Floating Like a Lilo ── Itadori Yuuji (✓)

12 LILY-OF-THE-VALLEY

'CAUSE YOU KEEP ME ON A ROPE
AND TIED A NOOSE AROUND MY THROAT

the cut that always bleeds,
conan gray

You are your own killer. What made you unusual and tragic and alive was decomposing within your own body, skin bloating from the old brag of a heart, a mind hurrying to its demise in an effort to be everything it is not.

Because... you can tell yourself I exist as I am, that is enough, but your very existence moves deities to tears and challenges the precipice of every incoming war. You, yourself are bleeding with every wish you have in that moment.

The blood on your teeth begins to taste like a poem; it is stuck somewhere between dreams at dawn when you watch them from a distance - Fushiguro and Kugisaki. Words are scratched onto the walls of your throat, unheard but it is there.

Sunlight blurs at the edges of your vision, mellow and diluted but still hazily present on that day. It has been almost a week since you last spoke to them, your new-found friends... friends that you could not tell the truth entirely to. The secret eats away at your flesh and it makes you wonder if you would hollow yourself out if they touched you with their pensive gaze.

You're not too sure how to start the conversation, mind stilling much like the bottom of a lake, craters echoing the blankness of your expression. How do you begin to even bother conveying the slightest sense of friendship when all you ever do is spin half-truths. Half-truths and half-lies and real tears and fake words... because Itadori is not dead. He's as alive as anything you would ever want to be alive, flowers in the meadows, the pulsing flames of a sun, the weeping of baby bluebirds high up in make-shift nests.

And you look at Fushiguro and hold your head up high, knowing the Gojo-sensei trusted your spirit enough to know you could handle such a poignant challenge, the tale of a woven liar, to herself and to everyone around her.

The vending machine whirrs when Kugisaki presses on a button titled 'cold' and you stand idly by, hands stuck in the pockets of your black skirt, a solemn expression portrayed on your face. The events of yesterday linger on your mind like morning dew on the lipped leaves of jungle vines, tangible and tethered, hanging with a glimmer.

"Hey guys," You murmur, averting their gaze, taking solace in the patterned floor. Both Fushiguro and Kugisaki are dressed in casual attire, a warm embrace tackling their expressions and comfort seeps through the dark hoodies and lean leggings.

Fushiguro's typically blank features dissipate upon eye contact with you. He lifts his head and the smallest of smiles graces his ivory face, "[L/N]... what took you so long?"

Oh, I was just reeling over the fact I almost died to a guy with a volcano for a head, you muse in the internal web of your thoughts. Of course, none of those words ebb out of your tongue, "I had to deal with a ton of stuff... I couldn't just up and leave my old life behind."

You perk up, however, because you don't want to spin yourself another tale of isolation, letting the cracks on the cliff widen and swallow you whole. "I happened to get a glimpse of Gojo-sensei's... Domain Expansion."

A hint of surprise unearths itself in Fushiguro's dark eyes, "So that's what you've been up to? Gojo-sensei is a good teacher... but don't let him know I said that."

You faintly smirk, shifting your attention to Kugisaki, who picked up her cold drink, "Couldn't they have put in a few more vending machines?"

"They can't," Fushiguro deadpans, turning to face her, "There are only so many workers who can come in here."