Ballad of a Private Schooled Boy - ThroneofMist - 呪術廻戦 (2024)

Chapter 1: Outside of the Greatest Inside Joke

Chapter Text

“You ever tried?”

Megumi looks up from his sandwich to glance over at Yuta. He has no idea what the older boy is talking about at first, until he follows Yuta’s line of sight. Scrunching his nose, he watches Yuta watch the kids mess around in the skate park across the street from the café they’re currently sat outside. “No,” he replies, picking at the lettuce in his stupidly overpriced sandwich.

If he had been paying, he would’ve taken one look at the prices and turned around on his heel. But Yuta had suggested the place, and it was Gojo’s cash that had been stuffed in Megumi’s wallet, so it wasn’t like he could refuse. And it's not like he doesn't mind spending Gojo's money. It's interesting, seeing how much he can spend until the man will comment on it. So far, Gojo's never said anything. When he does, it's just to encourage wasting money on stupid sh*t. No wonder Maki's always calling him a spoiled brat.

He just wishes the sandwich tasted a bit better. Silently, he mourns over the loss of his sister’s cooking, heart aching softly at the thought of her dancing around their old kitchen, sauce splattered across her cheeks and a grin painted across her face. No one he stays with now can cook for sh*t. Including himself. The best you ever get on campus is an in-date packet of ramen if you’re lucky.

“It looks fun,” Yuta sighs, head in his hands. Megumi blinks up at him, shifting on his chair uncomfortably. He doesn’t know Yuta that well, but he had already decided he was the only student at Jujutsu High that he could bring himself to respect. Maki absolutely revelled in needling Megumi and the other two - Inumaki and Panda – seemed to find it hilarious that the fourteen-year-old had to sit there and take the insults she flung at him. As well as the occasional smack with a polearm.

When Gojo had first brought him to the school, even though it was still two years before he would be officially enrolled, Megumi had been worried about the other kids disliking him if their teacher gave him any special treatment. A crazy thought to look back on, because Gojo never once gave him anything but special torment and the other pupils, especially Maki, took that as Gojo giving them the pass to irritate Megumi whenever they wanted to.

And unlike in middle school, whenever Megumi tried to fight back, it always ended up with his face in the dirt (Maki), unable to move (Inumaki) or trapped up in the air in two furry hands (Panda).

Apart from Yuta. The older boy never once said anything needling or meddling. Nothing to purposefully piss off Megumi at all. Not only was he the strongest first year, he was definitely the kindest one too. And while Megumi would rather set himself on fire than admit it, someone kind had been something he had really needed when he'd first moved into Jujutsu Tech.

Yuta had earned his respect. Something that no one else at the school had yet. Well, maybe Shoko. But with the amount of time she voluntarily spent with Gojo, he was constantly considering removing her from his list of reputable sorcerers.

So, while Megumi respects Yuta well enough, he definitely does not know him well enough to try and poke at the wistful look washing over the older boy’s face as he watches the kids in the skate park. Megumi doesn’t really think he’ll ever know anyone well enough to try and ask if they’re alright. The whole thing has him shifting on the metal chair, tearing up the bread on his plate just so he doesn’t have to look at Yuta anymore.

“I’ve never skated,” the other boy continues, dark gaze turning to focus on Megumi. “I’ve never done anything like that. Even before all this…” he trails off with a sad sigh, gesturing at nothing in particular with his hands.

“It doesn’t look all that great,” Megumi shrugs after a moment of awkward silence, glancing back across the street. He winces when one of the kids stumbles off his board completely, eating sh*t as he drops down onto the concrete. “I already get my ass handed to me by curses,” he adds, wiggling his fingers where purple bruises are blossoming over his skin already. “I don’t need a skateboard to do that to me too, Okkotsu-senpai.”

Yuta laughs at that, raking a hand through his hair before he nods. “I suppose you’re right. Sometimes I just…I just think about what life could be like without all of this. Without us getting our asses handed to us by curses,” he adds with a smile. Yuta somehow manages to make all of his words and smiles soft, something Megumi has never been able to do. Everything he says always comes out sharp, words poisoned by his own bitter tongue.

“Don’t you ever think about that?” he asks, eyes unblinking as he stares back at Megumi. “What you’d be like without all this? If you went to a normal school instead of Jujutsu Tech? You could go skateboarding with your friends.”

Megumi clears his throat as he breaks away from Yuta’s gaze, feeling weirdly like the older boy might be able to see his answer in his eyes even if the words he forces out are completely different. “No. I don’t see the point in thinking about hypotheticals like that. And as I said,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t look that appealing anyway.”

Yuta hums, nodding as if he understands, but looking at Megumi like he doesn’t quite believe him. Thankfully, the conversation slides easily into Yuta talking about Inumaki, a topic that Megumi quickly learned is easy to tune out of as long as he nods along. He’s only been sent along with Yuta on a few missions since moving onto the Tokyo campus, since he’s the only student Gojo says he can trust Megumi with, but he's already growing pretty tired of the boy’s constant fascination with his classmate.

Leaning back in his seat, green eyes seek out the skate park again because he’d rather watch people wipeout than listen to an enthusiastic Yuta discuss in detail Inumaki’s favourite foods. He watches as the same kid who had just slid off his board get back up, blood and gravel swiped over scraped knees. He doesn’t seem to mind the blood; Megumi thinks he might not even notice it as he jumps right back on his skateboard as he joins a larger group of kids.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he watches as they all laugh together, heads thrown back. He tries, even for a just a moment, to imagine himself with a large group of friends, arms thrown over their shoulders. Blood trickling down his legs not from deep wounds, terror of infection hanging over him, but from the tribulations of learning how to skate.

He’s always known his life isn’t normal. Generally, he doesn’t like thinking about it much. Doesn’t really like thinking about it at all. Hasn’t liked thinking about it since one night, when he was six and realised his dad was never going to bother showing up again. Since he realised that didn’t happen to normal kids.

And then Gojo had turned up, insane thing after insane thing haunting every step Megumi took. It wasn’t hard to accept everything Gojo told him, showed him, taught him. It didn’t really make that much of a difference to him then. All he had really been focusing on was the fact that there was always a thick envelope of cash left on the kitchen counter each week, a note with scrawled ink telling them to spend it on whatever they wanted. Tsumiki didn’t have to worry about paying the rent anymore, and Megumi didn’t have to worry about shoplifting dinner anymore.

But then, when Gojo had shown up to his first school disciplinary hearing and the teachers had looked from him to Megumi with confused looks on their faces, he’d slowly realised that this probably wasn’t normal either.

Most of the kids at his school had never had a disciplinary hearing in the first place. And Megumi figured when they did, it was probably parents that showed up. Parents who listened to the teachers with frowns and understanding nods. Parents who promised to talk to their kids about it all, promised to discipline them and ground them and teach them. Promised that it wouldn’t happen again.

Megumi wondered how many other kids had their teenage keeper show up with a sh*t-eating grin painted across their face and something that looked suspiciously like blood swiped across his shirt.

“Are you Fushiguro-kun’s brother?” his teacher had asked, clearly trying to plaster a smile on her face despite the clear perplexity behind her eyes.

“Nope,” Gojo had shrugged as he slid down onto the seat next to Megumi. “I’m his guardian,” he’d elaborated when no one spoke.

“How old are you?” That question seemed to thrill Gojo, as the older boy dropped his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to smirk up at Megumi’s teacher. Mortification bloomed across Megumi’s face as Gojo grinned, “Old enough.”

The smile quickly turned into a scowl as Megumi’s elbow dug sharply into Gojo’s side, the older boy muttering insults under his breath as the teachers shared confounded glances with one another. He figured normal kids’ parents didn’t call them little sh*ts in front of their teachers.

After it was detailed to Gojo all about how Megumi was getting into fights, which while not unusual for young boys, was happening far too often to be mistakes or accidents or simple misunderstandings, Gojo had just blinked down at his ward. “I see,” he had nodded solemnly, running a hand along his jaw.

“Now as Fushiguro-kun’s…guardian,” the teacher started. “We think it’s best that you decide how to discipline him as a warning. If it happens again-”

“Is he winning?” Gojo had cut the teacher off.

“Sorry?”

“The fights,” Gojo explained, polite smile on his face. “Is he winning the fights?”

Megumi had never seen an adult look so horrified before. Not as Gojo praised him for beating his classmates up, ruffling his hair and cooing, “Well done, Gumi-chan,” before telling his teacher to let him know if Megumi ever got into a scrap again as he left the school with an arm thrown over Megumi’s shoulder.

It was later that night, as Gojo rolled his eyes at his phone and threw money at the issue that Megumi realised most kids didn’t get social care called on them by their teachers because they thought they’d been kidnapped by a psychotic teenager.

“To be fair,” Tsumiki had said around a spoonful of ice cream, the two of them watching Gojo pace around their apartment’s balcony, on the phone to Shoko as they discussed how hot Megumi’s teacher was. “I don’t think we haven’t not been kidnapped by him,” she shrugged with a soft smile which only grew as Megumi dropped his head against the table.

Head in his hands, he watches as the kid with his skateboard wipes his scrapped up knees with the back of his hand, pink hair ruffled in the wind. He keeps watching even as Maki and Inumaki show up, the latter stealing Megumi’s sandwich right off of his plate as Yuta’s expensive smoothie ends up in Maki’s hands. Trailing behind the older kids, ignoring their chattering, he cranes his neck to get one last look at the skating kids. The ache in his chest grows.

Later that day, as Megumi picks at the slop Gojo is insisting is a well-made and nutritious dinner, he can’t stop picturing himself on a skateboard, smoothing plasters over other kids’ knees. He tries his best to imagine what it must feel like to have a life like that as he lies in his bed, in an empty dorm, stuck in a school a year too early because he has nowhere else to go.

He imagines feeling weightless. Feeling like he’s flying.

*

Megumi knows normal teenagers like gossiping. He used to hear it all the time when he still went to school with kids who couldn’t see the curses haunting their every step. The snapping whispers between girls who rolled their eyes at each other and painted fake smiles onto their lips. The cruel snickers between boys as they passed basketballs to each other at lunchtime.

Even Tsumiki, who had a kinder soul than anyone Megumi had ever met, would flick through magazines depicting stories about celebrities’ love lives as she dropped onto their couch after school. Sometimes she’d try and corral him into joining her, scrolling through Twitter on her phone with wide eyes. Leaning on the side of his bed as he tried his best to muddle through his homework, he’d be stuck listening to his sister read out comments about another Idol he didn’t know or care about.

He had figured that when everything else in his life had been turned on its head, that at least he could escape that boring sh*t. Jujutsu sorcerers surely had enough on their hands. They were worrying about saving the world most of the time, constantly living on the line between life and death. Why would someone who had already accepted an early grave, shoulders cracking under the pressure of a thousand lives, bother about meaningless gossip?

Turns out the lot of them are worse for gossiping than Megumi’s old schoolmates. Especially the teachers. Especially Gojo Satoru. The one they called the Strongest. The one who was legally responsible for Megumi’s wellbeing, and the closest person he currently had to family. Someone that Megumi had found himself begrudgingly respecting and was horrified to find himself liking being around. Someone that he could maybe picture always liking being around.

Gojo Satoru is the biggest sh*t-talking, pot-stirring gossip Megumi has ever met.

Megumi has never once in his life asked Gojo about his personal life. He makes an active point to not really try and involve himself in anyone’s business like that. It all gets a bit too messy and a bit too much and Megumi frankly has no idea how to handle that. Especially not in the Jujutsu world, where every second person seems to have a tragic history one way or the other. No one else at Jujutsu Tech ever indulges in discussing their past unless it’s resolutely dragged out of them.

Gojo Satoru has no such qualms. Even though he had already told everyone everything that had ever happened to him in great detail. Megumi’s pretty sure he could write an autobiography on the guy, even though everything he’s ever learned about Gojo has happened under duress.

He’s sick and tired of listening to his sensei talk about himself. But he would much rather that than Gojo’s second favourite topic of discussion.

“It was ridiculous,” Gojo easily says as Megumi strains to keep up with him, wheezing breath stuttering through his chest. Always a stride ahead, Gojo runs effortlessly, chatting along as the two of them jog through the park. Megumi has already tripped over more times than he’s willing to admit, too focused on not passing out as he tries to match Gojo’s pace to notice the upturned roots. His hair is curling at the back of his neck with his sweat and his clothes feel like a second skin now.

Gojo doesn't sound at all inconvenienced. He hasn't even broken a sweat. “Leaving his cursed energy all over the place. Really, it was embarrassing. Acting like we were still teenagers. He could’ve just called me.”

With Megumi struggling to keep breathing, there’s no opportunity to tell Gojo to shut his mouth. He knows that’s the only reason why Gojo makes him run alongside him each morning. He’s said as much, but the man always just pouts and claims he just wants to spend as much time with Megumi before he’s officially enrolled in Jujutsu Tech and the two of them become too busy to see each other.

Well, he’s calling bullsh*t on that. He knows Gojo just likes being able to finally rant about his crazy ex without interruption.

“I mean, I might not have picked up. Guess we’ll never know now though will we? Since the asshole decided to pick a fight with me without even trying to talk about it first. As if he would ever win that.”

Correction – Gojo likes being able to finally rant about his dead, crazy ex.

He’s pretty sure it’s not normal for people to still be hung up on their exes as much as Gojo seems to be on Geto Suguru. But Megumi can acknowledge that he’s not exactly the expert on love, and so he’s willing to put that theory on hold until he meets anyone else with a healthy relationship. So far, in the world of Jujutsu no one fills that criteria. He thinks the closest would be Hakari and Kirara, the second years that seem to get off on irritating Yaga, but the jury’s still out on those two. He doesn’t think people that unhinged could ever be classed as healthy.

He's also pretty sure it’s not normal for people to still be hung up on their exes when the ex was a genocidal grifter who ran a cult and waged war on the entire world. But Shoko had told Megumi that feelings can be complicated when he’d first pressed on the topic of Geto, trying to tell him about how people can still love the ghost of who someone once was. It sounded like a whole bunch of bullsh*t to Megumi, but Gojo being in love with a murderer honestly wasn’t the weirdest thing that he’d faced in his life, so it was pretty easy to accept.

What wasn’t easy to accept was being forced to listen to him talk about it all of the time. “Please Gojo,” he wheezes out as he stops running, dropping against a tree, and trying his best not to throw up his breakfast. Gojo pauses in his tracks, turning to co*ck his head at Megumi as he takes in shuddering breaths.

“Please stop talking about your psychotic ex-boyfriend,” Megumi groans, hands on his knees. “I can’t take listening to it anymore.”

“Does Gumi-chan need a break?” Gojo asks with a smirk, running a hand through his hair. “Just wait until the school year actually starts if you think this little jog is hard. I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“No,” Megumi scowls. “I need a break from you,” he jabs his finger in Gojo’s direction. “From all your pining.” Now, Megumi isn’t a complete heartless asshole. He doesn’t especially like putting Gojo down about his pathetic pining over a dead man. He doesn’t do it because he enjoys it. But someone needs to try and snap Gojo out of it now and then.

“Little sh*t,” Gojo clicks his tongue, but he doesn’t sound particularly offended. He’s so entirely shameless that Megumi thinks there’s not a thing he could say to the older man that would actually wound him. “You’re going to have to start learning your manners, Megumi,” he tells him, arms folded over his chest. “When I’m officially your sensei, this lovely repertoire of us will have to come to an end.”

“So, you’ll stop calling me Gumi-chan when you’re my teacher?” Megumi asks, breathing slowly becoming a bit easier.

“Absolutely not,” Gojo shakes his head. “You will have to respect me. I didn’t say anything about me respecting you.” Before Megumi can spit back anymore insults, Gojo’s phone is ringing, and the older man squints down at the screen. Frowning slightly, it looks like he might not pick up at all, but he ends up holding the phone up to his ear with a tight smile on his face.

“How can I help you, Mei-san?” Megumi watches as Gojo chews on the inside of his cheek. Grateful for the lack of attention, he pushes himself back up onto his feet. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he tries his best to look like he’s not eavesdropping in on Gojo’s conversation while doing his best to absolutely eavesdrop.

Focusing his attention on a group of boys playing football on a clearing near them, Megumi frowns as he listens to Gojo sigh. “I’m not actually scheduled to go on any missions this whole week. They already know this.”

There’s a pause as the person on the line speaks, and Megumi’s heart clenches slightly as Gojo clicks his tongue in irritation. They’re supposed to go and visit Tsumiki together tomorrow. A bouquet of handpicked daisies sits in a chipped glass on Megumi’s window ledge, tied by string and a heartbreaking tenderness. He knows Gojo’s already bought a similar crop of flowers, stupidly expensive and left on the kitchen island so he doesn’t forget to bring them to the hospital.

Whatever, Megumi thinks to himself. Desperately trying to shove the bile threatening to rise in his throat. He’s pretty sure it’s from the hours of running he’s been doing. No other reason. Nothing to do with the way Gojo’s face falls in something worse than anger. “Alright,” he says sharply into the phone, cold resignation painted over his features. “Whatever. I’ll see you later.”

There’s another pause, Gojo’s jaw clenching as he turns to glance over Megumi. He pretends like he doesn’t notice, digging his shoe into the dirt as he stares at the boys playing football. They look about his age, fifteen and cheeks flushed with red as they sprint over the grass. Chest tightening, Megumi watches as one of the boys slides to the ground, stealing the ball from one of his friends before he’s back on his feet and sprinting.

He shoots, scores, and screams his head off. Gathering around him with yells of pride, the other boys hoist him up in the air. Blinking, Megumi tries to picture the kids at Jujutsu Tech playing a game. There’s not even enough of them to make a team. And Toge had just come back from a mission that morning, blood caked into his hair and exhaustion painted over his face. Megumi doesn’t think any of them would have the energy or time to play a friendly game of football.

“Impressive,” Gojo whistles at his side, attention also on the boy on the field. He’s taken possession of the ball again, running faster than any of his friends. “But you’d still smoke ‘em, Gumi-chan.”

He picks up on the attempt at buttering him up, familiar compliments falling easily off of Gojo’s tongue. But he doesn’t give in to it, never does, as he nods slowly, wrapping his arms around himself. Now that they’ve stopped running, the cold is starting to prick at his skin. “I know I would.” Silence falls over the two of them as they stand facing the football game.

Gojo is shifting around, constantly on edge. He’s been like this ever since Megumi’s known him. Never once standing still for too long. It should be inspiring. Probably. The sheer amount of work Gojo gets done. For every mission a normal sorcerer gets given, Gojo gets tenfold. As well as teaching the students at Jujutsu. As well as being the Gojo clan head. As well as looking after Megumi and Tsumiki.

When he was younger, Megumi used to wonder if he spread himself as thin with all his other responsibilities as much as he did that last one. Wondered why Gojo would even take on the extra responsibility of taking care of two children when he clearly wasn’t that interested. Bastard only ever showed up once a week. Or whenever Megumi got into trouble at school.

But now, living at the school, Megumi rarely sees him there as well. So, he figures that Gojo tries his best at dipping his feet in the waves of every duty he’s got. Probably never gets a second to himself. At some point, Megumi feels like you’ve got to start wondering if maybe Gojo is just incapable of being left alone with his own thoughts.

“They’re calling you away again?” Megumi asks without looking up. He keeps his eyes trained on the boy with the ball, unblinking as he stares at pink hair and flushed cheeks and a bright smile and a life he will never ever have.

“Yeah,” Gojo nods, scratching the back of his head. “Look, Megumi, I’m really-”

“It’s fine,” he says stiffly before Gojo can finish that sentiment. He’d rather die than listen to his sensei apologise to him. The man who has given him everything. Megumi refuses to hear him say sorry for anything. Even though sometimes it feels like, although Gojo gave him a home and a family and a purpose to his life, the older man keeps leaving a bigger hole behind in Megumi’s heart every time he vanishes.

“What’s the mission?”

“It’s in Osaka. Mei-san just got there. Ino-kun’s injured.” Megumi frowns. Ino wasn’t all that much older than he was. Not old enough to be getting sent out on missions on his own. But then Megumi thought about Yuta and Inumaki, both only a year older than himself, getting sent out to deal with strong curses on their own all the time, and his words died in his throat.

“He’ll be alright,” Gojo continues, as if he could see the worry in Megumi’s mind. “He never should’ve been out there on his own in the first place. Not up against a Special-Grade.” Breathing hitching, he drops his hand onto Megumi’s shoulder. He resists the urge to shake it off. Then, after a moment, he resists the urge to drop his weight completely into Gojo’s chest.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to come and see Miki-chan with you, Megumi,” Gojo says softly, hand smoothing down black hair before he pulls the younger boy into a quick hug. “I’ll bring you back something sweet.”

“We could go together when you get back,” Megumi offers, throat bobbing. Gojo hesitates at that, and although he plastered a smile back onto his face, Megumi still notices it. Sharp jaw ticking, Gojo nods, hand still on Megumi’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathes, squeezing soothingly before his hand is falling away, swaying at his side. “But don’t wait around, okay Megs? I don’t know when I’ll be back…I don’t know when I’ll next have time to visit her with you, alright? So don’t-you should still go and see your sister. Give her my love.”

“But I-”

“Text me if you need me, Gumi-chan,” Gojo says, dropping an obnoxious kiss onto Megumi’s forehead before he’s gone. The fallen leaves blow around the spot he’d been standing in, the only sign that someone had even been there with Megumi. He stays still for a minute, scowling as he rubs furiously at the spot on his head where Gojo kissed him, muttering “asshole,” under his breath.

He doesn’t move until something hits his ankles. Glancing down, he blinks at the muddy ball beside him. “Hey!” The boy with the pink hair from the game jogs over to him, waving at Megumi with a burning smile. “Sorry, that’s our ball.”

For a second, Megumi considers launching the sh*tty ball across the park. Considers pulling the knife he kept in the sole of his trainer out and stabbing the ball until it deflated. Considers calling forward his dogs and letting them tear it to shreds. They love that kind of thing.

But then the boy is standing in front of him, and kicking the ball up into the air with ease. “You wanna play?” the kid asks politely as he catches the ball in his arms, tucking it into his side. Megumi wonders if he has dead parents too. If this guy has a sister lying in the hospital all alone, no one but her lousy brother and an asshole millionaire visiting her.

Scowling, Megumi shoots a sharp no in the boy’s direction before he turns on his heels and storms back to Jujutsu Tech. Later that day, with one hand strangling daisies and the other clenching his sister’s, he thinks about how he’d kill to have a normal life.

Chapter 2: Grade Two Curses

Chapter Text

“You’ve got to be sh*tting me,” Megumi groans out at the exact same time Nobara squeals, “Don’t drop my bags, asshole!”

As Megumi practically climbs into the thermometer shed, trying to convince himself that the cursed object might just be hidden away right at the back, Nobara drops to her knees to try and catch the shopping bags he dropped.

Panting and swearing colourfully under his breath, Megumi turns back to look at his new classmate. Despair is painted over Nobara’s face as she gingerly picks up her shopping, which is now covered in mud. But that quickly turns to anger as her eyes meet Megumi’s. He doesn’t know what the worst thing happening right now is. Can’t decide whether he’d rather face the irritation of having to deal with another Jujutsu issue or endure Nobara’s wrath.

Lucky for him, he gets to deal with both problems simultaneously.

“Screw you, man,” she hisses, eyes narrowing as she pushes herself back up to her feet, hands on her hips. “Those clothes were exclusive. And expensive.”

“Tch,” Megumi clicks his tongue. Before Nobara started at Jujutsu Tech, when he ate breakfast in the first-year kitchen on his own, and read in the first year sitting room on his own, and trained in the first-year gym on his own, he thought he might go crazy. Was convinced he was halfway there, having only his own thoughts to entertain himself with everyone else busy.

As the days dragged on, he silently found himself staring at the calendar hanging up on the fridge. Right above a note from Panda telling him to drop by the second-years’ dorm whenever he wanted and beside all the takeout receipts he’d been hoarding. Gojo had circled the day his new classmate was supposed to arrive, drawing little stars and pasting heart stickers all over the third Monday of term.

Megumi had found himself excited to meet them. It was the first time in his life he’d been eager to meet someone new, crossing each passing day off with a small smile. The loneliness of being a teenage Jujutsu sorcerer was starting to get to him. At least the second years had each other. Even Hakari and Kirara, despite being suspended the first week into term, had each other. The only person Megumi really had was Gojo, and the Higher Ups never let the guy have a full day at the school. Whatever – it was probably pathetic that his teacher was his only friend. Scratch that, definitely pathetic.

He'd been excited to meet the new first year. And then he’d met the new first year, and the excitement had worn off a couple hours into knowing her. He missed the quiet. He missed having the TV to himself and the kitchen to himself. Now Megumi was constantly attacked by reality TV blaring and lipstick-stained mugs everywhere he turned. He hadn’t realised that a new student would equate to a new sister demanding all of his attention at all times. He already has one of those.

“It wasn’t even your money,” he protests, rolling his eyes as he watches Nobara try and save some of the clothes strewn in the dirt. “And we have more important things to worry about,” he adds with a snap, tugging his phone out of his pocket and swiping to call Gojo.

One of the two numbers he has filed under favourites. Right next to Tsumiki’s number. For emergencies. They used to be the two only people he ever called. They were also the only two people that ever picked up every time. Megumi had never been great at it himself, always forgetting to turn his ringer on.

Gojo still answers every time, no matter where he is or what he’s doing. Megumi tries not to read into that all that much, worried about what he’ll think if he does.

“Gojo-sensei has enough money to go around,” Nobara scoffs. “Maki-senpai told me all about the Gojo clan. He’s filthy rich. He should spread the wealth.” Megumi ignores her as he holds his phone up against his ear with his shoulder, continuing to roam around the empty thermometer shed with his hands.

“What I’d give to be a Gojo,” she sighs wistfully, face crumpling at the sight of her ruined wardrobe. Heart clenching at that, Megumi bites down the words that come to mind as he glances over his shoulder to watch the new girl. Well, if she’s saying all that, Maki couldn’t have told her all about the Gojo clan. Maybe Maki didn’t want to dredge up Gojo’s sh*tty childhood trauma out of the goodness of her heart.

“Yo, Gumi-chan.” The familiar voice rings out in Megumi’s ear as he pauses. Gojo sounds happy. He can’t even remember where the older man’s been sent this time. Just remembers that Gojo left with a bright smile, a pat on the shoulder and a promise to bring back souvenirs. He always sounds happy. On the phone. In person. Injured, lying on Shoko’s bed, blood trailing from his lips. Megumi tucked into his chest, hand running through his hair.

It's infuriating. Gojo’s the best person Megumi knows at sounding happy. He’s pretty sure that’s why no one ever believes them when they say Gojo practically raised Megumi. Because Gojo Satoru has a glaring smile to match his blinding eyes, and Megumi is a sullen little sh*t. No one knows it’s only because Gojo’s had so much practice at it, and Megumi’s never had to pretend at all. He doesn’t even know if Gojo knows it himself.

Maybe that’s why Maki didn’t tell Nobara just how sh*tty Gojo’s childhood was. So, she didn’t have to admit her’s was even worse.

“It’s not here,” Megumi sighs into the phone, tongue pressed in his cheek.

“What’s not where?” Gojo asks, sounding distracted. Scowling, Megumi takes the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker so Nobara can hear.

“The cursed object. Sukuna’s finger. It’s not where you said it would be.”

“Oh sh*t, yeah-” Gojo cuts himself off as he starts laughing. Nobara frowns as she shoots Megumi a look. He just shrugs in response, because really, this isn’t even Gojo at his peak levels of irritating. Nobara has no idea just how annoying their teacher can really get when he wants to be. He’s half convinced it’s the reason why Nanami refuses to teach at Jujutsu Tech.

“That’s hilarious,” Gojo wheezes out, voice metallic through the speaker.

“Yeah,” Megumi frowns. “Super funny, sensei. Look, what are we supposed to do? I can call Okkotsu and-”

“No, no, Gumi-chan,” Gojo clicks his tongue. Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose, ignoring Nobara’s eyes widening at him. “This is you and Kugisaki-san’s mission. No calling in your senpais for help, alright?”

“But this is Sukuna’s finger we’re talking about,” Megumi protests. “What the hell are we supposed to do if we can’t find it?”

“Well, the Higher Ups will probably suspend you,” Gojo says easily, as if the Higher Ups aren’t the worst people on Earth. As if Megumi doesn’t know very well that Gojo has had to have been stopped from slaughtering them where they stand. On multiple occasions. On more occasions that he could count on his fingers. On more occasions than he could count on Sukuna’s fingers.

“What?” Nobara cries out, because she still has no idea how incompetent and ridiculous Jujutsu society is yet. Someone should really teach her, but Megumi can’t picture Gojo teaching them anything of substance, and he’ll be damned if he has to tell this girl all about the world that he actively disdains. “Why would they suspend us? We haven’t done anything!”

“You lost Sukuna’s finger,” Gojo’s voice says, a bit too on the amused side. Megumi’s glad someone’s finding this whole thing funny. f*ck, Gojo better be bringing him home some expensive souvenirs for all of this bother. “Come on, you’re gonna have to keep up better than that Kugisaki-san.”

“What the hell?” Nobara breathes to herself, glaring at Megumi’s phone like she can murder Gojo on the other line if she thinks hard enough about it.

“Whatever,” Megumi sighs. “We’ll find it.”

“Make sure that you do, Gumi-chan,” Gojo laughs. “I’d hate to have to suspend my two favourite pupils.”

“We’re your only pupils,” Nobara reminds him. Megumi hangs up before Gojo can say anything else, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “What an idiot,” she sighs, clutching her ruined clothes to her chest before she swears under her breath. Marching away from the thermometer shed, Megumi begrudgingly trudging behind her, she shoots him a look over her shoulder.

“So, what do we do now? Gumi-chan,” she adds with a smirk.

“Don’t call me that,” Megumi tells her, shuddering in the cold air. The sky is painted dark, dotted with hanging stars. If Nobara hadn’t forced him to follow her around shops all day, maybe they would’ve realised that the cursed object was missing sooner. Maybe it had been snatched up when Nobara was trying on the tenth pair of Converse. She didn’t even end up buying any shoes.

“Gojo-sensei calls you that,” Nobara says, voice lilting. Megumi shrugs in response as the two of them walk back towards where Ijichi is waiting for them. “Why?” she finally asks, tilting her head. She looks genuinely interested as Megumi catches up to her, matching strides. Smiling softly, she doesn’t even look like she’s trying to make fun of him, which he’s quickly realising is kind of her default. Somehow, the fact she seems genuine makes Megumi more uncomfortable than if she was laughing at him.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs again, because that’s his default. Indifference. “I don’t know why he does the things he does. He’s an idiot, like you said.”

Before she can say anything else, he presses on. “We’ll come back here tomorrow. Try and figure out who or what took the finger.”

“Alright,” she nods in agreement. “I’ve never been to a high school before. Should be fun.”

Megumi huffs. “Don’t get your hopes up. We’ll be in and out. Just looking for the finger.” But Nobara doesn’t seem to be listening to him, already talking about what type of outfit she can put together. “We’ll just wear these,” Megumi tries, blinking when Nobara throws him a withering glare.

Which is how he finds himself in a mix of Yuta and Gojo’s clothes the next day, arm in arm with Nobara. “Okkotsu isn’t here, so he can’t get annoyed about you borrowing his clothes,” she says as the two of them pause in front of the high school, students milling around them happily. “And Gojo-sensei won’t care. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Crimson pricks at Megumi’s cheeks as he rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I’m worried about,” he says with a frown, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Even though it might be a little what he’s worried about. “I’m worried about finding this cursed object.”

Nobara chooses to ignore him completely, tugging him along closer to the school. “I don’t get why we couldn’t just wear our uniforms,” he says, feeling uncomfortable without his familiar Jujutsu jacket. He hasn’t been around this many kids his own age in years, silently freaking out as he takes them all in in their uniforms.

“Our uniforms are so bait,” Nobara argues, swishing her hair over her shoulder. “We stick out like sore thumbs in them.” Insane, because Megumi definitely feels like he sticks out more in Gojo’s stupidly expensive shirt and Yuta’s trousers which stop halfway up his calves. He can’t believe he let Nobara rope him into this. Never again. Never again is he listening to anything she says.

“Come on,” she says before he can protest anymore, lacing his fingers in hers as she continues to yank him across the campus. “Everyone’s headed in this direction.” Resigning himself to the entire situation, Megumi lets Nobara lead, focusing instead on trying to locate any signs of unnatural cursed energy.

Nothing seems off though as the two of them follow the sea of pupils clambering to behind the school, congregating near what looks like a rugby field or something. It’s a school, so the cursed energy levels are inevitably always going to feel a bit strange, because school seems to be hell on earth for any kid, Jujutsu sorcerer or not. As he peers suspiciously at every kid they pass though, all Megumi finds is giggling girls and gaggles of students passing each other notes. Nothing to write home about.

But as soon as they step onto the grass, Megumi freezes, tightening his hold on Nobara’s hand as he lightly pulls her closer to him. She stumbles in surprise, brows furrowing in annoyance as she falls into his chest. “What the hell are you-”

“Can’t you feel it?” he says, voice dropping as he gestures with his head towards the field.

“Damn,” she whistles, nodding in agreement as she straightens up. There are multiple curses loitering around the field, hanging off of goal posts and leering out of trees at the pupils. Her fingers leave his, itching under her cardigan, where her hammer and nails are pinned to her belt. Shaking his head, he curls his hand around her wrist.

“Shouldn’t we expel the curses?” she says quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Not right now,” he answers. “We’d have to close off the school first. We’ll call Ijichi-san once everyone leaves and get rid of the curses. For now, we should keep looking around for the cursed object.”

“But what if they attack someone?” she hisses, chasing after Megumi as he continues towards the field, edging his way through the sea of students. An excited buzz hums through the crowd, people pulling their phones out to point them in the direction of the field. Before Megumi can try and listen in to find out what’s happening, Nobara is yanking his collar.

“They’re not gonna hurt anyone,” he tells her, clicking his tongue as he slaps her hands away. f*cking hell. He’s slowly realising, living with Nobara and Maki, that teenage girls can be pretty damn aggressive when they want to be. Tsumiki was never this bitchy. “They’re Grade Two curses at best. It’ll be fine. We can get rid of them tonight.”

“You’re such a smug sh*t,” she pouts, but relents his collar all the same. “You can’t just not explain things to me because you’re like a Jujutsu prodigy or whatever,” she continues, wiping her hand on her skirt like she might have caught a disease just by touching him.

“I’m not a prodigy,” he scoffs as the two of them make their way to the front, the expansion of green grass sitting in front of them. “Okkotsu-senpai’s a prodigy,” he shrugs. “Inumaki-senpai’s a prodigy.”

“Nah,” she shrugs, hands on her hips. “If they were prodigies, then they’d be Gojo-sensei’s favourites. But you are. And it definitely isn’t because of your shining personality, so it must be because of your power.”

“I don’t-” The crowd cheering loudly cuts Megumi off. Blinking, he turns to watch as an older man poses in front of the crowd, a shot put sat a fair distance away from him. “Did you see that?” A kid beside them says to his friends. “Fourteen meters. Takagi-sensei’s still got it!”

“What’s Itadori gonna do?” Another frowns, peering off into the distance. Megumi watches as the man, Takagi, claps a boy on the back. He’s grinning down at him smugly, almost leering at the boy. But he doesn’t seem fazed, running a hand through pink hair as he congratulates the teacher.

“No way he wins this,” the group beside Nobara and him say as they watch the kid pick up another shot put. “Takagi-sensei isn’t playing fair. Itadori’s a sprinter, but he’s picked a battle of strength, so he definitely wins against him.”

“What the hell is happening?” Nobara muses from his side, head in her hand. “Why would a teacher challenge a student?” she asks, as if Gojo doesn’t do that to both of them on the daily. From challenging Nobara to arm wrestles every night, to essentially beating the sh*t out of Megumi every training session, their own teacher seems to love dusting his pupils.

Megumi blinks when the kid throws the shot put thirty meters down the field. It crashes into a football goal, the metal crumpling like paper under the ball. “Holy sh*t,” he breathes, eyes narrowed as he watches the kid get surrounded by other pupils. The teacher’s jaw hangs open before he screams into his hands. Megumi and Nobara are the only kids who don’t erupt into cheers, people clapping and cheering; Itadori, Itadori, Itadori!

“Is that normal?” Nobara asks, looking up at Megumi with wide eyes.

“No,” he says, still feeling awe-struck. “Not for normal people. Even for Jujutsu sorcerers that’s…that’s…” he trails off, words stuck in his throat. Impressive. Insane. A frankly beautiful display of strength that Megumi has only ever seen Gojo achieve without cursed energy.

“Whatever,” Nobara shrugs, folding her arms as she scans the campus. “If we’re not dealing with these curses right now, let’s split up and look for this stupid f*cking finger. I’m not getting suspended from a school I’ve only been at for a week. I’ll be damned if I get sent to the countryside. Not after I’ve had a taste of Gojo-sensei’s money.”

“Alright,” Megumi nods, smiling slightly at Nobara. He’s pretty sure she hasn’t met Mei-Mei yet, but he thinks they’d probably get on pretty well. “I’ll take-”

“I’ll take the building,” Nobara cuts him off. “You can take the outside.” With that, she practically skips towards a group of pupils who are also heading back towards the school, easily sliding into their conversation with a sweeter smile than she’s sent Megumi’s way this whole week.

He stays where he is, watching on with as a pang of jealousy echoes around his ribs. He’s never once been able to just join a conversation that smoothly. Megumi doesn’t think he’s ever done anything smoothly in his life. Everything he does he feels like he does it fumbling and scraping by. Like he’s worried the soil beneath his feet will crumble if he so much as moves.

Sighing, he starts to move to circle the perimeter when a kid runs past him. Well, clearly tries to run past him because there’s no way he means to absolutely barrel into Megumi. Wheezing as all the wind is pushed out of him, Megumi squints up to see pink hair. The guy who had thrown the shot put has fallen on top of him, face smushed into his chest.

“f*ck,” the guy splutters, grimace painting his face as he pushes himself up onto his hands, holding himself over Megumi. Blinking, and really feeling like he wants the multiple curses loitering around the school to eat him up, Megumi can feel crimson pricking at his cheeks. He thinks that’s probably a normal reaction – to having a fairly attractive guy he doesn’t know at all practically sitting in his lap.

“Sorry dude,” the guy says, brown eyes sheepishly blinking back at him.

His eyes are the exact same colour as the way he makes his tea, Megumi realises with a sharp pang. With a splash of milk. With a sugar cube he steals from the staff kitchen. His eyes are the colour of the leaves in autumn. The leaves that get plaited in his hair on his morning runs, floating through the air and crunching under his trainers. The sticks of cinnamon that Tsumiki used to keep tied in their kitchen because it would make her clothes smell nice before school. The cinnamon she would sprinkle over the cupcakes that she baked for Gojo’s birthday ever year.

“I uh…” Megumi trails off, because the second thing he realises, really the thing he probably should have realised first, is that there is blood trailing down the guy’s forehead. A deep cut gashed across his hairline. “You’re bleeding,” he says, sitting up straight as the guy blinks at him, confused.

“You’re bleeding,” he repeats, because the boy still hasn’t said anything, is continuing to just look at Megumi as if he’s the one acting weird here – as if he’s not the one still sat on Megumi’s lap and blinking at him with the prettiest eyes Megumi has ever seen in his life.

“Huh?”

“Man,” Megumi scowls, because even though he might, just maybe, be a sucker for nice eyes and dimples, he doesn’t find stupid people endearing. God knows how he’s stuck around Gojo this long. “You should really get that looked at. You must’ve hit your head really hard. Or are you always this much of an idiot?”

“I-” the guy cuts himself off with a laugh that sounds more like a giggle as he presses his fingers against his cut. Blood stains his fingertips as he brings them down, swearing under his breath as he bleaches at the sight of it. “Yeah, no, the idiot thing isn’t because of this,” he laughs again, and Megumi frowns at the sound of it.

“Alright, well, good for you,” he shrugs, trying to come across as casual as he can while his blood runs cold. “Can you get off of me now?” he demands with lowered brows.

“Oh sh*t…yeah -sorry,” the boy says as he starts to scramble up and off of Megumi. But he moves entirely too slowly for Megumi’s liking, so he picks himself up off of the ground by himself, using his spare hand to help the other boy up as well. Dropping his hand from his waist as quick as possible, Megumi throws a quick nod in the boy’s direction before he goes to turn back in the direction of the school.

“Wait!” the boy calls after him. Megumi considers his options very quickly.

One: he could keep walking away, maybe start all out sprinting in an attempt to make a break for it. A quick and easy escape from this guy because Megumi has never once had a successful interaction with f*cking anyone, let alone pretty guys. Con: he did just watch the guy casually launch a heavy metal ball further than should be physically possible, so he might not even be able to out run him.

Two: he could answer. Could glance over his shoulder and shoot the guy a quick smile or something. He’s seen Tsumiki blow off people more than a hundred times by fluttering her lashes and beaming apologetically. He could see what the guy wants, try and muddle his way through a small conversation before politely excusing himself and go off on his merry way. Con: see previous notion of never succeeding in conversation with anyone.

Three: he could call on Mahoraga and kill the guy and himself and everyone in the vicinity.

Before he can start to think on the cons of a kamikaze, the guy’s fingers are wrapping around his wrists. Resisting the very strong urge to snap the boy’s arm right in two, Gojo taught him how to give someone a really nasty break, Megumi turns to face him with widened eyes.

“Do you go here?” he asks with a grin.

“No,” Megumi shakes his head, pointedly looking down at their joined limbs. The guy lets go of him, but steps closer. There’s still blood trickling down his face, red staining his skin. He can’t tell if the boy realises, crimson clinging to his chin.

“I’m Itadori Yuuji,” he continues, not even waiting for Megumi to offer up his own name. “Do you maybe wanna…” he jabs his finger towards an empty bench in the school’s playing field. “You wanna sit?”

The request takes a moment to catch up with Megumi. This can’t be normal. Or maybe it is, and Megumi’s just so insanely abnormal that none of this is computing in his head. Thank f*ck his guardian is the incarnation of divinity and Megumi was born a sorcerer, because he really doesn’t think he’d be able to survive high school.

“I’m busy,” he says with a shrug which he doesn’t even think comes across as polite at this point. But Itadori doesn’t seem dismayed, rolling his eyes as if it’s inconceivable Megumi might be busy. Which is crazy, because Itadori has no idea who Megumi even is.

“Come on,” he continues, slinging his hands into his trouser pockets, brown eyes glimmering with someone that makes Megumi’s chest collapse in on itself just a little bit. Yeah, he really wouldn’t have survived high school. “You’re not supposed to leave people alone after a head injury,” Itadori elaborates, gesturing to the fresh blood sticking to his eyebrows. Alright, so he is aware he’s currently bleeding from his head. But he’s asking Megumi to sit with him?

“I don’t think you actually have a proper head injury,” he points out, tongue running across his canines. Because honestly, it doesn’t seem that bad. Growing up around sorcerers has meant Megumi has seen a whole lot of blood and a whole f*cking lot of head injuries.

He can’t even remember how many times he woke up in the morning to find strangers laid out on the breakfast bar, smelling slightly like rot with crisping, brown blood caked into their hair, under their nails and swiped across their cheeks. It was how he met Nanami actually.

Tsumiki was an angel. Megumi was however, an eleven-year-old boy so he would never admit that to his older sister. But every morning, when he’d wake up to the smell of freshly made blueberry pancakes, he’d press a kiss to her cheek (going up on his toes since she was still taller than him then) and pray that she knew what he was saying without his words.

One particular morning, instead of waking up to the smell of dusted sugar and fresh orange juice and the sound of Miki humming along to their dad’s old vinyls, he woke up to the smell of disinfectant and lingering blood. And the sound of hysterical screaming. Screaming that clearly belonged to his twelve-year-old sister.

Scrambling out of bed, Megumi’s dogs were already pounding ahead of him, sliding into the kitchen in seconds. “Tsumiki!” Megumi yelled when he skidded past the threshold, almost falling over in his socks. Breathing hard, relief washed over him when he saw his sister alive and whole in the middle of the room. “Why…” he cut himself off with a sigh when he glanced over to see Gojo and Shoko.

Their guardian was drenched in some sort of black sludge, white hair dyed dark, and skin stained with ink. The blindfold was hanging loosely around his neck, blue eyes as bright as ever as they focused on the thing on the breakfast bar. The thing lying all over Megumi’s homework he’d left out last night. The thing that, now that he was really looking, was definitely a dead body.

“Oh,” he sighed, Tsumiki coming up beside him and clutching him to her chest. As if a dead body could do anything to hurt him. And as if she could do anything to protect him if it tried to. The demon dogs were sniffing curiously, padding towards Gojo and Shoko, who was leaning over the corpse, her hands steadily hanging over its chest.

