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Yuuta’s worst nightmare has never been blood, or guts, or violence. All of that is second nature to him, and it always has been. Blood on the road, blood on the classroom floors, blood on his hands. His stomach doesn't turn at exposed, bloated intestines or splattered brain matter. It never has.
So, why is his head pounding like it’s begging him to look away?
Inumaki is unconscious, pinned beneath a mess of heavy debris, mere meters away from the large crater he can only assume was Ryōmen Sukuna’s doing. His friend is unmoving, his hair cast in front of his face to hide his eyes, and he would be unrecognizable, just another body in the road, if not for the seals that mark his cheeks.
Shibuya has fallen silent in the aftermath of a fight between special grades, and Yuuta knows he arrived too late. If he had shown up earlier, he would've been able to evacuate people to safer zones, to save people, and aid those confused, blind non-sorcerers he swore to protect. And, it’s now that he realizes why he was constantly warned about getting attached to his fellow sorcerers in any capacity.
Because Inumaki is on the ground buried in the rubble, and Yuuta can’t see anything except the bloody wound where his arm used to be. Before he can even register his movement, he’s crouching beside his friend, holding his head and scanning to see if he has any other major wounds.
As he stares into the severed limb, the tendon and muscle all clean cut and gushing blood, Inumaki shifts beneath him. Yuuta checks his pulse with two fingers on his neck—thready, slow, unreliable—and presses his palms over the seals on his cheeks.
“Hey, hey,” Yuuta takes a deep, shaky breath, and realizes his eyes are burning. Tears fall onto his sleeves, but he lets them, unwilling to take his hands off his friend. “I’m- I’ll get you…” he scans the area for a safe place to take him, where they can hide until all of this is over. There’s only broken buildings and rubble. “Can I heal you?”
His remaining arm is pinned down, and blood seeps from his nose and mouth, smeared across his face. Yuuta tries to brush it away to no avail.
“Yuuta,” Inumaki rasps, his voice barely a sound, “Stop crying…”
The words nearly shock him from his skin. Just hearing his first name from his mouth is enough to incapacitate him for a moment. He expects something to happen to him, to feel the force of his cursed energy undermine his thoughts. But nothing happens. Instead, Inumaki just coughs up more blood.
“Don’t speak, Toge, I’ll help you.”
“Go away,” he tries, and he’s obviously trying to use his technique to command Yuuta to flee, “Leave me. Let me die, Yuuta…”
The demand makes him nauseous, and he runs his hand through his friend’s bangs, searching for any head wounds. That, and he knows it's a gentle comfort for Inumaki, getting his hair touched, and when it’s all out of his face, he looks like he did the day they met. His face is still young and sweet, even under the layer of grime, dust, and blood.
“No way, I’m not leaving you to die,” he reaches down to assess his shoulder wound. He’s frantic, panicking because he’s not technically supposed to be back in Japan, and Gojo is sealed, and even Shoko wouldn’t be able to fix his arm if she tried. He swears he’s seen worse than this, so why is he trembling, horrified?
Inumaki tries to shift away, “No, no,” his words are just air, but even that strains him, and more blood spills from his lips. “Stop- don’t—just… take- take my arm,” he flicks his head closer to the crater, “Rika. To Rika.”
The realization settles on him, and more tears fall for the boy who is so willing to sacrifice himself for nothing. “No. No.” He shakes his head, “I can heal you, you can live. I- I’ll give Rika your arm later, but you can't- you won’t die tonight.”
Inumaki’s eyes well, and even in the night they gleam. Shibuya is so dark when every city light is extinguished. It’s usually so blinding and polluted, but tonight, he swears he can see the stars reflecting in his dear friend’s tears. “Go help Itadori,” his rasping is ugly and grating. As he looks up at the night sky, he coughs, wet and loud, forcing out more blood.
