I said yes,” Itadori responds, unfazed by the aghast look Megumi sends his way. “She’s nice, and I like her enough, so why not, you know?”

“Oh.” Megumi hates himself for the way his voice cracks, but luckily Itadori hasn’t noticed that anything is amiss until Megumi quickly turns around. “I, uh, I actually think I left something in the locker room, so I’ll meet back up with you during lunch.”

“You sure you don’t want me to go back with you? More eyes means we’ll find it faster!” Itadori’s already walking back to where they came from, but Megumi waves him off.

“Nah, I’ll see you at lunch. Save a spot in the cafeteria line, will you?” Megumi claps a hand on Itadori’s shoulder, the picture of nonchalance, before quickly shoving him away and hightailing it to the gym bathroom.

Cowardly? Sure. But as Megumi hits the floor with a sickening thud, he finds he can’t spare much concern over Itadori’s reaction before flowers spill out of his mouth and into the toilet.

Itadori does not see Megumi at lunch.

He’s not sure how he makes it through the rest of his classes, let alone stumble his way home, but the next thing Megumi knows is the piercing blue of Gojo’s eyes as he leans over him. Groggily, Megumi lifts his head, only to flop back down on what must be the living room couch when a headache fills his senses.

“Megumi.”

Nope. Megumi tries to shove Gojo’s face away, but his vision swims and he ends up missing by a mile. He huffs, pressing his face into the soothing darkness of the couch.

“Let me at least get you to bed.” Gojo tsks, but his annoyance is belied by the gentle way he lifts Megumi up and smoothly carries him to his bedroom. “Does this mean you haven’t figured it out yet?”

A sigh quickly turns into a cough as Megumi lurches over the side of his bed, wheezing. A trash can quickly appears under him, which he grabs with gratitude and spits out a furled sunflower. “...Itadori’s going on a date with another classmate.”

“I’m sorry, Megumi,” and isn’t that sad, how this is the most genuine apology that Gojo’s given him in a long time, “but that means I’m going to have to take you to the hospital sooner rather than later.” Megumi doesn’t respond, staring up at the ceiling. Gojo nudges him. “Hey, you want to be here when Tsumiki wakes up, right? You can’t do that if you’re choking on flowers.”

“One more day.” Megumi doesn’t beg, but he’s not above doing so if it means he gets to keep his memories of his best friend and his only love. “I’ll stay home tomorrow and save my energy, and then I’ll…and then we’ll go from there.”

“Whatever you say, Megumi.” Gojo gets up with a sigh. Megumi shuts his eyes, pretending that he can’t feel a hand ruffling his hair and tears sliding down his face.

The next day passes in a haze. Whatever sickness Megumi’s been hit with seems to be much worse than the common cold, since he’s bedridden for most of the day and barely lucid for any of it. When he is awake, he’s preoccupied with either puking out his guts or forcing liquids to stay down. Gojo’s usually there, ready with water and a bucket, but when the doorbell rings around five he leaves Megumi’s bedside for the first time that day. Megumi flops back and just hopes that his pounding headache will recede eventually.

“Well if it isn’t Itadori!”

Shit.

He can hear Gojo’s voice ringing from the doorway, ushering Itadori in. Megumi has no idea what in the hell he’s playing at before a head of pink hair pops through the doorway, and Itadori steps through, carrying a comically large basket of goodies. He beams at Megumi, who quirks his lips in return up until he descends into a fit of coughing for what was probably the fifth time that day.

“Oh, man,” Itadori mutters, quickly uncapping a water bottle from the basket and holding it up to Megumi’s mouth. They’re next to each other on the bed, Itadori sitting on the edge while Megumi’s propped up on the headboard, and Megumi’s blushing something fierce even as he gulps down the water. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Megumi rasps, and at Itadori’s unimpressed look, he amends, “I’ll be fine.” Turning away, he grits out, “How was your date with Ozawa?”

Itadori hums, taking out some items from the basket and arranging them on the bed. “It went fine. She’s nice, and I like talking with her.” He trails off, starting at Megumi.

“And…?”

Itadori chuckles, scooting onto the bed so he’s pressed up to Megumi’s side. The contact feels like a burn against Megumi’s feverish skin, so he grabs a teddy bear from the basket and pretends that Itadori can’t see how harshly he’s digging into it. “And I realized I had my heart set on someone else!”

Megumi feels what little of the breath he has get knocked out of his lungs. He can’t let himself hope, and yet, and yet, he dares to ask, “Who is that?”

“Jeez, Fushiguro,” Itadori huffs, pulling one of Megumi’s hands off of the teddy bear and interlocking their fingers. “You’re really gonna make me spell it out? I like you.”

“I like you too,” Megumi stutters out, a laugh catching onto the end of his confession, before he hunches over into the worst Hanahaki attack he’s had yet. Itadori yelps and starts rubbing soothing circles into his back with one hand and using the other to scramble for the trash can nearby.

Tears pour from Megumi’s eyes and his lungs feel like they’re bursting open in agony, but through it all, Megumi doesn’t feel sad. He doesn’t feel the numbness that’s been sitting in his chest ever since he got this stupid curse, and he sure as hell doesn’t feel despair at the thought of Itadori loving someone that wasn’t him. When the last of the sunflowers finally falls into the trash can, Megumi turns to Itadori and knocks his forehead against his shoulder.

“Gojo will never let me hear the end of this,” he groans. Itadori laughs, wrapping an arm around Megumi’s shoulder as they lean into each other, and outside, the sun shines in through the window.

#oooh hanahaki #ty for sharinggg #itafushi week 2025 #sfw

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