“Morning kids,” Gojo sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. He just dug more gloop through it and Megumi cringed in disgust. Grumbling, he elbowed Tsumiki out of his way as he padded over to the breakfast bar. “Why’s there a dead guy on my homework?” he hissed, reaching up to snatch the crumpled and ruined sheets out from under it. “This is due today, y’know?” he scowled, trying his best to clean it with his finger. “Spent all week on it.”

“Nii-san,” Tsumiki cried out, doing her best to drag him back into her arms. Rolling his eyes, Megumi easily dodged her, sliding onto the stool at the bar and peering down. To his surprise, a pair of brown eyes blinked back at him.

“Not a dead guy,” Shoko corrected him from where she stood, eyes still trained on the…alive guy’s body.

“Not yet,” the dying guy wheezed out, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned in pain. Gasping in fear, Tsumiki slowly shuffled over towards where Megumi was sat, fingers clenched in the dogs’ fur as they prowled around her in circles, clearly picking up on her anxiety.

“Is he…are you alright?” she asked, even though her voice was trembling. It was clearly making her uncomfortable to look at the guy, with his guts practically spilling out of a massive, oozing gash on his chest.

“He’ll be fine, Miki-chan. Shoko’s fixing him right up,” Gojo said, gesturing for her to come over towards him. Megumi watched, clenching his homework in his fingers as Gojo slung an arm around her, moving her into his side as he squeezed her shoulder. “This is Nanami. He’s a friend of ours.”

“You don’t have any friends,” Megumi cut in as Tsumiki smiled, “Lovely to meet you, Nanami-sama.”

“Please,” the dead guy winced, more at Megumi’s sister honorifics than in pain. “Just Nanami is fine.”

“These are my kids, Nanami-sama,” Gojo grinned, still looking tired but slightly less so as he smoothed his hand down Tsumiki’s hair. Brows furrowing, Megumi knew that if there wasn’t an alive-dead guy lying in their kitchen, he would’ve corrected Gojo instantly. They weren’t his kids. At best, they weren’t his anything. And at worst, they were his personal charity case.

“Tsumiki-chan,” Gojo continued introducing them. “And this little sh*t,” he added, leaning over to flick Megumi on the head. “Is Gumi-chan.” Furious, Megumi moved his head as if to bite Gojo’s fingers clean off. If Gojo didn’t constantly have Infinity up, he would’ve.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Nanami said through gritted teeth. “Although I wish it could’ve been under better circ*mstances. Gojo talks about you both a lot.”

“He does?” Tsumiki asked, brightening up as she grinned at Nanami. Rolling his eyes, Megumi dropped down from the stool to shuffle over to the fridge. He guessed he wasn’t going to get pancakes for breakfast today. “Don’t you have somewhere else you could do this?” he asked Shoko with an arched brow, pulling out a bowl of leftover okayu.

“Don’t be rude!” Tsumiki hissed at him with widened eyes before she glanced up at Gojo and Shoko. “You can always come here. Whenever you want,” she added quickly. Megumi sighed as he placed the bowl in the microwave. She always sounded so desperate when she told Gojo he could come over whenever he wanted. He didn’t even understand why she wanted the guy to hang out more. He was so annoying. At least when he was younger, he’d played games with them, now he just wanted to know if Megumi had done his schoolwork.

“Yes, I do,” Shoko responded easily, not seeming offended by Megumi’s rudeness. “But Nanami-san got hurt on an…off the record mission. So, I couldn’t bring him back to the school.”

“I’m sorry to be an inconvenience to you, Megumi-kun. Apologies for getting blood on your school work,” Nanami choked out, words tumbling from his lips as he jolted in pain. Shoko’s face screwed up in concentration, and she quickly shushed Nanami as the ripped skin started to weave itself back together strand by stand. What a weird guy, apologising to him while his intestines were strewn all over the place.

“It’s whatever,” Megumi mumbled, snatching up his bowl of leftovers in one hand and his homework in the other. “I’ll see you before school,” he added before he started back towards his room, telling his dogs to stay behind to watch over his sister. Hours later, when him and Tsumiki had started to leave for class, they’d met Nanami again. Instead of bleeding out everywhere, he was sat at the kotatsu and drinking tea with a freshly-showered Gojo.

They were introduced properly, and then Gojo and Nanami had walked the two of them to school. It had been one of the weirdest mornings of Megumi’s life. Not really because of the whole dead guy in his kitchen thing, because Gojo and Shoko appeared in the flat with an injured sorcerer at least once a month. But because Gojo had held his hand whenever they crossed the road that morning.

All in all, Megumi knew when a head injury meant imminent death. He was pretty sure Itadori would be alright.

“You never know,” the other boy objects with a grin. “I could be concussed.”

“Well,” Megumi started, brows lowered. “Then you should go to the hospital.” Itadori blinked at that, the boy’s attention torn away from Megumi for a second as he glanced down at the watch on his wrist. Shoulders drooping back down, he refocused on Megumi with another smile.

“Or you could just sit with me for a couple minutes. Just until we’re sure I’m not gonna pass out or anything.”

“I won’t know what to do if you pass out,” Megumi shrugs, but finds himself trailing after the guy anyway. Alright, so maybe he’s a little bit pathetic. But a guy with nice eyes hasn’t ever asked him to sit down on a bench before. And he’s not going to say no to a guy with blood smeared all over his face. He’s not that much of a dickhe*d.

“Let’s hope I don’t pass out then,” Itadori grins, dropping down beside him. “Where do you go to school then?” he asks, slumping further back as Megumi blinks down at him. “If you don’t go here?”

Oh f*ck.

“I’m private schooled,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s this- I go to this super small religious school in the mountains.”

“Woah,” Itadori nods, brown eyes wide. “That sounds so cool!” A smile fights its way across Megumi’s face at that.

“Nah,” he shakes his head, laughing lightly. “It’s…I mean it’s alright. There’s only me and one other girl in the entire year.”

“Sounds pretty lonely,” Itadori shrugs, throwing one arm over the back of the bench. Megumi drops his eyes, glancing over the high school they’re sat in front of. Watches all of the kids mulling around in the front, laughing and chatting with each other. He watches as guys leave with pretty girls, arms around their shoulders as they talk in hushed whispers. Watches as kids swap textbooks with each other, pointing and shaking their heads and biting their lips in concentration.

Thinks about the empty classroom back home, Gojo’s scrawl across the blackboard. Thinks about the empty dorm, only two bedrooms occupied. Thinks about his own room, only three pictures pinned up on his walls. He already had to take down two and hide them in a textbook he never uses, because his heart would ache every time he walked past.

Thinks about everyone eating dinner, talking about training and curses and the excitement of finally, finally getting their own missions. Thinks about Gojo, talking to him about the Zenin clan and updating him on Tsumiki and on his cursed energy levels. Thinks about Nobara, who asks him every time she has a question about Jujutsu but asks Maki every time she has a question about anything else.

“Yeah,” he nods, pushing his tongue into his cheek. “I guess so. Never really thought about it though,” he says, lying through his teeth.

“How come you’re here then?” Itadori asks, head co*cked to the side as he looks up at Megumi.

“I was thinking about joining a team or something,” Megumi says easily. “I think our schools have an agreement so we can try out for sports here if we want.”

Really, he’s been hanging around Gojo too much. Lying’s becoming second nature to him now. It falls off of his tongue too easily. But maybe that’s just because Megumi’s spent his entire life dreaming about normality. Dreaming about soccer practice and helping friends with homework and sending memes and arguing about TV shows and having a parent to cook him soup when he’s sick and not having enough change to get McDonalds after school.

“No sh*t,” Itadori laughs. “You totally should. I used to run track for the school. It was super fun!”

“You quit?” Megumi asks, trying to steer the conversation’s focal point away from himself. He hates talking about his own life at the best of time, and that isn’t when every second word that comes out of his mouth has to be a lie.

“Yeah,” Itadori nods, dropping his head into his hand as he leans in closer to Megumi. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a good time. I just was too good, I guess. God,” he laughs suddenly, face going red as he sat up straight. “That made me sound like such an asshole. That came out all wrong.”

Megumi gives a huff of amusem*nt as Itadori stammers over his words. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just-”

“It’s fine,” Megumi shrugs, pointing back towards the playing field. “I saw you throw that shot put. You’re good.”

“Yeah well,” Itadori winces. “Sometimes being a bit too good pisses off your teammates. Besides, it’s no fun winning all the time. What’s the point in that? So, I quit sport and joined another club.”

“Which one?” Megumi asks, unable to focus on anything but the smile kissing Itadori’s face.

“The occult club,” Itadori laughs. “We investigate ghost stories and stuff. Hey, you think your school would let you join our club?” he asks suddenly, moving a bit too close into Megumi’s space.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, shuffling backwards a bit. “I don’t know if I…since the school’s religious, it probably wouldn’t want me messing with any of that sh*t,” he says, watching as a simple curse drags its writhing body across the playing fields like a dying worm, squealing out and crying in a futile attempt for attention. But all of the students have cleared off now, the sun hanging low in the sky and the peak time traffic starting to hum down in the city below.

No one but Megumi can hear the curse anyway. “Besides, I don’t really believe in all that.”

“Fair enough,” the other boy laughs, dropping his cheek onto his fist as he looks up at Megumi. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who can hold eye contact this intensely before. It feels like Itadori is looking right through him. Like he can see the mess that lies sprawled out under Megumi’s skin.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I believe in it either. But the guys in the club are nice, so I play along for their sakes. And if I wasn’t there, they wouldn’t get anything done. They’re too scared. Although, I won’t be there tonight.”

“What’s happening tonight?”

Itadori shrugs, clicking his tongue before his phone starts ringing in his pocket. “They found some weird thing behind the school. Gonna try and exorcise it or something. They swore it was a- two seconds,” he says to Megumi with a wide smile before pressing his phone to his ear and leaping up onto his feet.

Slowly, Megumi starts connecting dots in his mind as he watches Itadori scratch the back of his head, speaking politely into his phone. Surely not. Surely a group of students from an occult club wouldn’t have Sukuna’s finger. Although, he considers as he bites at his bottom lip. It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

“Hey, sorry I’ve got to go.” He looks up to see Itadori standing in front of him. “But thanks for making sure I didn’t die or anything,” he says with a shy smile, dimples creasing.

“I didn’t do anything,” Megumi shrugs. “I just sat there.”

Itadori laughs, shaking his head slightly, but Megumi isn’t in on the joke. He never really is. “Good luck with the sports thing,” he offers. “Can I get your name before I head off?” he asks. And not for the first time in his life, Megumi curses his father. This might be the worst thing the piece of sh*t who spawned him might have ever done.

He might’ve been fine with being abandoned, and entrusted to f*cking Gojo Satoru of all people, if he had just been given a normal name. Any other name. He would’ve taken any other name. Something that didn’t make people either giggle or double take whenever he said it.

“Fushiguro Megumi,” he grits out, already ready for the chuckle or the joke he’s already heard a thousand times over. But Itadori just smiles. Smiles the same way he’s been smiling this entire time.

“Cool,” the other boy nods, leaning forward on his heels to clap Megumi’s shoulder before he’s taking off in the direction of the city. “I’ll see you later, Fushiguro-kun!”

Feeling like he might have just been electrocuted, Megumi stays where he is and watches Itadori disappear. Glancing down at his own hands, he replays the conversation over in his head a hundred times, thinking about everything he said and why he should have said something completely different. But mostly, he just finds himself smiling softly as Itadori’s eyes blink back at him in his mind.

Yeah, he would never have survived high school. Especially if Itadori Yuuji was his classmate.

Just as he stands up, a loud smash followed by an angry shout snaps his attention away from pretty smiles and dreamy eyes. “You ugly bastard! Come at me then!”

Smile fading, he watches as Nobara crashes through a third-floor window, a particularly vile looking curse following after her. All thoughts of cute guys instantly leave his head as he sprints forward, arms outstretched, Nobara tumbling through the air.

Instead of catching her in his arms, he finds himself on the ground for the second time in half an hour, groaning as his classmate lands on top of him. “Where the hell were you, Fushiguro?” she snaps, spinning her hammer in her fingers as she shoots her nails right through the curse’s head.

“Only Grade Two curses my ass,” she groans out as the curse screeches in pain as it crumples up and dies. Standing up gracefully, she lightly kicks at Megumi’s leg as he swears under his breath. “Boys are so useless,” she adds with a click of her tongue.

And as Megumi lies there, still focused on the weird bleeding boy from the bench, he can’t help but agree with her.

Chapter 3: Orchids and Hydrangeas

Chapter Text

When he was a kid, he was always obsessed with the smell of vanilla. Never really knew why, had just figured it was because he, as a kid, inherently loved sugar and sweets and everything nice – as all kids normally do. There were a solid four years at the start there, where Megumi blissfully trod through life, giggling at animals, and snatching up toys and learning everything about everything. A solid four years where he lived a normal life. As normal as he was ever going to get. As normal a life as Megumi Fushiguro was ever going to be afforded.

He didn’t realise he liked the smell for a completely different reason until he caught Tsumiki and her mother with a bottle of vanilla extract one morning. “What’re you doing?” he asked, sticking his hands out in a grabby motion because four-year-old Megumi had been very demanding.

His five-year-old sister just giggled in response, bending down slightly to hand it over to him, because while Megumi wasn’t necessarily a small child by any means, he still had a lot of catching up to do with Tsumiki. The unfair advantage of being older. He’d catch up one day, he’d tell himself as he watched Tsumiki’s mother scribble their heights on the doorframe.

“Brushing vanilla behind our ears,” Tsumiki’s mother explained, voice kind and gentle and soft. He really liked her voice. Thinks that it’s exactly what a mother’s voice should sound like. He likes to imagine it’s what his own mother sounded like, before she died.

He asked his father once. The last time he saw him, actually. A couple of months had passed, since he’d asked his dad what his mother sounded like when she sang. All Megumi had received in response was a look of disgust that even at four, had made him recoil in shock.

He stopped asking questions since then. Even though it was all he seemed to want to do. He saw animals he didn’t recognise outside and came home to draw them as well as he could at the back of his notebooks. He copied the letters that he saw Tsumiki write down in her jotters from school. Tried to write down names of songs he liked or foods he wanted to try. One day, he thought, when he was old enough to understand everything all by himself, he’d answer all of his own questions.

There was a nagging fear that hung around his neck though, that there might be some questions he’d never be able to figure out, despite being ten years old or sixteen years old or maybe even thirty, like Tsumiki’s mother. He desperately wanted to ask when his father was coming home, because after a month of hovering beside the front door, waiting for familiar heavy steps, he was stumped.

His father had never been gone that long. Not out of any love or obligation towards Megumi, because even when his father was there, he didn’t look at Megumi. And when he did, he almost always flinched away, like it hurt to look for too long. But Megumi knew that his father loved Tsumiki’s mother. In some way.

Maybe not in the way he saw his friends’ parents love each other. He never saw any of them wear the same smirk his dad plastered on his face. Never saw his father bring home jewels or flowers or anything sparkly or wrapped up in a bow. But he just knew. He could see it in his father’s eyes. Which is why he really didn’t understand why his father hadn’t come home yet. Was starting to wonder if maybe his love had fallen away again, smashed into pieces like it clearly did with Megumi.

He really, really wanted to ask what was supposed to happen with him if his father never came back. Really, really wanted to know if Tsumiki’s mother was going to give him to someone else, or if he was going to be allowed to stay with the two of them. He didn’t want to leave. Not at all. He liked the smell of vanilla and the way Tsumiki’s mother let them watch TV until the sun climbed back up into the sky and the way they didn’t have bedtimes and the way Tsumiki always pressed a kiss to his head before she left for school.

He didn’t ask those questions. Instead, peering down at the bottle he asked, “Why?”

“Because it smells nice,” Tsumiki’s mother said with a soft shrug, bending down to sit on the kitchen floor before she beckoned him her way, lightly pulling him onto her lap. “And it’s much cheaper than perfume.”

He giggled then, because the recognisable smell of vanilla suddenly hit him. He hadn’t realised that this whole time, he was smelling Tsumiki and her mother. Of course, they smelled like sugar. He was pretty convinced they were made of the stuff. All sparkly and sweet. For a while, as a child, Megumi was obsessed with both anything dusted in sugar, and his older sister whose eyes sparkled when she smiled.

“Me?” he asked sheepishly, shifting around to blink up at the woman holding him.

“Alright,” she laughed, smiling softly before she pressed a damp finger behind the curve of his ear. “There you go! Now you smell sweet enough to eat!” Giggling, Megumi had spluttered as she pretended to bite him, ruffling his hair as she blew raspberries along his neck. Tsumiki ended up joining in, and the bottle was accidentally toppled out of the older woman’s hands, tumbling to the floor.

It lay there, forgotten and slowly seeping out into the tiles, as the children squealed with joy in the woman’s arms.

Years later, Megumi’s endless pit of curious questions have disappeared. If he ever thought about it, he’d probably realise that those questions, about the ducks and the sashimi and the colourful picture books and the Beatles, all faded into meaninglessness the same night him and Tsumiki found her mother’s letter.

It was the same night he stopped waiting for his father to come home, and as the days and weeks and years ticked by, as he grew up and started questioning more important, more vital things, he forgot what his dad even looked like. Forgot what Tsumiki’s mother sounded like. Forgot what his own mother’s singing was like.

The only thing that persisted was the smell of vanilla. Tsumiki never stopped wearing it, although when Gojo’s money found its way into their hands, she swapped out the extract for expensive perfume. It still made Megumi smile, when she enveloped him in a hug before school and he caught the smell of it in her hair, on her clothes. It would stick to him sometimes, Gojo commenting on the fact that the Fushiguro siblings always smelt like fresh baking every time he visited.

Then Tsumiki fell asleep, and the smell of vanilla was swapped out again, this time for antiseptic cleaning supplies and the lavender scent of the shampoo the hospital used.

Megumi got used to it. He tried, at the start, to fight it off. The same way he used his sword to slice at curses, he brought along Tsumiki’s perfume bottle every time he visited the hospital. He would spray her neck, and her wrists, the same way he used to watch her do herself. It wasn’t as graceful as before; he wasn’t as dainty as Tsumiki was with it. But at least she was almost like her old self again. Just asleep.

But then the perfume ran out, and Megumi dropped onto the bed with a sigh, cradling the empty bottle. He couldn’t bring himself to buy another one, because it wouldn’t be Tsumiki’s. She wouldn’t have touched a new bottle. She wouldn’t have picked it out and bought it with Gojo’s credit card. It would be a step too far in the delusion that even Megumi couldn’t follow.

So, his sister smelled like lavender and anti-septic and hospital bed sheets and a little less like herself with each passing day. Megumi was fine with it. He was accustomed to it now.

It was hard to be a Jujutsu sorcerer and not get used to the smell of wounds and rubbing alcohol. Megumi doesn’t think he’d ever smelled it before Gojo had showed up and snatched him into this world of blood and guts and sinew. Doesn’t think normal kids know which type of solution is best for disinfecting wounds, or which kind of bleach is best for scrubbing your own blood out of your uniform. Which type of flowers last the longest in hospital-issued vases.

Today, he’s sat in the waiting room with a bouquet of orange hydrangeas gripped in his fingers. Not great on the wilting scale admittedly, but Nobara had ambushed him before he left that morning with them. He couldn’t exactly say no when she handed them over, telling him she’d heard about his sister and hoped she got better soon.

Honestly, f*ck Maki and her big mouth around someone she’s gotten it into her head she likes. Megumi remembers it happening when Yuuta had shown up for the first time. Somehow, the guy had known everything about everyone. Well, he’d known everything Maki had just coincidentally known about everyone. Had gone around asking Megumi everything about his sister and his cursed technique and Weezer, despite Megumi never once talking to him about any of the above.

It was around that time; he had finally managed to get a hit on Maki in training. He’d wholly taken advantage of it to smack her roughly with his polearm, hissing at her to stop talking about his private business with her stupid little crush.

That had been a mistake. A disastrous one, that had ended up with a bruise viciously blossoming across his face and Maki insanely pissed at him. For some reason unknown to Megumi, Inumaki had also been pissed at him after the whole thing for a while. He’d somehow ended up dragged into their year group’s drama, and he hadn’t even been enrolled in the damned school at the time. It was the last time he ever made the mistake of inserting himself in a social situation like that.

Tsumiki doesn’t even like the colour orange, but he’d kept that to himself because Nobara had looked so pleased with herself, thanking her before he trudged down to the car that was waiting to take him to the hospital. He’d been under the impression he’d be visiting alone. Turns out, the adults in his life disagreed with that.

Now, he’s sitting, flowers already drooping in his hands, next to Nanami. Who looks irritatingly calm about this entire scenario.

“This wasn’t necessary,” he grits out, trying his best to stay polite to one of the few people he respects.

He’s known Nanami longer than anyone from Jujutsu society – apart from Gojo and Shoko, who he can’t remember not knowing at this point. For the past five years, Nanami has somehow been inserted into his life. While Megumi generally likes to keep the number of people he knows down to a minimum, because then there’s less scope for f*cking it all up, he’s glad he knows Nanami.

Mostly because he’s more responsible than Gojo and Shoko tenfold. He’s the only one out of the three of them who knew anything about having a relatively normal life. Something Megumi still thinks he could do with some help at.

“How the hell have you two brought up children?” Nanami had asked a week after meeting Megumi and Tsumiki. Nose crinkling in horror after watching Gojo speed through Tsumiki’s homework for her, his chicken scratch starkly different from Tsumiki’s lovely handwriting. And brows furrowing after listening to Shoko’s classic spiel to Megumi, detailing how she had cheated her way through university, so it didn’t really matter if he handed in his biology project in time.

“Two polite children at that,” Nanami had added, arms protectively around the Fushiguro siblings as he guided them away from the two other adults. Well, they definitely hadn’t been adults at the time – only twenty-three, but Megumi had counted everyone over the age of twenty as halfway to death at that time. And honestly, in their field of work, he doesn’t think he was wrong to think that.

“Tch,” Megumi had rolled his eyes, snatching up his project from Shoko’s grasp. That’s what he got for trying to ask a doctor to help him for help on a goddamn biology project. “I’m only polite cause Miki raised me. Not those two morons.”

“Right, well,” Nanami had nodded sagely, as if that made more sense. “I can help you both with your school work from now on.” That night, Megumi had found his very limited contact list extended – Nanami’s phone number blinking up at him. “Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need help with your education, alright? Gojo-san and Ieiri-san never had to try at school. They just copied Get-their classmate’s answers.”

Somehow, over the years, the offer to help with their schoolwork had moulded into Nanami cooking dinner sometimes and driving Tsumiki to her friends’ houses when no one else could, and training with Megumi when no one else would. He’d also helped Gojo out a lot when the whole Zenin incident had happened as soon as Megumi turned twelve.

So, Nanami was someone Megumi owed a whole lot to. He was also someone Megumi respected, because he wasn’t an idiot like Gojo, and he wasn’t apathetic like Shoko.

But really, Nanami is now on a thin, fraying line. And Megumi is one glance away from melting into the shadows in a desperate attempt to escape this entire situation.

He’s still not properly figured out how to wield his shadows in the same way as his shikigami. Whereas he can command his dogs to his will, the shadows are a trickier sort of pet. Constantly surrounding him but also constantly slipping through his fingers, refusing to play along.

He thinks if he tried to order them around, the shadows might swallow him whole and refuse to spit him back out. But as he glances up at Nanami, watching as the man shoots him a soft look that Gojo would never be able to pull off, he thinks that maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’m capable of coming here alone,” he elaborates, because Nanami is just staring at him. Tengen knows he’s been trudging along to the hospital on his own for a year now.

“I know you are, Megumi-kun,” Nanami nods, throwing him that sort of half smile that he likes to use on the Fushiguro siblings. Not a full smile, because Megumi doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nanami smile properly before, but not the same tight press of his lips that he sends Gojo and Shoko’s way.

“I’m not accompanying you for your sake,” he continues. A lie. Megumi shuffles on the uncomfortable waiting room chair. A complete lie. He just doesn’t understand why Nanami’s trying to join him on his hospital visits all of a sudden. It’s clearly not his idea, because Nanami would never willingly do anything like this of his own accord. It must have something to do with Gojo - because it always does. Gojo is physically incapable of keeping himself to himself.

Megumi will figure Gojo’s bullsh*t out though. The older man’s not nearly half as sly as he thinks he is. And Megumi always figures Gojo’s sh*t out. He’s like an expert on it now.

“I’m just coming along because I’d like to visit Tsumiki-chan. It’s been too long,” he adds, eyes darting away from Megumi as he trains them onto the linoleum floor. “And I apologise for that.”

“Don’t say sorry to me,” Megumi shrugs, resting the flowers on his lap so he can fold his arms tightly into his chest. “I don’t give a damn who comes here. I’d tell you to say sorry to Tsumiki but it’s not like she’d be able to hear you anyway.”

Nanami blinks at that, brows furrowing before he nods, sincere in everything he does. He’s the complete opposite to Gojo in that way. It’s like whiplash, having these two as the supposedly most responsible people in his life.

He’s half convinced every single thing that comes out of Gojo’s mouth is bullsh*t, layered between false enthusiasm and amusem*nt and poisoned with a bitterness he’s never been able to shake the entire time Megumi’s known him. And every time Nanami speaks, Megumi feels like he’s being lectured by the most earnest teacher he’s ever met. Except for the fact that Nanami isn’t actually a teacher, and he knows that the man hates Jujutsu and everything that it stands for. He’s heard Nanami explicitly say so.

“Fushiguro-kun?” Megumi steps up as soon as the nurse pokes her head out of Tsumiki’s room. “You can both come in now,” she smiles softly, beckoning them forward. Nodding stiffly, Megumi follows her, Nanami’s footsteps heavy behind him.

Like he’s been doing for the past year now, Megumi instinctively holds his breath before he takes a step over the threshold, eyes falling onto his sister easily. His palms are red, fingers rubbed raw from where he practically doused the hospital issued hand sanitiser all over them. It’s stupid, he knows it is, of course he does – but he somehow got it into his head that if he doesn’t practically disinfect himself head to toe before he visits, he might bring in something infectious. She might get worse. He might pass her something, and she’ll get worse, and then she’ll be gone.

He knows it’s stupid. But he can’t help notice the pattern. He’s always tried to be logical like that. Three things make a pattern. He remembered that from junior high at least. Despite Shoko and Gojo’s goading, some things stuck. Three makes a pattern.

One – his mother. He can’t remember anything about her. All he has is her name, forever embroidered onto his own. He can’t remember what his mother looked like, can’t remember what she sounded like. Can’t remember the feeling of her tucking his face into her neck. All he has is her name, tattooed onto every homework sheet he handed in, every form he’s ever submitted. Worn into his throat every time he introduces himself.

Two – his dad. Gone without a trace. He left his mug behind, stained with black coffee dregs and Tsumiki’s mother’s lipstick mark. He left his clothes behind, with all their patched up holes. He left Megumi behind, four years old and forever stuck waiting at the front door, or curled at the bottom of his father’s closet.

Three – Tsumiki’s mother. Like his own father, Megumi is pretty sure she’s dead. He thinks this is worse. The not knowing. At least he knows his mother isn’t going to reappear one day. He doesn’t think Tsumiki has ever stopped hoping her own mother would appear back into their lives, smelling like vanilla and running her fingers through their hair like she used to.

Everyone Megumi has ever dared try and love has inevitably left. If he’s being honest with himself, everyone he has ever tried to love has ended up dying. Dying somewhere far, far away from him. Died without a proper goodbye.

Tsumiki never said goodbye either.

If he was normal, he’d maybe think he was cursed or something. But he isn’t normal, he is a Jujutsu sorcerer, so he knows for a fact that he must be cursed.

“Megumi-kun,” Nanami says softly, a stern hand dropping onto his shoulder. It snaps him out of his reverie, tearing his eyes away from his sister to look up at the older man. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I’m just tired,” he excuses himself, stepping out from Nanami’s hand to circle around to the other side of Tsumiki’s bed. Carefully, he scoops up the old flowers from the vase on the side table and replaces them with Nobara’s bouquet. Dropping down onto the seat beside Tsumiki, he blinks down at the flowers in his hands.

They’re orchids, not even close to wilting yet. Knuckles strangled with white, he sighs. “I guess Gojo was here recently then,” he says to Tsumiki, biting his lip. She doesn’t respond, obviously. Never does. She lies on the hospital bed peacefully, brown hair fanned out around her like an angel. But the doctors had told him that she could maybe hear him. He thinks that might be bullsh*t, but he’s not willing to bet against it. Not willing to bet against his big sister.

“Bet these cost a stupid amount,” he clicks his tongue. He can always tell whenever Gojo’s dropped by.

At the start, when Gojo was clearly feeling guilty about never being able to visit Tsumiki with him, he would leave boxes of chocolates with the nurses to give to him.

He turned them down every time, telling the nurses they could have them. They would coo and smile softly, saying how cute Megumi and his dad were. Megumi never had the heart to correct them, especially when they would hand him the little notes Gojo used to write him, doodles and little poems and jokes he clearly wrote while sitting with Tsumiki.

Gojo doesn’t leave chocolate anymore, but Megumi can always tell if he’s dropped by because of the fresh bouquet sitting beside his sister. Sometimes a half-finished crossword will be abandoned on the edge of the bed, Gojo clearly giving up and electing to instead draw all over the puzzle. Sometimes Gojo forgets a sweater or gloves or a scarf. When he does, Megumi normally takes them when he leaves, and drops them back into Gojo’s office at the school.

But sometimes, he’ll tenderly prop his sister up, and shimmy Gojo’s sweater over the hospital pyjamas she wears. The jumpers are always far too big for her, considering Gojo is stupidly tall, and Tsumiki has lost a considerable amount of weight since she fell asleep. But they look kinda cute on her. Like when they were little again, stealing Gojo’s clothes and giggling into the sleeves pooling around their tiny limbs. Make Megumi’s heart ache a little less.

“I don’t think he’s ever spent a reasonable amount on anything at all,” Megumi laughs half-heartedly. “You should see how much he’s giving to the new girl to spend.” He falters as Nanami stands beside the window, leaning on the wall as he very pointedly looks outside, giving Megumi and his sister a sliver of privacy. Not that Megumi minds, he knows Tsumiki probably can’t hear him. And it’s not like he really ever tells her anything important. He’d rather wait until she wakes up to tell her the things that matter.

“She’s the one that gave me these flowers to give to you,” he adds. “I think you’d like her. You’d probably get along a lot better than me and her do. Not that that would be hard. Y’know how I get around new people.” He exhales slowly. “But she loves spending Gojo’s money too. And gossiping with Maki. You’d fit in real well with them all.”

“It’s a shame you weren’t the one born a sorcerer,” he murmurs. “Sometimes I think you’d do a much better job than me.”

“Megumi-kun.” His head snaps up at Nanami’s voice, meeting a soft frown. Nanami’s looking at him all weird, and Megumi can’t help but shoot up to his feet, skin writhing under the older man’s gaze. “You-”

“I’m going to go get some coffee,” Megumi cuts him off, thinking that whatever Nanami’s about to say might make him want to throw himself out of the third-floor window. “You can sit with her for a while. I’ll be back soon.”

Before Nanami can say anything else, he’s up and out of the door. Still holding Gojo’s orchids to his chest. Breathing ragged, he drops his back against the hallway wall, head up to the ceiling. f*ck. Now Nanami’s going to think there’s something wrong with him, he thinks sourly. He’s going to prod and pry and tell Gojo who is also now going to prod and pry until Megumi gets so wound up he shouts at him and Gojo falters like he always does, like he wasn’t expecting that even though-

“Nice flowers.”

Nose crinkling, Megumi swipes his eyes downwards. To meet familiar brown eyes.

“Hey Fushiguro,” Itadori smiles widely, dimples creasing.

“Hi,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth, dropping his head slightly to get a better look at the boy stood in front of him. “What’re you doing here?” It comes out more accusatory than he means for it too, but Itadori doesn’t even flinch. Just smiles wider actually, amusem*nt painted all over his handsome face. This guy is so weird.

“Visiting a couple people,” Itadori shrugs, hands slouched in his pockets. “Doing the rounds, I suppose.”

“Alright,” Megumi nods jerkily, because he has no idea what he’s supposed to say now. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone doing the rounds at a hospital before. “Are they alright?” he asks, and then instantly curses himself because obviously not. Obviously not. They’re stood in a hospital, for f*cks sake.

But Yuji just waves his hand in the air in a so, so motion. “Well, some of the rounds include my friends. Who aren’t usually here. They’re from the occult club – remember I told you about that thing they had on?”

Megumi nods. Even if Itadori hadn’t told him, it would’ve been impossible for him and Nobara to miss it that night. Idiot kids trying to play around with Sukuna’s finger. They had barely been able to get Itadori’s friends out of there.

If Gojo hadn’t showed up, they would’ve been dead. Megumi thinks there’s a solid chance him and Nobara would also have wound up dead. An involuntary shudder runs down his back at the idea of dying in a high school. He doesn’t even know what bullsh*t reasoning Gojo and Ichiji came up with this time to cover for them. Hasn’t even seen Gojo since that night. The guy hasn’t even responded to Megumi’s texts since that night.

He'll figure out Gojo's sh*t though.

“Well, there was like some crazy sort of gas leak at the school or something. They got pretty banged up, but they should be fine.”

“Oh really?” Megumi asks, brows raised in false horror. If only it had been a gas leak. “Crazy,” he whistles. The image of the curses going feral in an attempt to snatch up Sukuna’s finger is imprinted in his mind. The image of a curse trying to tear of Nobara’s arm as she screams, blood trickling down her face, new uniform torn to shreds. Gojo appearing, teleporting into the middle of it all to save them, one blast from Blue saving their lives.

“Yeah,” Itadori nods, smile dropping slightly. “I mean…I just keep thinking about how I was supposed to be there, y’know?” he says, dropping his gaze from Megumi’s. “I feel like-I mean I don’t-I know it’s stupid, but I feel like if I had just been there-”

“You couldn’t have done anything to help,” Megumi cuts in. He couldn’t even do anything to help Itadori’s friends. And that’s literally the one thing he’s supposed to be able to do. If Itadori had been there, he probably would have just made the situation worse. It’s much easier to deal with civilians when there’s less of them. And Itadori doesn’t seem the type who would just move to the side when there’s a dangerous situation.

“It was a gas leak, Itadori-kun. You couldn’t have possible prevented that,” he elaborates when Itadori frowns sadly. “You would’ve just ended up hurt as well.”

“Yeah, I know,” he nods, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “Like logically I know that. But in here,” he trails off as he taps his fist against his heart. “I feel guilty, I guess.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Megumi clicks his tongue. Itadori’s eyes sweep back up to Megumi’s, and a flash of hurt passes over them before he smiles. Oh f*ck. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. He tries to think about what Tsumiki would’ve said in this situation, but Itadori is already speaking again, back to how he was before. But guilt still unfurls in Megumi’s chest, spreading across his ribs.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He blinks in surprise when Megumi holds out the bouquet of orchids. “You’re giving these to me?” he asks, lips quirking upwards as he takes them, fingers brushing Megumi’s for a brief moment.

“Well, you said you were doing the rounds,” he shrugs in a desperate and slightly pathetic attempt at nonchalance. “You can give them to one of your friends. Or something.”

“Ah,” Itadori nods, laughing slightly. But he’s looking down at the flowers like they maybe mean something. Like they mean more than the cash Gojo forked over at some random florist in a train station before he teleported across the country to see Tsumiki. Even though they’re not fresh, and are maybe wilting just a little bit, Itadori’s eyes are crinkling with something caught between amusem*nt and awe at the sight of them.

“Well, my last appointment for the day is my grandpa. And he kinda hates flowers so-”

“So you should just keep them,” Megumi says quickly. He can’t take them back now. He was just going to throw them in the bin anyway. He didn’t even buy them, his moronic guardian did for his unconscious sister, probably because they were the most expensive ones he could buy. They look far nicer in Itadori’s hands than they did in Megumi’s.

He doesn’t say any of that though, because that would be crazy, and he thinks he’s getting better at this whole conversation thing.

“Okay,” Itadori nods. “I will. I’ll put them in a vase in my room. It’ll liven up the place. Thanks, Fushiguro.”

“Whatever,” Megumi splutters slightly, heat prickling at his cheeks. “I should probably…” he trails off as he awkwardly juts his thumb in the direction of Tsumiki’s room.

“Yeah sure,” Itadori nods, shooting Megumi a little wave, and if that isn’t the cutest f*cking thing he’s ever seen. “See you around. And thanks again,” he adds, swishing the flowers through the air.

Barely managing to choke out a goodbye, Megumi practically stumbles back into Tsumiki’s room, feeling wearier than he ever has fighting a curse. Nanami looks at him curiously, arching one brow before he asks, “Where’s the coffee?”

They don’t stay for much longer, given that Tsumiki is in a coma, and there isn’t even really any point visiting in the first place. Leaving together, Megumi can’t help but feel relived as they step out of the building, the fresh air brushing up against his face. Whenever he’s not here, back at the school or out on a mission or messing around at Gojo’s place, he misses Tsumiki. Misses his sister so much it hurts.

Like he’s walking around with an old wound, seeping out blood and staining everything he touches.

But when he’s with her, looking down at his sister who doesn’t laugh like his sister or smile like his sister or chastise him like his sister or even f*cking blink like his sister…sometimes that feels worse than not being with her at all. It’s a sh*tty choice, living with grief for someone who isn’t dead or living with a burning frustration because there’s nothing he can even do to help.

“Fushiguro!”

Glancing over his shoulder, Megumi’s eyes widen as Itadori comes barrelling out of building after him. He’s still holding the flowers. “I completely forgot to ask before but can I get like your number or something? What if we never bump into each other again?”

Biting down on his tongue, because for some reason his instant reaction is to ask why Itadori would even need his number, he nods. The other boy breaks into a breathless chuckle before he forks his phone out of his pocket, passing it over to Megumi with a new contact.

“You’re still holding the flowers,” he comments without looking up from Itadori’s phone.

“Well yeah,” Itadori says like it’s obvious, grinning down at the screen when Megumi passes back his phone. “I don’t want to put them in my bag. They’ll get crushed. Look, I’ve really got to get back to my grandpa – I totally ditched him when I realised, I’d forgotten again to ask for your number. But I’ll text you, alright?”

Megumi is expecting him to run off, but Itadori hesitates, eyes widening. “Alright,” Megumi nods in agreement when he realises the other boy is actually waiting for an answer. “You’ll text me.”

And with that, Itadori is running back into the hospital, orchid petals trailing behind him, drifting down onto the pavement.

He doesn’t realise he’d completely forgot Nanami was even there until he turns around and comes face to face with the guy, lips parted in shock and looking down at Megumi like he doesn’t recognise him.

“Who the hell was that?”

Chapter 4: Burnt Omurice

Chapter Text

09/08/2018 - 16:23

UNRECOGNISED NUMBER

[16:23] img file: Picture of a pigeon on the street, a man’s hand posing the peace sign in front of it.

[16:24] look at this pigeon i found!!

[19:01] img file: Picture of a bouquet of orchids in a chipped glass.

[19:02] told u theyd spruce up the plaec

They look nice. [19:03]

[19:03] ah!!! so he can respond w(°ｏ°)w

I didn’t know it was you at first. [19:03]

The pigeon should’ve maybe been a giveaway though. [19:04]

[19:04] I said id text u

[19:05] y?? no one else is sending you pigeon pics??

I was waiting for your message I just didn’t [not sent]

Well, Ik it’s you now. [19:07]

[19:08] hell yeah u do dude

[19:08] now i can get a response when I send sick pictures (＾▽＾)

Sure. [19:08]

Maybe send something cooler than a bird next time. [19:15]

[19:15] birds are cool af

[19:16] but ill see what I can cook up for u fushiguro

16/08/2018 - 06:00

ALARM STOPPED

Itadori

[06:02] this maths hw is kicking my ass rn

[06:04] i can’t believe someone kept me up so late last night that i forgot to do it (-_-)

I literally told you to go to sleep multiple times. [06:04]

Sounds like a skill issue. [06:04]

[06:05] ur so mean to me fushiguro!!!

[06:05] hey whyre you even up so early

[06:05] isnt a positive of boarding school supposed to be no early morning commuting??

I like to eat breakfast early. [06:05]

Why’re you up? Surely it doesn’t take two hours to get to school. [06:06]

And you’ve never texted this early before. [06:06]

[06:07] well normally im busy at this time on my morning run

[06:07] but see the above message where it says someone kept me up all night and distracted me from ‘solving linear equations and inequalities’

That’s not even hard. [06:08]

You’re just a moron. [06:08]

TYPING…

Send a picture of the work. [06:08]

[06:08] I was just kidding around – u dont gotta do my hw for me dude

It’s not like I’m doing anything right now. It’s too wet here to go on my morning run. [06:09]

It can be in exchange for keeping you up. [06:10]

Because apparently a sixteen-year-old boy needs to go to sleep at 9pm. [06:10]

[06:11] img file: A sheet of paper with five math equations written down. There are more doodles of cats than numbers.

[06:11] i need my beauty sleep fushiguro

[06:11] and seriously if the qs r too hard for u or whatever its chill dw about it

img file: five solved math solutions written on the back page of a Tolstoy book. [06:21]

There, now you can stay up late again tonight without complaining. [06:21]

[06:22] f*ck ur so smart fushiguro

[06:22] like crazy smart

It was whatever. They weren’t that hard. It’s fine. [06:23]

I could help you some other time if you wanted. [06:23]

[06:24] I don’t want u to do my hw for me just cause im dumb man

[06:24] uve probs got your own sh*t due

I’m not offering to do it all for you. [06:25]

But we could study together sometime. [06:25]

Only if you wanted to. [06:25]

It would help me out too. Ik you’re better at Language and Literature than me [06:25]

[06:26] that would be v sick!!!

[06:35] have a great day fushiguro (o^▽^o)

You too, Itadori. [06:36]

17/08/2018 - 11:47

Itadori

[11:47] img file: A screenshot of a recipe for omurice.

[11:47] u mentioned the other day that you can't cook for sh*t

[11:47] so have my trust omurice recipe

[11:48] liteerally impossible to f*ck up

Watch me still f*ck it up. [11:54]

[11:54] dude im telling u its impossible

[11:54] if you do tho, ig u'll just have to come over to mine and ill show u how to do it

Ok, bet. [11:55]

18/08/2018 - 13:23

Itadori

[13:23] wtv happened to u joining a team at my skl?

[13:23] figured id see u around here some time again

I just decided against it I guess. [14:05]

[14:06] y

The school year's been busier than I thought it would be. [14:06]

[14:07] w hw and sh*t??

Yeah, totally. Homework takes up a lot of our time. [14:07]

[14:07] I feel that man if I have one more science project to do I might scream (`皿´＃)

[14:07] maybe ill drop out

And do what? [14:08]

[14:08] switch to ur skl

[14:08] that would be cool right?

[14:08] and wed actually get to see each other and hang out and stuff

[14:08] not just text

I like texting you. [14:23]

But yeah, I guess it would be pretty cool if it were possible. [14:23]

[14:24] yeah

[14:25] if only my family were regligious millionaires

*religious [14:25]

And I'm not a millionaire. [14:25]

[14:26] yeah sure (￢‿￢ )

[14:26] u just happen to have the newest phone and laptop

I didn't buy them myself. [14:27]

[14:28] trust fund bb

[14:28] next time I see u ur buying me a drink

Alright. [14:29]

20/08/2018 - 22:04

- 2 MISSED CALLS FROM: Gojo -

- 1 MESSAGE FROM: Kugisaki (new student) -

what do you want sensei to order in for dinner dumbass??

Itadori Yuuji

How was the film? [22:04]

[22:10] so cool omg!!!!!

[22:10] junpei didn't think it was good as the other ones in the series but I thought it was sick

Is that who you went to see it with? [22:11]

[22:11] yeah I just met him the other day but hes p cool

[22:11] a bit shy but nice enough

[22:12] hes like the only person ive ever met who likes the same kinda films as me

[22:12] everyone else i asked to go said no

[22:12] apparently people aren't that big into the human earthworm franchise ┐(￣ヘ￣;)┌

You didn't ask me. [22:13]

I would've gone with you. [22:13]

[22:14] last night u were talking about how much u dont like films

[22:14] remember? u said u couldn't concentrate on a screen for that long

[22:14] and that movie tix are stupidly expensive

[22:14] and that they cant capture emotion as well as books can

Yeah, okay I remember. [22:15]

But that doesn't matter. I still would've gone with you. If you wanted. [22:15]

[22:16] rly?