He chokes on the liquid, almost as if he’s trying to die, and Yuuta forces his face to the side. “I can’t help him. And stop talking. I’m going to heal you, alright? So stop resisting, just stop…” His voice breaks, and he realizes that there’s a chance his reverse cursed technique isn’t enough. He hasn’t even seen the damage to his lower body.
Either way, if Inumaki dies tonight, he leaves Yuuta with one thing: his technique. And that’s not enough, it’ll never be enough. There would be no more Toge. He’d lose the boy who taught him to sign, who’s full of mischief and silence, who takes small, birdlike bites of his food; whose body he can’t tear his eyes from whenever they get dressed side by side, who teases him until he’s red in the face, who he thought about every second abroad in Africa; who he’s fallen so deeply in love with that he feels like no touch will ever be close enough.
Yuuta begins by lifting the debris off of him. Lucky for both of them, it’s not too heavy; if Inumaki had two hands, he would’ve been able to pull it off himself. When he’s uncovered, there’s scraps of metal stuck in his thigh, and his uniform top is ripped to shreds up the middle, hardly even one garment anymore. His smooth stomach is exposed and riddled with wounds from thin scratches to a gash that carves out most of the fat above his right hip. It’s miserable to listen to the wails he lets out when Yuuta picks him up, cradling him because he is the most precious thing in the world at this moment.
He grabs Inumaki’s left arm from among the rubble, and moves them to a ransacked ramen restaurant, kicking a table out of the way to lay him out on a booth. He starts healing the gushing shoulder wound, his reverse cursed technique handling the gore easily, before moving onto the others.
All his friend does is stare at the ceiling, his eyes still watering, though nothing falls down his already tear stained cheeks. There’s something cold and tired about his dark eyes, and the warm, half broken lighting just makes him look beautiful in an awful, solemn way. He looks completely hollow.
Yuuta is zoned out, seemingly looking at the gash above his hip, when Inumaki lightly smacks his head. Before he can react, worrying that he’s hurting more than healing, he points to his arm on the other side of the booth, severed at the joint, and makes an urgent, panicked expression.
Grimacing, he hates the idea of letting his curse devour part of his friend. “Just give me a second, Toge, I’ll- I’ll get to that. You’re more important.”
Any and all sound is cut from his throat, unable to properly express the dissatisfaction that’s clear on his face. He tries to sign with one hand, and Yuuta recognizes it as something close to Now, now, now.
“Please, it feels wrong,” his hand twitches, and his reverse cursed technique stops abruptly. “I don’t want your technique, I want you. I can live without cursed speech, but I can’t without you, okay?”
Something snaps into Inumaki’s cold, tired eyes. There’s a sad realization that settles over him, and he looks away once more. Yuuta isn’t sure that it counts as a confession, but he’s anxious nonetheless. Once he’s done with his chest wounds, he moves to his legs, healing over his clothes and hanging his head when he winces and twitches at the slight numbing pain.
Part of him wants to stall, to drag out the healing process so he doesn’t have to take something so sacred as a technique from his friend. But, he finishes healing him in a little under a half an hour, which is not enough time to prepare. Consuming techniques, consuming people is part of his life, he knows—but he fucking hates it.
“I- I’ll…” He cringes, “Why, Toge?” The adaptation to using his first name is sudden and pleasing. It feels lovely sliding out of his throat, and formalities seem useless in their current situation.
He sighs, the questions are difficult to answer both physically and emotionally. The signs he uses are modified for one hand. Still, Yuuta thinks he understands him perfectly.
If I can’t keep you safe anymore, maybe my technique can.
Yuuta feels his insides shatter, and he reaches for Inumaki’s warm hand, pressing his forehead into the ripped up booth. “I’m- I’m fine, Toge, I’m a…” he hiccups, “a special grade. Let me protect you.” He doesn’t remember when he started crying again.
He whacks the pathetic, weeping special grade and forces him to sit up. Think of it as a gift. I don’t want it to be wasted. He looks at him with a sincerity that could easily be mistaken for love. Please.
