M. Fushiguro - Wins and Losses

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(Comfort for failing a test.)

To be honest, you've never felt more dumb in your entire life.

Seriously, who let someone as stupid and pathetic as you walk the planet? It's kind of insane the scale at which you idiocy reaches. If there was a reward for the dumbest person alive, you would win, and that's the only thing you ever could win in your stupid little life.

Okay, that may be a tad dramatic, but that's what it feels like right now. Looking down at the test paper, covered with red harsh markings and glaring at you with the fire of ten thousand suns.

You failed. You failed the fucking test that you shouldn't have failed, and now you don't know what to do with yourself.

This was a test that actually meant something, that actually determines your future and where you will end up. You failed that test. Utterly failed it.

After getting released, you walk solemnly back to your apartment, hands shoved tightly into your coat pockets. The wind, although harsh against your skin, doesn't hurt due to the heat rushing in your head. You can't help but be mad at yourself.

You make it to your building, quickly going through the motions and entering your flat with the light click of the door. Fushiguro is already home, staring at the pot on the stove like it offended him. He glaces up at you, giving you a nod before looking back at the appliance and pointing to it.

"Itadori gave me the recipe but I don't think I did it right." He says, eyebrows furrowed.

You look around the kitchen, viewing the mess he made in the usually clean kitchen. Both of you ordered out a lot, and he kept things pretty neat most of the time. He must've been getting frustrated.

"You'll figure it out." You reply, walking past the kitchen and dropping your bag on the couch, falling next to it unceremoniously until you're laying down. "Let's just get takeout or make one of the things we have in the freezer."

Fushiguro turns, looking at you blankly and trailing his eyes up your body. You're still wearing your coat, your shoes too, and he can see tiredness in your eyes that wasn't there that morning. He can't help but notice these things.

"What happened?" He asks, tilting his head and setting down his phone which read the recipe Itadori sent to him.

"Had to get up early, y'know. Just tired." You reply, dropping the sentence to yawn and turn so you're lying on your side. He watches you curl up with suspicion.

"That's a lie."

"Your existence is a lie. Get fucked."

"That doesn't make sense."

You fling your hand up, waving it around dismissively to get him to move on. All you wanted to do right now was sleep, and not think about your colossal failure.

But of course, Fushiguro doesn't get the hint. He walks up to the couch, leaning over the back at it to look down at you. You don't look back at him, but you can feel the heat of his stare against the side of your head.

After a moment, you groan, pushing your hand up and pressing it against his face, trying to back him up. He grabs your wrist in response.

"Go away." You say, pushing your palm into his chin.

"Why?"

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you yank him down over the back of the couch, causing him to fall on top of you. He yells in suprise, trying to support himself over you without completely falling down on your body. While he's still over you, you point a finger to his chest.

"Stop asking." You say slowly. "Just sit here with me quietly, and be quiet."

"Yes. You have to be quiet to sit quietly."

Why the fuck are you living with him again?

You pull him down so he's completely lying on you, his face pressed between the crevice of your throat and collarbones. He mumbles incomprehensibly as your arms wind around his back.

When you let out a deep breath, he finally goes completely quiet.

"Y'know that test that I had today?" You inquire.

"Yeah."

"I failed."

Fushiguro doesn't say anything, his breath even on the bare skin of your neck, his hair tickling your jaw. The silence makes you uncomfortable, but you try not to show it, clenching your teeth tightly. You don't like talking about this shit.

"Why did you fail?" He asks finally, not moving an inch.

The question causes you to falter. Holding your own breath hostage in your lungs as you try to come up with an answer to that.

Because you're too lackluster to understand the content? Because you didn't put in enough effort? Because just for the damn life of you can't work efficiently enough?

It could be so many things.

"I don't know." Is what you settle with saying, focusing on the feeling of his cotton shirt under your fingertips. You ball it up a bit, your knuckles whitening as you grip the fabric. It's not that you were necessarily mad, just put on the spot.

"Then, do you think you've learned important stuff in the class?"

"Yes, I'd say so."

"Then fuck the test." You jerk a little under his body, suprised at the direct answer. "You got what you wanted to out of it, and that's all you need. Embarrassingly enough, you're suprisingly smart. That doesn't mean you're not a dumbass though."

Snorting, you ruffle his hair, letting go of his shirt and flexing your fingers out. Not going to lie, you had already come to that conclusion yourself, but it's nice to hear it from another person's point of view.

"Do you want to go back to your recipe?" You say into the crown of his head, moving the topic steadily away from yourself.

"No. I like it more here."

His face is warm against you, and the comforting weight of his body pushes you down onto the soft cushions of the couch, releasing the tension from your back and shoulders. The stress of the day has built a fort on your body, and Fushiguro is an expert on taking it down.

"Thank you." You whisper, tightening your arms around him.

He presses a kiss to your neck, tangling his legs with yours. Then you feel the flutter of his eyelashes, telling you that he's closing his eyes contently.

"I don't lie. I mean everything I say."

"Then tell Gojo that you love him."

"I take back everything I said, you are the scum of the earth." He deadpans.

You laugh loudly, tossing your head back onto the arm of the couch and imagining what Gojo's response would be to that. Obviously Fushiguro loves the man, he practically raised him, but he's never explicitly said it out loud. You'd pay to see that.

Fushiguro looks up at you, soaking in your expression that is filled with amusement and joy. It's so different from when you walked in, and he can't help but feel proud of himself. Simple victories, as he likes to put it, always come in the form of cheering you up. Empathy has never been his priority, but with you it's his favorite pastime.

You continue threading your fingers through his hair, letting the feelings of self hatred and regret seep out of your body like water from a sponge. It's not perfect, of course it's not, yet you can't help but have hope that it will be.

Looking down, you stare at Fushiguro's side profile, his relaxed eyes and hair pooling down the side of his face. He's so beautiful, and maybe he's perfect enough for the both of you. Who are you kidding, he definitely is.

Maybe failing a test isn't so bad as long as you can count him in your life as a win.



(Short as fuck just like my forearms. Seriously they are puny as hell.)

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