I'm sure if you had a good time, I would've had a good time with you. [22:16]

[22:16] what happened to u not being able to sneak off campus

I'm sure I could manage it. [22:17]

[22:17] ok ill ask u next time I wanna see a film

[22:17] and if ure serious abt sneaking out...

What? [22:18]

[22:18] ive been thinking

Shocker. [22:19]

[22:19] asshole

[22:10] im not gonna ask anymore

Sorry. Ask me. Please. [22:11]

[22:11] well I go on a run every morning...and u go on a run every morning...

Yeah. [22:12]

[22:12] we should just go tg and keep each other company

Yeah, alright. [22:20]

Sounds fun :) [22:20]

25/08/2018 - 10:18

Yuuji

img file: A picture of a pigeon on a sidewalk lamp street. [10:18]

[10:20] 10/10 pigeon pic

26/08/2018 - 11:23

- 1 MESSAGE FROM: Kugisaki (new student) -

YO! me and Maki are going over that essay Kusakabe set everyone - you wanna work on yours w us?

Yuuji

[11:23] yk, ur a lot slower at running than I thought ud be Fushiguro („• ᴗ •„)

Stfu. [11:24]

[11:24] same time same place tomoz?

Yeah, obviously. [11:25]

27/08/2018 - 03:43

Yuuji

Everything feels so warm and soft when im talking to you [not sent]

I think I like you [not sent]

Like way too much [not sent]

f*ck do you like me too [not sent]

Sometimes I think you do [not sent]

Sometimes I think you throw on Apex on purpose just so I can win [not sent]

I let you in on a secret tho, I throw to let you win you don’t grow up with Gojo Satoru as your guardian without learning how to beast any and every video game [not sent]

28/08/2018 - 17:56

Yuuji

[17:56] img file: A picture of a dog sleeping outside of a 7-Eleven. A man's hand is in the foreground, showing the camera a hotdog in his hands.

7/10 picture [18:01]

[18:02] tough crowd tn

No onions on a hotdog is also criminal, Itadori. [18:03]

[18:03] of cours u like onions fushiguro

[18:04] ur such a freak

[18:34] hop on Apex

Already on. Was waiting for you. [18:34]

[18:35] ready to get your ass kicked gumi??

Log onto the damn game, Itadori. [18:35]

*

For as much as Jujutsu Tech was allegedly a sorcerer high school, there was a lot of actual studying involved. With like book reports and exams and chemistry experiments and sh*t. Too much for Megumi’s liking. It was frustrating sometimes, when he and Yuuji would talk about homework, and he’d realise they really were being taught the same sh*t. Sometimes, they’d be given out the exact same exercises to do.

It was how he found out Gojo just stole work from other schools instead of making his own.

It was also irritating, because when he’d been a student at a normal school, Gojo had been full of it. ‘Oh there’s no need to learn times tables, Gumi-chan. It’ll come to you naturally when you’re older.’ ‘What’s the point in learning about history? Who cares if it happened in the past.’ ‘I’ve never seen a kid read so many boring, old books. Get out there and play outside. Pick up a video game, Gumi.’

He used to do Megumi and Tsumiki’s homework for them if they asked nicely enough or slid a bag of candy over his way. He would sometimes show up at their flat, randomly deciding to take them to a theme-park for the day, or teleport them to Paris, telling them that everyone deserved to skip school sometimes. The only time he was ever supportive or enthusiastic about school was when Tsumiki brought up maybe wanting to study physics at university. Then the guy went on a rant for the whole evening about his own research in metaphysics and his own cursed techniques.

“I don’t think I wanna do that anymore,” Tsumiki had whispered to Megumi as their guardian tacked another random equation that made no sense to them onto their wall.

And then one day, Gojo’s Megumi’s math and science teacher, as well as his Jujutsu sensei, and all of a sudden Megumi isn’t even allowed a day’s extension on a four-thousand-word report Gojo set two nights before. Bullsh*t.

He’s naturally smart, thank f*ck. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the sheer amount of work Gojo sets. Sometimes he thinks the man just gives him and Nobara so much sh*t to study so he doesn’t have to actually teach them anything himself. Sometimes he just leaves a note on their fridge telling them to join the second year’s class for a day or two while he’s gone. Kusakabe-sensei never really appreciates that, always sighing dramatically and rolling his eyes with a groan when the two of them show up in his classroom.

Because Kuksakabe can’t even be bothered teaching his actual students. Let alone Nobara and Megumi, who he actively calls a spoiled brat and a smartass respectively. After Megumi told Yaga that in passing, Kuksakabe switched his nickname to snitch.

At the start of the year, when Gojo had talked him through enrolling at the school, he’d been given the option to take an option Jujutsu history course. And because he’d been slightly desperate to show everyone that he could keep up, that he was just as smart as the rest of them if not smarter, he’d taken it.

Gojo had smirked, co*cking a brow as he watched Megumi add it to his timetable. “You sure, Gumi-chan?” he’d asked in that awful, condescending tone he’d perfected to a tee. “It adds extra to an already heavy workload.” And because being smart was all Megumi had, he’d ignored his guardian. It wasn’t like there had been anything else for him to do at the time anyway. He’d been so focused on proving himself to all of them.

He might’ve been discarded by his father, but that wasn’t anything to do with him. It wasn’t because he was weak, or slow, or stupid. Because he wasn’t any of those things – he was strong and fast and smart. Not only that, but he could be the strongest and the fastest and the smartest.

Irritatingly, all of those positions were filled before Megumi even started at Jujutsu Tech. The other kids had him beat in everything. And they all knew it.

He should’ve listened to Gojo. It had been fine at the beginning though. Interesting, even. Yaga taught the class, starting right back at the Heian period. Megumi learned the histories of the clans, ignoring the way the back of his neck burned every time Yaga would mention the Ten Shadows or the Zenins.

“Why’re you even taking this class?” Maki asked after their first lesson. It was only the two of them who took it. They sat beside each other, scrawling down notes as Yaga spoke, not acknowledging the other the entire time. “Hasn’t Gojo-sensei taught you everything?”

“I don’t know what you think my relationship is to Gojo,” Megumi had scowled, slamming his notebook closed. Harder than necessary, admittedly. “But I can assure you that idiot has never taught me anything useful in my life. Besides,” he’d added as he stood, chair leg scraping against the floor. “I think it’s probably best to learn the history of the clan who have tried to have me assassinated multiple times.”

He's pretty sure that was the day Maki stopped seeing him as some child who Gojo fawned over. There was some silent solidarity there, he realised as the weeks went on and he picked up more information about the girl here and there. They were family after all, in some way, despite neither of them sharing the same name as their blood.

He was the son who the Zenins wanted so desperately, they would kill to have. Maki was the daughter who the Zenins had discarded and abandoned, left to die alone.

So yeah, there was an unspoken…thing between the two of them.

Clearly Maki doesn’t respect it enough to help him out.

“Why not?” he sighs, bordering on pouting as the older girl just blinks at him. Their class just finished, Yaga leaving quickly after reminding them they have an essay due in two days. The man hadn’t seemed particularly worried about it, because Maki and Megumi are the only two students who seem to regularly hand in their work on time.

But Megumi’s life has all of a sudden gotten a bit wider than schoolwork. He’s drowning in thoughts of morning runs, two pairs of trainers hitting the concrete at the same time. Of crooked grins, and a tooth gap and creased dimples. Of hushed calls at night, Megumi trying his best to keep his voice down because Nobara’s room is right next to his. Sat at his window, Yuuji’s voice ringing out of his headphones as he talks about films Megumi has never seen and music Megumi has never listened to but thoughts and feelings and ideas that Megumi didn’t really think other people had too.

He's been so caught up in Itadori Yuuji that he’s completely forgot about everything else. All he can really focus on is sneaking off campus every morning, yanking on his running shorts and darting away before the sun rises. He’s been focused on running through conversations in his head before they happen, constantly worried about Yuuji realising Megumi isn’t the type of person he wants to hang out with.

So he tries to perfect as much as he can. Obviously, there are things out of his control. Like the way his hair sticks up like a goddamn sea urchin no matter how many times he tries to fry it. Like the way he somehow runs a lot slower than Yuuji does, despite having Gojo Satoru as a person trainer since the age of six. Like the way he can’t ever really hang out with Yuuji after their runs, because he still has all the obligations and responsibilities a teenage Jujutsu sorcerer does.

But there are things he can control. He can try his best to be funny, because his chest squeezes tightly when Yuuji laughs with him. Brown eyes painted with amusem*nt as he wheezes out, “You’re funny, Fushiguro. Damn.” He can try his best to bite his tongue, because while he doesn’t normally care about insulting his classmates, he doesn’t think he could bear upsetting Yuuji. He can Google the mangas Yuuji talks about in an attempt to sound like he knows what he’s talking about when the other boy brings it up.

He can lie his stupid little heart out. Because he knows what’s inevitable. This new friendship isn’t sustainable. He knows. He just quite likes pretending that it could be. Likes pretending, when he’s lying on the floor of his bedroom in the dead of night, stupid grin plastered on his face and thinking about Yuuji.

Likes pretending that Yuuji might also be lying on his own floor, long arms and legs spread out on a rug, thinking about Megumi in the same way.

Eventually something will go wrong. Realistically, Megumi will die in the next couple of years. It’s just the nature of the job. It’s the way it goes. And before he dies, he will most likely lose an arm or a leg or both.

Eventually, Yuuji and Megumi will run out of things in common. They will stop studying quadratic equations and Meiji literature. Yuuji will go off to university and get a job and marry someone beautiful and throw his kids over his shoulder. Megumi will fight curses until he can’t anymore. Megumi will kill curses until one inevitably kills him.

He’d rather let Yuuji go before any of that happens. Would rather it be his own choice, of his own volition. Would rather let go of his friend himself before Yuuji is snatched out of his hands forever.

For now, though, he’s going to keep it. He’s going to keep Itadori Yuuji all to himself for as long as he possibly can. Doesn’t think he can give up the way Yuuji makes him feel. Can’t give up that feeling he gets every morning now. Walking up all those stairs back to the school, the sky painted with the sleepy orange streaks of the sun. The cool air whispering over his skin, breathing a slight pant because Yuuji makes his heart tread faster than the run itself does.

He likes liking Yuuji. Likes the idea that Yuuji might possibly like him back. He likes smiling.

Likes walking back to school every morning with his head down because the smile, Yuuji, all of it, is just for him and he would rather die than share it with anyone.

All of this has however, potentially, taken a toll on his schoolwork. Exhibit A – the forgotten essay. All he has is a blank sheet of paper, his name and the question printed out at the top.

“Because this isn’t my problem?” Maki shrugs, rolling her eyes before she starts off towards the training pitch, ponytail swishing behind her.

“Do you want me to say please?” he hisses as he chases after her. “Is that it?”

“I mean,” she hesitates, scanning over him before her lips quirk up into a smile. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Please, Maki-senpai,” he pleads, widening his eyes. “Please help me with my history essay.”

Tapping her chin, she lets him stew in it for a moment before she jerks her head. “Nope. But that was cute, Fushiguro.”

“Maki!” he protests, fingers digging in his hair. “I’ll owe you one, alright? I don’t even want to copy you or anything, just let me look at your essay plan. Or your notes. Please?”

“It’s not like you to be behind on work,” she comments as they walk down the steps towards the field. Panda, Inumaki and Nobara are already there, polearms gripped in their hands as they warm up. “Is something wrong?” she asks, tone a miniscule kinder as she glances over at him.

“I’m-I mean-everything’s fine,” he grits out, pointedly trying not to imagine Yuuji’s face. Flushed red and grinning, hair slicked back with sweat as he lightly runs in front of Megumi, goading at him to keep up. “I’m just tired,” he says. Pathetically.

Maki seems to think so too, snorting with amusem*nt. “Then no. You can’t have my notes. Go to bed earlier, idiot. Manage your time better. Schedule your-”

“f*ck,” he breathes out, snatching up a training sword as he stalks over to Nobara. “I didn’t ask for a self-help lecture, Maki.”

“Don’t talk to your senpai like that, Fushiguro,” Nobara snaps as she turns to the two of them. Maki grins, the way she always does when anyone tries to simper up to her. Which is most of the students to be honest. He thinks everyone’s a little bit scared of her. He can’t comprehend why, because they’ve all seen her toss over a Monopoly board in a tantrum once. Doesn’t get how you could be scared of someone who gets that upset over the integrity of a board game.

Rolling his eyes in response, he signals for Inumaki to swap out with him, dropping down into a fighting stance in front of his classmate. As the two of them ready up to spar, the three second years shuffle off to the side to watch, hopping up onto the fence.

“No cursed techniques!” Panda calls over to them, waving a furry hand. Megumi clicks his tongue in irritation as Nobara holds back a grimace. She can’t fight in general combat for sh*t yet, and normally, Megumi would be able to have her eating sh*t in a couple of moves. But it’s only nine in the morning, and he’s already kinda tired out from his run with Yuuji.

Shaking his head a little bit, he tries his best to throw all thoughts of the boy out of his head. If he’s caught up thinking about the guy he might be a little caught up in, he’ll put himself at a disadvantage. And he’s not going to let Nobara win a spar against him. His pride would never recover, and she’d never let it go.

“Stop throwing me under the bus in an attempt to flirt with Maki,” he sighs as Nobara runs at him, a dramatic feral grin painted on her face. Her hair is pinned back in two plaits, swinging viciously through the air as she practically leaps onto him. He manages to dodge her easily, gliding to the side as her polearm swishes down with a hum.

“I’m surprised you even know what flirting is,” she smirks, rolling the weapon in her wrist as they start circling each other. “I don’t think you’d know what to do with yourself if a pretty woman like myself talked to you.”

A weak laugh falls from his lips and Nobara’s manicured eyebrows fly up in response. “I think I could handle it.” As the words leave his mouth, they’re accompanied by the sounds of their weapons meeting in the air. Megumi’s sword scrapes off wood shavings from Nobara’s polearm, before she’s snatching it back and stepping away from him quickly.

She’s gotten a lot faster, over the last few weeks. She moves gracefully now. Elegantly, like the branches of a willow tree swaying over the water.

“You a dancer, Nobara-san?” Gojo had asked the second week into term. The two first years had been eating lunch with their teacher, a copious amount of takeout boxes sat between them. Ginger sauce was stuck on Megumi’s fingers, and he was struggling to wipe it off with a napkin when Gojo spoke up.

They were outside, the Tuesday afternoon sun coating their skin. Megumi was the only one sat at the picnic table, Nobara and Gojo lounging on the grass. It was warm enough that their three jackets were discarded on the bench, dropped on top of each other. Gojo had grass stains painted across the back of his white shirt, but he didn’t seem to care, head leaning back in his arms as he stared up at the sky. Nobara was sat up beside him, her plate next to Megumi, laden with more food than she’d ever actually finish.

She shook her head in response, stabbing her chopstick into a gyoza. “Why?” she asked, blinking as she sat up a bit straighter. “Do I look like one?” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she simpered at Gojo. Grimacing, Megumi snatched up the food she’d abandoned at the first chance of talking about herself. “I’ve always thought that-”

“No,” Gojo shook his head, talking around the food in his mouth. Nobara dropped her shoulders, scowling as she turned back to her plate. When she realised Megumi had been picking her food off of her, she started grabbing his vegetables with no remorse.

“You move like one though,” Gojo added, waving his chopsticks through the air. “It’s rather beautiful actually. I’ve noticed when observing you in training.”

“Really?” Nobara asked in surprise, looking down at herself as her lips parted. “I didn’t know. I thought I was really bad at fighting.”

Gojo laughed at that, spluttering and choking on his meal. Neither of them made a move to help him. “Oh no,” he said as he sat up from the ground, pounding at his own chest. “Don’t get me wrong, Nobara-san. You are really bad at fighting. If for some reason, you were in a fight and couldn’t use your cursed technique, you’d be screwed. If neither me nor Megumi were with you, you’d probably be dead in like two seconds flat.”

Nobara gaped up at him, fingers clenching into fists at her side. “But don’t worry about that,” Gojo continued. “That’s why you’re here. To get better. Besides, everyone has their strengths. If we’re being honest, I’m not that great at physical combat either.”

The two first years shared a look at that, because there wasn’t anything in the world that Gojo Satoru wasn’t that great at.

“What if I don’t get better?” she murmured, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Tch,” Gojo smiled, kinder than before. “You will. Everyone always does. Besides, you don’t seem like a quitter. Does she, Gumi-chan?” he asked, the two of them turning to look up at Megumi. He’d just shrugged, focusing on the meal in front of him. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

In his defence, he’d only known the girl for two weeks. All he thought she seemed was loud, to be honest. And she kept leaving nail polish stains all over the dorm. Other than that, he hadn’t really thought about her at all. Had just kinda been hoping he wouldn’t be sent on any missions with her for a while. He hated joint missions.

Nobara had thrown her chopsticks at his head. If Gojo hadn’t used Limitless to catch them mid-air, they would’ve gone through his eye. “Look at that, Nobara-san!” Gojo had whistled as Megumi scowled, tempted to sic his dogs on her. Currently, the two of them were playing on the field, rolling around with their tails wagging. “Your precision has already improved by miles. Next time aim for his neck.”

Megumi’s chopsticks bounced off Limitless then. Gojo just laughed louder.

A week after that, Nobara found herself enrolled in a ballet class in the city. She’d been hesitant at first, confused as to how it would help her better herself as a fighter. But Gojo had told her to trust him, and he’d also brought her bags full of silk ballet skirts and pointe shoes, so Nobara had been pretty easily convinced.

It’s clearly helping her, and Megumi wonders how long it’ll actually end up being until she stands a chance against him and the second years in a spar. Probably not much longer.

Her polearm slides against his sword, and Megumi is already bringing the heavy blade back up again, slicing through the air easily. As Nobara pushes against him, wooden staff flying towards his face, Megumi feels lighter than he has in a while.

He easily catches Nobara’s foot, using her own momentum to yank her down. She doesn’t fall though, just stumbles forward and manages to dodge Megumi’s strike quickly. Irritation flashes across her eyes, hair whipping around her face at the speed in which they’re moving around each other. It makes him grin wider.

Dodging and weaving, Megumi easily misses each swing of the polearm. Nobara isn’t as lucky and lets out a surprised gasp when Megumi’s blade cuts right through her staff. “Bastard,” she groans out, pitifully pouting down at the now two splintered sticks in her hands.

“Well done guys!” Panda yells over at them. Nobara grumbles under her breath before she starts to stomp over to them, Megumi following behind. “You’re so much faster than you were just last week, Kugisaki-san,” he tells her with a kind smile.

“Salmon,” Inumaki agrees, throwing Nobara a thumbs up.

“Right,” Maki nods. Nobara’s eyes instantly snap towards her, but Maki doesn’t even notice, arms folded into her chest as she glances from Megumi to Nobara. “But the sister event is happening soon, so you two are going to have to step up your game.”

“It’s not happening for another month,” Megumi objects with a frown. “Besides, I thought first years didn’t take part.”

“Well, we’re down three participants, aren’t we,” Maki rolls her eyes as if it’s obvious. She drops down from her spot on the fence, giving Megumi a punch to the shoulder. “Yuuta’s studying in Africa, and those dumbass third years got themselves suspended.”

Megumi hums sadly. “I miss Hakari-senpai and Kirara-senpai.” He does actually miss them. Misses the way Hakari would play video games with him and teach him how to gamble and the best way to beat someone up. Misses the way Kirara would let him pick her eyeshadow colour every day and show him how she cut her bangs and showed him how to smoke a cigarette for the first time. But he only says their names with the honorifics because he knows it irritates Maki.

“Hey!” she clicks her tongue. “We’re your senpais too.”

“Barely,” he scoffs, before ducking out of the way of another one of Maki’s attacks. “Right, I'm gonna go get lunch,” he grins, walking away quickly from the third years. “Coming, Kugisaki?” She starts after him, waving goodbye to the third years before she hooks her arm around his.

“God, I couldn’t have lasted another ten minutes training with those guys,” she pants out. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re fun. Just…” she trails off, shaking her head in a weird sort of awe.

“Yeah,” he nods anyway. “I get it.”

“I much prefer hanging out with you,” she says suddenly, as if that isn’t a crazy thing to say. Megumi’s eyes widen and he blinks at her as they walk together. He kind of thought she hated him. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re not as pretty as Maki-senpai. But still…you’re cool, Fushiguro.”

“Alright,” he nods stiffly, turning his head forward again. “You’re cool too, I guess,” he adds when she elbows him. “Sorry,” he shrugs, crimson prickling at the back of his neck. “I’m kind of new to this whole friends thing. I’ll um…I’ll try be better.”

Nobara laughs at him then, hair swishing around her neck like a waterfall. But it’s not as cruel as her laughs sometimes are. It’s kind of twinkly actually. Like an arpeggio. “Don’t worry so hard, Fushiguro,” she tells him, lightly pushing her finger against the spot between his eyebrows. “You’ll get wrinkles. Besides,” she smiles, waving a dismissive hand through the air before she drops her head onto his shoulder. “I think you’re doing an alright job as it is so far. Just keep saving me from our classmates, buying my lunch and we’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he nods, feeling a weird sort of pride at making an official friend like this. He’s gonna have to tell Yuuji about it later. “Wait,” he says after a moment, scowling down at her. “I’m not buying your damn lunch for you!”

They hang out for the rest of the day (after he bought her lunch for her) before Nobara tells him she’s got dinner plans with Maki. “It’s a girls only event, sorry,” she tells him as she gets ready. He’s sat on her floor, legs in a basket as he flicks through one of the magazines left scattered over her carpet. One of his dog’s head is in his lap, snoring away as Nobara tries on all her different pairs of shoes. “Otherwise, I’d invite you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs. “I think I'd rather stab my own eyes out than go to dinner with you and Maki.” That earns him a pillow to the head. “I’ll just cook something.”

“I’ve never seen you cook before,” she says slowly, holding eye contact through her mirror.

“Well, I-a friend recommended a recipe,” he grits out.

“You don’t have any friends,” she tells him with a grin.

“f*ck you. I have friends.”

“Yeah, the same friends that I have,” Nobara points out, narrowing her eyes. “And none of those f*ckers can cook for sh*t. They're not handing out recipes.”

“Whatever, you don’t know him,” he says, desperately thinking of a way to get out of this conversation. Nudging his dog awake, he stands, eyes darting to the door. Maybe he can just actually make a run for it.

“Him?” Nobara repeats suspiciously, before her eyes widen almost comically large. As if she’s connected some dots. Megumi refuses to believe that she has. “Oh my god! Is he-” She cuts herself off with a groan when her phone lights up. “Alright,” she says, frantically running her hands through her hair. “I’ve got to go. But we’ll be talking about this tomorrow, got it?”

“Alright,” he shrugs noncommittally, because over his dead body will they be talking about this tomorrow, or at all, ever.

“Don’t you have something to say?” she says, pausing in the doorway.

“Bye?” he frowns. “Don’t you have to go?”

“Just tell me I look pretty, asshole!” she cries out, as if it was obvious he was supposed to say that.

“You look pretty,” he tells her. “Genuinely. Very pretty.” She smiles softly at that, blowing him an obnoxious kiss before she’s running down the hall towards the second-year dorm. “Bye, Fushiguro. Don’t wait up!” she calls back, her voice ringing around him as he stands there.

Huffing out a laugh, he looks down at his two dogs before gesturing towards the kitchen. “Alright then,” he sighs, fishing his phone from out of his pocket to get up the recipe Yuuji sent him. “Let’s see how this goes.”

Megumi can always tell who’s about to enter a room before they do. Always been able to. He can’t remember his dad’s name, or what he looked like, or whether he had Megumi’s eyes or not, but he can remember the way he would shut the front door of their apartment. He always checked he’d shut it by giving it a little shove, before always locking it behind him. The metal slide of the door chain always signalled that Megumi’s dad had arrived home.

Tsumiki’s mother would always kick her shoes off when she entered the apartment, normally accidentally flinging her heels against the wall. And then the normal sound of her keys hitting the kitchen counter would follow before calling out to Tsumiki and Megumi.

His older sister would always be singing, every time she moved from room to room. Her soft footsteps in time with the beat, padding along the wooden floorboards. She’d pop her head into Megumi’s room, pull one earphone out as she spoke to him, then go back to singing her way around their place.

Nobara is unapologetically loud at all times, so it’s pretty easy to hear her coming. Her shoes click against the floor, and she normally calls out Megumi’s name as she slides around the entire dormitory, usually holding a mug of tea or swinging a dagger around her fingers. If she ever needs him, she never actually comes into his room, just bangs her fists against his door as she calls, “Come on, moron! Hop to it!”

Everyone has their tells, and Megumi’s always been good at picking up on it. Gojo Satoru is silent. A ghost. He’s generally boisterous, obnoxiously so actually, but that’s only because he wants to be. When he doesn’t, Gojo Satoru turns into a wraith. His steps are silent, his breathing is inaudible. It’s like the air itself, the very fabric of time and space, makes way for Gojo to pass through.

That though, is in of itself a tell.

But Megumi is too caught up in trying his best to not burn the omurice that he doesn’t realise Gojo’s here until the door is sliding open, and his teacher is stood in the doorway.

“Hey Meg,” Gojo smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Then he blinks, stepping fully into the kitchen. All of the lights are off, apart from the one on the ventilator fan. It was dark, probably too dark because Nanami is always telling Megumi to not strain his eyes.

As soon as Gojo Satoru steps in though, it seems to get a bit brighter. As if he’s light incarnate himself. Megumi isn’t fully convinced he’s not. Thinks Gojo must be some sort of divine creation, spun from the sun’s golden shine.

The manufactured orange light sends shadows dancing across Gojo’s bare arms as he shrugs his jacket off. The glow from Megumi’s phone seems to scatter towards the older man as he stands beside the oven, leaning against the counter with a yawn. He’s not wearing his bandages; Megumi realises with a jolt. Not even his sunglasses. Eyes bluer than the whole sky, bluer than the whole world, sweep over the pan.

“You’re cooking?” he asks in disbelief. Something cold seeps into Megumi’s stomach.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, turning his phone off and placing it face down onto the counter, slightly fearful of what Gojo might say if he sees Yuuji text him. “How was the mission?” he asks, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know when the cord between him and the older man went cool like this. When the warmth and Megumi’s attachment and incessant need to just…be near Gojo died out a bit.

He thinks it’s probably his fault. Gojo hasn’t done anything wrong. Hasn’t done anything at all, really. He thinks that’s probably the issue.

“Fine,” Gojo says. Alright, so they’re doing the one-word answer thing. Whatever, no one’s ever beaten Megumi at that f*cking game. Especially not Gojo.

“You were gone for three weeks,” Megumi prods.

“Yeah, I know. I was the one gone,” Gojo says, tone short. He sounds tired. And a little pissed off. Megumi can’t tell at what yet. “I brought back souvenirs,” he says after a moment of the air hanging thickly between them, clearing his throat. Megumi can see the attempt at lifting the mood. Can see that Gojo isn’t pissed at him, it must be something else irritating him.

He thinks he’s pissed off at Gojo though. Thinks it’s bullsh*t that the guy who’s not just supposed to be his teacher, but also his guardian or whatever, gets to just up and disappear for a whole twenty-one days like that. Megumi doesn’t understand the point of any of this, if Gojo is going to do that. What was the point in him taking care of Tsumiki and him? What was the point in legally adopting them, signing his name at the bottom of all their medical forms, all their school trip forms, all their birthday cards?

What was the point in any of it? What is the point in Gojo being the strongest out of all of them, when he can’t even spare a day to visit his sick kid in the hospital? When he can’t even eat breakfast with Megumi anymore?

Taking a sharp breath in, he blinks down at his own socked feet. Okay. He hadn’t realised he was this mad at Gojo. Wonders how long this has been stewing around his gut for.

“I brought you those ginger candies you like. Left them at my place though. I’ll have to go back and get them for-”

“If the mission was fine,” Megumi cuts him off, pushing his tongue into his cheek. He can physically feel Gojo’s eyes on him as he digs his toes into the cracks in the tiled floor. It feels like his skin is being burnt right through. “Why were you gone for three weeks?”

“I guess it wasn’t technically a mission, per se,” Gojo says slowly, shrugging. Maybe, he allows himself to consider, that the shrugging is a bad habit he picked up from Gojo. Couldn’t have picked it up from anyone else, he supposes. Gojo was the one who raised him in his own way. But as the thought settles in his mind, the idea of picking up Gojo’s customs makes him feel nauseous.

Megumi’s eyes flick up to meet his, and Gojo grimaces. “It was clan business, alright? Nothing to worry yourself with, Gumi-chan.” But the nickname doesn’t carry the familiar charm with it, Gojo’s eyes dull and smile faint. “This looks really good,” he says, gesturing down at his cooking, in a futile attempt to move the conversation along.

“You’re lying,” Megumi grits out, arms folding tightly into himself. “You’re so full of sh*t.”

“Megumi-”

“What clan business?” he demands, brows lowering. “Why’re you lying to me?”

There’s silence for a moment, a tension so thick Megumi thinks it could hold the weight of him and the entire mess that lives inside of him. There’s silence for a moment, and Gojo glances away from him, and for a second, Megumi thinks he might just keep lying right to his face.

“Business with the Zenins,” the older man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Megumi nods, satisfied that Gojo’s finally telling him the truth. But then a familiar rot starts to erode away at him at the mention of that clan.

“Business with the Zenins,” Megumi repeats slowly. Gojo’s hand drops away from his face as he looks at Megumi with a heart-breaking amount of sympathy. It just makes him feel worse. “Was it something to do with me?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. His voice breaks off towards the end, and he feels twelve years old all over again.

Stood in a dark room, gripping his matted teddy bear in his hand. Terrified and unable to breathe because he has no idea where he is anymore, and Gojo and Shoko and Nanami aren’t here. Tsumiki isn’t here either but maybe that’s a good thing because-

“Megumi.” Gojo’s firm voice breaks him out of the memory, and Megumi has to hold back bile. A warm hand grips his shoulders tightly, the other coming up to the back of his neck. “You alright?”

He ignores that question. “What do they want?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer to this too.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gojo says, voice stern. “Look at me, Gumi.” Tone bordering on pleading, Gojo’s thumb swipes along Megumi’s jaw when he tilts his head up to look at the older man. “It doesn’t matter, alright? They’re not gonna get it. I’m not gonna let them. They’re not going to touch you. They’re not going to get to come anywhere near you.”

“Yeah?” he barks out a humourless laugh as the panic threatens to seize him. “And how’re you gonna stop them?” he asks as he roughly shoves Gojo away from him. He can feel it when the older man throws Limitless back up again, like a door being slammed shut behind him.

“They’re the strongest clan there is,” he says, words spilling from his tongue quicker than his brain can keep up. It feels like the floor is cracking beneath him. Because what the f*ck is Gojo going to do about it? He could barely keep them away when Megumi was twelve. And now he’s sixteen, almost a man, with an almost fully polished technique. The Ten Shadows.

“And I’m the strongest there is,” Gojo argues, hands on his hips like he’s about to start lecturing Megumi. “Look, you don’t have to worry about it, okay? It’ll be-”

“Stop saying that!” He’s pretty sure he’s yelling now. But he can’t help it, because he can barely hear the words he’s saying over the screaming thoughts in his own head. f*ck, he doesn’t want to be here right now. He wants to turn time back hour by hour until it’s six am all over again, and he’s chasing after Yuuji with the cool air washing over his skin.

“Stop telling me to not worry. It’s my life. Obviously, I’m going to worry about it, moron. You have got to stop treating me like a little kid! So just tell me the f*cking plan. What’re we gonna do to stop them?”

“Look, Gumi,” Gojo starts, holding his hands up in surrender. The vague smell of burning is filling the air. Megumi spares a glance down at his food. It’s charred. The inexplicable urge to sob overwhelms him.

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps as he grabs the pan into his hands, throwing his burnt omurice into the trash before tossing the pan into the sink. He chews on his bottom lip, taste of iron kissing his tongue. f*ck, he can’t even cook an omelette. He just wanted to eat his f*cking omelette. It was going really well. He was cooking his own omelette and he was going to eat it and it was going to taste f*cking delicious.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it to you right now, but you are a kid, alright? You’re my kid, Megumi. Let me treat you like it for once in your life please.” And he sounds desperate now, something he hasn’t ever heard in Gojo’s voice. He sounds tired and older than he is. “I don’t understand why you have to make everything so difficult all the time.”

“How is this on me?” he cries out in rage, resisting the itch to start stomping his feet on the floor. He considers hitting Gojo instead, but Limitless would stop him anyway. Picking up his phone, Megumi’s ribs squeeze at the sight of a missed call from Yuuji.

The older man cringes, hands coming up to run down his face. “f*ck, that’s not what I”

“You don’t get to call me your kid and then ignore me my whole f*cking life!” Megumi yells, voice scratching his throat. His dogs perk up at the sound from where they’re lying on the couch, ears twitching as they stare at him and Gojo.

“I’m not your friend or your f*cking son and I’m barely even your student, considering you’re never even here to do your goddamn job! I don’t need you to protect me, alright? I don’t actually need you to f*cking do anything for me anymore. Because you just make everything worse. Everything you touch turns to f*cking ruin!”

He spits this vitriol out last because he knows it’ll make Gojo bleed. He knows the older man so innately that he knows exactly what to say to hurt him. He knows all about Geto Suguru and that Gojo thinks, deep down and silently, that Geto’s defection was his fault. He knows it eats Gojo up that he hasn’t figured out how to wake up Tsumiki yet.

Knows that Gojo must love him, on some kind of level. Just thinks that Gojo does a pretty sh*t job of showing it. Thinks that Megumi does too, because he is an awful, awful mix of the two men that did a piss poor job at raising him. He does make everything worse; he knows he does, but he has no idea how to fix that. How to fix himself.

He knows he was already ruined before Gojo found him. He’d just really hoped Gojo might be the one to maybe try and make it all better.

He knows he regrets saying all of that as soon as Gojo’s face falls. But he doesn’t say sorry. Doesn’t open his mouth.

Taking a step back, and then another, until his back is hitting the fridge. Then he’s turning, stalking towards the bedrooms. “Megumi, wait. Please wait, kid,” Gojo calls after him, voice soft and broken and ruined. But the dogs bark and bite at him before they chase after Megumi, so Gojo doesn’t follow.

Doesn’t come even after Megumi has slammed his door shut as hard as he can. Doesn’t come as soon as he regrets that too, dropping onto his bed with a shaky sigh as he buries his face in his arms. Doesn’t come as he breathes heavily, unable to tell if he’s frustrated or pissed off or murderous or just really, really sad. There's a suffocating heat behind his eyes, crawling up his throat.

Eventually, his phone lights up where he threw it onto his mattress, Yuuji’s name blinking up at him. Megumi considers not picking up, because he feels like he might throw up if he has to speak. But then he thinks not talking to Yuuji might make him feel worse, so he picks up his phone and crosses over to his window before he answers.

“Hey,” he shudders out, trying his best to sound as normal as he can.

Thankfully, Yuuji is a little bit of an idiot, because he just blabbers on as usual. “Oh my god, Fushiguro. You won’t f*cking believe what happened at school today. Alright, do you remember I told you about that sprinting competition that…”

He ends up not really listening to what Yuuji says, just kind of follows along to his voice as his eyes droop lower and lower.

“Fushiguro?” Yuuji asks, and f*ck Megumi thinks he could get high off of the way Yuuji says his name. No one’s ever said it like that. Yuuji’s voice curls around it, smudges it all like charcoal on paper. One day, he’s going to beg him to say his given name, and he’s going to die happily.

“Mhh?” he hums in response, eyes falling shut as he leans his head against the windowpane.

“You good?” Yuuji asks, voice slower than usual.

“Yeah,” Megumi responds after a second. Eyes flickering open, he turns to look at his door. No steps sound. No one knocks. No one calls his name. “I’m just tired. I burnt the omurice you sent me the recipe for.”

There’s a soft giggle on the other side of the line. “Should’ve sent me a picture of it. Whatever, who cares. It's just an omelette." He wishes it was just an omelette. "I told you I'd make you one, didn't I?" When Megumi doesn't respond, Yuuji says, "If you’re tired, I should let you sleep.”

“No,” he shakes his head, even though Yuuji can’t see him. Wishes the other boy was here right now. “I wanna hear the rest of the story.”

“Alright,” Yuuji laughs, the sound metallic through his phone speaker. “You should go to your bed though. I’ll keep talking to you. Chill with that?”

“Okay, cool,” he murmurs as he unfurls from his spot. Tossing his phone onto his mattress after putting Yuuji on speaker, he listens as he yanks his clothes off and throws them into his laundry basket. He listens as he pulls on his pyjamas, which aren’t really pyjamas but just a pair of jogging bottoms from years ago that only reach his ankle now and one of Gojo’s old white T-shirts.

He can’t remember how he ended up with it. Can’t picture the older man ever wearing it either. It’s like five sizes too big for Gojo's lean frame, and way plainer than anything he ever picks for himself. It's also not Gucci or CDG, so he doubts Gojo bought it. Blinking down at it for a moment, he has the childish urge to rip it to shreds. But then he thinks about a teenage Gojo wearing it, and slips it over his head easily, fidgeting with the hem.

Connecting his phone to his headphones, he listens to Yuuji as he pokes his head out of his door, just to check the hall’s empty before dashing into the bathroom. He listens as he brushes his teeth and washes his face. He listens as he flops down onto his bed, his two dogs curling up beside him as he buries his face into them.

He listens as silent tears roll down his face and cling to his jaw, wetting white and black fur. He wonders if Yuuji listens back, even as he talks to Megumi about his day. He listens and listens and listens, and when he wakes up, milky sun streaming into his room, he listens to the soft sounds of Yuuji snoring through his phone.

Chapter 5: Rock Bottom

Chapter Text

2013

Blood dripping down his head, sticking to his temples, Megumi stared down at his phone. His head was thudding, his uniform was f*cked, and he was pretty sure he had just been expelled from another middle school. Surely at some point, getting kicked out of this many schools had to swing from disappointing to impressive.

He only had a couple of contacts in his phone, and he really didn’t want to call any of them right now. But he kind of needed a bit of help, and he wasn’t about to walk himself to a hospital. He f*cking hated hospitals.

Biting down on his lips, he weighed up his options as he limped back to the apartment. Tsumiki was still in class, even if he wanted to call her. Which he definitely didn’t. He already knew he was in for an earful whenever she got back and saw the state of him – he didn’t need to pre-emptively snitch on himself. He could call Gojo, but he was pretty sure the older man was away on another mission. And there was something in his gut that squeezed at the thought of telling the man what he’d done. Again. Especially after the last time.

f*ck, he hoped the school wouldn’t call Gojo. Didn’t think they would though. They had seemed pretty relieved that Megumi had finally hit another kid again. Gave them one good reason to finally see the back of him.

In the end, he went with Shoko. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t pick up. She never really did. Had a bad habit of leaving her ringer off and her phone face down when she was elbow deep in a corpse’s stomach.

As he decided what to do next, he went into the konbini below his apartment and bought all the tubs of strawberry ice cream that they had in stock. “You alright, kid?” the cashier asked as he rang through the six tubs. “You look a little…” the man trailed off, gesturing to his own face, where Megumi knew cuts and bruises were decorating his as a mirror.

“I’m fine,” he shrugged, forking over the money. “Can I get a packet of those?” he asked, because why not, his day was already going terribly. And if he wanted Shoko’s help, he’d learned over the years that bribery could go a long way.

Snorting, the cashier glanced over his shoulder towards the glass cage behind the till, to where Megumi was pointing to a pack of menthol cigarettes. “Nice try,” he clicked his tongue, before sliding his change back over to him. “Don’t eat all of those at once,” he called to Megumi as he slunk out of the store. “You’ll make yourself sick!”

When he got home, he put all of the ice cream in the freezer before blinking down at his phone again. He tried Shoko one more time, but when she didn’t pick up then either, he choked down his reluctance and hit Nanami’s name.

Half an hour later, there was a polite knock on his apartment door. Dropping his DS onto the couch cushions, Megumi stood and inched the door open a smidge, even though he already knew who would be standing outside. “Hi, Nanami-san,” Megumi said as he peeked through the gap, trying his best to be polite. While cigarettes worked for Shoko, honorifics and courtesy worked pretty well as Nanami’s bribery.

“Megumi-kun,” Nanami said slowly, eyes narrowed as he scanned over Megumi’s face. He’d tried his best to clean himself up, scrubbing soap over the cuts and grazes littering his face. But by Nanami’s reaction, he probably hadn’t done a great job. “Let us in.”

“Us?” he questioned, before Nanami stepped to the side to reveal a smirking Shoko behind him, already smoking a lit cigarette.

“What’s up, Megs?” she asked, arm folded across her chest as she flicked ash onto the carpeted floor. “You look like sh*t,” she told him, an adult making fun of a twelve-year-old. f*ck, these people were the worst. Megumi wished he’d just suffered in silence now.

“I tried to call you,” he scowled at her, hoping she’d understand what he was getting at. To her credit, her grin faltered slightly, gaze sliding from Megumi to land on Nanami with a wince. Because she hadn’t picked up, he’d been forced to call the hard-ass.

“My phone was off,” she apologised with a shrug. “Besides, they both would’ve found out anyway,” she added with a pointed look. Megumi’s gut clenched. They’d already told Gojo? It hadn’t even been half an hour yet.

“You told him?” he asked, attention snapping back to Nanami. He had meant to sound argumentative, but his voice cracked at the end there, making him sound more scared than anything. “No,” Nanami shook his head, face softening. “We won’t tell him if you do not want us to, Megumi-kun. Shoko’s right though, he will find out eventually anyway.”

Not if Megumi could do anything about it.

“Now,” Nanami said slowly, shooting Megumi a pointed look. From behind him, Shoko leaned against the wall, extinguishing her cigarette on the bottom of her heel. “Megumi, could you please-”

“Enough,” Shoko clicked her tongue, tongue dragging over her ashy lips before she slinked past Nanami and used her foot to kick the door open, Megumi stumbling back a little bit. “Come on, kiddo,” she grinned, eyeliner as sharp as her tone. Dropping her hands onto his shoulders, she practically dragged him into the kitchen, gesturing to the breakfast bar. “Hop up here and I’ll see what I can do about the sh*tshow of your face.”

“You’re an awful role model,” he rolled his eyes, even as he did as he was told. Nanami followed the two of them into the kitchen, shutting the front door behind him. “Sure,” Shoko laughed, voice hoarse from the fifty packs she chain-smoked a day. It was a comforting sound, in a weird way. He’d grown up hearing it. Grown up around Shoko and all her familiar brashness.

“Well, you’ve been stuck with me and Satoru your whole life,” she told him as she placed her hands on his cheeks. He flinched, because even though it was the peak of summertime, and he’d been stuck feeling sick with the heat, Shoko’s palms were like ice. They always were. “You were bound to turn out a little f*cked up,” she shrugged, as Megumi’s face slowly knitted itself back together under her touch.

“Shoko,” Nanami hissed, genuine irritation in his voice – a rare thing. A scary thing. His glasses weren’t on, tucked away somewhere, and so Megumi could see the very clear anger flash over his green eyes. Shoko could too clearly, because while her smile didn’t falter, it lost its humour.

She turned back to Megumi, slipping her palms under his school shirt as she flicked her fingers over his aching ribs. “What?” she protested, sounding younger than she was. She sounded identical to Tsumiki in that moment, when Gojo would tell her she couldn’t date a boy a year older than her, or when he’d refuse to let her, and Megumi, stay at his apartment.

“It’s not like Megumi can’t see just how messed up Satoru is,” she said matter-of-a-factly, as if she was talking about the weather. He froze under her touch, and Shoko paused for a moment, dark eyes meeting his. He was struck with the realisation that Shoko had known Gojo for a lot longer than he had. That maybe she had seen a lot more sh*t than Megumi had even ever heard of.

He knew that Gojo was her best friend. It was kind of obvious. Obvious in the way that she’d never smoke around him, because she knew he hated it. Wouldn’t even bring a lit cigarette into the Fushiguro flat, because she knew it would piss Gojo off. Obvious in the way that she always had little wrapped sweets in her pocket, flicking one to Gojo whenever he inevitably started moaning about being hungry. Obvious in the way that even though she never answered her phone, always had it locked, Gojo’s number went straight through do-not-disturb.

Obvious because of the photo that stayed stuck in Shoko phone case. It was always folded up slightly, only two thirds ever showing. It was an old photo, because Shoko and Gojo looked years younger than they were in it. They also looked happier than Megumi had ever seen them. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually seen Shoko smile that softly before.

In the photo, her face was squished against Gojo’s, arm thrown around his shoulder as the two of them grinned up at the camera. Her hair was shorter, her teeth were whiter, and her eyes were brighter.