“Okay.”
Against his better judgement, he begins to summon Rika, the cursed energy building through his chest. It’s louder than the blood pulsing in his ears, the roar of his shikigami rattling in his soul. Just before it reaches the brim, the rush stops.
Then, he feels it: hatred, spite, indignance, refusal, and a childlike, competitive spark.
It’s jealousy, and he hates it so much he can’t help but laugh.
“Rika isn’t coming out.”
Why? Inumaki looks at him like he’s lying for fun, irritated and hurt. He can’t stand the hatred radiating from two beings who he loves so dearly.
Again, he laughs, as if tonight was nothing more than a big joke about suffering and misery. “She’s jealous.”
This time, there’s a strange shock in his eyes, which could either be horror or relief. Why? He questions again, his hand shaky and unstable.
“Because I’m in love with you.”
Before Yuuta can fully process what he said, he leans in for his first kiss. Inumaki’s lips are soft and wet and still. Part way through, he knows he made a mistake because he doesn’t kiss him back. But he persists, because he can’t help but savor the moment as he knows it’ll be the last time he feels this closeness.
Once he pulls away, guilt ridden and relieved, he gives a sheepish smile that he knows far too well. “Sorry for hiding that for so long. And, sorry,” he laughs, glancing away though he’s still inches away from Inumaki’s face, “I’m sure that makes you uncomfo—”
Mid sentence, his head is pulled down, and a hand is in his hair. This kiss is rougher, harder, and so desperate he feels himself melting away. There’s not a thought he can pull from his brain, because his lips are parted and Inumaki’s tongue is on his. The only thing he tastes is blood, blood, blood, and it’s almost disgusting how much he loves it. Somehow, this feels so much more intimate than sex, (not that he knows what it’s like, but he can speculate). Something so deep and tragic within them is cut open and served raw for each other to devour.
Inumaki clamps down on his friend’s lower lip, and there’s even more iron shared between them. Spit and blood mix into one pool, one entity, one body. Yuuta licks through his mouth, reveling in the indents of his tiny teeth. He moans when his tongue is clamped through those same teeth and sucked on until he has nothing left to give.
He pulls away to catch his breath, staring down at the blood covered boy beneath him in awe. Not only is he more beautiful than ever—covered in dirt and blood and dust—he is just as in love with Yuuta as he is Toge. Their hearts ache and thrash in unison, slamming against their sternums to reach each other and combine forevermore.
They kiss again, and again, because there’s nothing left to communicate about. There’s nothing about this love that they can say out loud, because there’s blood on their teeth and skin swallowed down their throats. Yuuta wants to eat him whole, worship every inch of his body with his taste buds.
Suddenly, he pauses against Toge’s mouth, freezing as he processes the thought that sticks to his mind annoyingly, incessantly, insatiably.
And he pulls away completely, reaching behind him to grab his friend’s (boyfriend’s, maybe?) detached arm from the other booth. Toge’s eyes go wide, seemingly reading his thoughts, and he shakily pushes himself up, leaning against the wall for support. There’s interest lurking behind the horror on his face, something that drives Yuuta completely out of his mind.
“You wanted me to have your technique, right?” He asks, pulling the shred of fabric down his arm, over the limp hand until the limb is bare. Toge nods hesitantly. “I wouldn’t want it to go to waste, either.”
Not recognizing himself, he drags his tongue along the side of Toge’s arm, sliding up his tricep until he reaches his shoulder. Now, the boy before him is sitting up straight, looking down at him with horror in his big, bloodshot eyes. He’s so pretty from below, and his skin still tastes like sweat and dirt and debris. Yuuta could lose himself in the visual, in the taste, in the newfound silence in Shibuya, and the residing subtle, spicy smell of this old restaurant’s charm.
“Do you think this’ll work, too?”