If Gojo didn’t have the same photo stuck on his fridge in his own apartment, Megumi might never have realised that there was a whole other person folded away and hidden in Shoko’s picture. He also started to realise that the ominous ex that Gojo would sometimes mention with narrowed eyes and a dismissive wave of his hand was probably the same boy on the fridge.

The boy with kind eyes and a kinder smile, who looked at Gojo like he had the whole world in his grin.

He also started to realise over the years that the ex might not really be an ex. Gojo was a moron, who didn’t really apprehend what twelve and thirteen-year-olds could understand, because he’d almost choked on his own spit when he’d returned to the flat one morning, and Tsumiki had asked him why he had a hickey on his neck. Gojo thought twelve and thirteen-year-olds went to bed at nine for some reason, and so never realised that Megumi and Tsumiki were eavesdropping on him when he cleaned up the dishes, phone pressed to his ear as he muttered things that the two of them had only ever heard adults say to each other in those cheesy films Tsumiki’s mother used to watch.

As he put all of the pieces together in his head, he started to realise that while Gojo was Shoko’s best friend, she probably wasn’t his. And even a twelve-year-old could tell that was pretty f*cked up.

Shoko snapped her attention away from him when Nanami started speaking from where he stood, arms folded tightly into his chest. “Megumi-kun is a child,” Nanami argued back, clearly trying his best to hide his irritation. He wasn’t doing a very good job though. “We don’t need to speak about Gojo’s parenting tactics in front of his-”

“Gojo isn’t my dad,” Megumi rushed out, yanking his shirt back down and sliding out of Shoko’s hands. “Shoko’s right,” he shrugged. “I know he’s messed up. You all are,” he added, feeling a bit guilty when Nanami’s face faltered with something like disappointment. Shoko on the other hand, was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t name.

It’s how she looked at Gojo sometimes. The same way Tsumiki looked at photos of her mother. Like she didn’t want to believe she was gone, clutching tear-stained and dog-eared pictures to her chest, like she could keep her mother inside of her heart if she tried enough.

But Gojo wasn’t dead. So, Megumi never really understood why Shoko looked at him like a ghost all the same.

“It’s in the job description, right?” he said as he shuffled around the kitchen, pulling out the mugs he knew Shoko and Nanami liked to use. The kettle started hissing, and while he could feel their gazes both bearing into the back of his neck, he didn’t turn to face them until he made their tea. “Gojo told me that no jujutsu sorcerer ever dies without regrets,” he said, placing their mugs in front of them. “Sounds pretty f*cked up.”

“Megumi-kun,” Nanami started as Shoko sipped at her drink, leg folded over the other as her heels clicked rhythmically against the tiled floor. “You don’t have to be a jujutsu sorcerer if you don’t want to. There’s no need for you to die a regretful death. If you don’t want to be a part of this world, you don’t have to be. You’re just a child.”

He was only twelve, but he was getting really sick of people saying that to him like it meant anything. Him being a child hadn’t stopped his parents from dying, or Tsumiki’s mother from leaving. Hadn’t stopped the other kids from school whaling on him. Being a kid just seemed to drag him into a whole lot of sh*t, in his opinion. He was a lot more responsible than Gojo, and that guy was in his twenties.

“Right,” Megumi nodded, before looking up to meet Nanami’s eyes. “How’d that turn out for you?”

The older man didn’t say anything to that, lips tightening into a frown. Shoko exhaled sharply, staring down into her tea like it held the answer to the conversation. “Damn Megs,” she muttered. “You’re not half depressing, are you?”

“I wonder where I got it from,” he smiled, feeling a bit lighter when Shoko smiled back at him, genuinely this time. Nanami did not smile, and he looked considerably more upset than he had when he first walked in, but Shoko and Megumi tried to move the conversation on to something else, and Nanami surrendered and joined in eventually.

The sun lowered, creamy rays of light dancing across the apartment floor. Megumi sat at the breakfast bar, Nanami helping him do his homework, ignoring the young boy’s protests. “What’s the point in doing my homework when I’m expelled already?” he sighed, head in his hands.

“You weren’t expelled,” Nanami replied calmly, tapping his finger against the first exercise on the worksheet.

“Not yet he wasn’t,” Shoko chimed in as she pottered around the kitchen, starting on dinner. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, flour thumbed across her cheeks. Nanami shot her a dark look as Megumi giggled under his breath, clicking his pen as he started scrawling out his answers.

“Thanks Shoko,” Nanami blinked as he shook his head. “Very helpful input.”

“Of course, Nanami-san,” she grinned, biting her lip as she spun a knife in her fingers before she started carving into a crop of tomatoes with a concerning amount of accuracy.

Tsumiki showed up as the dinner was simmering in a pot, brows furrowed as she dropped her backpack onto the floor. “What the hell happened?” she demanded as she stopped in the threshold, arms folded and already looking like she might cry. Megumi and Nanami shared a look between them before Megumi spoke up first.

“The guy was being a dick, Tsumiki,” he said, refusing to let his voice waver. “He had it coming. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

His sister was silent for a moment, knobbly knees knocking together in her mottled and laddered tights. And then her jaw wobbled, and tears sprung from her eyes as she cried out, “Hitting people is wrong, Megumi! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Megumi went to object sternly to that, because Tsumiki wasn’t his mum, and so she didn’t get to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do. Especially not when she tried so hard to be nice, that people in school just walked all over her. He’d be damned if that happened to him. But before he could say anything, Nanami was speaking for him, lightly pinching Megumi’s elbow, as if he’d known exactly what the boy was about to say.

“We’ve spoken to Megumi-kun about it already,” Nanami said calmly. “There’s no need to be upset over it, Tsumiki-chan.” But Tsumiki wouldn’t stop sobbing. Even as Shoko strode over to her, crouching down slowly so they were eye-level with one another.

“It’s alright, Miki,” Shoko said softly, because there was a certain gentleness that existed between the two of them that neither Shoko nor Tsumiki had ever seemed to manage with anyone else before. Megumi didn’t think he’d ever be able to manage it with anyone. “Stop crying now, sweetheart,” she murmured, using her thumbs to swipe at the tears clinging to Tsumiki’s jaw. “It’s not on you to make sure your little brother behaves himself. Gojo will deal with it when he gets home.”

“Like hell-” He cut himself off when Shoko shot him a glare, pouting as he went back to glaring down at his homework.

“Now, do you want to help me cook dinner?” Tsumiki nodded, still sniffling and wiping at her eyes. She calmed down as the hours ticked by, laughing loudly with everyone as they ate. She let Nanami read over her essay for class, and asked Shoko to braid her hair before bed, sliding little butterfly clips into her brown braids to keep them in place. The four of them cleaned up the dishes together, in a little assembly line. Megumi and Nanami washing with warm, soapy water before they passed them over to Shoko and Tsumiki to dry.

Together, the two siblings brushed their teeth and Megumi watched as Tsumiki washed their faces one at a time. They pulled on their pyjamas, and he let Tsumiki brush his hair without complaining that night. Standing at the front door, they bade Nanami and Shoko goodnight, watching the two of them disappear back to their own homes. Tsumiki locked the front door, before making Megumi triple check it was in fact locked. They knew that Gojo wouldn’t come in through the front entrance if he showed up later.

Tsumiki kissed his forehead at his bedroom door before she said, “I’m still really mad at you. But have a good sleep, okay?”

He didn’t have a good sleep. Lying on his mattress, he summoned his dogs to snuggle in with him, hoping that would maybe help him drift off to sleep. But their snoring just made it worse, and he was sweating in his pyjamas as the two furry dogs lay directly on top of him. They didn’t move until his door creaked open hours later.

“I know you’re not asleep,” Gojo whispered as soon as Megumi screwed his eyes shut. “Night vision, remember?”

Megumi didn’t speak until he felt a dip in his mattress, blinking each eye open one at a time. He could see the outline of Gojo’s dark figure as he ruffled the dog’s heads, cooing as he pet them. After a moment, he realised Gojo was looking at him, eyes so bright they almost glowed in the dark.

“Hey Gojo,” he murmured, wiping at his own tired eyes.

“Hey Gumi,” Gojo laughed lightly, before shuffling up so he was sat beside Megumi, back against the headboard. “Budge up, asshole,” the older man snickered, skinny elbows nudging into Megumi’s side. “And don’t hog the blanket,” he added as Megumi pushed himself up onto his elbows, so he could sit shoulder to shoulder with Gojo. Silently, he rearranged his duvet so half of it sat over Gojo’s lap too.

“So,” Gojo whistled, scratching his own jaw. A crack of moonlight poured out from under Megumi’s curtain, lighting the side of Gojo’s face in navy sparkles. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Megumi said instantly. “Uneventful,” he lied.

“Really?” Gojo pressed, laughing when Megumi’s lips twisted into a deep scowl. “There we go,” he said, far too amused at the situation. “You want to tell me the truth now?”

“Who told you?” Megumi demanded, needing to know who had sold him out. He knew he couldn’t trust Nanami and Shoko for sh*t. Damnit, if Tsumiki had snitched on him he was going to toss every single one of her pretty little dolls into the garbage.

“No one had to,” Gojo shrugged, pushing his fingers up into Megumi’s hair. His immediate reaction was to push the older man away, small palms on Gojo’s torso as he readied himself to shove as hard as he could, but then Gojo’s nails started scratching nice, soothing circles into his scalp, and he decided to let it continue. Just to be nice to Gojo, obviously. No other reason.

“There’s still blood on your school uniform,” Gojo elaborated as Megumi leaned into his touch. “And the Six Eyes can see when reversed cursed technique’s been used,” he added, one hand coming up to lightly prod at the spots where Shoko had healed Megumi’s cuts and bruising. “You’re still awake at two am when normally you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. The school did call me as soon as it happened to tell me my kid had been expelled.”

“And,” he drew the word out as he dropped his head onto Megumi’s, cheek squished against his hair. “I saw the pints of ice cream in the freezer. Very clever, kid.”

“You always say that bribery is the best technique for getting out of sh*t,” he pouted.

“Mhh,” Gojo hummed. “I more so meant when you’re bribing people with billions of yen.”

“But you’re already rich,” Megumi murmured. “Why would you need a billion yen? And strawberry’s your favourite.” He could feel Gojo’s laugh reverberate around his chest as he shuffled Megumi further into his arms, wrapping them around him.

“Cute that you remember that, Gumi-chan.”

“Don’t call me that,” Megumi scowled. “And of course, I remember,” he added sternly. “It’s your favourite. Why wouldn’t I remember that?”

“I can only think of one other person that would,” Gojo shrugged, eyes glowing as he grinned down at Megumi.

“Who?” he demanded, trying to shuffle out of Gojo’s impossibly long arms to show how serious he was being. There was no way someone else knew Gojo better than he did. At least he might be able to beat up that person too.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gojo laughed. “They’re not as cute as my Gumi-chan.” He squealed as Gojo tried to hug him tighter, flailing around on his mattress as the duvet got caught between their legs. “You want to talk about it now, kiddo?” Megumi shook his head, face falling. “No,” Gojo sighed. “Me neither. But I think we’ve got to.”

“I’m not sorry that I did it,” Megumi choked out, staring down at his fingers as they twitched into fists. “The guy was being really mean to this girl who was way younger than us. Like saying some really, really awful things. sh*t about her parents dying and just…whatever, it doesn’t matter what the bastard was saying. But I’m…” he trailed off, trying to fight the enraging stuffiness behind his eyes. “I’m really sorry I disappointed you. I didn’t mean to. I never want you to-I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Megumi,” Gojo said, voice breaking slightly. His long fingers tapped against Megumi’s jaw, lightly tipping his head up so their eyes met. “I’m not disappointed in you. I’m a little pissed about the amount of paperwork we’re going to have to file to get you enrolled in another middle school but I’m not…how could I ever be disappointed in you?”

“’Cause I hit another student?” Megumi shrugged, because he was pretty sure most normal parents would be super pissed off if their kid spun their classmate’s jaw. “’Cause I’m a bad kid.”

“No,” Gojo said, tone firm. “You’re not a bad kid, okay? You’re just…different to the other kids. You’ve got a lot more going on than they all do.” Megumi didn’t really understand what Gojo meant by that, but he nodded along anyway, because all he could really focus on was that Gojo wasn’t mad at him. Wasn’t disappointed in him.

“But just maybe,” Gojo tried as he lightly yanked Megumi up so he was curled into him again. “Maybe you could try a little harder to not beat the sh*t out of the other kids at whichever new school you end up at. When you get to attend Jujutsu Tech, that’s literally all you’re gonna do. But until then…maybe just try and cool it a little bit, Megumi. Alright?”

He clicked his tongue when Megumi refused to answer, folding his arms into his chest. “There are other ways to deal with piece of sh*t kids. You don’t always have to go in swinging right from the get-go. So just…maybe just try some other strategy for now. For Tsumiki’s sake, if nothing else. You know how upset she gets when she sees you hurt. For my sake, maybe?”

The older man exhaled with relief when Megumi relinquished and nodded begrudgingly. “Alright,” he whistled, ruffling Megumi’s hair. “Now what do you say we crack into all that ice cream?” Grinning, Megumi let Gojo tug him out of bed, his dogs padding after them into the kitchen. “We’ve got six pints to get through, Gumi-chan. Better eat up.”

2018

“Your fingers match your crepe,” Megumi tells Yuuji as the two of them walk beside the river, gravel crunching under their shoes. Strawberry sauce is smeared all over Yuuji’s face as he munches at the street crepe, because he’s trying to eat it one handed, skateboard plastered in stickers tucked under his other arm.

He’s not doing it very successfully.

Yuuji laughs, and the sound warms Megumi’s chest. Damn, he is so stupidly pathetic when it comes to this boy. He’s reminding himself a bit of Yuuta, and that’s making him shudder under his sweater. That’s another reason why he’s keeping the whole Yuuji thing close to his chest. He slandered Yuuta’s gross lovesick ways far too frequently to not get it tossed right back at him as soon as any of his classmates find out he’s secretly harbouring a crush. On a Normie, as well. He can practically hear the comments he’d get already.

As he glances over at Yuuji, licking at his fingers, he has the awful thought that maybe the teasing would be worth it. Tengen, when did he turn into this person? It’s making his insides feel all weird. He can barely recognise himself in the mirror these days. Sometimes, he’ll be listening to music and catch himself smiling away at nothing like a freak. He’s got to get his sh*t together.

“This is a nice colour, to be fair,” Yuuji comments, crinkling his nose down at the strawberry sauce. “Maybe I’ll go with something more like this next time.”

“Maybe you should start with buying some gloves before thinking about the next colour,” Megumi shrugs, sipping on his takeaway coffee, wincing as it burns the top of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Yuuji nods, wiggling his fingers in the air in front of Megumi’s face. The tips are streaked with pink hair dye so bright it kind of looks like a highlighter exploded all over him. “It suits me though, right?” he asks, and it maybe it would come across as an innocent question if Yuuji wasn’t grinning at Megumi like he already knows exactly what his answer would be. Asshole.

“I guess,” Megumi shrugs, even as his face starts to blush the exact same shade as Yuuji’s hair. He can’t tell what’s happening anymore. To be fair, he had no idea what was happening from the get-go. But if he’d had a little more time to situate himself, he thinks he would’ve figured it out eventually.

He is fairly certain Yuuji is into him. Hakari and Kirara would probably give him 7 to 3 odds for it. There would be absolutely no point in betting on whether Megumi is into Yuuji. He’s borderline irritated about how into the guy he is. He thinks he should probably be lobotomised because he’s obsessed with Itadori Yuuji. Cannot get enough of him.

His screen time has gone up by like 700% since Yuuji got his number. His favourite part of his routine is now somehow their run, which is crazy because Yuuji runs far too f*cking fast for Megumi’s liking. But he doesn’t totally mind hanging back slightly, constantly tipping over his own feet as he takes in everything about the other boy’s body.

It’s painfully hot this time of year, and Megumi used to despise it. Used to proclaim to Tsumiki that Winter was his favourite holiday purely because he hated the warmth. Hated the way sweat trailed down his neck, his clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the way he would never burn, exclusively turning red and prickly in the Summer.

However, he does now get to watch Yuuji run in basketball shorts, legs stupidly toned for a teenage boy. So maybe he doesn’t hate Summer that much anymore. Maybe he’ll be a little disappointed to see the back of it. Maybe.

He’s pretty sure Yuuji is into him as well. The other boy isn’t slick, and Megumi has to ignore every time he catches Yuuji’s gaze stuck on him, a permanent smirk plastered over Yuuji’s face. It took him a week or two to realise he wasn’t just trying to delude himself into thinking his crush was reciprocated. For him to accept that it might actually just be reciprocated. Maybe. Maybe it might be that easy.

This whole situation has the potentiality to become the best thing that’s ever happened to Megumi. Something he’d always been totally convinced was just out of his reach. Because if he’s being honest, the odds were kind of stacked against him.

First of all, there was the whole Jujutsu issue. Born to die, attachment issues rooted in their entire society, no role models, blah, blah, blah. He’s never been super excited to jump into a relationship with someone who’s bound to end up six feet under after a year or two of dating.

Even if he did want that, it’s slim f*cking pickings. There’s absolutely no one at the Tokyo school Megumi has ever even glanced at romantically. He’s known them all for too long, and so he finds it impossible to look at any of them without seeing their flaws and irritations. He had a small, childish crush on Kamo from the Kyoto school a year back, when he got to watch the sister event with Gojo, but he thinks that’s probably only because he was the first good looking guy he’d ever seen shirtless in real life. The bar had been really low back then.

He wasn’t like Gojo, who had magically found his soulmate in one of the two students he’d attended school with. He’d kinda given up hope on finding anyone, to be honest. Which whatever, probably sounds crazy coming from a teenager, but it’s not like he’s a normal guy. He’s already met 90% of the people he’s ever going to really know, and half of them were kind of annoying. The other half of them were related to him, and also psychotic bastards. So, all in all, it’s a small f*cking world when you’re a Jujutsu sorcerer.

And in walks Itadori Yuuji. Untouched by all of the poison that Megumi lives with. Someone who is kind for the sake of being kind. Who is warm and has a soft heart and has never said anything cruel in front of Megumi before.

There are a number of people he would gladly die for. Doesn’t think there’s any weapon he wouldn’t readily throw himself onto for Tsumiki or Gojo. Would fight tooth and nail until his nailbeds bled pitifully for all of his classmates. Honestly, he thinks he would go into a fight ready to place his life on the line, if it was to save another sorcerer. Because that’s just what you do in this world. They should have each other’s backs, no hesitation.

Itadori Yuuji might be the first person who he is ready to live for.

And he feels a bit bad about omitting the entire truth to Yuuji, obviously. He’s not a total asshole. But then again, he doesn’t feel that bad. Because people lie to people they like all the time anyway. Just not necessarily about being a Jujutsu sorcerer.

He knows Nobara lies to Maki about how long it takes her to get ready in the morning, fluttering her eyelashes and proclaiming, “It’s all natural, baby.” He had listened to Yuuta chat sh*t about Western TV shows once, only for the guy to nod enthusiastically and exclaim, how did you know that was my favourite show, when Inumaki asked if he wanted to watch Friends with him. And Gojo just loves telling him about the one time he refused to tell Geto he was allergic to onions when the other boy had prepared a whole pasta date for him.

At least, compared to Gojo, he’s not that bad. At least he’s not actively throwing himself in danger of death just so he can impress Yuuji. He’s not there just yet. Maybe give him a couple of weeks.

“You guess,” Yuuji laughs, head thrown back. Every single thing he does is so earnest, it makes Megumi almost feel like a shadow of a person. Like a paper model of himself, flimsy and ready to crumple at the slightest touch. “I rock pink hair like no one else,” he grins, tossing his napkin in the trash as he swallows down the last of his crepe.

“Y’know what?” Yuuji hums, eyes glancing up at Megumi. “I think you should let me dye your hair too, man.”

“Gerrof me,” Megumi huffs as Yuuji jabs his sticky fingers into his cheeks. “You’re covered in sauce, idiot,” he protests, easily sliding out of the shorter boy’s grasp and lightly slapping across the back of his head.

“You’re so precious, Fushiguro,” Yuuji smirks, not even flinching as he licks at his fingers in an attempt to clean them. Megumi can’t even find it in himself to find that gross and vile. “Better?” he asks, wiggling his fingers in the air.

“Not really,” Megumi shakes his head, but a smile is drifting up onto his lips even as he speaks. “Now your spit is all over them.”

“Baby,” Yuuji teases, wiping his fingers on his trousers, ducking down just in time to miss Megumi’s eyes widening impossibly large. His heart stutters slightly, before he’s commanding his body to get a grip, shaking his limbs out. ‘I think you’d look cute with pink hair,” Yuuji continues as they walk through the park, stepping in time with one another. “Like an angel or something.”

“No,” Megumi says, nose crinkling. “We’d look like brothers.”

“Oh, gross,” Yuuji agrees, biting down on his cheek as he peers up at Megumi. He thinks he should probably feel uncomfortable under the other boy’s scrutiny, but all he can think about is how it can’t get much better than this. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything more than Yuuji to look at him. He wants to beg him to keep looking. Look at me and never, ever stop. Keep looking even when you can’t anymore.

“Yeah, alright,” Yuuji surrenders, smile soft as he lightly knocks his shoulder into Megumi’s arm. It causes his coffee to splash on his fingers a little bit, but he doesn’t even mind. “Keep your hair as is. It looks pretty like this.”

“I-” Megumi splutters, every word he can think of getting stuck in his throat. Yuuji doesn’t seem to mind though, his regularly scheduled smile slipping onto his face as he drops his skateboard onto the concrete ground, kicking it along with him as he walks.

“You’re not supposed to skate in public places,” Megumi informs him, desperate to get the redness off of his face as fast as he can.

“You’re kind of a stickler for the rules, huh?” Yuuji asks, tilting his head, face a cast of amusem*nt. Clicking his tongue, Megumi shrugs. If only Yuuji knew.

He could talk to Yuuji about the string of suspensions, and the fat stack of expulsion letters Gojo keeps in his office as some sort of trophy for bad parenting. There would be no implicating himself in telling him about how many rules he broke at normal school.

Hitting other kids. Showing up late to class. Skipping some classes when he really didn’t feel like it. Hitting more kids. Trying to hit one teacher when he commented on his lack of father. A lot of plagiarism, actually. Cause apparently you weren’t allowed to hand in the same essays your sister had handed in the previous year.

He’s also sure that Jujutsu sorcery breaks a whole lot of rules in normal, civil, Japanese society. And that’s not even touching on the many, many Jujutsu rules Megumi breaks all the time. Namely, hanging up the school’s reception phone every time someone called Zenin tries to call.

He thinks he gets it from Gojo. There was no way anyone who grew up around that guy was going to respect authority.

But Megumi just nods at Yuuji and arches a sharp brow when the other boy hops onto his skateboard, wobbling a little bit. “Well, there’s a rule about skating for a reason. What if you fall into someone?”

Yuuji makes a big show of looking around them as he continues to skate alongside Megumi.

“But you’re the only one here, Megumi,” Yuuji teases, voice dropping down an octave, and he almost throws himself into the river next to them right there and then.

“Yeah,” he says instead of doing that, trying his best to emulate…f*ck, he doesn’t even know who to try and copy to do this. He’s seen Hakari flirt with Kirara, but that’s a whole bag of worms he doesn’t think he’ll ever really understand, no matter how old he is. He’s seen Nobara flirt with Maki, and Maki flirt with Yuuta, and Yuuta flirt with both Maki and then more recently, Inumaki, but none of that has been in any way successful.

He sometimes heard Gojo talking to Geto on the phone, but honestly, if Gojo wasn’t so obsessed with talking about his ex, Megumi never really would’ve guessed they were even dating. Or technically ‘not dating and actually mortal enemies (allegedly)’ at the time, he guesses. Gojo never flirted more with Geto than he seemed to with Shoko or Nanami or any one of Megumi’s many, many teachers.

“I don’t want you crashing into me and dragging us both into the river,” he says, picking at the paper cup just so he has something to do with his hands that isn’t wrapping them around Yuuji’s.

“Do you have that little faith in me?” Yuuji sighs dramatically, holding a fist to his ribcage. “I’m shattered. Heartbroken, Megumi. You’ve wounded me to my mortal core.” He doesn’t understand where this given name fascination has suddenly come from, but he really, really doesn’t mind.

“You’re such an idiot,” he says, but the little laugh that follows kind of kills the sentiment before it’s out of his mouth. Yuuji laughs back, and Megumi has never felt lighter in his entire life. Is that what it’s supposed to feel like?

“Okay. Time to stop f*cking around,” Yuuji says, voice suddenly taking on a serious tone. Megumi would’ve shat it a bit if it wasn’t for the amused glimmer in brown eyes winking back up at him.

“What’re you talking about?” he asks, narrowing his eyes when Yuuji stops in his tracks, hopping down off of his board. Yuuji doesn’t say anything, hands on his hips as he tips his head in Megumi’s direction, before then gesturing down at the ominous skateboard. “Absolutely not,” Megumi says, shaking his head in exasperation before he starts to continue walking.

But then a warm hand, smoother than his by miles, clasps around his own and Megumi freezes. Yuuji doesn’t let go, not even as Megumi glances over his shoulder to meet his eyes. “Come on, Megumi,” he murmurs, voice impossibly soft and smile stupidly boyish. Holy f*ck, Megumi isn’t going to survive this. He’s not going to survive Itadori Yuuji.

“Just give it a go,” he says, slightly breathless for some reason as he yanks Megumi towards the skateboard. “When have I ever asked you for anything?”

“I bought you the crepe,” he replies, working on autopilot as his mind hyperfixates on the fingers still intertwined with his.

“Apart from that,” Yuuji shrugs.

“Last night you begged me to let you win at chess.”

“Fushiguro Megumi!” Yuuji laughs out, doubling over himself as Megumi stands deadly still, trying his very best to not stare down at their hands. “Would you just get on the board, please? Pretty, pretty please?”

And because Fushiguro Megumi is stupidly obsessed with Itadori Yuuji, he spends the next hour trying to learn how to skate. Something he hasn’t thought about doing in years, but somehow, the most fun he’s had in maybe also years.

Maybe partly because after Yuuji plucks his coffee cup out of his hands and places it down carefully on a nearby bench, his hands find themselves back in Megumi’s. “I’ll help you balance,” he says softly when Megumi accidentally shrieks as the board starts moving a bit too f*cking fast for his liking. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you.”

Yuuji, to his credit, doesn’t let Megumi completely eat sh*t. He does end up bringing the both of them down crashing to the ground a couple of times though.

“Maybe it would be easier if you weren’t wearing those f*ck ass shoes!” Yuuji laughs when Megumi trips off of the board for what has to be the fiftieth time in a row. “Seriously man, where the hell did you even get those?”

“What’s wrong with my shoes?” he demands, brows knitted together as he knocks them together.

“Nothing, man,” Yuuji says, but he’s laughing hysterically like it definitely is something. “They’re super stylish.”

“They are?” he wonders aloud, glancing down at his old, scuffed boots. Alright, maybe they’re not the summeriest pair of shoes. But he’s not really a summery type of guy. Even now, he’s wearing black trousers in comparison to another pair of Yuuji’s basketball shorts. He can see every gut and graze and bruise the other boy has decorating his legs, and he’s pretty sure Yuuji’s causes of injury are probably less traumatising that Megumi’s.

“No,” Yuuji snickers. “They look like something a really, super old man would wear. And even then, a really, super unfashionable old man.”

“Whatever,” Megumi scoffs, dusting his trousers down. He can’t even remember buying these boots. He probably didn’t, to be honest. He can’t remember the last time something made its way into his wardrobe that Gojo or Tsumiki, and recently Nobara with Gojo’s money, didn’t buy for him. “They’re durable and comfortable. They’re efficient.”

“God,” Yuuji grins. “Maybe you are an old man, dude. Speaking of,” he says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m late to visit mine at the hospital.”

“Alright,” Megumi nods, nudging Yuuji his skateboard back. He can’t help but be slightly impressed when Yuuji manages to kick it up into the air and catch it smoothly under one arm. “I’ll walk back with you until we get to the main road.”

He walks along the riverside, finishing his now cold coffee as Yuuji kicks a rock along beside him. “Hey, I tried to find you on Instagram the other day,” the other boys says, glancing up at Megumi as he kicks the pebble into the river.

“Why?” Megumi asks, maybe sounding a bit more defensive than he meant to. But Yuuji doesn’t seem to mind, shrugging before he laughs a little bit. “I don’t know man,” he says. “Why does anyone look up anyone on social media? To see a bit more into your life? Cause we’re friends?”

“Oh,” he replies, feeling like a bit of an idiot. “I don’t have any social media. Never really saw the point in it.”

“Y’know what?” Yuuji says, turning to fully face them as they reach the main road again, the bustling sound of traffic and surrounding conversations dying out to a buzzing hum. “You’re really f*cking cool, Megumi. I’m super glad you’re in my life now!”

And with that, before Megumi can even try and return the compliment, because really, he could say a million nice things to Yuuji if only he’d let him, the boy is dropping his skateboard onto the ground and zooming off, weaving in and out of the people on the sidewalk.

30/08/2018 – 16:23

Yuuji

Say hi to your grandpa for me. Hope he’s feeling better this week. [16:23]

And you’re pretty cool too btw. [16:23]

I’m glad we met too. [16:23]

Just wanted to tell you. [16:23]

*

He finds Nobara lounging in the crisp sun as he huffs his way back to the school, finally making it up all of those stupid f*cking steps. “Hey,” he calls, panting slightly as he makes his way over to her. She’s sat on one of the benches beside the entrance, an opened can of co*ke and an untouched can of iced coffee sat discarded on the stony ground as she swipes at her phone screen, one earbud in.

“Yo,” she nods back, popping the lollipop stick she’s chewing on out of her mouth. “Where’ve you been?” she asks suspiciously, hair cutting across her collarbones as she leans back slightly, caramel eyes scanning him.

“Shopping,” he replies easily as he sits down beside her, sprawling out across the bench. “What’re you doing?” he asks as she shuffles closer to him, dropping her head into his lap. Expertly moving the conversation along, if he does say so himself. Maybe he’s finally getting good at this whole talking bullsh*t.

“Trying to pick the best song to add to my story,” she tells him with a dramatic sigh, taking her earbud out, and letting tinny music pour out through her phone speaker. Lean arm reaching down, she snaps up the coffee before she tosses it his way. He catches it with a grateful grin, only slightly surprised that she already knows his favourite drink. She catches on quickly this one.

“Mhh,” Megumi hums in response, rubbing his palm against his jaw. “Why don’t you just pick your favourite song?” he suggests.

“You’re a moron,” Nobara scowls, but it lacks the heat he’s learned she spits into her words when she’s genuinely pissed off. “I can’t just pick music I like. I have to pick music that everyone else will think is cool, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he rolls his eyes, leaning forward to peer at her phone. “That’s a nice photo,” he comments, head tilted as Nobara moves the screen so he can see it better. It’s a picture of the school garden that blossoms in the courtyard beside the dormitories, the tree branches swaying in the soft wind and the pond glistening in the sunlight. Megumi can see his own window in her picture, and smiles at the sight of his books stacked up against his bookshelf, as well as the plant he’d brought from Tsumiki’s old bedroom.

“Thanks, I took it the other day,” Nobara sighs. “It’s pretty, and it needs a song that perfectly matches its vibe.”

“I didn’t realise people spent this much time thinking about what they post online.” When he shrugs, Nobara’s head jostles with his movement, and her eyes snap away from her phone screen to meet his.

“Obviously they do!” she exclaims, as if Megumi’s an idiot for not knowing this. “Especially when they’re trying to impress someone.”

Huh. He’d never thought about it like that. Crimson pricks at the back of his neck when with a jolt, he thinks about the possibility of being able to see what Yuuji posts online. Tengen, how had he never considered that before. Even when Yuuji had asked him if he had social media, he hadn’t thought about…

“Hey, Nobara?” he asks, clearing his throat. She doesn’t even look at him as she scrolls through her playlists, chewing on her bottom lip. “What?” she asks, a different song playing out loud every five seconds.

“Hypothetically, if you met someone our age without social media, would you think they were weird?”

She slowly drops her phone onto her chest, brows arched as she shoots him an unimpressed look. “Yeah Fushiguro. It’s weird that you don’t have LINE. Or Instagram. Or even Facebook. Even Okkotsu has-”

“Alright,” he scowls, cutting her off with a sharp flick to her temples. “I get it.”

“Hey asshole!” she hisses, sitting up straight and kicking him roughly in the shins.

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, glancing back down at her own phone. “You’re a weird guy in general. Why do you care all of a sudden?”

“I don’t,” he snaps back quickly. Maybe a bit too quickly, considering the way Nobara glances up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “I just…maybe I want to make a social media account.”

“Make a social media account. You’re such an old man, Fushiguro,” she snorts, but her eyes are glistening the same way they do when Gojo passes her his credit card and tells her to go crazy. “Okay,” she says, the begrudging tone not matching the wide grin on her face. Her own phone is being shoved back into her pocket; her music problem already forgotten about. “I guess I can help you. Only since I have nothing better to do with my time.”

“Great, thanks Kugisaki. You’re so gracious,” he responds dryly, before forking his own phone into her grabbing hands. Nobara smirks down at it like his phone might hold all of the secrets to the universe, humming with satisfaction as she navigates to the app store and starts downloading like a million apps.

Half an hour later, Nobara is tossing him his phone back and dropping her head onto her shoulder. “There you go,” she exhales slowly, as if she’s just ran a marathon. He ignores her, quickly clicking onto the Instagram app. She’s given him a normal username, thank Tengen. His own name blinks up at him through the pixels, and he scrolls through his own profile. Somehow, he’s already got a couple of followers in the thirty minutes it took Nobara to get him on the grid.

She’s followed all of their classmates for him already, and almost all of them have already followed him back. Everyone except Yuuta, who’s probably too busy actually working hard abroad to take note of his Instagram notifications. “Gojo has an Instagram?” he winces, Nobara giggling at his side.

“Yeah,” she tells him. “The old millennial’s more down with the culture than you, Fushiguro. Kinda embarrassing if you ask me.”

“Maybe for him,” Megumi mutters back, nose crinkling as he clicks onto Gojo’s account. The guy has a little tick next to his username – GojoSatoru1989. “How the f*ck does he have thousands of followers?” he splutters out in confusion.

“He’s hot,” Nobara shrugs. “That’s kind of all you need to be to get followers.”

“Gross,” Megumi shudders with revulsion. “Never say that sh*t again.” He clicks off of the app, not wanting to know what his guardian gets up to online, and not daring to search up Yuuji’s name when Nobara is peering over his shoulder.

“You know-”

“Megumi!”

The voice calling his name causes Nobara to shut her mouth, face twisting in confusion while dread pools in Megumi’s gut. No way. No f*cking way.

“Who is that?” Nobara asks, immediately picking up on Megumi’s change in demeanour. He doesn’t respond, too busy drowning in the tsunami crashing around in his head. f*ck this. f*ck this. He was having a great day. f*ck this.

“Megumi,” Naoya says again, snide and sneering and everything rotten with the world. The way he speaks his name cuts Megumi open, leaving him feeling like a child all over again. Scared and sobbing and really, really wanting Gojo to save him.

But Gojo isn’t here. And Megumi doesn’t need him to save him. Not anymore.

Not when he’s perfectly capable of making Zenin Naoya bleed on his own.

“The hell are you doing here?” Megumi demands, pushing himself onto his feet, ignoring how unsteady they are. Silently, he manoeuvres himself until he’s stood in front of Nobara, hiding her from Naoya’s view as well as he possibly can. Instinctively, he bends his knees slightly, and his fingers twitch into fists at his side, ready to leap at the slightest threat.

“It’s a pleasure to see you too, baby cousin,” the older man grins, a slimy sick thing sprawling across his face. Something darker than his normal anger churns inside Megumi with each step the man takes closer to him.

“Cousin?” Nobara breathes from behind him, but Megumi refuses to acknowledge her, less risk bringing his friend to Naoya’s attention. He can already see the gleam in Naoya’s eyes though, the special glare of wrath the man seems to save for women exclusively, and he watches as the older man slowly flicks his eyes up and down Nobara once before he turns his attention back onto Megumi.

“Why’re you here?” Megumi repeats, tone unwavering as he matches Naoya’s glare.

“Father had some business with Yaga,” he shrugs, arms folded across his chest. “I thought I’d accompany him and see how some of the students are getting on. I do always love finding time to chat with you, Megumi,” he purrs. “Considering how hard you make it to receive an audience with you.” His tone is mocking as he equates Megumi to something like a God, slathered in brutal amusem*nt.

Eye twitching slightly, Megumi bites down hard on his tongue, blood swishing around his mouth.

It doesn’t even sound like his name, curled around Naoya’s tongue. Heart aching, he thinks about the way Yuuji breathed his name instead, like a prayer. Like something divine, golden and gilded. The two are irreconcilable with one another, with Naoya’s cruel, callous blade in a painful contrast with Yuuji’s unrivalled joy.

“I’m surprised the old man managed to put his drink down for long enough to talk to Yaga-sensei,” Megumi says, unblinking as Naoya grins wolfishly, baring his teeth. He wonders how long it’ll take for Naoya to start snapping, chomping at the bit. Wonders who will inevitably bite first, claws shredding.

“You are very disrespectful, Megumi-kun,” Naoya sings, clicking his tongue in chastisem*nt. “That will have to change when you return to the clan.”

“You can eat sh*t and die,” he hisses back, irritated of this dance already. Irritated that Naoya has tried to corner him on his territory. Somewhere he is supposed to be safe from the Zenins and their unweilding clutch. This is supposed to be his home. They’re not supposed to be able to touch him here. Gojo had promised.

“Is this your girlfriend?” Naoya asks, completely ignoring Megumi as he tilts his head, waving in Nobara’s direction.

Megumi doesn’t move as Nobara stands up, positioning herself beside him. Hands placed on her hips; she shoots Naoya the look of disgust she’s perfected to an art. “Who even are you?” she asks, sounding part irritated and part bored. As if Naoya is a fruit fly buzzing around her lunch. The older man’s face flares with genuine rage for the first time during the entire confrontation, and Megumi has to bite back a smile.

“Are you seriously asking me that, you stupid bitch?”

Nobara scoffs, eyes narrowed as she sneers at him. “Alright,” she muses, nose crinkled in antipathy. “So, you’re a misogynistic pig,” she shrugs. “Sorry to tell you asshole, that doesn’t make you special.”

Naoya’s lips part in genuine surprise at being spoken to like this by a random Jujutsu Tech first year. No one’s probably pissed him off like this since Maki. Running his tongue over his teeth, Megumi tells himself to buy Nobara lunches for the rest of the year for this brilliant display.

“I expected you to have better taste than insolent slu*ts like this, Megumi-kun,” Naoya seethes. Nobara is spluttering indignities behind him, shouting out every swear under the sun in Naoya’s way, but Megumi is already stalking towards the older man, his dogs snapping at his heels.

“To be honest, I didn’t even think girls were your type at all,” Naoya laughs, a horrible grating sound that makes Megumi really, really want to tear out the older man’s throat. “I thought you were some kind of-”

He doesn’t even let Naoya get whatever insulting slur he was waiting to use, out of his mouth. Red washing his vision, Megumi is pretty sure he’s grinning as he leaps onto Naoya, fist crunching violently against the older man’s stupid f*cking nose. They both crumple to the ground, Megumi landing on top of Naoya with a thud. As they fall, he reaches up and tears the man’s stupid f*cking earring out of his earlobe, blood coating Megumi’s fingers.

Now, he’s not an idiot. He is a sixteen-year-old boy, and Naoya is more than ten years older than him. He is also a Zenin, and while Megumi might have the Ten Shadows, he is nowhere near Naoya’s level yet. Zenin Naoya has perfected his violence down to a beautiful and admirable art. He is not a Special Grade One for no reason.

But Megumi is a sixteen-year-old with a whole f*cking lot of anger stewing in his blood. He is a sixteen-year-old with a really impressive resumé of middle school fights. Won every single one. And while they weren’t against Zenin heirs who were heads of elite fighting squads, they were kids, and kids are pretty f*cking brutal when they want to be.

So, Megumi attacked Naoya knowing he was going to lose. He is only able to attack because Naoya is letting him, purposefully not using his cursed technique. But, he attacked pretty confident that he could at least make Naoya hurt a little bit anyway.

As soon as they drop to the ground, Naoya’s fists are whaling into Megumi’s ribcage. Before he can even feel the impact, Naoya is wrapping his fingers around his throat, digging in impossibly hard. f*ck he hates this piece of sh*t technique. He’s faintly aware of Nobara screaming his name in panic, but he’s too focused on trying to not die at Naoya’s hand to do anything about it.

Naoya is smirking widely as he leers in Megumi’s face, spitting a glob of blood at him that lands directly on Megumi’s cheek. “Don’t ever think you can lay your hands on me, you stupid f*cking mutt,” he hisses, breath brushing against Megumi’s ear.

Wheezing pitifully, Megumi just grins, because he knows the hell Naoya’s going to have to walk through if he really kills him right here, right now. Would really like to see Gojo finally raze the Zenin estate to the ground. All of the bastards buried under debris and rubble.

Turns out that won’t be happening though, because Naoya suddenly lets go of him, and Megumi crumbles onto the ground, knees giving out as soon as the pressure around his neck is gone. He heaves as he struggles to hold himself up by his arms, desperately trying to breathe in some air, any air.

“Megumi!” Glancing to the side, he watches as Nobara drops to her bare knees beside him, hands roaming all over his injuries. Tears line her eyes as she uses her sleeve to wipe Naoya’s spit off of his face.

Above him, Naoya is just laughing pointedly. “What is the meaning of this?” He turns away from Nobara to see Yaga and Naobito Zenin standing beside the three of them. Megumi goes to answer, but all he manages to grit out from between his teeth is a cough that dissolves into a choking fit. Rubbing at his back, Nobara holds up her chin and argues, “He started it, Sensei. He was saying awful things and Fushiguro just-”

“Please keep quiet, girl,” Naobito cuts her off with a dismissive sigh, waving his hand in her direction. Nobara seethes, eyes widening in rage. “We do not need to hear it from you.”

“He came for me first,” Naoya shrugs, hands slouched in the pockets of his robe. “I didn’t lay a hand on the boy until he attacked me.”

“Is this true, Fushiguro-kun?” Yaga demands, and all Megumi can do is nod, because he’s not about to lie about it. He’s also not about to repeat the sh*t Naoya was spouting. “Right,” Yaga says, clearing his throat as he looks from Megumi and Nobara on the ground to the Zenins. “Well, Fushiguro will be punished for his actions-”

“I do not care what you do with the child,” Naobito says, attention focused in on Megumi. “You may rest safe in the knowledge that when he rejoins the clan, this attitude will be beaten out of him one way or the other.”

“I’ve never been a part of your sh*tty clan,” Megumi scowls, blood dribbling down from his lips onto his chin. “And I’m never gonna. Trust that you’ll be six feet deep before that ever happens, old man,” he spits, delighting in the way Naobito’s lips curl in response.

“Fushiguro-kun!” Yaga snaps, tone bordering on something more serious than anger now. “Silence now,” he orders, and considering he’s probably pushed his luck as far as it’ll stretch already, Megumi screws his lips together. “I’ll escort the two of you off of the school grounds,” the principle says to the Zenins, face unreadable.

“No need,” Naobito shakes his head, rubbing his hand against his jaw. “I will be in contact, Yaga.” And with that, he takes his leave, Naoya trailing behind him, eyes blazing as he looks over his shoulder to smirk at Megumi one last time.

“Sensei-” Nobara starts up as soon as they’re out of earshot, fingers gripping onto Megumi’s shoulders. “Fushiguro didn’t-”

“Enough,” Yaga sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We can talk about this later.”

“You’re not going to lecture me?” Megumi wheezes, chest rising and falling heavily. Yaga just looks at him with a tight frown, as if he’s seeing something Megumi can’t.

“When has that ever worked with you?” he asks, defeated. “Make your way to Shoko. Come to my office first thing tomorrow.” He doesn’t wait for Megumi to respond, shoes clacking against the stone ground as he storms back into the school.

Megumi winces, rubbing at his forehead as Nobara lets out a long exhale. “Why the hell would you ever take that fight?” she asks, helping him up onto his feet. “You were never going to win that.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Kugisaki,” he scowls, trying to shake her off as he heads towards Shoko’s morgue/infirmary.

“Stop being an idiot,” his classmate snaps, running after him. “He beat the sh*t out of you. I really thought he wasn’t going to stop. That he might kill you,” she adds, voice considerably softer.

He thinks about apologising for a moment, eyes glancing over her and stomach churning at the sight of her worried frown. “I knew he wouldn’t,” he says instead, clutching onto his stomach. “They want me too badly.”

Silence falls over them, and neither of the speak again until they reach Shoko’s basem*nt. “As soon as you’re not bleeding anymore, you’re telling me what the f*ck is up with you and the Zenin clan,” she demands. “I’m sick of being left out of all of this Jujutsu sh*t.” He snorts, but doesn’t say no, waving goodbye before he slips inside, door thudding shut behind him.

Shoko doesn’t look particularly surprised to see him, eyes widening slightly before patting the surgical table. “Mhh,” she hums as her hands pass over him, still ice cool to the touch. An unlit cigarette is brushed behind her ear. “This takes me back a couple years,” she tells him, head co*cked as his face crunches in pain. “Thought that maybe as you got older, you’d get better at fighting, Fushiguro-kun.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, dropping back down onto his feet and rolling his shoulders back as soon as Shoko’s done. After saying goodbye, he pokes his head outside into the corridor, sighing with relief when Nobara is nowhere to be seen. He’d been slightly worried that she would just wait outside to ambush him.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he instantly makes his way onto the roof above the dorms. It’s the last place anyone will check for him, and he doesn’t really want to be forced to interact with anyone for the rest of the day. He spends the rest of the day there, knees pulled to his chest as he texts Yuuji. Not too much, because he doesn’t want to look crazy, but also not too little, because Yuuji isn’t responding to him, hasn’t responded to him since they saw each other in person, and worry is unfurling in his stomach.

Unnecessary worry, probably, because Yuuji is just a normal kid, and it’s not like he’s going to be bleeding out in a ditch somewhere like Megumi always assumes Nobara or Gojo is when they don’t answer. He probably just forgot to charge his phone; he tells himself. Instead, he clicks back onto Instagram, and spends hours zooming in on Yuuji’s profile photo after he requests to follow him.

He doesn’t even want to consider the endless possibilities once he can see the 103 photos posted to Yuuji’s account. Thinks someone will have to tear his phone out of his clutches and smash it up, probably.

The sun falters as Megumi stays put on the roof, ignoring the texts that start coming in from Nobara, and then the second years. His stomach starts to rumble slightly, but he’d rather go hungry than have to deal with the whole situation. Thinks he’ll just stay here until the cold bites at his skin and every single light in the school has flickered off for the night. It’s a solid plan, in his opinion.

Which obviously means someone has to come along and interrupt it.

“I thought you’d grown out of picking fights. Especially with people bigger than you.” He looks up to find Gojo floating in front of him, looking like a superhero out of one of those stupid Western movies. But Gojo isn’t grinning like the movie stars, cheering as he saves the day. He’s looking at Megumi with a resigned disappointment on his face. As if Megumi didn’t try his best to kick the sh*t out of one of the biggest assholes walking around in Jujutsu society. Everyone should be congratulating him.

“Maybe I’ll grow out of that once Naoya grows out of being a good-for-nothing piece of Zenin sh*t,” Megumi spits, dropping his head back onto his arms.

“Why’d you hit him?” Gojo asks, stepping down onto the tiles beside Megumi. “And how about we just cut past all the teenage bullsh*t where you lie to me first?”

“You’ve never given me a reason after the many times you’ve decided to start a fight,” Megumi protests, maybe a bit petulantly. But f*ck, what he would give for Gojo to just piss off if he’s going to act like this.

“Ah, Megumi,” Gojo grins, voice saccharine sweet. It sets Megumi’s hackles up. “If you were the Strongest, the almighty Gojo Satoru, you wouldn’t have to sit here and plead your case. You could do whatever the f*ck you wanted to. That’s the privilege afforded to Gods such as me. But alas, you are a mere mortal. And a First Year at that, so how about you get to talking, kiddo?”

He just blinks up at Gojo in irritation, trying to weigh the pros and the cons of actually just shoving the other man off of the roof. It wouldn’t actually hurt him, but Gojo would probably throw a big, dramatic fit about it all, and Megumi doesn’t think he can be bothered with all of that.

To be honest, he’d quite like to stop fighting with Gojo now. He just doesn’t think the two of them will ever really be able to stop cutting at one another like this. At least when normal kids fight with their actual parents, they can make them bleed out for as long as they like, because they know that deep down, they’re always going to be there for them.

Megumi thinks he might just be waiting for Gojo to up and leave him the second he gets bored of it all. Of playing pretend to a kid he can’t really get rid of. Sometimes, he wonders how long it would’ve been before Gojo disappeared if he didn’t have the Ten Shadows. Wonders if Gojo would’ve even showed up in the first place. He wouldn’t have had to tell him about the Zenins if he wasn’t a Jujutsu sorcerer. Could’ve easily just left Tsumiki and Megumi to their own devices.

“He was being a dick,” Megumi shrugs as Gojo sits down next to him, stupid long legs sprawled out over the tiles.

“Obviously,” Gojo clicks his tongue. “I think Naoya finds it impossible not to be. But what was so special about this time? He’s always a dick to you. He’s jealous.”

“Right,” Megumi nods, rolling his eyes. “Jealous of me. Sure.”

“I don’t need to tell you how special the Ten Shadows are, Megumi,” Gojo tells him, sounding bored by the entire conversation. “Just tell me what he said so I can decide whether or not you should be punished for provoking and consequently fighting with Zenin Naoya on school property.”

“Punished?” Megumi splutters out in disbelief, sitting up straight to glance up at Gojo.

“What did you think would happen?” Gojo shrugs like Megumi should’ve seen this coming. Which, alright, maybe he should’ve. He did hit the guy. Pretty f*cking hard. He did try and have his dogs rip his throat out. He did tear that stupid little earring out of his smug face. Alright, he’d known he’d probably have to listen to Yaga drone on and on about respect and responsibility and sh*t. Didn’t think he’d have to listen to Gojo have a go too.

“You did hit the guy,” Gojo hums.

“He’s twenty-seven,” Megumi laughs bitterly. “Sounds like a him issue if he can’t take a punch from a sixteen-year-old. Maybe the stupid f*ck should’ve kept his mouth shut if he was going to cry about it.”

“Megumi,” Gojo sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you stop f*cking around and just tell me what he said?” he asks, hands falling away from his face. The bandages are wound tightly around his face, but Megumi can picture the disappointment in the familiar blue eyes. His stomach clenches pitifully.

He thinks about himself and Yuuji. Thinks about the way Yuuji’s smile is crooked, and his hands are calloused and almost double the size of Megumi’s own. Thinks about the way Yuuji said he’d call him later, like it was an oath, like it meant a whole lot more than he was just saying.

He thinks about Gojo and Geto. Thinks about how they were never going to be able to make it, because they were doomed from the very start. They weren’t even ever real people, not in any way that mattered. You can’t be a Jujutsu sorcerer and get to live a happy life, it’s just how it is. There’s no changing it. Just like every tragic couple in the folk stories, Gojo was never getting his happy ending with his lover, because his ending had already been written before he was even born. Maybe, if he at least hadn’t been born Gojo Satoru, they could’ve had a shot.

He thinks about the notebooks on notebooks on notebooks that are all stacked up neatly in Shoko’s morgue. Every deceased Jujutsu sorcerer’s name printed neatly in a book with their date of birth, their date of death and their cursed technique. He thinks about how really, they should just write down their names as soon as their born, and leave a gap to fill in their death date. Doesn’t understand the point in waiting.

They are born to die, and they all know it. Gojo knows it. Gojo probably knows it better than all of them.

But he’d still try and spout some optimistic bullsh*t. Megumi can already hear it in his head. Can already hear Gojo laughing and throwing out some stupid joke about teenage love before he tells Megumi to go for it or some sh*t. Can already hear Gojo telling him that there isn’t a point to life if it isn’t love, for all that it might be cursed and frayed and mangled. Because Gojo is stupidly romantic at heart, and is probably still stuck in the early 2000s, where love really might have been the point to it all for him.

He thinks about Yuuji, and shakes his head, because he doesn’t want anything to taint the image just yet. Not even Gojo, who Megumi thinks will always be the closest thing he has to family. Not even Gojo, who is probably the only person who will ever get closest to knowing Megumi, to understanding him.

Not even Gojo, who bears the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. Whose smile sparkles in the sun, and whose voice is light itself and whose hands are forever coated in blood. His fingerprints are painted all over Megumi’s heart and his head and his ribcage.

“No,” Megumi sighs, looking away. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll take the punishment.”

“Alright then,” Gojo says, and Megumi expects that to be it. He expects Gojo to push himself back up onto his feet, and teleport away to Yaga, to turn him in. Or maybe to teleport back to his own apartment, to sleep for once. Or maybe even to teleport out of the country again, throwing himself right back into the next mission.

But Gojo stays right where he is, chewing on his bottom lip as he falls onto his back, head tilted to look up at the sky. After a moment, Megumi does the same, tiles digging uncomfortably into his back. He doesn’t move, folding his hands over his chest.

“Why do you think it’s so hard for us to love other people? Jujutsu sorcerers, I mean,” Megumi asks after a moment of silence, the words falling from his lips before he can catch himself. He doesn’t even really know why he asks, but once he has, he feels like he can’t breathe easily again until he knows Gojo’s answer. Hopes that maybe, Gojo will give him the answer to every messy, complicated question he has until he solves the confusing problem that is Megumi’s life.

Even though he thinks Gojo probably doesn’t have the same issues as the rest of them do. He can tell everyone else finds it hard, borderline impossible, to become attached to others. He hasn’t ever really seen any Jujutsu sorcerers fall in love with anyone, apart from Hakari and Kirara – but they’ve always seemed like they get off on charging at the entire world head on, hand in hand with matching grins.

He thinks that even Shoko and Nanami, who have known Megumi and Tsumiki for years now, struggle with it. They’re kind to him and show affection and pride in their own ways. But there will forever be a chasm between him and everyone else. Because Jujutsu sorcerers do not build bridges, heavy with the knowledge they will inevitably burn.

Gojo though. Gojo seems to be unable to stop setting himself alight with his love for everyone. It’s kind of funny in a way. Gojo lost the love of his life to his own hands. He was the one to kill Geto in the end. Not a curse. Not a curse user. Not anything foreseeable like that. Gojo is the only one who had to slaughter his own love, and yet continues to be the only one to hand it out like it’s free.

Megumi doesn’t know how Gojo does it. Maybe it isn’t that funny at all, actually.

“I don’t really know,” the older man answers honestly, head tilting slightly to meet Megumi’s eyes. “I think that you can probably only love others to the extent to which you can love yourself. Or something like that.”

Well, if that isn’t a depressing answer. Wasn’t what Megumi was looking for at all. But he supposes it was crazy betting on Gojo Satoru having the key to all of his issues. He doesn’t think anyone could fix the sh*tshow that is Gojo Satoru. Not even Gojo, the strongest himself, seems to have made any headway on that problem at all, over the years. Thinks maybe Gojo just gave up.

“Is that where you got all messed up?” Megumi asks. “Falling in love then fumbling the bag with a murderer?”

Gojo laughs, but it’s a pitiful sound, trembling away into the sharp mid-afternoon air. “Well, he wasn’t a murderer when I fell in love with him.” Megumi is fairly certain that Gojo was still sleeping with the guy when the Higher Ups published the notice for the man’s execution, but he decides to not comment on it. Doesn’t want to force Gojo to face his inner demons like that on the school’s rooftop on a random Tuesday afternoon. Thinks Gojo might drop Limitless and toss himself off if he thinks too deeply about it all.

“He was actually pretty lovely. Could really f*ck it up on a skateboard, y’know. Really f*cking hot. And he kept me on the straight in high school. Was like my moral compass - or whatever. But yeah. He’s probably one of the reasons I got so messed up. Not fair to push all of the blame onto him though. Especially not now he’s dead.” That last sentence falls through the air like a blade thudding onto stone and Megumi chews on his cheek as he watches Gojo watch the sky.

“I’m trying to work on it though,” Gojo says after a moment. “On it all.” He doesn’t need to say what it all is. Megumi understands. He’s trying his best to work on it all as well. Wonders if either of them will ever get there. But maybe, it doesn’t matter so much if they don’t. Not if they’re both trying.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not,” Gojo tells him, blinking under the bandages.

“I don’t care,” Megumi lies. He cares way too much. All he does is care.

“Alright,” Gojo snorts disbelievingly, like the asshole he is. “Sure, you don’t, Gumi.”

“I think,” Megumi starts, tapping his calloused fingers along the tiles. “I think you’re too busy saving the world to even try and save yourself.”

Gojo doesn’t speak for a moment, but then he sits up so suddenly it makes Megumi flinch slightly. “Can I let you in on a secret?” he asks, face so serious that Megumi can’t help but huff amusem*nt as he also sits up, slowly leaning closer in with Gojo.

“Sure,” he says, trying not to smile because maybe he feels seven again. Like Gojo is whispering into his ear about eating cake for dinner and blowing raspberries onto his stomach as he squeals with unbridled joy.

“’Don’t really give a sh*t about saving the world,” Gojo whispers. “Never really have. Not when I was younger. I just cared about f*cking up the assholes of the world. And I especially don’t care now.”

“Then why do you keep trying so hard?” Megumi asks, confused.

“I want to save you,” Gojo shrugs, like that little sentence doesn’t shake Megumi’s entire universe. “And Tsumiki. That’s all I really want anymore, to be honest. I tried really hard before, to save the person I loved the most. And it wasn’t enough. But it will be this time. I’m not gonna let something like that happen again. Not this time. Not with you and your sister. Nothing precious to me is ever going to slip through the cracks again.”

“For me and Miki,” Megumi breathes out. Gojo nods, lips quirking up into a smile. “Alright,” Megumi shrugs, happy enough to surrender that. “But when I’m stronger, and older, I’m gonna help. I’m gonna keep the world safe with you. For Tsumiki. For you,” he adds, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I don’t care that you’re the strongest. Honestly, I don’t think you are. I think you’re an idiot, and the most annoying guy I’ve ever met in my life.”

“But you’re Satoru, so if you’re going to fight for me. I’m going to fight for you.”

He thinks that might’ve been the wrong thing to say, because Gojo’s face falls in a broken kind of way. A resigned, defeated kind of way. But it felt like the right thing to say, and it felt good to get it out, so he doesn’t care. And then Gojo yanks on Megumi’s shoulders anyway, Limitless falling away as he pulls him into a crushing, awkward hug. The angle is weird since they’re on a roof, but Megumi is only slightly worried that they might topple off and splatter onto the ground below.

“Alright, Megs,” Gojo says, resting his chin on Megumi’s head, words muffled by black, spiky hair. “I’ll look after you, and you’ll look after me.”

In his pocket, his phone dies a couple of minutes too early to receive a call from Yuuji. And then another call from Yuuji. He completely forgets to even charge his phone in the chaos of the entire day, waking up in the morning to no alarm going off and swearing under his breath. At least it’s the weekend, and he hasn’t missed any classes.

Placing his phone on to charge, Megumi leaves it behind as he makes his way to Yaga’s office. He ends up back at the dorm with an official warning (literally who cares, what’re the Higher Ups going to do about it?), a note on his permanent record (Gojo has like fifty already, and even Shoko has at least three more than Megumi does), an order to write a personal apology for affronting Naoya (like f*ck will that be happening), and three missed texts from Yuuji. (sh*t)

31/08/2018 – 09:13

2 MISSED CALLS from YESTERDAY at 21:42 from: Yuuji

Yuuji

[21:42] hey, ur phone dead or sumthing?

[21:42] can u call me when u see these texts pls

[21:54] sh*tter of a day tbh, but ill tell u about it when we talk next

[21:55] I rly miss u already

Megumi calls back as soon as he reads the texts, exhaling with relief when Yuuji picks up on the first ring. “Itadori?” he speaks, fingers digging into his hair. “Sorry, my phone died yesterday, and I completely forgot to even put it on charge.”

“It’s okay,” Yuuji says, voice small and weary. There’s silence on the line for a moment, dread settling over Megumi’s bones.

“Are you alright?” he asks, trying to be as tender as he can. “What happened, Yuuji?”

“My grandpa,” Yuuji mutters into the phone, words breaking off in his mouth. Megumi’s heart falls through his floorboards, dropping down onto his bed. “He died. Yesterday. When I went to visit him, he just…he’s gone now,” he whispers. Megumi screws his eyes shut.

“Can you just...I'm fine - well, not fine, I guess. But I don't-I don't wanna talk about it right now. Just wanted to hear your voice. Can you just...would you mind just speaking to me for a bit."

There's silence for a moment, Yuuji's breathing heavy as Megumi chews down on his lips. "I punched a guy yesterday," he blurts out. "A real asshole."

The other boy doesn't respond for a moment, and for a dreadful second, Megumi convinces himself he's f*cked this whole thing up. sh*t, he really doesn't know how to comfort someone. Then Yuuji laughs. It's broken and weak, and doesn't sound at all like Yuuji really, but it's a laugh all the same. "Did you win?" Yuuji murmurs tiredly, and Megumi wonders if he's slept at all yet.

"No," he answers, shaking his head even though Yuuji can't see him. "Got the sh*t kicked out of me, actually." And then Yuuji is giggling again, a wet, sniffling sound, and Megumi thinks he can do this. He can keep talking, if that's what the other boy wants right now. He'll talk forever if that's what Yuuji wants right now. Whatever Yuuji wants, he'll do whatever he can to give.

Chapter 6: Say it Ain't So - Weezer

Chapter Text

Megumi grunts as he kicks his foot into Gojo’s stomach.

The older man doesn’t groan, but his jaw clenches, and Megumi doesn’t even try to bite down the grin that unfurls on his lips at the sight. Gojo wipes his mouth with the back of his hands, rolling his shoulders back before blue eyes slide back to crash against green.

“I let you do that, Gumi-chan,” Gojo reminds him as he digs his bare feet back into the sand, running a hand through white hair. Rolling his eyes, Megumi scoffs, “Okay, sure old man,” before crouching back into his own fighting stance. Gojo grins, something wild and unhinged he seems to only save for Megumi.

Realistically, he knows Gojo goes easy on him during training. He’d be dead in a second flat if the older man didn’t reign it in by at least a thousand percent. And whenever they’re sparring using their Cursed Techniques, Gojo only holds back to the extent of not pointedly slaughtering his shikigami. But as the years go on, when they spar with just their fists…well Megumi isn’t catching up with Gojo exactly. That would be impossible. He’s a mere mortal compared to Gojo Satoru’s indisputable godhood.

But Gojo doesn’t win as quickly as he used to anymore.

They start to circle each other, Gojo almost skipping with his steps while Megumi stays crouched, eyes twitching as he tries to keep up with every flinch Gojo makes. After a moment, Gojo runs at him, irritatingly effortlessly, as the older man does everything. With the blink of his eyes, Gojo could bring Tokyo to its knees. Without breaking a sweat, he could crumble the entire world. Could raze the heavens down to hell.

Instead of doing any of that, Gojo likes sprawling around campus like a lazy housecat. Collapsing on top of Megumi and demanding they play Mario Bros, or filming dances with Nobara in the kitchen for hours at a time. He only ever seems to actually use Jujutsu when he has to, dragged out on mission after mission after mission. Megumi wonders if a God has ever used their divine power begrudgingly before, or if Gojo Satoru is the first.

Giggling, he feigns a jab to Megumi’s chin. The teenager manages to dodge, ducking to the left, but Gojo easily catches that side anyway and Megumi eats sh*t onto the sand of the training pit, hissing more so in irritation than pain as he hits the ground.

From the side, Nobara is manically laughing as Gojo pins him onto the ground, grinning widely down at him. “You’re off your game, Gumi-chan,” he preens, co*cking his head to the side. Squinting, Megumi wallows in the light that radiates off of Gojo’s eyes. This just clearly amuses Gojo more, and the older man widens his eyes in response, as if he’s trying to burn his way through Megumi’s skull.

Goddamnit, Gojo is so f*cking weird. Only he would follow up a heart-to-heart in which he declared Megumi as his son, with beating the sh*t out of said son the next week. It used to really piss him off, the way he’d be on the ground, pinned under an elbow or a foot or a knee in under ten seconds every time he stepped into the ring with his guardian.

Gojo never did the same to the other students. Sometimes he’d even let Maki run circles around him, taking hit after hit with Playful Cloud to the ribs with a cheerful grin. Nanami’s always said it’s a nice thing, the way Gojo trains with Megumi. But he’s calling bullsh*t on that.

“I’ve not seen him train with anyone like this in years,” the older man had admitted seven years ago, when Megumi hadn’t even been an official student yet. He’d found Megumi sat outside on the training field all alone, his foul mood clinging to him as he prodded at his bruises. Training hadn’t been fun that day. Less so than normal. Each round had resulted with Megumi face down in the grass, and the whole thing had ended with him crying in frustration after Gojo teleported himself wherever it was Gojo Satoru seemed to teleport away to back then.

“What’re you talking about?” Megumi had scoffed, grimacing as Nanami passed him an ice pack. His dogs were lounging beside him, nudging their wet snouts against his elbows. “He just toys with me for a bit, before he always wins. It’s pointless training with the guy. I don’t get why he forces me to do it.” At that age, Megumi had been a lot more interested in playing video games in his own bedroom than being dragged up to Jujutsu Tech to train with the stupid asshole twenty-year-old who wouldn’t leave him alone.

“It isn’t pointless, Megumi-kun,” was all Nanami had said, shaking his head slowly. “It means he sees you as an equal.” And that was the stupidest thing Megumi had ever heard at that time. Because Gojo was Gojo Satoru, the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer that had ever lived. And he was a nine-year-old kid whose sister sometimes beat him in an arm wrestle. “It means he wants you to get better. Together.”

Which sure, whatever, that was all well and good for Nanami to say. But it was super hard for him to feel like he was getting better when he trained with Gojo. Especially when he always left sparring with a throbbing headache and aching ribs, while Gojo left with a grin and a ruffle to the boy’s hair, asking if Megumi wanted to go for ice cream. But he guesses he can kind of see the effects when he spars with Maki now, or even Panda and Inumaki.

Nowadays, his spars with the older pupils can go either way. Unlike when he was fourteen, and every time it ended with his face scraped up and blood dripping from his forehead, his dogs whimpering and licking his wounds.

He scowls in irritation as he tries futilely to kick Gojo off of him. “I’m tired,” he scowls, trying to look for a way to get out of the situation. He really is tired. The whole Yuuji situation is weighing on him more than he appreciates. He wishes he was better at sh*t like this. At comforting people. But he’s as bad as Gojo at things like this.

Instead of inheriting his guardian’s fighting skills, he got stuck with his emotional unavailability. And obsession with guys that skateboard, apparently.

As he strangles out a cry of frustration, bones aching, his tiredness slams through him. They’ve been training for a solid three hours, and Megumi spent the whole night searching online for tips on how to help a grieving friend. Spent the whole night uselessly researching, only for the sun to rise and Megumi be no better off on how to help Yuuji.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend all night talking to your mysterious friend, you wouldn’t be,” Gojo pushes, causing Nobara to laugh harder from the side. She’s got her phone out, biting on her bottom lip as she films their training. Tengen, he’s going to kill her. Being friends with other teenagers is so overrated. Especially since he’s recently found out Nobara loves to post every single picture she takes of anyone.

He’ll for sure murder at least one person if he finds a video of Gojo beating his ass online.

Scowling furiously at Nobara and her phone for good measure, he turns to narrow his eyes at his teacher. Apparently now that they’re not actively avoiding each other, Gojo thinks it’s fine to revert back to his natural state of irritation. He really thinks Gojo should have much better things to do, instead of trying to pry into Megumi’s own private life. Considering the man is essentially the very foundation of Jujutsu society itself.

“Shut up,” he scowls, resisting the urge to headbutt Gojo’s face, breaking his nose. It wouldn’t be worth it, cause Limitless would shoot up and Megumi’s own head might split in two. “There is no mysterious friend.”

“That’s not what Nanami said,” Gojo presses with a lazy shrug, eyes sparkling. “Or Kugisaki-san.”

“They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about,” Megumi protests, cursing the two of them to damnation in his head. He doesn’t even know when Nanami decided to tell Gojo about when he ran into Yuuji at the hospital. Good for nothing traitor.

And Nobara just loves running her mouth off apparently. Has made up this whole story in her head about Megumi and his special, secret friend who might or might not be a chef who Megumi might or might not have a crush on. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’s decided to spread this slanderous lie (that might be less of a lie than Megumi is willing to admit) around the entire school.

Irritation washing over his body, Megumi plunges his hand into the dry sand and laughs wickedly when he quickly flicks it all into Gojo’s face. Limitless flies up a second too late, due to Gojo’s confidence in his ability to beat Megumi into the dirt.

He stays where he is as he watches Gojo scramble backwards, spitting out sand and wiping at his face. “That is so childish,” he pouts, trying his best to shake the dirt out of his white hair.

“It worked,” Megumi smirks, letting his own head drop down onto the ground. “And that’s what you get for being such a pathetic loser. How about you stop thinking about me all the damn time and start having a bit more introspection into your own lame life?”

“Yeah sensei!” Nobara pipes up from the side, head dropped against the training pit wall, ginger hair falling down like a silk curtain. She straightens up and easily vaults over the wall, lifting herself up to sit on it with her legs crossed neatly. As usual, a lollipop stick is hanging out of her mouth, twirling around her tongue as she speaks. Megumi is pretty sure she’s just started doing it because Maki is always talking about how cool Kusakabe is.

Which is crazy because Megumi thinks the second-year teacher is kind of just an asshole. Although, he has spent the past ten years listen to Gojo and Shoko bitch about him a lot, snickering and pulling impressions every time anyone brings the guy up. Even Nanami rolls his eyes and sighs, “I’m really surprised someone hasn’t actually punched the guy yet,” every time he’s mentioned. Apparently, if Shoko is to be believed, Nanami did try to punch him once, back when he was still a student and Kusakabe had just started teaching.

So, maybe Megumi’s a bit biased. Thinking about it now, he doesn’t know if he’s ever actually had his own thought, completely uninfluenced by Shoko, Nanami, or Gojo. The three of them are kind of carved out in his soul, heart and head. They’re inescapable in his words, in the way he fights, in the way he carries himself.

He wonders how much of his original parents he carries with him too. Despite it all. Despite all the time that’s passed and all the memories that he’s already forgotten.

“Fushiguro’s right,” she nods, chewing on the stick. “You’ve got to get laid too, sensei. I think it would fix a good amount of all your issues.” At that, Megumi sits up straight, sand flicking up around him as he glares at Nobara.

“That is not what I meant,” he hisses out, even as Gojo giggles beside him. Now, the blatant disrespect for their teacher is one thing, but that is Megumi’s…that is Megumi’s pseudo-teacher-guardian-stand in-father-figure. And Megumi doesn’t think Nobara’s been around Gojo enough to have picked up on the fact that his ex and teenage best friend is also the very same genocidal f*cker who tried to kill all of the second years less than a year ago.

“Ah Nobara,” Gojo smirks, pushing himself up onto his two long legs as he peers across at his student. “Me and you are going to have a little talk about respecting your seniors at some point,” he clicks his tongue, but he doesn’t look particularly annoyed. Not even when Nobara shrugs like she doesn’t give a sh*t, like she hasn’t ever respected anyone in her life before, already back to scrolling on her phone.

“Good training,” Gojo says as he turns his attention back to Megumi, helping him up onto his feet before slapping his shoulder unnecessarily hard. Groaning, he tries to elbow Gojo’s side, but the familiar barrier of Limitless is already up, dimming Gojo’s the light glowing off of grin. “You fight dirty, kid,” he whistles, ruffling his own hair, like a cat preening itself.

“Had to learn that from someone,” he shrugs, voice pointed, hands in his pockets as Gojo blinks up at him from where he’s bent over, sand particles falling all over his expensive gym clothes.

“I don’t fight dirty,” Gojo objects, sounding genuinely a bit put out. “I never have. Yeah, sure, I have fun with it,” he grins as he straightens up, rubbing at his jaw. “Who doesn’t like sh*t talking? But I don’t fight dirty. That was way more…” he trails off, eyes widening in surprise for a moment.

Megumi understands what’s happening before Gojo says anything. “Way more Geto’s style?” he guesses, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet as he watches a wave of understanding wash over the older man’s face.

“Yeah,” he says softly, a nostalgic smile tugging on his lips. “Yeah, it was. I must’ve subconsciously adapted my style of hand-to-hand combat to fit his better when we were younger. Or something. I just never…I never realised that.”

“He ever beat you?” Megumi asks as a throwaway question, because he doesn’t know the best way to navigate his way out of this uncomfortable conversation. He doesn’t really want to deal with Gojo’s sad wistfulness for his long dead youth right now. Not when Megumi’s too caught up dealing with his current, never-ending, inescapable youth.

“Oh, in hand-to-hand?” Gojo laughs, snapping out of whatever reverie he was sucked into. “All the damn time.” And, yeah that’s what Megumi had been expecting him to – Pause. Huh? Huh?

“Wait, what?” he stutters as Gojo makes his way out of the training pit, shoving his feet into his sandals as he flicks Nobara’s nose, like he hasn’t just rocked Megumi’s perception of the entire world.

“He beat you?” he repeats in disbelief, stumbling on the sand as he scrambles after Gojo. “He used to beat you in hand-to-hand?” he demands, catching himself on the wall as he stares up at his guardian. “You? He beat you?”

Because there’s no way. He’s seen a stupid amount of Jujutsu sorcerers spar with Gojo Satoru. All of the teachers at both of the schools. All of the freelancers. Nanami. Shoko. Every single student from both of the schools for the past ten years. Ino, who begs Gojo to spar with him every time he visits campus. Megumi thinks the guy probably visits solely so he can spar with Gojo, to be honest. Or try and induce Nanami into evaluating him. Or follow Megumi around until he gives in and summons his dogs to play fetch with him.

All in all, he has seen every single one of them end up under Gojo’s foot, or pinned to the wall by his arm, or crumpled face down into the grass, blood trickling down their chin. It always depends on how much Gojo likes them. The spectrum is very, very broad.

At some point last Summer, Gojo had been stuck on the idea of sparring with Shoko for some reason, begging her every day to have a go at him. The whole holiday, she refused each beg with a roll of her eyes, until one morning, Megumi woke up to find the two of them on the training field at seven in the morning.

Shoko was sprawled out in Gojo’s lap as she smoked, because apparently after thirty seconds, he’d realised the fight was so weighed in his favour it wasn’t even fun to spar with her. And Megumi thinks Gojo would rather carve his own eyes out from their sockets than hurt Shoko.

That very night, Mei Mei had found herself in Shoko’s infirmary with a set of broken ribs from a nasty wave of Red, which Gojo swore he misfired at her while they sparred. No one seemed to believe him, least of all Mei Mei and her creepy little brother, who threatened to sue Gojo for emotional damages.

So, the range of injuries range from the strongest sorcerer essentially refusing to touch the sparring partner (see Shoko, Ino and Miwa) to trying his best to get around the Jujutsu golden rule of not killing your fellow sorcerer (see Mei Mei, Kusakabe and anyone with the family name of Zenin).

But no one has ever, ever, in the whole time he has known him, beaten Gojo.

And now he’s trying to say some random teenager was able to hand his ass to him on the regular? And Megumi never even got to see this?

“Really?” he chokes out as Nobara rolls her eyes in irritated boredom.

“Yep,” Gojo shrugs like this isn’t a big deal. “Don’t think I ever once beat him, now that I think about it.” And all Megumi can do is stand there with his jaw hanging open. Because if that’s the case, he’s now feeling very personally slighted that Geto decided to throw his life away and turn to the Dark Side, when he could’ve been a teacher here too, and shown him the ways of making Gojo Satoru eat sh*t.

What he would give to see someone dust Gojo in hand-to-hand combat. What he would give to see the guy Gojo was in love with kick his dumb ass to the ground.

Hands digging into his hair, Megumi laments the lost opportunity as Gojo tells them he’s off on another mission and he’ll be back for dinnertime. After promising to bring Nobara back something expensive and Megumi something tasty, he’s gone with a click of his fingers, leaving behind a pool of sand grains where he was stood.

“I can’t believe it,” Megumi murmurs, even as Nobara drops down onto her feet and smacks him over the head.

“God,” she scowls. “All you talk about is training,” she moans. “You’re the most boring guy I’ve ever met in my life.”

“Maybe if you were better at fighting, you’d get it,” Megumi snaps back, grabbing his water bottle and towel before he starts to make his way back towards the dorms. Expectedly, Nobara chases after him, pretending like she doesn’t want to hang out like she always does. He picked up on her tactics pretty quickly. Girls are kind of easy to figure out once you realise what you’re looking for.

“You’re so annoying, Fushiguro,” she sighs in exasperation, even as she tries to pinch his bottle out of his hands. She’s still too slow for him though, and he easily holds it above her reach.

“Get your own water. There’s no way you could be thirsty anyway,” he tells her when she scowls. “You literally didn’t even try to train. You’re wearing a skirt,” he points out.

“So?” she shrugs with narrowed eyes, hands on her hips. “Are you trying to say I can’t train in a skirt? That girls can’t fight because they wear skirts? God, you’re a sexist asshole, Fushiguro,” she accuses as she follows him into their dorms, kicking the door shut behind her. This is also expected – every time he doesn’t pay for her lunch, or beat her at a video game, or refuse to let her borrow his clothes, he gets labelled as hating women.

“So, what’re we doing today then?” she says as she follows him into his room, like an irritating pet who will not leave him alone. Hovering by his doorway, she leans on the threshold, ankles crossed over the other. “I’m catching a movie with Maki tonight, but we could go for lunch or something. Or you could finally let me give you a makeover?” she grins, batting her eyelashes at him like that might work on him.

“You’re not giving me a makeover,” he says, for what has to be the hundredth time in the past week. “I’m not letting you stab me with an eyeliner pen or whatever. Ask Inumaki if you want someone to practice on. Or Gojo.”

“Gojo-sensei’s never here!” she objects, and yeah, if Megumi doesn’t understand what that feels like. “And Inumaki doesn’t have the bone structure for it. Really Fushiguro,” she tuts, flopping onto his bed. With her f*cking trainers still on. “Your prettiness is wasted on you.”

“Can you stop trying to suck up to me?” he cringes. “It’s creepy.”

“I was literally giving you a compliment!” she protests, twirling a strand of ginger hair around her finger. “It’s not my fault your inferiority complex twists that into creepiness.”

Giving a huff of amusem*nt, Megumi starts searching through his wardrobe for something nice to wear. “Stop psychoanalysing me. That’s also creepy. And you’re bad at it,” he adds as he pulls out a sweater he hasn’t seen in a while. He cannot for the life of him remember where he got it, but it’s some merch for an English band, so he figures it was once Gojo’s, as most of his nice clothes were.

“That’s cute,” Nobara says from where she’s lounging on his bed, flipping through the books left abandoned on his bedside table. “Cuter than all your other clothes. Can I borrow it for tonight?”

He shakes his head as he throws the sweater over his shoulder, snatching up a pair of jeans too before he slips into his joined bathroom. That’s one of the advantages of having no other guys in his year – the conjoined boys’ bathroom is only conjoined to his room. It might be the only positive though. Sometimes, meaning a lot of the time, he thinks what it might be like to have another classmate in their year. Someone who might be able to balance him and Megumi out a bit better than Gojo tries to.

When he comes back into his room after a quick shower, Nobara is still on his bed, scrolling through her phone. “So?” she demands as he shakes his wet hair out onto his floor, running his hands through it until it looks acceptably less spikey than normal. “What’re our plans for the day?”

“I don’t know what your plans are,” he says pointedly, bending down to tie up his shoes. “I’m going to see a friend.”

“Ah,” Nobara giggles, and Megumi regrets ever becoming her friend. Regrets ever opening his mouth and saying anything to this girl. “The special, secret, omurice friend. I see how it is.”

“There is no special, secret, omurice friend,” he frowns. He wonders who’ll break first. Him, or everyone else. If he’ll give in and tell them about Yuuji, or if everyone else will finally grow up and stop questioning him about his private business – including the actual adults who are caught up in borderline bullying Megumi on the topic.

“Sure there isn’t, Fushiguro,” Nobara nods along.

“Don’t say it like that,” he groans, pulling out his phone to ask Ichiji if he can get a lift.

“Say it like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me!”

Nobara has a particularly needling smile that she loves to use on Megumi especially. “I don’t believe you,” she says, eyes glistening. “I just hope for your sake that he’s cute,” she adds as Megumi stalks over to the bed, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder because he knows there’s no other way to get her out of his room. And he does not want her rifling through his sh*t while he’s not here.

“Knowing you, he probably isn’t cute though.” He can’t see her, but he can hear the smirk in her voice. “You seem like you’d have awful taste in men.”

“Mhh,” he hums, dropping her onto the couch in the living room as he stalks towards the exit. “Equally as bad as your taste in women, I’d say.” He closes the door just in time to miss getting a throw cushion to the head. “See you later, Kugisaki,” he shouts through the wood, knocking on the door before he’s spinning on his heels and jogging down the hall before she can say anything else.

He's been meaning to see Yuuji for a week and a half now, ever since he told him his grandpa died. But Yuuji was obviously too busy for them to hang out. And he really didn’t want to impose. He didn’t even have Yuuji’s address. So, he tried his best to support the other boy over the phone, sitting in his own room at night as Yuuji sat in his. He couldn’t tell whether Yuuji’s voice was cracking because of the connection, or from something else.

He'd been planning to wait until Yuuji said he wanted to hang out again, because the last thing Megumi wanted to do was come across as aggressive, or whatever. He didn’t want to stress Yuuji out, when the boy was already going through an awful time. But it had been almost two weeks now, and the last thing he’d heard from Yuuji was that he had to move in with Junpei until everything got worked out with social care.

“That sucks,” Megumi had offered when Yuuji told him on the phone.

“Yeah,” the other boy murmured. “I mean, it’s pretty cool living with Junpei and his mum. To be honest, I’d much rather stay here than go into the care system. But…I don’t know if it’ll work out. There’s no actual space for me here, I’m just sleeping on a futon in Junpei’s room, and I really don’t want to be a bother.”

“I’m sure you’re not bothering them,” Megumi said, because how could Yuuji ever bother anyone?

“Not purposefully,” Yuuji objected. “But I mean I’m not their family. I’m just some kid.”

“No, you’re not,” Megumi had told him, maybe a bit too forceful. He had never managed to get the hang of sounding soft, all his words came out sharp and poised, like bullets from a gun. “You’re not just anything. I mean-you’re Yuuji,” he’d said, voice bordering on pleading, because he felt like it was really important Yuuji understood what he was saying. “I wish you could come stay with me,” was all he’d managed to say.

Yuuji had agreed all the same, and Megumi pictured him, sat outside on Junpei’s balcony. Eyes screwed shut, moonlight sending shadows dancing across his face. Phone pressed to his ear, head leaning against the wall. “Yeah,” he’d laughed, but the sound was dead, echoing around Megumi’s head. “I wish I could too. Maybe social care will be able to find long lost relatives of mine that are religious millionaires, just like you. And I can come stay with you.”

“Yeah,” Megumi had smiled. “You could come stay with me.”

Now, that obviously isn’t possible. He’s considered it. Thought about stealing Yuuji away from Junpei and his mum, and the Tokyo Care System and the lot of it. Keeping him at Jujutsu Tech until they both graduate, and then Yuuji would be old enough to do whatever he wanted. Ideally, he’d want Megumi. And they could get their own place together, with enough space for him to train all of his shikigami, and a big garden for Yuuji to plant sunflowers like he’s apparently always wanted. And with painted shutters.

Not that he’s put that much thought into that.

With Gojo’s help, he’d probably be able to keep Yuuji safe. Hidden from the Higher Ups, and from the Japanese Government, who probably wouldn’t be too happy with a runaway sixteen-year-old. Overall, the situation isn’t entirely viable. He gets that, obviously.

He can’t kidnap Yuuji. But he can go hang out with Yuuji. Can offer his condolences and his support as a friend. A simpler plan, maybe, but probably a lot more realistic.

He thanks Ichiji for the lift, telling the man he won’t need picked up. And with that, he’s stood on Yoshino Junpei’s street, right in front of Yoshino Junpei’s house. Yuuji’s new best friend, or whatever.

Hesitating for a moment, he bites at the skin around his nails. Technically Yuuji also hasn’t given him Junpei’s address either. So, it might be a bit weird for him to just – show up. But maybe it’s nice? A nice gesture perhaps? Or maybe it is just super f*cking weird and borderline stalkerish.

No, he tells himself, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks up to the front door. This is nice. It’s thoughtful. Whatever, he’s overthinking this. This is totally normal. He’s a normal guy, doing normal things.

He just really wants to see Yuuji.

Gritting his teeth and summoning the same amount of courage he usually reserves for fighting the worse kind of curses, he knocks on the door. Feeling awkward, and then feeling incredibly stupid and kind of pathetic for feeling awkward, he shoves his hands into his pockets and lets them itch into fists. "Coming!” Someone calls from inside. It definitely isn’t Yuuji’s voice, and it doesn’t sound like a woman’s voice either. Which can only mean-

“Mum, did you forget your keys again because-” The boy cuts himself off when he swings the front door open to come face to face with Megumi. Alright. So, this is Yoshino Junpei. This is Yuuji’s friend. One of Yuuji’s many, many friends that he likes to talk about. The film kid. Soft-spoken and kind, Yuuji had said. He just needs to get out of his shell a little bit, Yuuji had said.

Well, Megumi thinks he’s plenty out of his shell, because Yoshino is sending him suspicious looks that should cause Megumi to bite his head clean off. But this is Yuuji’s friend. The boy who has taken Yuuji in, at a low point in his life. Someone who cares for Yuuji just as much as he does. Well, Megumi isn’t entirely sure someone else could ever be as obsessed with anyone as he is with Yuuji. But this is someone who can actually help Yuuji, unlike him.

So, he just tries to smile politely at the other boy. He thinks it might come across as more of a grimace. Yoshino doesn’t smile back.

“You’re Fushiguro,” he says before Megumi can every speak. It comes out slightly accusatory, as if Megumi’s name means a whole lot more than it does.

He blinks in surprise at that, brows knitting together as he nods. “Yeah,” he replies slowly. “How’d you know that?”

“Yuuji’s shown me pictures of you,” Yoshino shrugs, leaning on the doorway as he folds his arms across his chest. Megumi’s lips part in shock, because he didn’t even realise Yuuji had pictures of him. Doesn’t understand where the hell the other boy might’ve gotten them from, because while Megumi’s started tentatively posting on his Instagram, he’s made damn sure his face isn’t in any of the pictures.

His heart rattles in his chest. It’s a nice feeling for once.

“He mentions you a lot,” Yoshino says, lips quirking up into a smirk. Megumi continues to blink at him, feeling totally out of his depth here. He feels like he’s somehow losing this whole interaction.

“Yeah,” he nods, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. “He’s mentioned you a couple times too,” he says, because he does not want Yoshino thinking they just spend their time together talking about Yuuji’s other friends.

“You’re not as tall as I thought you’d be, if I’m being honest,” Yoshino says lightly, as if he isn’t almost a foot shorter than Megumi is. He bites down on the potential insults that spring to mind, because this is coming from the guy who has the same hairstyle Nanami did in the early 2000s. And that was lame even back then.

“Right,” he chokes out instead because this is Yuuji’s friend. He has to keep reminding himself of that. “So, is Yuuji here?” he asks, trying not to cringe as Yoshino’s eyebrows fly up.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Yuuji isn’t here.”

“Okay,” Megumi frowns. “Are you going to tell me where he is or…”

“He’s at his place,” the other boy tells him. “He didn’t…it wasn’t a great morning for him, honestly. Think he needed time to himself. So he went back to his grandpa’s flat. He left it to Yuuji in the will, so even if social care doesn’t let him stay there alone, he’ll be able to go back one day.”

“Oh,” Megumi says, brain moving too slowly to properly catch everything Yoshino’s telling him. “That’s good. That’s good for him.”

“Yeah,” Yoshino shrugs. “If that’s everything then,” he says, and proceeds to try and shut the door. He frowns when he can’t, both of them looking down to see Megumi’s foot stuck in the threshold. Yoshino shoves the door on his shoe a couple more times, until Megumi huffs in pain, and shoots his arm forward to grab onto the edge of the door.

“You said he wanted to be left alone,” Megumi repeats. “So, I should just…leave him alone then, right?” He hates that he’s asking Yoshino for help with this, because the guy has really nice eyes, like a doe. Eyes that he could definitely see Yuuji falling in love with.

And Megumi must look as pathetic as he feels, because Yoshino shoots him an unimpressed look before he says, “I don’t think you’re included in that. So don’t worry about it.”

“Included in what?”

“Included in everything that Yuuji’s trying to get away from,” he says, waving a hand in the air, as if he’s frustrated Megumi isn’t picking up on this quicker. But Megumi still isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to be picking up on at all.

“Just go see him,” Yoshino rolls his eyes when Megumi just gapes at him. “He’ll want to see you, trust me.”