Human teeth are not meant to bite into human flesh.
Though, breaking past the skin of his shoulder is easy enough; the tricky part is getting his soft incisors to slice through the muscle. Blood pools around the bite, flooding his mouth with the salty, metallic nectar that only made him hungrier. Once he puts enough force behind his jaw, he rips off the chunk of flesh completely, snapping the strings of muscle that follow him, desperate to keep his body intact.
Surprisingly, it’s not an act that strikes unconscionable guilt within him. If anything, it only makes him crave more. It’s tender and savory, the taste is so subdued that it feels like the highest delicacy in the world. Even though he knows how disgusting it seems, he can’t help but enjoy the soft, stringy, raw red meat as it melts on his tongue. The hardest part is his skin: it’s chewy enough that it makes the actual muscle’s texture seem like heaven, but it’s smooth enough to swallow alongside the chewed up shoulder.
They stare at each other all the while, like neither of them can bear to look away. Above him, Toge’s face is violently red. His breathing is heavy and shaky; his lips are parted in horror, but his eyes say otherwise. The blown out pupils, the dark irises darting all over Yuuta’s figure, and the thick sheen of lust says that he’s enjoying this more than he expected. Toge threads his fingers into his friend’s dark bangs, pushing his hair even further out of his face, and stares at him while he sinks his teeth in once again.
The second bite is even better. Now that he doesn’t have to process all the new tastes and textures, he’s able to enjoy the food to its fullest extent. It’s the tastiest meat he’s ever had and it’s completely raw, untouched. It’s now that he takes the time to admire Toge’s physique: he’s small, slight, and mostly lean muscle—if he were to eat anyone, it would only be him. Yuuta can’t help but wonder what the rest of him would taste like, how different the meat would feel in his mouth; his ribs, his thighs, his neck, his ass, if he feels so inclined.
He swallows the second bite down, and Toge doubles over as he does, his breath loud, labored. Pulling at the hair behind his ear, he looks desperate for something, and almost envious of the severed arm Yuuta was paying so much attention to. He knocks their heads together when the fledgling cannibal takes another bite, shuddering at the squishy sound all the muscles and blood make together.
Once he swallows again, he knows his entire mouth is covered in blood and gore, but he can’t bring himself to care. All he can think about is the way Toge is staring at his lips as he wipes them with the sleeve of his white sweatshirt. The blood smears across his face, and he’s caught in a daze staring at the boy he wants to literally eat alive.
“It worked, just so you know…” he affirms, sensing that he’d be able to take on Toge’s technique whenever he wanted. If anything, it seems that eating him without Rika’s help made the copying more effective.
A bothered noise cracks from Toge’s throat, and he pouts, his eyes sharp and suddenly alert. He signs, Don’t you dare… before Yuuta waves him off.
“I won't eat anyone other than you, I promise.” When Toge’s hand falls, he grabs it and presses his bloody lips to his knuckles. He kisses up his wrist, worshiping him softly, tenderly, like the world isn’t ending behind them.
Yuuta sucks on his teeth, something caught between his incisors. He gives up, pulling a strand of the boy he loves out of his teeth. He presses it back to his tongue and swallows, unwilling to give up a scrap of muscle or skin or tendon of the best meal of his life.
Jaw slack, Toge is still looking at him like he’s insane, and something about it is beyond gratifying. He might be a bit insane, yes, but he’s finally as close to this boy as he could possibly be. Their blood has been merged, and there will forever be skin that belongs to Yuuta. Toge could call him insane, but they’d be bound forever, no matter what.
Though, his staring goes on for so long that Yuuta slips into a sheepish smile, “Wh- what? You wanna’ taste?”
As the violent paradigm shifts around them, Toge tackles him into a tooth breaking kiss, pulling him to the floor in an instant. As their friends and comrades and mentors fall, they close the gap between their skin and bones, their blood, guts, and love sitting heavy in their stomachs