“Alright then,” Megumi nods, trying to look more put together than he feels. “Can I-do you have the address?” he asks quickly, before Yoshino can try and slam the door on him again.

After a couple of minutes, Megumi is walking the streets of Tokyo with Yuuji’s address scrawled on his hand. It isn’t until he gets there, that he realises he could’ve taken advantage on the walk to prepare what he could say. So he doesn’t accidentally say anything wrong.

Rubbing at his palm as he walks up to Yuuji’s floor, because he’s now realising he’ll look insane if he shows up with his address inked on his hand like a serial killer, he ignores the thudding of his heartbeat. Standing in front of Yuuji’s door, after knocking, he’s struck with the sudden realisation that it might be rude to show up empty handed. Should he have brought flowers or something? Yuuji did like those orchids he gave him before.

When no one answers, Megumi goes to knock again. This time, he puts a little bit more force into it, but that just causes the door to creak open entirely, revealing a sliver of light peeking through.

“Itadori?” he calls, kicking the unlocked door open with the toe of his shoe. “You in here?” There’s no answer for a moment, and Megumi cringes as he steps inside the apartment. This feels wrong. Like he’s trespassing somewhere he doesn’t belong. Running through a spotless kitchen with muddied boots, splattering dirt all over the tile.

He always feels the weight of himself, sopping wet and drenched and dripping pathetically into the real world. Every time he’s around Yuuji, he feels it. But normally, it’s easy to ignore. Or even convince himself like it doesn’t matter at all.

But stood in Itadori’s apartment, in his home, Megumi feels like a criminal. Standing at the edge of the world with his pockets full of stolen memories and thieved smiles and raided whispers in Yuuji’s voice. Like a child painting on the walls, all of Megumi’s mess is splattered all over his skin as he stands in Yuuji’s hall.

Maybe this entire thing was a mistake – Yuuji hasn’t even said he wants to see him. And now he’s just intruding on his space when he clearly wants to be left alone. Holy sh*t. Yeah, this was such a f*ck up. Damn, he just can’t help trying to f*ck it up.

Just as he makes to leave, backtracking as quietly as he can, praying that Yuuji didn’t hear him, a voice is drifting across the apartment to him. “In here, Megumi.” Eyes widening, his head snaps towards one of the doors, hesitating for a second before he heads towards it. Nudging it open, he gingerly pokes his head inside the room.

The curtains are drawn back, windows pushed open, and the soft hum of the city below is familiar. Cars swoosh past, and dogs bark at each other and sirens sound far away. The entire symphony of the outside world accompanies the heavy thudding of Megumi’s heart as he stands in the middle of Itadori Yuuji’s bedroom. Holy f*ck, he’s in Itadori Yuuji’s bedroom.

It’s not as bad as he expected it to be, honestly. Not as neat as Megumi’s, but that was always going to be a given. He’s never seen Yuuji without some sort of stain swiped across his face, or clothes. Dirt caked in his knees, grass stains on his jeans, curry sauce painted on his lips, paint thumbed over his temples. It echoes in his room too, with stacks of manga carefully placed around the floor, like mountains crumbling in the landscape. With posters tacked on the wall, notably skateboarders or actors. There’s at least six of Jennifer Lawrence.

It's messier than Megumi’s dorm for sure, but it feels more affected. Like someone lives and breathes here, without fear of making his mark in permanence. There are knicks in the floorboards, and a hole in the plaster of the wall beside the PC, poorly hidden by a poster of one of the Star Wars films. There are post it notes stuck on the ceiling, flaking off from the heat.

And there, lying curled up on top of the neatly made bed, is Yuuji. Looking a lot younger than he usually does. He doesn’t get up when Megumi steps into the room, but he tilts his head to look at him, brown eyes crinkling with something not quite, but akin to a smile. Megumi tries to throw one back his way, gingerly stepping closer to him.

“Hi,” he says, pausing at the foot of the bed. He feels the ridiculous urge to grab onto Yuuji’s ankles, tanned skin peeking out between his socks and his tracksuit bottoms.

“Hey,” Yuuji answers, eyes droopy as he watches Megumi carefully. His face is partly hidden by the hoodie he’s buried in, and Megumi can really only see his eyes. Megumi could pick out Yuuji’s eyes anywhere. He’s infected with them, unable to stop thinking about them. In his coffee, in the leaves that fall, in the back of his mind whenever he tries to fall asleep.

“It’s good to see you,” Megumi offers, dread trudging in his stomach. f*ck, he is so bad at this. And he doesn’t know anyone normal enough to have asked for advice on this. Yuuji gives a huff of amusem*nt at that, eyes drifting up to stare at his ceiling fan. Biting down on his cheek, Megumi leans forward and wraps his fingers around the other boy’s ankles, squeezing until Yuuji meets his eyes again.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be great company right now, Fushiguro,” Yuuji murmurs. Megumi’s brows knit together as he leans forward slightly, tapping his fingers along Yuuji’s anklebone. “You’re always good company,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what you do, or what kind of mood you’re in. You could literally lie there and sleep, and you’d still be my favourite person. To uh-my favourite person to hang out with,” he clarifies awkwardly.

He doesn’t really think what he said was all that nice, but Yuuji is moving until he’s sat upright, placing his own hands on top of Megumi’s, head tilting up so his forehead is right under Megumi’s nose. “Can’t just come into my room and say sh*t like that, y’know?” Yuuji says, so quiet he’s almost whispering. Megumi almost misses it entirely, because his attention is so stuck on Yuuji’s lips being so close to his own.

Snapping out of it quickly, he forces his eyes to meet Yuuji’s, because the guy’s grandpa just died a week ago, and Megumi is thinking insanely inappropriate thoughts for this entire situation. “I didn’t even really say anything,” he replies, kind of pathetically, as he gently drags his hands away from Yuuji’s.

The other boy doesn’t speak, dropping his head onto his knees as his own hands replace Megumi’s around the hem of his socks. Brown eyes just follow each step he takes around Yuuji’s room. “Cool,” he says as he gestures to a bookshelf that is pretty much exclusively filled with manga. The only real books are ones he’s sure Yuuji just had to read for school, dogeared and full of tabs. “I didn’t think you could read,” he says, and Yuuji chuckles at that, face softening.

“This thing needs thrown out,” he tells Yuuji as he moves over to his window ledge, picking up a pot with a very visibly dead cactus in it. “I don’t know who thought trusting you with a houseplant was a good idea.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Yuuji says, but he’s finally back to grinning widely, teeth sharp. “You don’t get to be an asshole to me,” he continues, flopping back down onto his mattress with a dramatic sigh. “I’m grieving.”

Megumi is kind of sure he’s joking, but it still catches him off guard a bit. “Yeah,” he nods, moving to sit beside him. He drops to the floor near the bedframe, leaning his own head on the mattress as Yuuji meets his eyes. “You wanna talk about that?”

“Not especially,” the other boy shrugs, tuft of pale pink hair poking out from under his hood as he shuffles closer to Megumi. He can feel Yuuji’s warm breath against his cheek. “I mean, I knew it was coming. He was old. He’d lived a full life. A good life, as much as he complained about it. And honestly, the past week’s been…” he trails off, cheek squished on the mattress. “It’s been hectic, obviously. But it’s not been as heavy as I thought it would be. And then this morning…I don’t even know what happened. Why it all just sorta-it was like it all came out at once.”

“Well,” Megumi shrugs, resisting the urge to reach out and run his fingers along the bridge of the other boy’s nose. “Everyone processes grief differently.”

“You sound like you Googled how to talk to someone whose grandparent’s just died,” Yuuji grins gently. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Megumi hopes that his face isn’t giving away that he did exactly that. “How do you process grief then?” Yuuji asks, smile falling as he blinks across towards Megumi. They haven’t spoken about a lot of heavy sh*t yet. Because Yuuji seems to like talking about the clouds and the pictures he sees in them, while Megumi revels in the break from constantly thinking about heavy sh*t that Yuuji gives him.

But Yuuji knows the bare minimum about Tsumiki. Knows his parents aren’t around either. Knows that now, he’s just as lonely as Megumi is.

“I don’t know,” he answers, eyes falling to his crossed legs. “By running away from it until it finds me in a konbini in the middle of a sunny day, I think,” he says, because he doesn’t have the words for the loss he cradles in his chest. The losses he holds closer than the wins.

But Yuuji looks like he gets it, because Yuuji always seems to get it, eyes crinkling sadly as he nods. “How’d you run from it?” he asks, and he looks so defeated that Megumi lets himself reach forward and push the falling curls behind Yuuji’s ears.

“Dunno,” he exhales, dropping his head back onto the mattress right next to Yuuji’s. He can’t exactly explain how he mostly pushes all his anger into Jujutsu. Can’t explain how Gojo helped him, because he didn’t even realise Gojo had helped him until right now. As he runs his hands through Yuuji’s hair, nails scratching his scalp. Cause that’s what Gojo used to do for him when he was younger.

“I think…you’ve just got to plaster over it with more love, y’know? You wanna do something?” he adds, watching as Yuuji tilts his head to get a better look at him. “Take your mind off of it? It could help.”

“Well,” Yuuji starts, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “What would we do?”

“Whatever you want,” Megumi offers. “You’re the one whose grandpa just died.” Letting out a breathy laugh, Yuuji makes a big deal out of pretending like he’s thinking really hard on it.

“Whatever I want?” And the way he says it makes Megumi still, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He withdraws his hands from Yuuji’s hair, only for the other boy to lean forward, pointedly tugging on a strand of Megumi’s. “Remember how I said you’d look good in pink?”

They end up walking up and down the aisles of a nearby drugstore together, Yuuji’s head on Megumi’s shoulder as the taller boy carries the basket. He can’t imagine a world where Yuuji is not stood next to him like this anymore.

He refused to agree on dying his own hair but managed to get Yuuji to compromise in the end. Megumi dying Yuuji’s hair would be more fun anyway, he’d said.

“All you have to do is sit there and look pretty,” Megumi had shrugged, leaning against the front door as Yuuji kicked his shoes on. “I’ll do all the hard work. This’ll be more fun. I’ll look after you.” The other boy had straightened up, with a furious blush streaked over his cheeks. Megumi had no idea where that had come from, but before he could ask, Yuuji was practically shoving him out of the flat, saying, “yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Megumi.”

He snatches up a couple bags of sweets as they walk past, tossing them in the basket. While he doesn’t especially like sweets, they always make his mouth feel weird afterwards, he knows Yuuji does. And he’s already refused to dye his hair pink (it’ll match your eyes, Yuuji had tried to plead), the least he can do is get the guy a sugar high.

“What colour do you want?” he asks as the two of them stand in front of the shelves of box dye. When Yuuji doesn’t answer right away, he tilts his own head down to glance over the other boy, who is still leaning on Megumi’s shoulder like his body is too heavy to hold himself up.

“Dunno,” Yuuji murmurs sleepily. “I kind of like the pink,” he adds, running a tired hand through his hair.

“So do I,” Megumi nods, smiling sheepishly when Yuuji finally looks up at him, eyes widening slightly. “It looks good,” he continues, and a large grin splits across Yuuji’s face, all traces of melancholy gone from his face as he nudges his head against Megumi’s shoulder, like a cat begging for attention.

“Of course, it looks good,” Yuuji scoffs, crouching down so he can peer at the colours on the bottom shelf. Megumi follows his lead, legs a lot longer than Yuuji’s, so he just bends over, dropping his chin on the top of the other boy’s head. “I make anything look good, I’m hot as sh*t.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything to that, but he chuckles all the same as the smell of Yuuji’s apple scented three in one shampoo hits his face. “What about this one?” Yuuji asks as he holds up a box for Megumi to look at.

“It’s the same colour as the strawberry sauce,” he muses with a smile, removing the weight of his head from on top of Yuuji’s as they both straighten up. Teeth white and canines grinning, Yuuji nods before he holds the dye up to Megumi’s face. “And it matches your eyes,” he tells him. “Just like I said it would.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one dying my hair,” Megumi objects as Yuuji easily tosses the box into the basket, doing an over-the-top basketball impression and running small laps of celebration around Megumi when it lands. “So it doesn’t matter if it matches my eyes,” he continues as they start back down the aisle, Yuuji snatching up a box of plastic gloves on their way.

“Sure, it does,” he shrugs in response, shoes screeching against the linoleum floor. “I wanna match with you,” he grins, and Megumi is pretty sure that forces an audible gasp out of his mouth. But he pretends like he had a completely normal reaction to that completely normal statement, picking up the speed until he gets to the check-out.

He doesn’t speak much as the cashier rings up their items, tongue too heavy in his mouth. Just watches as Yuuji makes easy conversation with her, resisting the urge to unzip his hoodie and shove the other boy inside, keeping him there forever. “Thanks,” Yuuji waves to the cashier as they leave, bag wound tight around Megumi’s fingers.

On the walk home, Megumi nods and says ‘yeah, totally,’ at the right moments as Yuuji talks lightly about what it’s like living with Yoshino. But he’s not really listening. And that makes him feel like a right piece of sh*t, because Yuuji is actually grieving, as much as the guy wants to make jokes about it, and Megumi is struggling to even listen to him talk. Tengen, he’s such a bad friend.

But Yuuji really sways his arms when he walks, stupidly so actually. It’s as if he does it on purpose. He also looks up at the sky while he walks, and balances on the kerb, one trainer placed carelessly in front of the other, as if the boy finds it fun dangling himself in front of danger. It’s like Yuuji’s asking to get hit by a car, really.

But he sways his arms, and he’s swaying his arms right now, and his fingers keep brushing against Megumi’s. Who can’t figure out if it would be insanely weird to just like…maybe, hold his hand? He really doesn’t think he can be blamed for not listening to Yuuji’s stories about Junpei’s cooking when the other boy’s impossibly soft hand keeps brushing against his palm. Especially because Yuuji’s hands are so nice in comparison to Megumi’s.

Tanned and strong, Yuuji has fingers like a Greek statute. They look so impossibly perfect, like someone sketched and planned each pane of skin on them. As if they have been purposefully designed in comparison to Megumi’s. His own hands are ridiculously pale, whiter than the rest of him, and weirdly spindly.

But he thinks he could handle the paleness if it wasn’t for the scarring. Gnarled and rough, Megumi’s hands would be more fitting of a curse, rather than stitched onto a sixteen-year-old. Scars decorate the expanse of skin, right from the tip of his fingers curling right down to his elbow. He has scars everywhere, from Jujutsu. It would be impossible to avoid. Unless he was Gojo, who had a constant bubble surrounding himself to protect him from something as innocent as the rain.

Megumi’s fingers are especially calloused, from training day in and day out with various weapons. And he’s got a couple of bite marks imprinted into his palms, from where every single shikigami has tried to tear into his flesh at one point or another.

Now that he’s really thinking about it, Yuuji’s probably super freaked out by his hands. Sixteen-year-olds aren’t meant to have f*cked up hands like this. At most, like guitar scars or something. Not full-on battle wounds littering his entire body. He should’ve paid more attention to Junpei’s when he opened the door. Bets that Junpei has lovely hands, the stupid f*cker.

Megumi is so caught up silently breaking down about the state of his skin, that it takes him a second to realise that Yuuji’s already slipped his hand into Megumi’s own free one. Blinking, he does a double take at their intertwined fingers as Yuuji comments on the cinematography of the Avengers films. Suddenly, he’s not thinking about his scars at all. He’s just thinking about how well Yuuji’s hand fits in his. Like it was sculpted for it. Like they were sculpted for each other, maybe.

Megumi smiles the entire way back to Yuuji’s flat, gently tracing the other boy’s knuckles with his fingertips.

Yuuji only lets go once they get back to the flat, leading Megumi into the bathroom. “I maybe should’ve mentioned before,” he says as Yuuji sits in the bathtub, legs pulled up to his chest. “But I’ve actually got no idea how to dye hair.”

“I figured,” Yuuji says, waving a dismissive hand through the air before he starts directing Megumi on what to pull out of the cabinet under the bathroom sink. Hands properly gloved, and arms laden with glasses spurted full of pink hair dye, Megumi turns back to the bath to now see a shirtless Yuuji.

“You-I-you took your hoodie off,” he stutters, trying his very best to keep breathing as he looks at the lovely expanse of skin trailing under Yuuji’s neck. f*ck him, how is Yuuji so fit? He’s a f*cking sixteen-year-old as well, he’s not supposed to look like an Adonis.

“Yeah,” Yuuji shrugs, head back on his knees. “I don’t want to f*ck up my clothes. I don’t have a lot of faith of you here, Gumi.”

“Whatever,” he manages to choke out, dumping the stuff beside the bath as he sits on the edge, slotting himself behind Yuuji. “How hard could it possible be?”

Turns out, dying hair is a bit harder than he’d been expecting. He has no idea how Nobara does it by herself every time her brown roots start to peek through. It takes him a couple hours, probably a lot longer than it’s supposed to, but he likes the feeling of Yuuji leaning against his torso, arms folded over Megumi’s knees as he rakes his own hands over the boy’s damp hair.

They take turns queueing music on Yuuji’s phone, Megumi’s own left abandoned in his pocket. Surprisingly, Yuuji likes a lot of Japanese stuff from the 60s and 70s. Every time he picks a new one, Megumi laughs softly from behind him, teasing him as the shorter boy sings along terribly.

“I kind of only ever listened to music with my grandpa,” he explains after singing along to one, Megumi doing his best to wipe away the pink stains swiped across his forehead.

“That’s nice,” Megumi murmurs. And then a rap song he thinks Hakari used to play all the time when he worked out starts playing. “Was this one of your grandpa’s favourites?” he asks, brow arched.

“Okay,” Yuuji snickers. “I guess I sometimes listen to other stuff too.”

He seems fascinated by the songs Megumi picks. They’re mostly English-speaking bands, because that was what Gojo always listened to when he was a kid, bringing over CDs for the Fushiguro siblings every time he visited.

“This is so lame,” Yuuji laughs when Say It Ain’t So starts playing, the sound tinny and metallic as it bounces off the bathroom walls. “Your music is so lame, Megumi.” And if anyone else said that to him, Megumi might be offended, but Yuuji is grinning at him so brightly it’s making his stomach ache with want.

“You’re just uncultured,” he dismisses Yuuji before he starts bopping his head along to the beat. Megumi has always hated his voice, hates how strangled it sounds whenever he speaks. Every time the second years have tried to invite him out to karaoke, he blankly refuses. He threw a tantrum the one-time Shoko and Gojo tried to take him and Tsumiki years ago, sobbing and wailing until they gave in and took them to the zoo instead.

But as he’s sat with Yuuji, who has also started moving his head to the music, dropping his chin onto Megumi’s knee so he can look up at him, he starts singing along. Quietly, so the music is still louder than him, his thumbs moving over Yuuji’s temples as he blinks up at him. The boy’s smile fades slightly as Megumi sings along, but doesn’t vanish from his eyes completely.

The next song that comes on is by imase, so Yuuji starts to sing with him. They’re both awfully out of tune, and their voices scratch against one another. Especially when they clamber out of the tub to wash the dye out of Yuuji’s hair, the sounds of the showerhead, the sh*tty phone speaker, and their own voices clash a bit brutally.

But Megumi likes it. It feels warm almost, especially as Yuuji starts flicking water at him while he tries his best to shake out the dye from the other boy’s hair.

Yuuji’s phone eventually dies, but their gentle conversation stays flickering, the two of them sitting facing each other in the bathtub. It’s still slightly wet from washing Yuuji’s hair, but Megumi doesn’t mind. He’s pretty sure he’d sit in a burning flame just to get to talk to Itadori Yuuji.

He doesn’t realise how close they are until he looks into brown eyes and sees his own reflection staring back at him. His own face looks a bit unhinged actually, now that he’s aware of it. He thinks his left eye might be twitching, because Yuuji’s attention is now stuck on his lips, for some f*cking reason.

And now that he’s aware of that, Megumi finds himself biting down on his bottom lip, trapping it between his teeth. That causes Yuuji to scoff in amusem*nt before he looks back up at Megumi.

Face darkening slightly, Yuuji leans in. And Megumi becomes so insanely aware of every single thing in this bathroom.

His body is leaning into Yuuji’s, legs trapped between the other boy’s socked feet. His heart is rattling pitifully in his chest and his blood is soaring through his entire body, burning hot through his veins. Yuuji’s hair is still damp, curling at the nape of his neck, beads of water dropping down his strong nose, right onto his lips.

f*ck, now his eyes are on Yuuji’s lips, and as much as he’s trying to force himself to, he just can’t look away. He has a total lack of control, especially when Yuuji shoots him a confident grin, like he just knows Megumi wants him, wants him so bad it hurts. He’s eating out of the palm of Yuuji’s stained pink hand, sat in his bathtub.

“Megumi,” Yuuji breathes, hand slowly moving through the thick air until it lands on the back of his neck, lightly tugging at his dark hair. He doesn’t follow up by saying anything else, but his eyes are stuck on Megumi’s, and his eyes are stuck on Yuuji’s because he thinks his entire life has been stuck on Yuuji ever since he met him. They’re looking at each other, and Megumi has never looked at anyone like this before, and if Yuuji doesn’t just f*cking kiss him he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do.

Feeling like his entire body has an itch he cannot scratch, he finds himself leaning in, because Yuuji seems too caught up on just staring at Megumi’s face to actually do anything about this entire situation.

His heart stutters a little bit when he realises Yuuji’s eyes are fluttering closed, fingers smoothing out over the side of Megumi’s neck as his other hand comes up to fist the front of his sweater. He yanks him forward hard, probably harder than he meant to, but Megumi is already falling towards him. He thinks he’s probably been falling towards Yuuji this whole time. Like his centre of gravity is this boy with pink hair and a crushing grin and a tendency to make Megumi’s knees buckle every time he turns his attention to him.

His own eyes shut, and he can feel Yuuji’s lips go to press against his, his hands burning hot against Megumi’s skin. Holy f*ck, he’s about to-

A knock sounds. Megumi’s eyes snap open to see Yuuji staring at him with a burning red face. “You…” Megumi trails off as he blinks at the other boy, absolutely clueless as to what to even say. Yuuji giggles awkwardly, hands leaping away from Megumi as if he’s been burned. He makes to unfold his limbs, standing up to leave the bathroom.

“Wait,” Megumi says, voice breaking off towards the end. “Ignore it.” As he essentially pleads for Yuuji to sit his ass back down in the bath so Megumi can jump him, the knocking sounding from the front door gets louder and more erratic by the second. Whoever’s knocking is an asshole. An asshole who has ruined Megumi’s whole day. His entire life.

“It might be something important,” Yuuji apologises with a grimace, before he turns on his heels and heads towards the front door. Letting out a silent scream, Megumi buries his head in his hands and resists the urge to claw his own face off in frustration. He drops onto his back with a thud, spreading his legs out now that he’s alone in the bath and prays to anyone that’ll listen that whoever is at the door f*cks off as soon as possible.

“Hi?” He hears Yuuji ask whoever was knocking after he swings the front door open. “Sorry, what can I do for you?”

“Oh!” A familiar voice says, followed by a borderline hysterical laugh. “You must be the mysterious friend.” Megumi sits up straight, heart falling through his stomach and cracking right through the bottom of the porcelain bathtub in horror. No way. Absolutely no way.

Skidding in his socks through the hall, Megumi’s lips part in an awful co*cktail of embarrassment and annoyance as he meets Gojo’s eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he hisses, crimson prickling at his cheeks as he watches Gojo’s eyes play ping pong between Megumi, and a very shirtless, very confused Yuuji.

“You know this guy?” Yuuji asks, turning over his shoulder to raise a brow in Megumi’s direction.

“I’m his dad,” Gojo says casually, arms folded over his chest. His grin only widens when a look of dread falls over Yuuji’s face, especially when he only then seems to realise his own lack of clothing.

“His what?” he splutters out. “I thought-you said you didn’t have a dad?”

f*ck his entire life. He’s going to kill Gojo. Then himself. He might kill Yuuji too, just for good measure. Just so no one in the world can possibly recount this entire interaction.

“I don’t,” Megumi says, trying desperately to balance explaining the situation to Yuuji, while simultaneously throwing Gojo the dirtiest looks he can muster. “It’s complicated,” he offers at the exact same time Gojo pouts, “That’s so hurtful, Gumi-chan.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demands with a snap, seconds away from summoning Mahoraga to mow down Gojo.

“Tell me, Megumi,” Gojo purrs, tilting his head. “Why do I pay for your phone bill if you’re not even going to answer the damn thing.” And that catches Megumi slightly off guard. Because Gojo doesn’t normally show up out of the blue like this. As much as he seems to like torturing Megumi, there’s no way he’s this unhinged. He wouldn’t hunt Megumi down just for the fun of it.

“I…” he trails off as he pulls his phone from his back pocket to see more than a hundred notifications. Most of them are from Gojo, but he has missed calls from Nobara, Shoko and Yaga too. And Yaga never f*cking calls Megumi. Only on his birthdays.

“sh*t,” he mutters, looking up to see a serious expression painted on Gojo’s face.

“Yeah,” his guardian agrees with a sharp nod. “You’ll have to forgive me, kid,” he says to Yuuji with a forced smile, before he’s grabbing onto the back of Megumi’s collar and yanking him into the hallway. “But I need to borrow my Gumi-chan. Family emergency.”

“Yeah, of course,” Yuuji nods, brows knitting together with concern. “Is everything alright?” he asks, but Gojo is already pulling Megumi down the corridor, his boots scraping along the floor. He gives up fighting against it, letting his guardian pull him away.

“Not really,” Gojo says, tone way too jovial for the words he’s saying. “Everything’s kind of a sh*tshow. I think Megumi’s school might have been blown up.”

He watches as Yuuji blinks in confusion, because there’s not even a hint of sarcasm or amusem*nt in Gojo’s voice. “I hope you guys figure it out?” Yuuji calls down before Gojo is dragging Megumi into the elevator. “Call me, Fushiguro!” Is the last thing he hears before the metal doors are sliding shut in front of him.

Gojo keeps a hold of his sweater, peering down at Megumi through his blindfold with a snort. “You’re so lucky the school is under attack right now,” he tells him. “Otherwise, I’d be demanding you tell me everything about that kid.”

“Like I’d tell you,” Megumi scowls before Gojo is teleporting them both to Jujutsu Tech. He stumbles slightly and gets ready to brutally shove Gojo for it when he notices the smoky haze blustering through the air. Head snapping towards the school, his jaw unhinges as he watches Nobara and Nanami sprint towards them, some sort of minatour looking curse stalking behind them.

Slowly, he realises that Itadori Yuuji might be super dangerous for a guy like Megumi. Because he had ignored every single thing Gojo had said to him when he showed up at the apartment, too focused on the fact that Yuuji had smelled like cinnamon cookies and that his eyelashes had brushed his cheek when they’d almost kissed.

Gojo is watching him with a knowing smirk as he turns to him and gapes, “Wait – we’re under attack?”

Chapter 7: Fushiguro Megumi vs. The World

Chapter Text

“Fushiguro!”

Nobara is yelling, tone furious as her and Nanami sprint towards them. Like the shop just sold the last pair of shoes in her size kind of furious. But Megumi is too focused on the curse behind her to listen, eyes widening with horror. “I’m gonna kill you! Learn how to put your ringer on, you stupid old man!” Which doesn’t even make sense, because Nobara is almost a year older than him.

“There’s a veil up that won’t let me in,” Gojo clarifies as Megumi drops into his fighting stance, without the teenager even having to prompt him to explain. Gojo’s good at that kind of thing. Good at reading Megumi’s mind. When he was younger, he’d been so convinced Gojo could actually do it. And Gojo, the asshole he was, lied about it being one of his powers for years. It wasn’t until he was embarrassingly old that he realised Gojo just knew him well. Probably a bit too well.

“Seems like someone’s really set on leaving me out of the fun,” the older man pouts, yanking his blindfold down so it hangs loose around his neck. “But not to worry, it shouldn’t take the great Gojo Satoru too long to figure it out. I’ll break down the veil and join you in no time.”

“Fun?” Megumi repeats, glancing up at him with a grimace. “You’re so weird sometimes.”

But Gojo just grins widely, like that’s a compliment. “Whatever,” he sighs dramatically, waving a dismissive hand as Nanami and Nobara finally reach them, breathing heavily. Nanami’s machete is in his hands, and Nobara’s knuckles are strangled with white by how tightly she’s clutching her hammer and nails.

Megumi steps towards her, immediately concerned by the deep gash cut across her forehead, blood drying across her temples. She waves him off, hands on her knees as she takes deep breaths in and out. Nanami doesn’t seem visibly injured, but his blonde hair is messed up with sweat, a slight panic painted over his features. It’s been years since he saw Nanami panicked.

As always, Gojo is a lot less concerned than everyone else seems to be, arms folded as he declares, “I’m the only one serving c*nt here, and the only people that appreciate that are the curses apparently.”

Nobara giggles at that, slightly manically, while Nanami’s eye twitches with poorly concealed anger. “Stop speaking, Gojo,” he orders, scowling with genuine fury when Gojo just mimes zipping his lips up, before pressing the imaginary key to Nanami’s chest.

Flicking Gojo’s temples sharply, ignoring the fact Limitless doesn’t even let him close, Nanami gestures with his head to the lumbering curse, that’s slowing down slightly as it makes its way towards the four of them. It’s some kind of humanoid curse, with tree branches rooting out from its face, and some sort of sling hiding one of its arms. Creepy as hell.

“We brought this one to you, so deal with it out here while we try and figure out what’s happening in the school.”

“How many curses are there?” Megumi asks, wincing at the look Nobara shoots him that clearly says it’s not looking great.

“You don’t even wanna know, kid,” Gojo laughs, clapping Megumi on the back before shoving him forward slightly. “Now, go with Nobara and Nanami to deal with campus while I deal with this f*ckface over here,” he concludes with a salute, eyes beaming as he turns his attention to the curse. “We were due a little Spring cleaning anyway.”

Nodding towards Nobara, the two of them follow Nanami, going wide around the curse towards the veil covering the campus. “And don’t die, Gumi-chan!” he hears Gojo call after him, grin evident in his voice. “You’ve still got to tell me everything about that boy.”

“You’re gonna be six foot deep before I tell you anything, Gojo!” he yells back, hands cupping his mouth as he runs backwards just to see his guardian’s signature sulk, the older man sticking his tongue out like a child.

“Face forward, Megumi-kun,” Nanami snaps, tugging at his shoulder until he turns, trainers scraping against the stone ground. This really isn’t a great time to not be wearing his uniform. Firstly, the jeans he’s wearing a bit too big for him, and he kept almost tripping just walking to the konbini with Yuuji. Secondly, he really, really likes this sweater and he’s going to be so pissed if it gets ruined. Yuuji had said it looked nice on him.

He doesn’t think the curses will put this whole sh*tshow on hold for him to get changed though.

“You and Gojo are as bad as each other,” Nanami sighs as the three of them reach the veil.

“I resent that implication,” he objects, even as he spares one last glance over his shoulder before he slides through the veil, watching as Gojo holds his arms out towards the curse, looking more like a performer than a sorcerer. Like a ringmaster, ready to show off his magic to the world.

Moving through a veil always threatens to set Megumi off – he hates the feeling of it. Like plunging through a thick syrup, sticky treacle coating his skin. When he was younger, the first time he’d moved through one, Gojo had to hold his wrists firmly to stop him from trying to claw his skin off. He’d made himself bleed, and Gojo had tenderly pressed bandages across his face, rubbing his hands over his cheeks and asking, “Please, Gumi. Never do that to yourself again.”

Still to this day, he imagines Gojo folding his tiny hands in his infinitely larger ones as the overwhelming urge to try and peel at the invisible feeling sticking to his entire body pulses through him. He’s gotten better at hiding that stuff though, and after a couple seconds of breathing heavily through his nose, he snaps his eyes open and pushes all those thoughts from his head.

Exhaling slowly, he narrows his eyes when they’re not instantly met with any curses waiting for them. “Alright,” Nanami murmurs, more to himself than the two students as he steps forward gingerly. His hands are spread out to his side, signalling for Megumi and Nobara to stay behind him. The two of them ignore it though, standing by his side as they step further into campus, Megumi flanking Nanami’s left, and Nobara on his right.

“We’ll stick together,” he tells them sternly, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “You both will listen to me, and do exactly as I say.” Nobara opens her mouth to object no doubt, as she always does when anyone tries to tell her what to do, but Megumi shoots her a pointed glare, and she stays quiet, teeth gritting together.

“Where are the second years?” he asks, voice quiet as he keeps watch for any stray curses.

“On a mission on the other side of the damn country,” Nobara responds, frustration leaking into her words.

“Huh?” Megumi presses, pausing in his steps in confusion. “But Maki isn’t even a high enough grade to be sent out on missions.”

“I know,” Nobara hisses, although he can tell her anger isn’t directed at him. He slowly starts to understand when Nanami glances over his shoulder at him, face tight.

“The Higher Ups knew about this,” he breathes out in disbelief, the words surprising him even as they come out of his own mouth. “They sent everyone away on purpose. Gojo was meant to be on a mission too,” he remembers, thinking about how Gojo had left training early that very morning, just a couple of hours ago.

“Everyone’s away on one right now,” Nanami nods, and even though Megumi can’t see his expression, the tightness in his jaw is enough to point to his anger. “They tried to send me to Hokkaido a few days ago. Both Ino-kun and Mei-san are unreachable right now. And no one from the Kyoto school is responding to anyone’s calls. Short of Gojo tracking everyone down and teleporting them here…well, we will just have to deal with the situation ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Nobara snorts, face devoid of its usual amusem*nt. “And after we exorcise all of these curses, I’m heading straight to headquarters to give those old f*ckers a piece of my mind.”

Stomach clenching awfully, Megumi can’t help but nod in agreement with her. The Higher Up’s had to have known this attack was coming, otherwise they’d never send every single Jujutsu sorcerer as far away from Tokyo as inconspicuously as they could. He knows the old bastards get twitchy when no one’s close enough to Tokyo to protect them, should anything go wrong at headquarters. So that means something really, really f*cked up is happening right now.

Something big enough that the Higher Ups were willing to let two first year students get slaughtered by the onslaught of curses that are apparently traipsing around campus. Generally, that actually wouldn’t be too surprising, because it’s not like Megumi and Nobara would be the first kids they let die. The Higher Ups don’t even seem that bothered when it comes to actively executing children, so letting a few curses chew on Megumi and Nobara’s corpses probably wouldn’t even cause them to file an official report.

But they try to stay on Gojo’s good side to the best of their abilities. From what Megumi can gather, the Higher Ups and Gojo Satoru have spent the last two decades walking around shards of glass, scared to make the other bleed. Not out of any genuine concern for the other, but out of the worry of tipping the scales of their society. Maybe the scales of the entire universe.

Gojo Satoru could slaughter the Higher Ups if he really wanted to. Could end the bloodline of each of the three clans easier than blinking his eyes. Could hold the entire Earth in the palms of his hands, peering down at the entire population as he decided whether to crush it or cradle it.

It’s lucky for some that Gojo is more worried about levelling up his Pokémon in a ten-year-old game than conquering civil society. Megumi had thought the Higher Ups had understood that. When you’re playing house with an eldritch god, you don’t poke and needle at him. You don’t piss him off. So far, the Higher Ups haven’t.

They’ve pushed their luck, for sure. The Yuuta stunt wasn’t great for their score in Gojo’s books. Neither was the whole pushing for Gojo to kill Geto for a decade, but Megumi’s pretty sure even Gojo could see where they were coming from with that whole thing – he just elected to ignore them. And the Higher Ups must’ve figured it wasn’t worth really forcing Gojo’s hand on the matter.

So, some big sh*t must be at play here, for the Higher Ups to actively place Megumi in harm’s way. He doesn’t want to sound egotistical, but he’s fairly confident that if he was injured, or finally killed, Gojo would set Tokyo alight.

Thinks he’d make the Higher Ups watch as he tore their country to the ground, staking their corpses in the rubble of it all.

Gojo has a nasty temper when he loses at League of Legends, swearing colourfully as loudly as he possibly can as he smashes keyboard after keyboard into the wall. It’s hard to fathom what he’d do if someone killed his kid.

Even if Megumi doesn’t feel like he fits into that role all that perfectly. All that well. Doesn’t think Gojo’s convinced either. As much as he claims he does, as much as he claims and begs and pleads for Megumi to be someone close to him, someone that he is allowed to love, he isn’t convinced he’s deserving of it all.

Doesn’t think anyone could be deserving of Gojo’s love. Not when it’s so all-consuming and rampant. Like everything Gojo does, being loved by him feels awfully a bit like being swallowed whole. Like the best thing Gojo thinks he can do to protect the people he cares about is to keep them in his ribcage. He would never say to the older man, but he thinks that might be where him and Geto went wrong. Where it started to fray. Because how could two contemporary sorcerers pull it off when Helen and Paris couldn’t? They never stood a chance.

Even then, Megumi is pretty sure he might be something of a placeholder. Gojo just hasn’t realised it. But he will. When something better sweeps past him. A better student. A better son. Yuuta came close. It’s just a matter of time before someone else wins him over.

Someone else who better deserves the protection of the Six Eyes.

Megumi thinks Gojo might have just settled for him. And by extension, Tsumiki. Is worried that maybe, for some reason, everyone who he cares about is settling for him. Because where he is paved together with his memories of everyone who has stepped through his life, desperately scrambling to get back to his old self, he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t belong to anyone else like that. Thinks he doesn’t feature in other people’s memories like they do in his.

He's almost too caught up in worrying about all of this, his insides unravelling like ribbon, to notice the curse coming up on his left. Almost.

Ducking quickly, he dodges out of its way, shouting out in warning to the other two. By the time it takes him to straighten up, running a hand through his hair, Nanami has already sliced the thing in two. Violet blood splattered all over their skin, Megumi watches as Nobara’s eye twitches in disgust, trying to flick it from her hair.

“Kento!”

The three of them turn to see Shoko sprinting towards them, hair whipping around her face, arm already stretched out like she’s desperate to grab onto Nanami. Her usual lab coat is nowhere to be seen, and her clothes are all ripped up, exposing wounds torn into the skin beneath. She’s breathing heavily, her other hand clutched around her stomach, but her face is drawn with determination. There’s a gun sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans. He didn’t even know she had a gun.

Megumi also has no idea how she’s running that quickly in heels. He’s once again hit with the realisation that Shoko is a lot more impressive than anyone gives her credit for. Always has been.

“Shoko,” Nanami frowns when she reaches them, practically leaping into his arms, hands splayed out across his face, already checking over him for injuries. “You really shouldn’t be outside right now.”

“Curses know how to get past locked doors, Nanami,” she hisses. “Don’t be an idiot. Thank f*ck, you’re fine.” Her tone changes so quickly from irritation to relief that Megumi gets whiplash watching the entire encounter unfold. “Is Satoru alright too? Did you find him?” All Nanami can do is nod, still holding her up in his arms before she’s already speaking about the next thing.

“Okay. f*ck. Okay. You need to come with me, Yaga’s injured. I’ve done my best to stabilise him but there’s curses everywhere. And I’ve found the curse user who must be responsible for the veil keeping Satoru out. He’s camping on the roof,” she tells him as she straightens herself up, pushing a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. Nobara and Megumi share a look between each other, both of them trying to convey a thousand things silently.

Mostly, Nobara just looks caught up on the fact they’re using gaming terms for real life strategy. Megumi isn’t surprised, since Gojo, Shoko and Nanami have been doing this for as long as he can remember – the older two always more enthusiastic about it than Nanami. He’s pretty sure it stems from the nights he would walk into the living room to find the three of them sat way too close to the television screen, shouting at each other as their characters on screen died.

“Can you keep it down?” he’d ask, scowling as the three of them turned to face him with sheepish faces. Surprisingly, it was always Nanami being the loudest on those long-passed nights. “Some of us have school in the morning.”

Now, Nanami’s voice is quiet. “I can’t leave the children,” he starts, glancing from Shoko to the students with a grimace. Nobara just winces at the word choice of children, and if Megumi wasn’t so used to Nanami and his fretting, he’d be right there with her. “We’ll all come and deal with the curse user. Then Gojo will be able to access campus again and can solve this entire issue himself,” he says, lacking the usual bitterness other sorcerer’s have when forced to admit Gojo Satoru is worth a thousand sorcerers by himself.

“That’s a waste of manpower,” Megumi cuts in, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to form a plan in his head. “You go with Shoko, and we’ll try and take out the curses lingering by themselves around campus. There’s no point in us coming with you, Nanami. We’ll just slow you two down,” he adds when the older man goes to protest, nose scrunching up.

“He’s right,” Shoko says, eagerly coming to his defence, because she’s never been one for treating Megumi like he isn’t one of her own. As if he’s part of their little trio of f*cked up, mentally unstable jujutsu students from ’06. “Nanami, I don’t know why you find it so hard to believe this, but they are capable sorcerers,” she hisses when the man doesn’t move, fingers wrapped around his arm as she tries to yank him away. “And we don’t have time for this! Yaga is hurt. We need Gojo to stop this as soon as he can. You know we do.”

“Megumi-kun doesn’t even have a weapon,” Nanami scowls at her. “I will not put innocent children in danger, Shoko,” he says, voice heavier than normal. “I won’t allow pressing circ*mstances to change my opinions on the matter. Because then you end up with the corruption we’re already suffering from, where young lives are forfeited for the greater good.”

Confusion falls over Megumi at the sudden presence of emotions, because Nanami never normally lets what he’s feeling show on his face. Suddenly uncomfortable with all of this, because he has the sneaking suspicion that the past is being dredged up as a conversational weapon, Megumi tugs on that familiar sting in his chest.

Cursed Energy flaring up, he thanks Tengen that it’s not a particularly sunny day. “I have my sword,” he says, interrupting Shoko and Nanami’s weird stare off. The two of them turn to him, and he can already see the exasperation on Nanami’s face. It quickly turns to a begrudging cast of awe though, when Megumi reaches into the shadows pooling at his feet, leaking into the cracks of the stone ground, and pulls out his sword.

“Woah, Fushiguro,” Nobara whistles, coming over to experimentally wave her hand into his shadows. “How many more tricks have you been keeping hidden from me?”

“I wasn’t hiding it,” he frowns. Alright, maybe he was hiding it a little bit. But it’s only because he didn’t want Gojo hearing about it and demanding Megumi show him before he was a hundred percent convinced it was perfected.

He hadn’t even really started to mess around with his technique until recently. He’d been kind of content with just summoning his shikigami. But then the Zenins had reared their ugly head again, and although Gojo refused to tell him what was up, if they’d tried to kidnap him when he was twelve, he was a little worried about what sh*t they’d pull now.

And then he’d gotten the sh*t beaten out of him by Naoya. So, he’d decided that in his spare time, he’d try and widen his technique as far as possible, and perfect it on a level to rival Gojo’s. After all, Gojo had only been two years older than him when he’d figured out how to use Reverse Cursed Energy and access Red and Hollow Purple. Megumi could beat him at this. He’d figure his sh*t out now, earlier than even Gojo Satoru had.

Also, he had kind of been trying to save some of his tricks for getting out of awkward situations when they arose. Now he’s lost the element of surprise with it. Maybe he can try and beg everyone to keep it on the down low around Gojo still.

“See, Nanami,” Shoko implores, and Megumi doesn’t know if anyone else notices the way she winces as she speaks, holding her stomach tighter. “Very smart, very capable children.”

“But children all the same!” he objects, but he’s looking less and less steadfast about the situation and more and more angry, which Megumi knows means he’s starting to change his mind.

“We’re wasting time here,” Megumi snaps, sword leaning against his collarbone. “You two deal with the curse user. We’ll survey the perimeter.” And he doesn’t even give Nanami the change to object, because they’ve already wasted precious time they don’t have. Precious time that they could’ve used getting Gojo in here. Grabbing Nobara by the wrist, he starts to pull her along with him.

Nanami makes to follow, face drawn in something akin to pain. He makes to grab onto the teen’s collar. Just like he used to do when they were both younger and Megumi loved to stroll onto roads without looking out for cars, Nanami pulling him into his chest, cradling his head and breathing out in relief. “No running into danger like that, Megumi-kun. Please, it’s not good for this old man’s heart, alright?”

Before he can get a proper hold of him though, Megumi is moving. Because he isn’t eight years old anymore, and he doesn’t need held onto. He’s old enough to decide when to fling himself into danger.

His hand is splaying out in front of him, and the shadows under his feet are pooling together right before him and Nobara. His friend lets out a panicked shriek as they fall right through the puddle of shadows, using the momentum to completely latch onto his side as the darkness encompasses them. He holds her tightly as his own eyes screw shut, praying to anyone who’ll listen to him beg that this works. As they fall, he thinks about Yuuji’s hand in his.

Within what can’t be longer than thirty seconds, they’re stumbling into the garden outside the dormitories. Letting out a laugh that’s part awe and part relief, Megumi slaps his hand against his own chest and heaves out, “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

“Excuse me?” Nobara hisses from where she’s fallen onto the grass, slowly pushing herself up onto her feet with eyes burning with anger and green stains on her knees.

“Well,” Megumi winces, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ve technically never tried that before. But I mean it worked. So, that’s good to know.”

“That’s good to know?” she repeats incredulously. “You’re telling me you pulled me into…into the Shadow Realm…without even knowing what would happen to us?”

“Well, I was fairly confident in the theoretical parts of the-” he starts, before he cuts himself off and shoots her a scowl, storming past her as his own cursed energy flares out to try and pick up on any curses milling around. “Whatever. I solved the issue. You should be thanking me.”

“We could’ve just run away!” Nobara hisses as she chases after him, looking like she very much wants to fire her nails into his skull. “You could’ve killed the both of us, moron!”

“I didn’t though, did I?” he rolls his eyes, before motioning for her to shut up, sticking his head around the dormitory building. There’s a sea of low-grade curses hanging around, the wave of cursed energy so thick it almost hurts to breathe. He almost hesitates before moving forward, but Nobara is coming up behind him, still speaking bullsh*t, so instead of listening to her nag, Megumi is swinging his blade around, wrist twirling as he runs into the throng.

None of the curses can be more than Grade-Three level, but there’s a whole f*cking lot of them. Enough that in addition to the Gojo-Satoru-proof veil, and the Special Grade curse that Gojo’s currently dealing with, it makes for a pretty damn good distraction. Megumi just can’t figure out what the point of this is all for yet. Can’t pinpoint where they’re not supposed to be looking.

“Jesus,” Nobara sighs, back-to-back with him as the onslaught of curses rains down on them both. “This is never ending.” The wind is tossing her hair against his neck, and he can feel the warmth of her body on his spine as she presses against him. He can feel every movement she makes, arms moving quickly as she expertly aims at the curses, taking them out with one explosive nail at a time.

He's so used to fighting alone, that he never stopped to consider how much nicer it might be to fight alongside someone else. Especially someone like Nobara. Someone who can read him well enough that he doesn’t have to speak for her to move, stepping in tandem with him. As they move together, Nobara stepping in between his own legs as he ducks around her easily, it feels like they’ve been fighting together their whole lives.

In elementary school, he’d had to learn how to partner dance, for a school festival.

It had been awful, and he’d desperately tried to get Gojo to let him call in sick. Apparently, Gojo drew the line at skipping school when it was supposed to be ‘fun.’ Instead of faking a doctor’s note, and taking pity on Megumi, he’d shown up to the flat with a speaker on his shoulder and a grin plastered on his face.

He’d tried to teach Megumi to dance, using Tsumiki as his partner. “This is never going to work,” Tsumiki had eventually sighed with a sympathetic frown, always acting older than she was. Dropping her hands from Megumi’s shoulder, she turned to Gojo with a shrug. “He keeps stepping on my feet.”

“I’m doing that on purpose,” he had hissed back, even though he hadn’t. Even then, he hadn’t liked admitting when he was finding something hard. Especially not something as stupid as dancing. “Because you’re the worst dance partner ever!”

“Alright then,” Gojo had cut in, trying his best to placate Megumi. Even though he always tried his best, he normally failed pretty miserably at playing mediator. “Off you go, ‘Miki-chan,” he’d smiled, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear as he crouched down in front of them both. “Do your homework or whatever. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready, kay?”

After Tsumiki had wandered off into her room, schoolbag hanging loosely over her shoulder, Megumi had dived onto the couch, already grabbing his DS up. Or at least he tried to. But Gojo had caught him around his stomach, holding the child up by his waist. “Uh, uh,” he grinned, holding Megumi even as the little boy flailed his legs out in protest, doing his very best to kick Gojo with the weak strength he had. “Miki’s the worst dance partner?” he repeated, brows raised. “Time for a switch then.”

It had been even worse, trying to learn with Gojo. Considering the guy was two foot taller than Megumi at the time, he had to hold Megumi up, arms around his torso so the kid didn’t drop down onto the floor. He’d whined at the start, hitting his fists against Gojo’s chest. Eventually, he’d given in, and let the guy spin him around. Eventually, he even started giggling, small arms wrapped his neck.

The next evening, when Gojo told Tsumiki that Megumi was ready to give it another go, he didn’t stand on her feet as much. And then when it was time for the school festival, and his class was getting split up into partners for their showcase, all the girls wanted to be partnered up with Megumi.

Fighting alongside Nobara feels a little bit like he’s dancing with someone again.

It’s nice. Less lonely dancing alongside death when he’s doing it with someone else.

“Hey,” she whistles as they cut through the throng, making their way towards the training grounds. “You got anything else in that magic pocket of yours?” she asks. Megumi glances over his shoulder to see her punching the sh*t out of a curse, her own knuckles bruised and bleeding. “I’m almost outta nails, and I don’t wanna waste the last ones on some pathetic things like these.”

He gives her a quick nod, before doing his best to simultaneously keep his demon dogs focused on tearing through the curses hovering around the outskirts of campus; continue keeping back the three curses that are currently doing their best to swallow him whole; and control the shadows being cast from the trees enough to pull them all together.

Turns out, while he’s alright at doing all of those things separately, he’s not so good at doing them all at once. Biting down on a scream when one of the curses scratches at his leg with long, iron like claws, he falls to the ground. Sword clattering to the side, he yells in frustration when one of the curses snaps it between its maw, beautiful black metal splintering all over the ground.

Rolling to the side, he narrowly escapes another blow as the curses start aiming for his face. Heart pounding furiously, he scans around for Nobara, finding her a couple feet away from him, shaking out her hand as a curse crumples in front of her, violet gore drippling down its corpse. Two other curses are snaking towards her from the back. He tries to scream her name in warning, but it’s cut off by a curse launching itself at him. Bringing his arm up to push it away, straining under its weight, Megumi silently yells out commands.

At the same time he manages to wrestle the curses off of him, ignoring its ghoulish, childlike cries for help, his dogs take out the curses behind Nobara, dragging their bodies away from her as they rip them apart easily, spitting out severed, grotesque limbs from their mouths.

“Let’s keep moving,” he manages to heave out through gritted teeth, pushing himself up to his feet. He staggers slightly, before moving his hands through the air, a new pool of shadows opening up before him. Crouching down, he sticks his hand through to pull out a pair of tonfa. Spinning them around in his own fingers, he bites down on his bottom lip.

“Here,” he says after a moment’s hesitation, chucking them towards Nobara as he lets go off the shadows, and they pool back to cling to the trees and buildings around them. It’s the only weapon left stashed in his arsenal, because he hadn’t really been planning on getting dragged into a whole ass battle just yet. After Gojo killed Geto, he’d pretty much thought this kind of thing was done for good. Looking back now, he doesn’t know why he was ever foolish enough to hope for that. For a bit of peace and quiet. He’d forgotten that’s not afforded to Jujutsu sorcerers.

“What’re you gonna do?” Nobara asks after she catches the wooden batons, slipping them into her fingers easily. When he doesn’t respond, she gestures with her head to his shattered sword, hair flowing in the wind.

“Tch,” he smirks, trying to act a whole lot more confident than he feels. “I’ve got three other shikigami in my arsenal. I’ll be fine. You’re the one who’s already ran out of nails for your technique.”

“co*cky asshole,” Nobara murmurs under her breath, even as she easily falls in step with him. Her legs stay loose, eyes narrowed as she scans around them. Megumi finds himself smiling as his dogs pad up beside them, the two of them sticking beside Nobara, nudging their snouts against her legs as they walk.

“What do you think’s going on?” she asks as they walk towards the main building. It’s too quiet, their footsteps loud in the still air. He can’t even hear the sounds of faraway fighting. Gojo, in fairness, would be silenced from the other side of the curtain. But they should be able to hear Nanami and Shoko fighting the curse user they’d found. He hopes they’re alright. Needs them both to be alright.

“I don’t know,” he admits with a sigh. “I don’t feel good about it though,” he adds, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “It feels like we’re being distracted for-”

He’s cut off by an explosion of Cursed Energy booming out from nearby. Like an earthquake, it rocks the very foundation of the ground itself, and Megumi watches as Nobara is thrown to the ground with a shriek just before he follows, head crashing against the stone with a sickening cracking sound that echoes around his own skull.

Eyes blinking open one at a time, Megumi’s brain feels like it’s on overdrive. He manages to push himself up onto his hands, arms crying out under his weight. “Nobara?” He tries his best to shout, but there’s a high-pitched ringing in his ear that he can’t shake, and a slow feeling of bile crawling up his throat.

Something wet presses against his side, where his sweater has ridden up. His torso aches, and he can already feel the blood trickling down his skin. Blindly reaching out, he sighs with relief when his fingers plunge into familiar, soft fur. He lets himself sit there for a moment, trying his best to not panic and freak out, as his eyesight slowly blinks back into existence.

As soon as it does, he turns his head to the side and throws his guts up. The air is sticky with Cursed Energy, broken and slimy and gluing to his body. “I’m okay,” he manages to wheeze out when one of his dogs whimpers, nudging the side of his neck with her snout. The other one licks at the blood coating his skin, already drying and crusting into his scars.

They’re too worried about him, because he’s still too unnerved and rattled to properly focus their attention on their surroundings, that they miss the curse lunging straight for him. Because even though the eruption took Megumi clean out for a couple of minutes, the curses are completely unaffected. If anything, the sight of Megumi’s crimson blood trickling down his temple seems to be acting like some sort of f*cked up call to arms for them all.

The dogs don’t notice. Neither does Megumi.

Thankfully, it looks like Nobara Kugisaki isn’t taken out as easily as he is.

He doesn’t notice until the curse lands in a bloody heap beside him, writing and shrieking in pain. He winces at the sight of it all before he turns his head to see Nobara standing behind him, one hand on her hip, the other tossing her impaled strawdoll in the air. Her brown eyes are gleaming, and she looks way too happy about the fact Megumi almost just died.

“You’re welcome, Fushiguro,” she says, co*cking her head. Tucking the doll back into her belt, she spins the tonfa in her hands and smacks another curse pretty brutally over the head. He just blinks as it falls at her feet. Nobara clicks her tongue in irritation as she flicks blood off of her uniform sleeve.

“I had it covered,” he says, totally lying as he picks himself up onto his feet. His ears are still ringing, and his brain feels weirdly wet in his head. f*ck, he definitely has a concussion. Stupidly, that makes him think of Yuuji.

Yuuji pouting, and coercing him to sit on a bench with him with the great excuse of him having a concussion. Yuuji’s big brown eyes, like a doe. Stupidly attractive.

Then Megumi curses himself, because he has really got to stop thinking about Yuuji all of the time. Especially in times like these. But this has the opposite of the desired effect, because now he can’t stop thinking about how Yuuji was about to kiss him. He really, really, really cannot die to curses before he gets that damn kiss.

“Boys are so stupid,” Nobara sighs, even as she quickly glances over him for injuries. She winces, because Megumi is already swaying on his feet, blood dripping onto his shoes, mixing in with his own sick. But it’s not like there’s much either of them can do about it all right now. “Next time I’ll just let them take your head off then. At least I won’t have to look at your ugly face for the rest of my life.”

“Shut up,” he moans, waving a hand in her direction as he tries to bite down more vomit that threatens to spill out of his mouth. Oh Tengen, he just threw up in front of Nobara. This is so insanely embarrassing.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” she snaps back. “I’m not taking that from a guy who’s bleeding from his damn head. God, you’re so annoying. This is why you’re single.”

“I’m…” Is he single? Yeah. He is. Obviously, he is. Him and Yuuji aren’t – are they? What if Yuuji thinks they are? No. He cannot be thinking about this. “Whatever,” he sighs, and then he groans in frustration, because another ten curses have seemingly spawned in from nowhere, hurtling right for him and Nobara again.

“We need to figure out what that explosion was,” he shouts over to her, fingers moving to summon forth Nue. He doesn’t bring him forward if he can help it, because the strain on his Cursed Energy is a lot more than it takes to have his dogs by his side. Especially now, as he also uses his Cursed Energy to just keep his breathing steady, and his blood flowing normally, he can feel the strain in his bones.

But Nue still manages to snap up five curses at once with his claws, wings flapping furiously before he drops the curses back down to the ground, all of them dying with a splat.

As he cuts his hands through the air, yelling at his dogs to help Nobara, a movement in his peripheral catches his attention. Head snapping to the side, and temples aching violently with the effort, Megumi swears he notices a familiar figure slipping into the woods beside them. The last thing he sees before it’s gone is gleaming green eyes. Identical to his own.

The hue of a snake’s scales, glistening under the weight of gold. Green eyes painted in jealousy, monstrous cruelty, and a special kind of malice.

Megumi stands and watches Zenin Naoya slip into the shadows of the trees, heading right towards where the explosion of Cursed Energy erupted from. Then he doubles over, hands on his knees, and pukes all over his own nice, new shoes again. He hears Nobara shout his name, worry lacing her tone. Embarrassment doesn’t even rise this time, eclipsed by his ever-growing fear.

If Naoya is here…if the Zenins are involved with whatever’s going on…

This is a whole lot worse than whatever the worst possible situation could ever be.

“Kugisaki!” he yells, turning to face her. “The Zenins are here. Something-I don’t know what’s going on but it’s bad. I’ve got to-I need to-”

“Go!” Nobara yells without letting him finish explaining. A grin creeps up onto her face as she turns to the remaining curses, skirt flowing around her legs as her shirt comes untucked, face coated with a sheen of sweat and tights torn and bloodied.

Nue comes up behind her, eyes flashing with a protective anger as he listens to Megumi’s commands. The wind from underneath his wings sends Nobara’s hair flying behind her. She looks like something out of the folklore as she stands there.

She makes it easy to forget how strong she is, sometimes. Especially since she’d started with no training or understanding under her belt. Whereas Megumi was raised by Gojo Satoru himself, Nobara had enrolled in the school as clueless as it gets.

He’d found it pathetic. He had known she could tell, but hadn’t really been able to find it within himself to care. She could also clearly tell that everyone else pitied her. A normal girl, plucked from her village and thrown to the wolves.

He hadn’t really expected that she’d ever be able to run alongside them. Especially not this soon.

She makes it hard to remember, with her irritating snark and smirks and insane demands for a payrise. But as she stands there, Nue’s wings spread behind her, she looks like some sort of Angel of Death, looking ready to flick her wrist and crucify the cruses.

“I’ll cover you,” she shouts, sparing him one hard glance before she’s running into the sea of curses, screaming at him to “Go, Fushiguro! Get the hell out of here!” He thinks about protesting for a second, but then he feels another massive swell of cursed energy flare up in the woods behind them, and he’s sprinting towards it before anything else can happen. Before anything else can go wrong.

He knows what is hidden behind the woods. The warehouse that shelves every single Cursed Object the school has ever managed to successfully find.

The poorly hidden, secret warehouse that the Higher Ups definitely know about. That the Zenins definitely know about.

He just doesn’t know what they want from inside. Hopefully, he’ll get there before they can take it.

Gritting his teeth, he forces his body to move faster, legs thundering against the ground almost painfully. He might not know much about what it is to be someone’s friend, or lover, or son. He might be useless at comforting someone, doesn’t know how to make his touch warm or his eyes soft. He doesn’t know how to flirt, or hold a conversation, or how to buy birthday presents for people. He doesn’t know how to stop embarrassing himself in front of the guy he likes.

But he knows a hell of a lot about running. Between running from his own sh*t, and running straight into peril, he’s pretty much got all bases covered.

He's been doing it his entire life.

Now though, it feels a bit more purposeful. Before, he was mostly following everyone else’s lead. His father ran from his family. From his child. Gojo runs faster than the speed of light itself, throwing himself into dangerous situations to escape his own internal danger. Tsumiki ran home from school in the Summer, ponytail blowing in the soft wind, skirt billowing around her pale legs. Face kissed with pure joy, hand firm in Megumi’s. Always pulling him along with her.

As he runs towards the warehouse, body hurting like a drum being beat relentlessly, Megumi feels like a soldier running into battle. To win something. To prove something. He’s never wanted that before.

But now, his own feelings of inadequacy are starting to bore him. He might not deserve Gojo’s protection, or Tsumiki’s forgiveness. Might not deserve his classmates’ tutelage, or Nobara’s affection. Yuuji’s…Yuuji’s everything. But f*ck, if he doesn’t want it. He wants it all so badly it aches.

And he’s going to do his best to become the person to deserve it all. He’s going to protect everyone too. He’s going to save Gojo. Wake up Tsumiki. He’s going to become a better student, brother, and friend. A better son. He’s going to become the person everyone in his life deserves. The kind of person who belongs in others’ memories. The kind of person who deserves a spot in their hearts.

He's going to kiss Itadori Yuuji.

There is no f*cking way he’s letting the Higher Ups, or the Zenins, or whoever the hell is f*cking with them right now, ruin that. There is no chance in hell he is dying before he finally gets to kiss Itadori Yuuji. He’s already lost his mind, at the very idea of getting to kiss him.

Jaw clenched with frustration, and sweat coating his skin, Megumi runs as fast as he can. His younger self runs along with him, hair pushed back from his face as he races. Chasing after his father, sick with confusion. Trying to keep up with Gojo, ribcage tight. Following Tsumiki, muscles in his face taunt from smiling too widely.

He tries his best to yank himself forward even faster by pulling at the surrounding shadows. Like swinging easily through monkey-bars, he launches himself from each shadow, the darkness seeping behind him.

He’s always been called a violent kid. Which he never really understood. He was argumentative, sure. Stubborn. Angry and resentful and bitter, yeah. But violent, well he always kind of thought that was unfair. He never really picked the fights, at first. He just knew how to end them better than most kids. And then Jujutsu society claimed him, and it very quickly became impossible to survive unless he either ran, or stopped pulling his punches.

As he sprints through the woods, ignoring the pounding headache, and the ache in his right leg, and the way his sweater is now sticking to his skin because of his tacky blood, he finally gets it. Because he’s starting to really hope Zenin Naoya bought himself more tacky golden jewellery for Megumi to bite right out of his damn ear.

Yipping and woofing behind him, his dogs follow in a sort of canine excitement, their own paws thudding against the dirt. Finally, he reaches the warehouse, feeling more exhilarated than he ever has. His dogs fade back into the shadows, waiting for his call.

Red-faced and gulping down air as quickly as he can, he knows he must look insane. Grinning manically, as he finally refuses to stand still on a spinning world. Refuses to get left behind.

The door to the warehouse is locked, as it always normally is. But unlike usually, Megumi has no problem with kicking it in, punching all his strength behind his leg. The slamming of the door hitting the wall echoes around the entire atrium, followed quickly by Megumi’s short huffs of breath, and his shaky steps forward.

“Oh!” Eyes narrowing, Megumi blinks at the two people standing in the middle of the room. Neither of them are Naoya, like he was expecting. Refusing to let himself feel disappointed by that, he tries to figure out whether this is ultimately worse for him, or better.

Instantly, he picks up on their twisted Cursed Energy, and surmises that they’re the cause of the enormous explosion of it all. “Hello,” one of the people purrs. No, not a person. A curse.

With a patchworked face, Megumi realises as he steps forward again, feet dragging along the floor. With eyes that have a certain evil cruelty lingering behind them, and a smile that’s almost enough to make Megumi recoil in disgust. “I didn’t know we were expecting guests,” the curses giggles, tossing a blue ponytail over their shoulder. “Did you, Choso?”

The other person, Choso, just blinks blankly at Megumi. He’s almost too handsome for Megumi to believe for sure that he is a curse. But as he reaches out with his own Cursed Energy, he can feel Choso’s. Metallic and thick, and marking the air like a glass of wine knocked on a Persian rug. Yeah, definitely a curse too.

“We’re not finished,” Choso says, voice gravelly and strained, like he hasn’t used it in a while. “You said you’d do it for them too,” he demands, attention snapping towards his fellow curse. Megumi takes another step towards them, fingers itching into fists with the beat of his heart.

Following Choso’s line of sight, his eyes fall on the shelf of jars the curse is standing beside. Arms outstretched, and fingers twitching nervously, as if he can protect the little jars from Megumi. They’re lined up neatly. Like soldiers braced in formation. Choso their captain, eyes painted with poorly hidden panic.

“Sure,” Patchwork shrugs dismissively, his attention still focused on Megumi. “Later. After we kill the kid. When we’re out of here.”

“You’re not leaving here alive,” Megumi warns them, tongue licking over his teeth. It’s only then he picks up on the satchel slung over Patchwork’s shoulder. It’s brimming with an insane amount of Cursed Energy. A particularly nasty type of Cursed Energy. One Megumi is familiar with, because the Higher Ups had decided him and Nobara were the best people to hunt the items down.

“And you’re definitely not leaving with Sukuna’s fingers,” he grins, teeth bared.

Patchwork chuckles, hand rubbing at his jaw before he clicks his fingers at Megumi. “Oh, you know what? I like you. I like this one,” he says to Choso, smile splitting his face in two. “Never met a Jujutsu sorcerer I liked before.”

Even as Megumi stalks towards them, the curse doesn’t quit talking. He could rival Gojo’s irritating habit of yapping during a fight. “Although that might be less to do with you and more to do with the fact that you’re the first one I’ve actually met. Apart from Geto-san, but he doesn’t even really count.”

Thankfully, growing up alongside Gojo means that Megumi has gotten really good at ignoring people when they try and speak to him. As the curse is yattering on, Megumi moves his spare hand behind his back, fingers darting out in the direction of the jars. With a snap of his wrist, his shadows are shoving at the entire cabinet of shelves, dozens of cursed items spilling onto the floor. Before Choso can do anything about it, the jars are tumbling down onto the ground, glass smashing in every direction.

The curse moves with a panicked scream, but Megumi has already summoned his dogs, and between the two of them, it takes less than a second to snap the cursed womb paintings up in their jaws, tearing and ripping them apart with snarls.

His own attention on Patchwork, Megumi easily ducks out of his way when the curse lunges for him. Although his jaw hangs open in a mix of surprised horror as he watches as Patchwork’s arm lengthens a monstrous amount, skin moulding like clay. When the arm tries to wrap back around, growing fingers a nail’s breadth away from Megumi’s face, he begs the shadows beneath him to open up.

Stumbling, and feeling like he’s definitely going to throw up again, Megumi finds himself spat out by the shadows on the other side of the warehouse. “The Ten Shadows!” Patchwork calls out with a joyful glee he’s never heard from a curse before. “It’s you!” Megumi has no idea what the f*ck this guy is on about, but it’s really not helping with the whole throw up thing. Not with the way the curse is smiling at him, eyes glistening like a cat who’s spotted a plate of cream.

“We’ve been looking for you, little Zenin.” He tries to block Patchwork out as his dogs fight their best against Choso, who somehow has the same Cursed Technique as Kamo from Kyoto does. The hounds do their best to weave in and out of the bullets of blood the curse is sending their way, but they’re more powerful than agile, so Megumi’s straining under the pressure of flowing his Cursed Energy their way. Just a little bit longer, he thinks, more so to himself than his shikigami. Just a bit longer.

Then he can sleep.

“It’s Fushiguro, asshole,” he hisses as Patchwork slinks towards him. The warehouse isn’t large per se, but it isn’t exactly small either. He doesn’t know how long he can jump from side to side as he dodges the curse, who is far too set on touching him for that to not have clear, disastrous consequences. He doesn’t know how to solve this either though. His brain is too sluggish, his body too heavy, for him to figure out how to win.

“Nah,” Patchwork shrugs, eyes burning and grin widening. “You look just like one of them.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything to that, snarling as he kicks his feet off the ground, pulling all his Cursed Energy into his fist. Letting out a yell, he goes to punch the curse right in the gut, hoping it might be enough to buy him some time. But his hand goes straight through, and he watches on in fear as the curse moulds his body to create a hole right where Megumi had aimed for.

As he staggers to his knees from the weight his own momentum, one of his dogs cries out in pain. Head whipping around, Megumi lets out his own yell as he watches white fur seep in red. It crumbles down to the floor, eyes glassy and tongue lolling out of its mouth, as the other dog lets out a monstrous howl of grief.

“You,” Choso spits, face a cast of fury as he turns to Megumi. “You murdered my brothers!” He narrowly manages to roll out of the way of an arrow of blood. It hits the floorboards beside him and erupts, blood splattering all over Megumi’s face.

Sitting up, he pushes himself back as quickly as he can while Choso and Patchwork slowly make their way towards him. His remaining dog dashes in front of him, roaring and growling and baring his teeth as best he can. It doesn’t do anything to deter the curses. Pooling his Cursed Energy, Megumi tries to call out to the shadows surrounding the crevices of the warehouse. Tries to summon Orochi or Gama. Tries anything and everything, but he can practically see his Cursed Energy dwindling with each laboured breath he manages to heave in.

Keeping himself up on his elbows, he tries to swallow saliva down his dry throat. Head hanging, he smiles to himself, darkness desperately gripping to his body, trying and failing to yank him back into the dark realm where it can keep him safe. But Megumi’s body doesn’t budge from its fallen spot on the floorboards. And the shadows wash away, surrendering in defeat.

“I’m sorry Yuuji,” he breathes softly, head lolling on his neck. His dog is almost screaming now, furiously biting at the curse’s ankles before leaping up to try and tear at Choso’s face. It’s easily tossed to the side, whimpering as his body violently hits against the shelves. “I’m not gonna be able to call you back.”

“Who the hell are you talking to, Zenin?”

He hears Patchwork preening, but screws his eyes shut tightly before he starts pooling all of his Cursed Energy together. Lets his demon dog go, and releases Nue, hoping that Nobara no longer needs his help. “What’re you doing now, little Zenin?” The curse muses as Megumi clenches his fists, arms trembling as he raises his hands up.

Eyes flashing open, Megumi grins, blood trickling down his lips. The curses both pause in their tracks, looking at him with confusion as he opens his mouth.

“With this treasure, I summon-”

Before he can get Mahoraga’s name out of his wheezing chest, the familiar feeling of a veil being broken hits the warehouse. Sunlight starts to pool through the slitted windows, creamy light dancing over Megumi’s bruised and mottled skin.

“sh*t,” Patchwork swears under his breath, face morphing into a scowl as he turns away from Megumi and starts sprinting towards the exit, satchel hitting against him with each step. He escapes easily, Sukuna’s fingers in his possession. “Until next time, little Zenin,” his voice calls, leaving Megumi and Choso all alone together.

“I’d get outta here before it’s too late,” he chokes out, voice wavering. He can feel blood coating his teeth, metal licking into his throat.

“You killed my brothers,” the curse says, eerily calm even as his eye twitches. “I’ll be killing you now.” The slap his hands make as he claps them together echoes around the destroyed room. He aims them straight for Megumi’s heart. But before he can do anything, there is a loud groaning sound.

And then the roof is caving in around them. If Megumi didn’t know better, he’d think it was magic, the fact that it falls in a perfect circle around him and Choso, leaving them untouched in the ruins. But he does know better, and as natural light washes over the two of them, blinding for a moment, he lets out a sigh of respite.

“Sorry man.”

He just can’t help it. At the sound of Gojo’s voice, he starts laughing. It’s a pathetic, wheezing sound more than anything, but it’s painted in relief. Grin splitting his face, the sunlight coats everything as Gojo drops down in between him and Choso. “Can’t let you do that to my kid.”

Letting himself drop onto his back, Megumi smiles up at the sky. The clouds are hanging above him, still moving around on the watery landscape. Hey Yuuji, he murmurs to himself as his vision blurs again, darkness creeping in slowly. The ache in his head is thunderous. Feels like someone’s slamming his head in a door, over and over and over again.

I’m going to get that kiss; is the last thing he thinks before he passes out.

Chapter 8: Recent Search History: yuto horigome??

Chapter Text

His stomach rumbling is what wakes him up.

Eyes blinking open quickly, it only takes him a second to remember what had happened. He’s in the infirmary, but he knew that before he even opened his eyes. Would recognise the feeling of the sh*tty, papery sheets that Shoko refuses to change to cotton, no matter how often he and Gojo complain about it.

“Maybe you should stop winding up injuring yourselves so much,” she always dismisses them, tone heavy on the sardonicism. “Then the quality of the infirmary sheets won’t even matter. Imagine that!”

Pushing himself up so he’s sat straight, a wave of dizziness crashes over him. Rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands, he focuses in on the man sitting beside him, legs crossed and back rigid. For a moment, he thinks it might be Gojo. But Gojo would never sit like that, all put together and poised. And Gojo’s hair isn’t a honey colour, more like falling snow that never manages to hit the ground. And Gojo’s always busy.

So why would he be here.

“Hey Nanami,” he croaks out, surprised at the state of his own voice. He feels a lot better than he remembers feeling, and he experimentally prods his fingers into his bare side and lifts the sheets up to wiggle around his legs. Hopefully, no long-lasting damage. The familiar feeling of Shoko’s Cursed Energy is still clinging to him, so she clearly healed him back to normal. He likes Shoko’s energy. It always feels like almond butter, massaged into all his aching joints and dry skin. He thinks he’s too young to have aching joints already.

“Hello Megumi-kun,” Nanami says from his seat, closing the book he’d had open on his lap with a soft slap of the cover. “It’s good to see you up.”

Grunting in response, Megumi runs his fingers along his scalp, wincing when he feels a small, scabbed bump. So, he’d definitely had a concussion then. Had tried to fight two Special-Grade curses by himself. With a concussion. He’s totally dead. Nanami’s going to kill him.

And he can already tell by the look on Nanami’s face that the older man definitely wants to strangle him right now. Suddenly, he’s insanely relieved that Nanami has refused a teaching position year after year. Thinks that if Nanami was his teacher, he’d for sure be grounded for life. And that cannot happen. Not now. Not when Megumi’s just finally managed to get a life.

“Now,” Nanami says, voice too tight and smile too wide to be normal. “What shall we tackle first, Megumi-kun? Do you want to eat first? Or should we skip right to the part where you listen to me lecture you for the incredibly stupid and also unbelievably irritating stunt that you pulled the other day?”

“Sorry Nanami,” he says, pulling the sheets up and over himself as if he can try and hide underneath them. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific. Which stunt are you talking about this time?”

He buries himself deeper under the sheet when Nanami’s right eye twitches. Wishing instead he was burying himself alive. “Food first, please?” he tries. Nanami just gives him a very pointed look, telling him that the choice was more of a formality. And that apparently, since Megumi has been prescribed a week of bedrest by Shoko, he actually doesn’t have a choice but to listen to Nanami.

Megumi is seriously starting to consider whether he should’ve just let the curses kill him as Nanami starts talking about responsibility, and following orders from people older than him.

Thankfully, for the second time in a couple of days, Gojo saves his life.

Nanami cuts himself off in the middle of another sentence about how Megumi should not be running off alone with Nobara in dangerous situations, when Gojo teleports himself right into the infirmary. Megumi might feel more relieved about the whole thing if Gojo wasn’t drenched head to toe in blood. His uniform jacket is gone, and his white shirt is sticking to the skin underneath with how heavy it is with crimson gore.

“Gumi-chan!” he grins widely, hands pressed up against his cheeks. “You’re finally awake!” He starts to step towards the bed Megumi’s propped up on, and as his hands fall away from his face, two red handprints are painted onto his cheekbones. Megumi can’t help but smile in response.

“Don’t worry, Nanamin,” Gojo says, even though Nanami hasn’t even spoken. “It’s not mine,” he adds, gesturing to his entire body before he plops himself onto the bottom of Megumi’s bed, lightly slapping his alright leg a couple of times. As if he’s checking Megumi’s really there, in the flesh.

“I wasn’t worried,” Nanami scowls, arms folded across his chest. “Although now I feel a bit disappointed.” Gojo laughs, but he waves a dismissive hand in the other man’s direction anyway, singing, “f*ck off and let me talk to Gumi-chan in private.”

“I’ll go get you some lunch,” Nanami tells Megumi as he heads towards the door, still looking pretty pissed off. “But we are not done having this conversation.”

“Of course, Nanamin,” he nods, probably a bit too enthusiastically for it to come across as genuine. But Nanami seems to accept it anyway, sighing heavily one last time before he’s leaving, the door softly clicking shut behind him.

“I’m glad you’re alright, kid,” Gojo smiles, before flopping down right beside him, as if the guy’s not six foot three, and all bony elbows and pokey sides.

“There is not enough space for the two of this on this,” he points out, even as he shuffles to the side, letting Gojo rearrange him so he’s leaning against the older man. He can feel that his own hair is greasy, probably because he’s been out for at least a couple of days, but Gojo doesn’t seem to care, fingers coming up to pat Megumi’s head.

“Whatever,” Gojo snorts. “Get off then. I’m tired, man. Some of us have actually been busy on missions recently. Not just lazing about for three days like you’ve been. Lazy f*cker.”

“It’s been three days?” Megumi groans. “I need a shower.”

“Yeah,” Gojo agrees, sounding stupidly amused even as Megumi elbows him violently in the gut. “Smell like ass, Gumi.”

“Well, you always smell like dogsh*t,” he snaps back, even though Gojo always smells exclusively like the 20,000 yen cologne he insists on buying. “Don’t hear me complaining about it.”

“Ah, how I missed your effortless kindness, Megumi! I’d almost forgotten how much of a joy you are to be around, really.” That earns him another sharp hit over his head. Although hours later, after Nanami brought him and Gojo both lunch, and his guardian took to playing Fortnite on his phone while Megumi dozed off sleepily on his shoulder, he realises that Gojo was still here. And it had been hours.

“Thanks for saving me again,” he murmurs, eyes slipping closed. He can’t see Gojo’s reaction, but he can feel him go stiff, arm unmoving where it’s pressed against Megumi’s side, even as the sound of fake gunshots ricochets from his phone speakers.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gojo eventually replies, giving a soft huff of amusem*nt. He falls asleep like that, drooling on Gojo’s silk shirt, his saliva mixing with the dried blood splattered all over his guardian. He wakes up later to Shoko shouting and the Gojo sized lump gone from the bed.

“Are you kidding me, Satoru?” Shoko is saying, more irritated than she normally is. Normally, she sounds like it would be physically impossible for her to give less of a f*ck about anything. “Do you think it’s hygienic to lie down in a bed with my patient while you are coated in dried blood?” she shrieks, and he watches with droopy eyes as she smacks her hand over someone’s head.

When Megumi realises she’s just having a go at Gojo, he decides it’s safe to drop back off into sleep. And when he wakes back up again, Gojo is back, sat at the window, headphones flattening his hair. He’s in a nice, new, cleaned uniform.

“Morning” he says, clearing his throat. “Can we talk about what happened now?” he asks before Gojo can say anything, the older man turning to look at him as he pulls the headphones off of his head. Megumi can hear the music humming from the speakers because Limitless means Gojo has to have his music blaring at all times, apparently.

“Since I’m all nice and rested,” he adds when Gojo narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. Agreeing begrudgingly (clearly more out of Gojo’s overall disdain for talking about serious, tactical sh*t than any real concern for Megumi’s wellbeing) he drops down into the chair beside his bed, socked feet planted on the mattress.

“So,” Gojo starts, running his fingers under the hem of his blindfold. “Obviously the Higher Ups are trying to start some sh*t. They’re trying to claim the whole thing was a coincidence, but I’m calling bullsh*t on that.”

“Obviously,” Megumi nods, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Since when do they send every available sorcerer away on a mission at the same time, without leaving at least one behind to protect their own asses?”

“Exactly,” Gojo agrees, arm thrown over the back of the chair. “So, I’ve just got to figure out what they want. And why they want it. And how to stop them without uprooting our entire society. While also keeping this all on the down low as I continue to teach, and head the Gojo clan and blah, blah, blah,” he trails off, looking incredibly bored by the conversation. But Megumi refuses to let him get away with it, because he needs to know what’s going on, and if he doesn’t make Gojo tell him now, he never will.

“You’ve never been able to keep anything on the down low before,” he says with a grin as Gojo scowls at him.

“Yeah, I have,” he argues, arms folded into his chest as he slouches even further back into the couch. “I kept you and Tsumiki hidden from the Higher Ups for years.” And look how that turned out, Megumi pointedly doesn’t say, because he’s trying his best to be less of an asshole. Both of the siblings are stuck in hospital beds. At least Megumi woke up.

“And I managed to keep the whole Suguru thing a secret while that was ongoing,” he shrugs. Megumi also doesn’t say anything to that, because he doesn’t even need to. Everyone knew that Gojo was off sleeping with the insane, unhinged, racist curse user who was laundering money and frequently killing entire villages of normies. Even Gojo, who is as oblivious and moronic as it gets, knows everyone knew about that sh*tshow.

“I can keep sh*t on the down low,” he concludes. “And that’s the plan. Keep this all hush-hush until me, Nanami and Shoko figure out what’s going on.” Oh yeah, because Gojo can try his best to keep sh*t on the down low - but only if he’s allowed to instantly tell Nanami and Shoko all about it.

Stood on the Fushiguro’s balcony as Tsumiki and Megumi ate their very poorly nutritious dinner of oven-cooked pizza, Gojo would recount the middle school drama to Shoko as she smoked, the two of them way more invested than either of the actual middle-schoolers. Or talking to Nanami for hours on the phone while Nobara and Megumi trained, more interested in chatting sh*t about Utahime and her secret affairs than actually teaching his students. You know, the thing he gets paid to do.

“They took Sukuna’s fingers,” Megumi tells him, even though Gojo must know this already. “I couldn’t stop them.”

“Yeah. I know. But don’t worry about it,” Gojo snorts. “You’re still pretty weak in comparison to actual dangerous things.” Megumi reaches under him to grab at his pillow, ignoring Limitless as he smacks into the invisible barrier surrounding Gojo over and over. “Hey, you held your own pretty well out there though. Didn't let them get away with those pesky womb paintings. Creepy f*cking things. Honestly, I'm glad they're gone,” he shrugs, before mimicking a finger gun in the direction of the pillow. With a burst of blue light, like a well contained firework, the pillow explodes in Megumi’s hand.

Feathers fall over him like snow, brushing down into his hair and fanning around the bed. “What happened to the curse that almost killed me?” Megumi asks, because he can’t really piece his memory together too well right now, but he definitely remembers the curse who screamed in painful grief before he tried to bleed Megumi to death.

“Ah,” Gojo shrugs, waving his hand dismissively, as if they’re talking about how Gojo forgot to take the trash out again. “He got away.”

“The f*ck do you mean, he got away?” Megumi blinks in confusion, face contorting.

“I mean he got away,” Gojo repeats easily, as if Megumi is being stupid. “Did your concussion give you brain damage or what?” he asks. “You don’t understand Japanese anymore?”

Before Megumi can snap back at him because there’s no way the curse just escaped Gojo Satoru, he’s remembering something, the entire events slowly unfolding before him again. It’s like he’s watching a film, where he is the main character, and he is failing tremendously in all the fights he finds himself in. A film that would get really bad reviews, considering he kind of ate sh*t that entire day.

“Naoya was there,” he says, instead of lamenting how much more training he clearly needs. “The Zenins must be involved somehow.” It’s only when Gojo nods solemnly, scratching at his jaw like he does when he’s lost in thought, that he realises for some reason, he’d been expecting Gojo to not believe him.

“Well, it would make sense,” he muses. “The Zenins have access to the warehouse. Sucks ass that that got destroyed, by the way. That’s where I hide my supply of sweets from Panda and Inumaki-kun. Whatever, I wonder what it is they wanted from there so badly though. It can’t be Sukuna’s fingers; they’d have no use for those. We didn’t even have the full set. And even if Sukuna were to come back somehow, it would be a pain in the ass for them as well, not just us.”

It doesn’t really seem like he’s talking to Megumi anymore. Frowning, and feeling a lot like a child again, stuck outside his classroom as his teacher has a ‘serious talk’ with Gojo about his behaviour, he drops his back against the headboard. And sits patiently waiting for Gojo to remember he’s here too.

But the older man doesn’t seem to remember until he mutters, “What are they looking for?” under his breath. At that, he blinks under his blindfold, and Megumi can feel his stomach turn as his head tilts up to look at the teenager on the bed, bruised and bashed.

“You don’t think-” Megumi starts, voice getting caught in the barbed wire around his throat when he remembers what the curse had said to him. That they’d been looking for him. “I don’t feel so good,” he manages to whimper out before Gojo is thrusting something under his face, and massaging the palm of his hand into his back as he retches.

“Ah!” Shoko walks into the infirmary mid-puke, her heels clacking along the linoleum floor as she comes to the foot of the bed. Megumi looks up over the bag Gojo is holding to meet her eyes.

She looks a lot better than she did the last time he saw her, but just as tired as she always does. With eyebags so dark they look kind of like sparkly eyeshadow, and an unlit cigarette tucked behind one ear, she looks pretty much dead on her feet. He doesn’t say anything about it though, because he’s learned that girls don’t take to their appearance being commented on all that well.

Nobara’s really taught him a lot over these past few months. He’s pretty sure like 90% of it is all bullsh*t she says to try and get him to buy her more sh*t, but some of its stuck.

“Sleeping Beauty wakes!” she grins, arms folded across her chest and hip co*cked to the side. Megumi just throws up even more, nausea hitting him in waves. He can see Gojo cringing at his side, nose crinkling in childish disgust. Shoko can clearly see it too, because she walks around to take Gojo’s spot, snatching the bag out of his hand and holding it instead.

“Nausea is normal after suffering from a concussion,” she tells him, in that kind of strange clinical way of hers that means she’s trying to be kind. Gojo moves to his other side, mindlessly playing with Megumi’s hair, even though it’s definitely greasy at this point. “It won’t go away for a couple of days, so don’t go and start eating any weird sh*t. You’re on an exclusive diet of rice and water until I say otherwise.”

“Do I really have to stay here for a week?” he asks, voice weak. “I’ve got sh*t to do.”

“No, you don’t,” Shoko snorts, removing the bag full of sick from in front of him as she narrows her eyes. “You’re sixteen. Sixteen-year-olds don’t have anything to do apart from underage drink and plagiarise. Nothing important.”

“I think that was just you, Shoko,” Gojo giggles from the side.

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, placing the unlit cigarette between her lips and moving it with her tongue as she speaks. “You were too busy eating Suguru’s face to do anything fun at that age, you cretin.” Gojo’s smile falls, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I’ve got class,” Megumi speaks up. Both of the adults look at him with similar looks of pity. He wishes Nanami was here.

“You’re such a loser,” Shoko blinks in disappointment. “I can’t believe we raised you.”

“I’m literally your teacher, Gumi-chan,” Gojo says at the same time, lightly flicking Megumi across the temples. “And I think I can give you a pass for this.”

“You need to rest,” Shoko agrees, scanning over Megumi one last time before she makes to leave, gesturing for Gojo to follow her. “As your doctor, I’m prescribing you a week of bedrest. If I catch you out of this room, I’ll snap those twig legs of yours, Fushiguro.”

“You need to work on your poor bedside manner,” he mutters under his breath as the two of them head towards the door. Shoko levels him a look before reminding him, “I’m carrying a bag of your sick, kid. Don’t make me pour it all over your head.” With that, her heels are clicking away, leaving Megumi to stew in his embarrassment. And he can’t even do that properly, Gojo sticking his head back into the room as Megumi buries his head under his pillows.

“Hey Gumi!”

“Let me sleep, asshole,” he groans, voice muffled by the pillow. Even though he’s apparently slept for three straight days already. “Doctor’s orders, didn’t you hear?”

“I thought you’d like to know I charged your phone up for you.” As he speaks, Megumi feels something light drop onto the mattress at his bare feet. “You’ve got a lot of texts. Should probably respond before people start to think you’re dead.” Swearing colourfully, knocking the pillow onto the floor, Megumi snatches up his phone, face bleached of colour as he scrolls through all of his missed notifications.

The door closes behind Gojo, and Megumi is finally safe to let out a frustrated scream. He winces as he reads each new message from Yuuji, starting from days ago. There are a couple from Nobara, as well as the Second Years and the dumbass chat they all love to spam text on, but he’s pretty sure they’re all aware he’s not actually dead. That’s on their teachers if the pupils have already dug him a grave out back by the training field.

Ignoring everyone else, Megumi’s heart chips a little bit at each new text from Yuuji he scrolls through. They start off as usual, with Yuuji sending him memes Megumi doesn’t really understand, as well as a picture of him and Junpei walking home from school. Throat going dry at the sight of Yuuji in a gakuran, Megumi’s slightly more sinful thoughts disappear as soon as Yuuji’s tone changes.

He started sending more messages, almost one every hour. They start more annoyed than anything, because like Nobara and Gojo, and almost everyone in his life, Yuuji is a bit obsessed with attention. But then they delve into concern, Yuuji even typing with proper punctuation. Something Megumi’s never seen before.

[15:21] Hey, I’d say I’m pretty good with social cues, so I’m gonna go ahead and guess that I made you uncomfortable the last time we hung out. I’m sorry if I read this whole thing wrong, that’s on me. But can you respond so we can talk about it?

[15:22] I just miss you, Fushiguro.

Pressing his spare hand against his mouth, Megumi swallows down more bile. Instead of reading the rest of the texts Yuuji had sent over the past three days, he dials his number. It’s not until it starts ringing that Megumi remembers Yuuji’ll be in class already, glancing at the clock in the infirmary.

Wincing, he tries to brace himself for spending the rest of the day swinging from a state of misery to a state of nausea until Yuuji can call him back. When the phone rings out, Megumi lets out a pathetic whimpering sound, tossing the phone away from him before holding his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

As he tries his best not to cry, he curses his life over and over again because what the actual f*ck. He is this close (this close!) to kissing a cute guy, and then he has to go and get himself knocked unconscious for three days! How the hell is that fair? And now Yuuji thinks he hates him or something when Megumi has never been this happy in his life. Until Yuuji had leaned in close to him, brown eyes sparkling like space incarnate, Megumi hadn’t even realised life could feel like this.

He'd been so convinced he was doomed to spend a life tracked wholly with dirty footsteps and harsh whispers, forced to turn to find comfort in the darkness. Yuuji has turned that all on its head. And now he won’t even call him by his given name anymore.

It was Yuuji, who had made Megumi hate his name a little less. How could he, when Yuuji said it like that? All soft and warm, curling it around his tongue. It softened the blow he always felt when someone called him. The never-ending ambush he’d been cursed to suffer through for his entire life by his selfish father, who’d had the nerve to give Megumi a name like that – an embarrassing, ridiculous, feminine name like that – and then abandon him. It was like some sort of cruel joke. Who would toss away a kid they had cared about enough at some point, to name them Megumi?

But Yuuji says it differently. Like Megumi maybe is a blessing.

Slowly, he pushes himself up onto his feet and traipses into the bathroom, worried he might throw up again. He leans against the doorway, feet bitten by the cold tiles and blinks at himself in the mirror. Wincing, he holds his shirt up to take in the new scars etched across his skin. “Whatever,” he sighs to himself, shirt falling back down as he splashes water across his face. It isn’t like the new wounds make that much of a difference now. He’s spent his entire life being ashamed of his body.

He wishes he could blame it all on Jujutsu. It would be easier, probably, to attribute all of the loathing to the scarred skin, the raised, silver slivers vandalising his entire frame. But as he glances over himself, at the collarbones that rise through the fabric, and his knobbly knees and awkward waist, he can’t find it within himself to lie in his own head.

A ringing sound snaps him out of it. Frowning in the mirror, he pauses for a moment. Because surely not. Is the concussion making him imagine things? Hallucinate? That would be just great, wouldn’t it? But the ringing doesn’t stop, and as he stands there, fingers loosely caught on the ceramic lip of the sink, he realises that if he doesn’t actually go and pick up the phone, it’ll ring out. He’s honestly surprised the person on the other end hasn’t hung up yet.

But if it’s who he thinks it is, who he hopes it is, then there’s no chance he’d hang up.

Slipping back into the infirmary, feet padding against the floor, Megumi snatches up his phone, pressing it to his ear with a shaky breath. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Yuuji responds, and Megumi lets out a breathless laugh, dropping to his knees as he leans back against the bed. “You…you called me.”

“Yeah. I did. Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I ran to the bathroom as soon as I saw your name pop up. Didn’t even ask to be excused. Think I’m gonna be in a lot of sh*t when I get back, honestly. But f*ck it, I don’t care about all that. You called me.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t responding to you,” Megumi rushes out quickly, screwing his eyes shut. “It was nothing to do with…it wasn’t about you, or me. Not about us or anything like that. I uh…I got into a bit of an accident.”

“Are you alright?” Concern is evident in Yuuji’s voice. It makes Megumi smile for some reason, bringing his legs up to his chest as he leans his chin on his knees.

“Yeah, I’m fine now. But I was out for three days, that’s why I didn’t text back. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, are you stupid?” Megumi laughs at that, but Yuuji just keeps speaking. He’s talking so fast he can hear his teeth rattling through the phone. “You were out for three days? Holy f*ck, that’s kind of crazy, Megumi. That’s like super bad. What happened?”

“Fell off my bike. Hit my head. Concussion,” he says, heart feeling heavy as he lies. The words taste like poison. But that also might just be the nausea rearing its head again. “I have to stay in the infirmary for a week.”

“Can I come visit you?” He asks so casually, because of course he does. Yuuji thinks Megumi is a normal teenager just like him, who can have his friends visit him when he’s sick. He doesn’t know Megumi lives in a school for freaks, and Yuuji won’t ever be able to cross into this part of his life.

“No,” he winces, arm over his head as he buries his face in his own knees. “Sorry. I wish you could, I really want to see you but the school is just so weird and the security is totally-”

“Chill,” Yuuji laughs lightly on the other side. “Don’t worry about it. No big deal, Meg. I’ll just see you when you’re feeling better. Right?”

“Right,” Megumi nods, and he smiles as Yuuji starts talking about how much sh*t he’s going to be in with his teacher for just sprinting out of class like that, but the vile feeling in his gut sticks around for the entire time.

Eventually they hang up, Yuuji promising to call him when he gets back to Junpei’s. Megumi shrugs it off, not totally convinced Yuuji won’t forget about him in favour of homework, or gaming with Junpei or cooking dinner with his mum or something. But around six, when Megumi is eating dinner with Panda and Inumaki, who brought his plate of buttered toast to his room for him, his phone lights up relentlessly.

That’s how he spends the rest of the week. Talking to Yuuji as he prowls restlessly around the infirmary, ducking back under his sheets whenever he hears Shoko’s heels clacking down the corridor. A revolving door of people come and sit with him though, so he never really has the time to feel lonely and useless.

Nanami shows up a couple times, still not finished chastising Megumi for the sh*t he pulled. He doesn’t get to lecture him that much though, because Ino appears alongside him most of the time. Apparently, they’ve been partnered up together, to Ino’s insane delight. Surprisingly, Nanami doesn’t even seem that annoyed about it. Actually, Megumi thinks the older man is kind of happy about it, eyes crinkling with amusem*nt as he watches Ino re-enact out all of their missions to Megumi.

Nobara’s there every day for lunch, shuffling up beside Megumi in his bed and scrolling through her TikTok with him, sending him every video he smiles at. They’re mostly of cute animals, and she laughs at him for having the same tastes in jokes as Principal Yaga. She catches on pretty quickly to the notifications from Yuuji on his own phone, because it’s hard to hide when his only friends really are the other pupils at the school. But she doesn’t tease him as much as he was expecting her to when he admits he likes Yuuji, and instead shows him how to properly stalk him on the internet.

“You’ve got to properly vet the people you like, Fushiguro,” she tells him, like this is common knowledge and not her being actually a bit insane. All they find out about Yuuji is that he’s stupidly popular, and ten times the amount of followers than people Megumi knows in real life. He also has like three different Instagram accounts, and Nobara is able to track down each one.

“He’s cute,” she admits as they scroll through all of his tagged photos that other people have posted, since Yuuji doesn’t post that many of himself. Megumi doesn’t say anything, hiding his rosy cheeks by dropping his face into her shoulder.

Gojo comes by in the evenings a lot at the start, but his visits become less frequent as the week drags on. It doesn’t hurt as much as he expected it to, but that might be down to the way Gojo apologises to him one night, brows furrowed in frustration. “They’re sending me off on so many missions, I can’t-”

“It’s fine,” Megumi shrugs, smiling when he realises, he really doesn’t mind that much. “I get it,” he adds, trying not to be offended by the surprise on Gojo’s face.

The next week finds him finally out of that damned infirmary bed. As soon as Shoko says he can leave, he’s tossing his legs off of the mattress and taking off in a sprint towards his dormroom. Before he jumps in the shower, he texts Yuuji to update him on his new found freedom. And when he’s out, hair dripping all over his floor, he can’t help the smile that blossoms onto his face at the sight of Yuuji’s response.

[11:21] thank f*ck it’s the weekend rn or else id get so much sh*t for skipping class to hang out w u

[11:21] wanna meet at the usual spot??

[11:24] ur not allowed to say no to that

[11:25] ur killing me here Fushiguro

[11:25] answer my damn texts rn

He doesn’t even bother texting back, and Yuuji picks up on the first ring. Always does. “You’re free,” the voice on the line laughs, and Megumi can already see Yuuji’s smile in his mind. Has been thinking about his smile for a whole week now. He thinks he’s healed this quickly out of pure teenage desperation to see the guy he’s insanely caught up on. Not seeing Yuuji has felt worse than healing from the concussion and the broken bones has, if he’s being honest.

“I’m free,” he repeats, liking the taste of Yuuji’s words on his tongue. “I can meet you in like half an hour, I just need to get dressed.”

“Dressed?” Yuuji murmurs, Megumi’s brows burrowing in confusion. He throws Yuuji onto speaker before he drops his phone onto his dresser, yanking open his drawers as quickly as he can while trying his best to find nice clothes. Why the hell have all his clothes suddenly decided to turn ugly?

“Yeah?” Megumi replies, shaking out the wet drips in his hair. “I’ve not been allowed to have a shower in a week. Sho-the nurse thought I’d pass out and crack my head open on the tiles. So I’ve just got to dry off and get changed before I can leave.”

“You just had a shower.” Yuuji sounds so weird, and is making even less sense than normal, that Megumi pauses in his distressed hunt for some nice f*cking clothes to click on his phone. Just to check it is actually Yuuji he’s talking to right now, and not some sort of f*cked up in the head clone.

“What’s going on with you?” he asks, even as he laughs. Yuuji takes a moment to respond, voice coming through the speaker as Megumi pulls on a jumper he’s pretty sure he stole from Hakari before he moved out. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s not sure what percentage of his clothes are actually his own.

“Sorry,” Yuuji laughs awkwardly. “I’m a little out of it. I’m tired. It’s just super cool that you…uh that you just had a shower.”

“You’re so f*cking weird,” Megumi snorts before he snatches his phone back up, pressing it against his ear. “So, I’ll see you in an hour then?” he asks as he yanks on a pair of jeans and stamps his feet into his shoes, trying his best to not trip over himself.

“Yeah,” Yuuji hums. “Yeah, see you in an hour.”

He’s spent the entirety of the last week either texting Yuuji, calling Yuuji or thinking about Yuuji. Somehow, he’d still forgotten how pretty the other boy truly is. But as he stands in their usual spot, leaning against the railing beside a muttering river, and looks up to meet brown eyes, Megumi’s hit in the face by it all over again.

Running towards Megumi with grass-stained jeans and unbrushed hair and his stupid f*cking skateboard tucked tightly under his arm. With eyes the shade of tea Megumi drinks every morning and a grin that might just kill him faster than any curse could hope to.

“Hey,” Yuuji smiles when he reaches him, and it’s only then that Megumi realises he’s clutching a bouquet of flowers to his chest. “Pretty sure this is something you do when someone you care about is sick,” he shrugs with a soft gaze falling over his eyes as he hands over the flowers, fingers brushing against Megumi’s as he does so.

“Yeah,” is all Megumi manages to choke out, running a finger over the purple petals. They’re just a bunch of ajisai flowers, tied with string and already wilting slightly. But Megumi thinks this is the nicest thing he has ever received. He wishes that he could keep them forever, as a constant memory that a boy once liked him enough to bring him a bouquet of pink flowers that were the exact same shade as his hair. After Tsumiki, he’s thought a lot about flowers.

Never before now though, has he ever been so irrationally angry that soon these will wilt and die.

“Thank you,” he tells Yuuji. “They’re very nice.”

“They match your eyes,” the other boy murmurs, leaning forward to rub his thumb under Megumi’s left eye, fingers spread across his temple. Too quickly, he’s moving back again, nodding off into the distance. “I thought we could give this another go,” he says as he starts walking, not even waiting for Megumi to chase after him.

“You’re kidding,” Megumi scowls, eyes narrowing down at the skateboard under Yuuji’s arm.

“Nope,” Yuuji says, popping the syllables in his mouth, pretending to blow bubbles right in Megumi’s face. f*ck, he wants to kiss him. He’s gonna finally do it this time. If he can fight two Special Grade curses on his own and live to tell the tale, he can kiss the guy he likes. Totally easy. Totally fine. This entire thing is so super fine actually.

“We’ll make a Horigome out of you in no time!” Yuuji laughs, knocking his chin onto Megumi’s shoulder. His heart stutters when the other boy rests it there as they walk, head tilting up to blink at him.

“I don’t know who that is,” Megumi retaliates, rolling his eyes when Yuuji pouts dramatically, clinging to Megumi’s side. His fingers are warm where they wrap around his bare arm. Smooth and soft, compared to the silvery scars nicked into Megumi’s forearm, like a spare piece of firewood.

“Horigome Yuto?” Yuuji prods, as if that makes it clearer in any way who he’s talking about. Well, Megumi can obviously use context clues well enough to figure that it’s a skateboarder that he’s going on about, but Megumi barely knows the names of the people he works with, let alone random sportsmen. “First person to win gold for skateboarding at the Olympics?”

“You’re a loser, by the way,” Megumi adds, even as he smiles fondly. “This feels like a good time to let you know.”

“Whatever,” Yuuji snorts, removing his weight from Megumi to instead grab his hand in his own, and forcefully yank him down the pavement to the concrete underpass that he absolutely loves to eat sh*t after flying off his own skateboard at. “You like it. That makes you way more of a loser.”

And there’s really nothing he can say to that, because he does like it.

Likes it so much that he doesn’t think there’s enough space in his entire body to hold all of it. At first, when the Like started, it was small enough to hold tightly beside his heart. Nestled in between his rib bones, he could keep it there safely enough. With the infrequent texts that lit up his phone every couple of days. The pictures of Yuuji’s everyday life that made him slowly realise that chipped mugs of coffee and sneakers tossed onto rugs and sheets of poorly worked out math problems could be kinda beautiful, if you looked hard enough.

But then this thing, the Like, grew. And he’s running out of places to hide it. He’s tried slipping it in-between the pages of his books, captured in little notes he scrawls in the margins when something he reads makes him think of Yuuji. He’s tried his best to hide it in his drawer in the kitchen, amongst his spoons and knives when he follows along with a recipe Yuuji sent him, snapping pictures of the finished product even though it always looks pretty horrific. Hides it down the drain, as he stands in the shower with his head thrown back, panting softly with crimson prickling at his skin as phantom hands leave his body.

As he walks beside the other boy, Yuuji swinging their joined hands through the air, he wonders what it would be like to just stop hiding it. To let it grow and take root instead.

“You’re really gonna make me do this?” he asks, the sound of the cars driving over the underpass humming alongside the waves of the river that runs off to the side. The flowers Megumi still has clutched to his chest are a glimpse of colour, of beauty, in the otherwise concrete landscape they’re surrounded by. “I have a concussion.”

“Holy f*ck,” Yuuji swears as he stands up straight, attention completely gone from his skateboard as his eyes widen at Megumi. “I didn’t even think about that. sh*t, you’re right. Sorry, you’re always right. Should start listening to you more.”

“No,” Megumi rushes to get out, cursing himself as Yuuji blinks sadly at him. He shouldn’t have said that. “I’m fine!” he says quickly, smiling too widely for his face as he desperately tries to piece that back together. “I’m totally fine. I was just being a dick.”

f*ck, why can’t he help being a dick? It’s like he sees something lovely, and his gut reaction is to bite into it, chew it up and spit it out. He doesn’t understand why he can’t fix the parts of him like this. The parts that he hates and is so painfully aware that he hates. And yet, they persist despite him. Like he’s constantly trying to spite himself.

“Are you sure?” Yuuji asks, brows furrowed in concern as he comes up to stand right in front of Megumi. He grasps onto the flowers tighter when Yuuji’s fingers push back at his hairline, soft eyes scanning over Megumi’s face as if he might be able to physically see the effects of a concussion a week later. “Actually, are you even feeling good enough to be hanging out right now? f*ck, I should’ve asked that before I dragged you away from your school, from your bed. Should you be resting right now or-”

“Shut up,” he chastises gently, reaching up to pull Yuuji’s hand away from his face, and squeezing it in his own. “I’m completely fine. And all I’ve done for a week straight is lie on my ass.”

“Still…” Yuuji murmurs, not looking wholly convinced as he chews on his bottom lip.

“Hey,” Megumi starts, co*cking his head to the side. “I called you, remember? I asked you out here. You didn’t drag me away from sh*t.”

“Okay,” he nods, squeezing Megumi’s hand in return. “But we can do something else if you really want to.”

“No.” Shaking his head, Megumi lets go of Yuuji’s hand to lightly place his flowers beside the spot him and Yuuji have dumped their bags. “I want you to teach me. Make me into a Harigami.”

“Horigome,” Yuuji corrects, smile back on his face as Megumi steps unsteadily onto the board. “And I think we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

After an hour of what ends up being mostly f*cking about on the skateboard, both of them earning several gazes scraped into their kneecaps, they take a break. Yuuji’s brought snacks, and Megumi’s heart lights up at the thoughtfulness of it all. They sit against the concrete wall, and Yuuji points out all of the graffiti tags he recognises from around the city as Megumi chews through almost the entire supply of shop bought onigiri.

He thinks that somehow, it might be the best he’s ever had. He would never tell Inumaki that, who spends hours preparing a hundred different types once a week for a group dinner, and curses anyone who eats the store-bought stuff. But as Megumi wipes the crumbs from the side of his mouth, Yuuji sprawled out on the ground as he talks about the drama that unfolded at his school’s sports festival, he thinks he could only eat this for the rest of his life and be fine with it.

As long as Yuuji was there to eat it with him.

Leaping up into the air and tossing his scrunched-up wad napkin towards the trashcan, Yuuji yells, “Kobe!” And his stupidly bad American accent makes Megumi’s stomach do crazy things as usual. As Yuuji jumps, Megumi watching on fondly, his top rides up, exposing long lines of solid and untouched and unkissed skin, and Megumi’s throat dries up completely.

“Don’t litter, Yuu,” he groans, even though Yuuji makes it in. He does every single time. Really, he’s like Gojo in that way. He doesn’t think there’s anything Yuuji can’t do. Makes him think that if the world was cruel, and this universe was a bit darker than it is, Yuuji would actually be a pretty good Jujutsu sorcerer. Thankfully, the world is kind, and Megumi gets to have Yuuji as he is like this. Whole and kind and with a smile that can easily rival the sun’s brightness.

Face contorting with a sick kind of glee, Yuuji whirrs onto Megumi, his successful napkin basket easily forgotten about. “Sorry,” he laughs, practically throwing himself onto Megumi with his entire weight. “What was that?” he asks, but Megumi is too busy shoving him off in irritation to even listen.

“Don’t do that,” he frowns, rolling his eyes. “You are way heavier than me, idiot.”

“Nah,” Yuuji laughs, eyes twinkling with something that Megumi can’t quiet catch onto yet. Especially when the other boy bends down quickly, and scoops Megumi up into his arms easily. Letting out an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek, Megumi starts pounding his fists against Yuuji’s chest. “Let me down, you stupid f*cking ape.” Yuuji just laughs hysterically, head thrown back.

The underside of his neck is lighter than the rest of him. Megumi wants to bite it. Begging himself to please get a grip, he continues to demand to be let down, pointedly ignoring the unkissed veins on Yuuji’s neck, like water trickling down a brook.

“I’m not heavy,” he says with a smirk as he softly places Megumi back down onto his feet. “You’re just really light. Like a girl.” Before Megumi can protest that, red pricking at his face furiously, Yuuji is continuing on, like he always does. Ploughs through conversations that Megumi would spend hours trying to dissect. “Call me Yuu again,” he says, voice dropping an octave.

Megumi freezes for a moment, trapped under Yuuji’s heavy gaze. “I didn’t call you that,” he argues a second too late for the indifference to play properly, turning away from Yuuji to drop back onto the ground again.

“You did,” Yuuji says, voice teasing. “What do I have to do to get you to say it again, Meg?” f*cking hell, this guy is going to actually kill him. He’s got absolutely no shame. He’s shameless. Completely and utterly. Whereas Megumi is constantly rotting away with all of his own indignity. There’s too much of it for him to carry, bubbling over and burning his flesh.

“Guess you’re just gonna have to keep begging,” he shrugs, very purposefully not looking at Yuuji as he crosses his legs, just so he has something to do with his body, which is feeling heavier and heavier with the second. “Because I didn’t call you that, and I never will. Nicknames are cringe.”

“Sure they are, pookie.”

“Shut up,” he snaps out instantly, head whipping back around to face Yuuji. “Shut up and finish teaching me how to skateboard,” he demands, practically leaping to his feet as he snatches the board up from where they’d abandoned it on the ground, holding it out to Yuuji.

“Alright,” the other boy shrugs casually, standing up and taking the board out from Megumi’s hands. Their fingers brush, but they don’t linger as Yuuji drops the board to the ground and easily, steps up onto it, kicking off of the ground with his scuffed trainers, and circling around Megumi. “Are you going to actually try this time, sweetheart?” he grins, hands tossed in his jean pockets.

Megumi lowers his brows, refusing to let Yuuji win at this game. “I have been trying,” he denies easily. “Only sh*tty teachers blame their students when they fail,” he adds, tilting his head. Yuuji snorts at that, lovely dimples creasing like an extra smile painted onto his cheeks.

“Fair,” he nods, before he holds his hands out. It takes Megumi a moment to realise Yuuji wants him to take them. “I guess I’ll have to rethink my lesson plan then, darling.” He pauses when Megumi doesn’t move, tapping his shoe on the board as he waits. “Well?” he grins, wiggling his fingers in the air.

“We’re not both going to fit on that,” he points out with a raised brow, even as he puts his hands in Yuuji’s.

“Sure we will, baby.”

Alright. Okay. Right. Cool. Totally cool.

As Megumi steps up onto the board, he holds his breath like he used to whenever he ran under a tunnel walking home from school. Yuuji smiles up at him, softer than usual, and Megumi feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Then he wraps a loose arm around Megumi’s waist to stop him from falling off and eating sh*t. And Megumi has now been hit by five trucks.

“This really doesn’t feel like a more effective way of teaching,” he says, voice coming out as a whisper. Yuuji just smirks, pushing them both off slowly. It takes like two seconds for them to wobble, and go crashing to the ground, Megumi landing ontop of Yuuji with a huff. “Told you,” he clicks his tongue.

They try again anyway. Again and again, both of them a bit sweaty from the heat, and Yuuji’s palms are clammy but Megumi clings onto him anyway, feeling slightly high that he’s allowed to do this. Allowed to touch.

Megumi throws his arms over Yuuji’s shoulders, letting them dangle aimlessly as Yuuji’s arms tug him closer. His hands stay beside Megumi’s waist, and Yuuji fidgets with the hem of the sweater as he tries his best to explain how to properly distribute weight on a board.

To be fair, Yuuji could be the greatest teacher in the world, and Megumi still wouldn’t be able to skate by himself, too caught up in the moles splattered across his face to even pretend to listen.

Their shoes knock against each other’s, Yuuji’s Reeboks kicking lightly against Megumi’s Docs as he fixes his stance. Strands of black hair fall in front of brown eyes, Yuuji just mindlessly blowing it away as he keeps speaking. Megumi picks at his nailbeds, wrists crossed behind Yuuji’s head, as the other boy lightly pushes them back and forth on the board.

The underpass feels less like a concrete bridge and more like heaven as the summer sun drips across the sky, painting streaks of salmon across the blue canvas. I’ve got something to tell you, by the way,” Yuuji says, after they’ve given up trying to skate. He sits on the board, hands wrapped around his bare ankles, as Megumi sits across from him, legs lazily sprawled out in front of him.

For a moment, Megumi panics. Because holy f*ck, he’s finally going to confess that he thinks about Megumi just as much as he thinks about him. He’s finally going to admit that he’s borderline clinically obsessed with Megumi, just like he is with Yuuji. He’s finally going to kiss him, and never let go.

“Yeah?” he encourages, only slightly breathless. Leaning forward, he watches as Yuuji blinks away, eyes gazing off to the side.

“I’ve got a brother, apparently.” Right. Well. Okay. Maybe Megumi was being a little bit delusional about this entire thing. He could’ve possibly misread the situation at hand. “A half-brother, I guess. He’s a lot older than me. Think they said he’s in his late twenties or something. The social worker said I could meet him soon. If I want to.”

“That’s great,” Megumi rushes out, hoping that Yuuji can’t tell that he’s slowly breaking down in his own head. “It’s great, right?” he asks when Yuuji only shrugs in response.

“I mean, it’s great if he’s great. But what if he’s like…weird?” He laughs at the end of his sentence, something he only ever does when he’s feeling anxious. Megumi doesn’t know when he realised that. Doesn’t know when he started picking up these things about Yuuji, collecting little pieces of information like a magpie snatching up every shiny piece of litter they set their eyes on.

“I guess you won’t know until you meet him,” Megumi offers with a small shrug. Yuuji turns to look at him again, face thoughtful as he runs his nails against his undercut.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I don’t know why I’m so…like worried about it all.”

“Well, it’s kind of a lot to process,” Megumi encourages. “You were already dealing with going into care and everything. And now they’ve dumped more sh*t onto your plate to think about. But, I mean, there’s no rush. Just…think about it. You’ve got all the time in the world. You don’t have to meet the guy right away.”

“But you think I should meet him?” Yuuji pushed. He was digging his nails into his skin. Before responding, Megumi shuffled closer to him, taking Yuuji’s hands away from his ankles and instead tapping his own fingers alongside his knuckles, one at a time.

“Yeah,” he nods, sending what he hopes is a reassuring smile Yuuji’s way. “You’re brave, Yuuji. I know you are. So, just try and worry less about this entire thing,” he says. “You’ll figure it out. You always do. I think it would literally be impossible to keep you knocked down.”

The other boy doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Megumi looks up in a panic, worried he’s gone and overstepped the mark again. Worried he’s said the wrong thing again, and f*cked the entire thing up. But Yuuji is just smiling at him, eyes downturned and looking a bit sadder than usual. The evening light is sending a warm glow across his face, shadows dancing across his jaw.

Megumi smiles back, continuing to mess around with Yuuji’s fingers, obsessed with how smooth and strong they are. In that moment, sat in companionable silence, Yuuji looking down at Megumi from his skateboard, with Megumi sat on the gravel, he thinks that this is what he’s been waiting for his whole life.

Knows that he’d give it all up, Jujutsu and his shikigami and the whole cursed power of it all, if he got to sit here. Sit here, under the manufactured orange lights, with the fresh air breathing against his neck, and Yuuji right in front of him.

“You’re brave as well, y’know.” Blinking, he looks back up at Yuuji. “Fearless.”

Tengen, Yuuji doesn’t even know the half of it.

“Nah,” Megumi laughs sarcastically, the self-pity of it all cracking an awful crevice straight through their tiny part of heaven, under the yell of speeding cars and the groan of the concrete support beams. Yuuji doesn’t let him stand on the other side of the ravine though, folding his fingers over Megumi’s own and tugging him right back.

“Yeah,” Yuuji pushes, not unkindly but not weakly either. “Don’t do that,” he adds. “Don’t put yourself down like that. You are brave,” he says, like it bears repeating. Like it isn’t worthless.

“I’m not even brave enough to go and get the things I want.”

“Well, I think you should just-”

Before Yuuji can finish, Megumi is shooting up onto his knees to press his lips against Yuuji’s.

And he gets it. Gets what the music and the poetry and the operas and the symphonies are all talking about.

Yuuji tastes like the watermelon lip balm he uses religiously, and tastes like salt from the seaweed. For a second, he doesn’t kiss back, and Megumi considers throwing himself into the river. But just as he’s about to pull back, certain this is the worst error he could have ever made and ready to summon Mahoraga as quickly as he possibly can, because Yuuji is unfortunately going to also have to die now – Yuuji wraps his arms around Megumi and practically yanks him into his chest.

Because Yuuji is sat on a skateboard though, they start moving slightly, and Megumi practically falls into the other boy, causing him to drop onto his back, while he lands on top of him. “Sorry, I-” Megumi starts to say through his giggling, because he feels like someone iridescently happy has possessed his body. But Yuuji doesn’t even let him get his apologies out before he’s tugging Megumi back down onto him, hands caressing his neck as he kisses him fiercely.

And Yuuji has definitely done this before, unlike Megumi. He’s tilting his head and pushing back into Megumi slightly, hands roaming all over his neck and his shoulders and his back, twisting into his sweater. But he can’t even find it within himself to feel awkward, or embarrassed or jealous, because Itadori Yuuji is kissing him and it’s the loveliest thing that’s ever happened to him.

“I really like your eyes,” Yuuji murmurs when he pulls back slightly. Megumi is still kind of gawkily sprawled out on top of him, and Yuuji is still lying down on his f*cking skateboard, but he doesn’t make any attempt to move, one hand coming up to run his finger along Megumi’s cheekbone.

It takes everything in him to not swallow the words, because before he kissed Yuuji, all he could think about was kissing Yuuji. And now that they’ve finally kissed, he can practically feel his brain swiftly rotting in his skull. He’s never going to be able to think about anything else now. He’s been ruined. Itadori Yuuji has ruined him.

“Sure,” Megumi rolls his eyes, but he can’t help smiling when Yuuji lightly pushes his nose against his own.

“’Like when you roll them,” he breathes, lips moving against Megumi’s cheek as he reaches up closer. His hands brush against his eyelashes, softly tracing the curve of Megumi’s undereye. “When you’re trying really hard to not smile, but you can’t help when it reaches your eyes anyway.”

“Whatever,” Megumi breathes, itching down to bite down on Yuuji’s lip. He can feel the other boy’s smile in the kiss, matching it with one of his own as he digs his hands into fluffy pink curls and decides that he’s never letting go of this.

They stay there until the pinkness of the sky has been washed out by darker hues, and the orange streetlights flicker on around them. Yuuji waits beside him as he texts Ichiji asking for a lift, arm thrown effortlessly around Megumi’s shoulders as he scratches the nape of his neck, fingers wiggling under his collar. The bouquet of flowers are pressed into Megumi's hand, ready to be set in a glass in his dorm room.

“Ah sh*t,” Yuuji laughs when he leans forward and winces at the time displayed on Megumi’s phone. “I’m late. Promised Junpei’s mum I’d be back for dinner. It’s sushi night!” he grins, fingers leaving Megumi’s neck to wave jazz hands in front of him.

“You don’t like sushi,” he points out.

Yuuji just shrugs like it doesn’t matter and says, “Yeah, but she like loves making it. So, I’m not gonna tell her I don’t like it, am I?” Megumi responds by kissing him, not sure he’s ever going to get over how hot he finds kindness. He never realised that was a thing for him. Yuuji kisses him back, all messy and warm and earnest – the same way he moves through life.

By the time he gets back to the school, thanking Ichiji and heading back into the dormitory, he hasn’t stopped smiling. He probably looks a bit crazy, wandering the halls and grinning to himself like a madman. Probably looks like he still has a concussion.

He hears the front door click open as he pauses in front of his own room. It can’t be Nobara, he realises as he glances over her locked door. A mop of white hair and grinning blue eyes poke their way around the corner quickly enough. “Good day?” Gojo asks, as he passes him in the hall, ruffling Megumi’s hair.

“Yeah,” he nods back, trying his best to detangle Gojo’s long fingers from his head. The older man laughs, a twinkly sound, before he’s moving forward again, towards the living area. Megumi pauses in his own tracks, glancing over his shoulder as he watches Gojo disappear. And before he can second guess himself, after he drops the bouquet into his room, he follows after the older man, wringing his hand over his other wrist as he stops in the doorway.

“I went skateboarding,” he says aloud, smile crawling up onto his face as Gojo looks up at him in surprise, shutting the fridge with an interested hum.

“Cool. Super cool, Gumi,” he says with a knowing smile. And while Megumi is dying a little bit inside, because he’s trying to talk to Gojo, of all people, about the boy he likes, the delight on the older man’s face makes it at least worth it. “Was it fun?”

“Yeah.” Nodding, he flops down onto the sofa, watching Gojo as he leans against the kitchen counter, tearing into a packet of sweets that he’s pretty sure are Nobara’s. “I’m pretty bad at it, though. Lack of coordination skills apparently.”

“Really?” Gojo asks, not as subtle as he clearly thinks he’s being. “Who told you that?”

Megumi decides to give into him anyway, because he doesn’t want to keep parts of his life hidden from Gojo anymore. Pretty sure he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Kind of crazy to be honest, to have an omnipotent, all-seeing deity for a guardian. Thank f*ck Gojo’s not around that often, or else Megumi would never be able to hide anything.

“His name’s Yuuji,” he says after a moment of silence, scratching at the back of his neck. In an instant, Gojo is sitting down beside him, leaning forward with a grin splitting across his face. “Itadori Yuuji.”

“Secret, special, omurice friend,” Gojo hums thoughtfully, always shoving close into Megumi, because the man has no care or thought for others’ personal space. He nods in response, even as he rolls his eyes. And then he remembers what Yuuji had said about his eyes, and his insides squeeze. “He’s really nice. And funny. He’s just…he’s lovely.”

“You like him,” Gojo says, and it’s not really a question, but Megumi nods again all the same. He watches as the older man’s face falters for a moment, and maybe if Gojo was wearing his blindfold he’d miss it, but he isn’t. So Megumi catches the emotion flickering over Gojo’s face – the way his jaw clenches slightly, Adam’s apple bobbing. Gratingly though, he can’t recognise what it is. And as quickly as it appears, it’s gone, Gojo smiling brightly at him like nothing’s wrong.

“Well,” he muses. “Good for you, Gumi-chan. Does he like you back?” he asks, shamelessly. And then all Megumi can think about is Yuuji’s lips, his teeth and the way his fingers had felt against his skin, burning hot to the touch. And he’s absolutely not doing all this with Gojo, so he just shrugs and bites out, “Something like that,” as quickly as he can before he’s changing the subject.

“Do you know who Yuto Horigome is?” he asks Gojo, swearing that he could remember the older man having a couple of old, tatty skateboards hanging up in his apartment. Megumi remembers thinking how odd they looked, compared to the rest of the place. Gojo didn’t stay at his own flat that much, so it made sense that it wasn’t super lived in. But the flat hadn’t even looked like someone owned it. More of a hotel for businessmen than anything.

Apart from the polaroids on the fridge. And the two skateboards propped up against a sidetable in Gojo’s bedroom.

“Yeah,” the older man nods, raising a singular brow in question. “He’s super hot.” Scowling, Megumi pictures Yuuji obsessing over this guy. This super hot skateboarder. Imagines Yuuji liking all of the guy’s posts and tweets and sh*t, raving about him with his friends at school. He tries to think back to Yuuji’s bedroom, trying to remember if there were any posters of hot skateboarders tacked to the wall, or if it was exclusively Jennifer Lawrence.

Unfortunately, he’d kind of been too focused on Yuuji himself to keep that kind of thing in his mind.

He'll have to be more dilligent from now on.

“Hey,” Megumi says, pushing himself up onto his feet as he peers down at Gojo. “Can you show me how to skate?” Because he knows Gojo can do it, and figures he’s probably amazing at it, because there’s nothing Gojo can’t do – the asshole. And f*ck this Horigome guy, who apparently everyone knows for some reason.

If Megumi can fight off two special curses and not die from cracking his skull open, he’s pretty sure he can learn to best something as inconsequential as a skateboard.

Three hours later, Megumi is realising that maybe skating is something he’s just not built for. Whatever. It’s not even a real sport. And he’s Googled the famous skateboarder, and he literally isn’t even that good looking. Gojo and Yuuji are just delusional. And Megumi is ready to give up on skateboarding, and trying to impress the guy he likes, forever.

“You should show him stuff you like to do too, y’know?” Gojo says, when they’re both sat on the ground, backs against the wall. Megumi keeps his feet on the board, moving it back and forth. Gojo stretches his stupidly long less out in front of him, letting Megumi bounce the skateboard off of Limitless. “A relationship shouldn’t be one sided.”

Red pricks at his entire face, and he hides it by dropping his head into a hand, focus trained sharply on fidgeting with the skateboard, even as he can feel Gojo’s burning gaze on him. “It’s not a relationship,” he hisses, words getting caught in his throat as he tries to change the subject. “I don’t even-I mean…none of the stuff I like doing is cool,” he says with a sigh, scratching at the back of his head. “I don’t want him to think I’m lame.”

“You’re not lame,” Gojo laughs. “You’re one of the strongest jujutsu warriors to ever live, and you’re only a teenager.”

Megumi’s heart falls at that, biting down on his bottom lip so hard that he can feel the blood pooling into his mouth. He’d thought that out of everyone, Gojo would’ve understood. He doesn’t even know why he’d thought that. Supposes that Gojo hasn’t ever explicitly done anything to show that he’s not exactly the same as all of the others. At least, unlike the Zenins, who don’t even try to hide how they froth at the mouth at the idea of indoctrinating Megumi into their creepy little cult of sad*stic misogynists and hom*ophobic dicks, Gojo’s never acted like Megumi was a prize to win. Or a cow to slaughter, is probably a more apt description.

Really, sometimes he thinks that Gojo doesn’t think of him as anything much at all. He can’t tell if that’s worse. If it’s worse to die from thirst, scrambling out in the desert, struggling to swallow his own spit. Or if maybe, it’s worse to drown in the ocean.

f*cking sucks that those feel like his only options. The Zenins, who want him for his blood and his technique exclusively. And Gojo Satoru, who was stuck with him for some reason completely unknown to Megumi. He doesn’t know why he’s never asked. Doesn’t know why every time he tries to, pure terror chokes him up.

As much as Gojo wants to try and claim him and Tsumiki as his kids, Megumi still can’t figure out why the older man wants to do that. Doesn’t think Gojo knows either. As he’s getting older, he’s starting to realise that although Gojo is the Strongest, he might not know anything about anything important either.

It’s hard to believe there’s more than ten years separating them in age, when sometimes Megumi looks at Gojo and sees an echo of himself in everything that he does. In everything that he doesn’t say.

“So what?” he shrugs, voice coming out less bitter and more broken. “He doesn’t even know about Jujutsu, so none of that matters. Besides, even if he did know, I wouldn’t want him to only like me because of my technique.” Even as he imagines it, bile rises up in his throat, and he struggles to choke it back down. He doesn’t even want to think about someone like Yuuji stuck in a reality like Megumi’s. He’s not built for it.

No, Yuuji is too soft. Too kind. And he is someone who clearly makes a conscious effort to be soft and kind and amiable, despite everything. Like a slice of the summer sun caught in a boyish grin.

Megumi thinks he would’ve liked to meet Yuuji when they were both still kids. Back when he was soft and kind and everything good too. Back before everything peeled him back and left a rotting chuck of fruit in his ribcage.

“I don’t-I don’t think jujutsu is something to be inherently proud of,” he manages to say, praying Gojo will at least try to understand this, as he finally looks up to meet his eyes.

Gojo is looking down at him like they’ve never met before. For a moment, Megumi thinks about what they could’ve been like if they’d met when they were boys too. Wonders if maybe he and Gojo could have helped each other. He wouldn’t have left, not like the others left Gojo. Wouldn’t never have abandoned him like that.

“I’d hope he’d still like me in spite of my technique. Not for it.”

There’s silence for a while, and Gojo drops his head back against the wall, looking out across the forest. Megumi goes back to messing around with the skateboard, freezing when Gojo drops his heavy head onto his shoulder, Limitless gone.

“I never thought of it like that,” he says softly. Like maybe he’s getting it.

“Yeah,” Megumi snorts, maybe a bit cruelly, but he can’t really help it. Not when it comes to Gojo. He thinks that maybe, every conversation they end up having is at least a little bit of a fight. The love he carries for Gojo is so abundant in his very bones, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling a little like a jagged piece of broken glass he has to learn to breathe around. Thinks that they cannot help but curse each other a little, with every word they say. Even when they’re kind and laced with a softness they seem to save only for one another.

“Everything in your world revolves around Jujutsu though, so I don’t blame you for it,” he continues, running his tongue over his teeth when he feels Gojo stiffen beside him.

“No,” Gojo objects as he shakes his head, hair brushing against Megumi’s neck. “Not everything. Not you.”

“Please,” Megumi scoffs. “If I wasn’t a Zenin about to get sold off, you wouldn’t have come for me.” That makes Gojo sit up right, eyes crinkled with upset as he looks down at Megumi. That makes his chest ache a little.

“First of all,” he starts, holding up a finger. “You’re not a Zenin, Fushiguro Megumi. Secondly, that’s not-is that really what you think? That’s how you think I feel?”

“Isn’t it?”

And Gojo doesn’t answer for a moment, which makes Megumi’s heart break a little more. But he doesn’t stop looking at him, bringing his knee up to his chest before he says slowly, as if he doesn’t want to scare Megumi off, “Well, maybe it’s a bit true. But only because that’s how why I found you in the first place. But I was a kid myself, I didn’t know what the f*ck I was doing with my life. And it’s not-I mean it’s obviously not the reason I still-that we’re still-you know,” he trails off awkwardly, because really, when it comes down to it, words always seem to fail Gojo Satoru.

“No,” he shrugs. “I don’t. It’s not obvious. Not to me at least.”

Gojo rolls his eyes at that, sitting back against the wall again, shoulder coming up to Megumi’s face, because he’s still not caught up to him in height. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever catch up to him. Not in anything. “Well, it’s obvious to everyone else that I love you, Megumi. And it’s not because of the ten shadows. It’s not…it’s got nothing to do with any of that. You’re my kid, and I’ll love you no matter what. Even if tomorrow, we wake up and Jujutsu isn’t a thing anymore.” And maybe Megumi smiles a little bit, because Gojo sounds so sombre, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard the older man try and be sombre in his life before.

“Okay,” he murmurs, dropping his own head onto Gojo’s shoulder, smile widening when he realises Limitless wasn’t even put back up in the first place. “Sure, Gojo.”

“I love you cause the universe literally schemed to lead me to you, kid. Even if we woke up in the morning, completely normal. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

His eyes screw shut at that, not wanting Gojo to see his expression. Because really, if they were completely normal, he doesn’t think they’d need to have this conversation in the first place. If Jujutsu wasn’t a thing, and every heavy silence didn’t feel like the world was ending, Gojo wouldn’t have to reassure his kid that he loved him just for the very sake of loving him. And Megumi wouldn’t have to make himself believe him.

Chapter 9: Blood is Thicker than Water

Chapter Text

Megumi doesn’t remember much from when he was a little kid. Obviously, because that’s how it works. Everything from that age rapidly fades away, skimmed past like the boring chapters of a well-read book, dog-eared and crinkled pages. He thinks he probably doesn’t remember most of his life at this point, because even for Jujutsu standards, sixteen is still fairly young. Didn’t start remembering mundane things like conversations and mealtimes and weather until he was around ten.

He can’t even think what his favourite food was before he decided it was Takoyaki at thirteen – heavy on the ginger. Can’t remember his elementary school teachers’ names or what grades he got for the nonsensical essays he handed in back then, riddled with spelling issues and scrawled out in Tsumiki’s fancy pastel gel pens. Looking back now, nostalgic for a childhood that shouldn’t have ended as quickly as it did, Megumi wishes he remembers more of the prosaic things.

Only the really f*cked up sh*t seems to have stuck.

He could’ve only been around six the first time Gojo took him along on a mission.

He swears it happened like a week after Gojo first appeared out of nowhere: messy and loud and really, really weird. Looking back now, Gojo was probably just acting like any teenager would – swearing under his breath and laughing brashly at the two Fushiguro siblings doing kid stuff, because of course a teenager would find that kind of sh*t hilarious. At the time though, six-year-old Megumi still wasn’t convinced that Gojo wasn’t full of sh*t. Talking about monsters and magic and everything out of the stories Tsumiki read to him.

Determined to prove his point, Gojo tried relentlessly to get Megumi to try and summon his divine dogs. “Look, you can definitely do it, kid,” he groaned, because he didn’t start with the cute nicknames until Megumi was eight. “I know you have the Ten Shadows Technique. I can see it with my Six Eyes,” he snapped, arms folded. “You have a whole arsenal within you, Fushiguro. Serpents the length of highways, and warrior elephants and f*ck-off massive attack owls. Don’t you feel it? Don’t you want all that?”

Megumi felt like he was getting into trouble, for some reason. But even then, he could tell that Gojo had very little authority over him, if any, and so he just blankly refused to do anything the teenager urged him to try.

“You only have two eyes, freak,” Megumi had pointed out with a small frown, choosing to ignore everything else that was said. The guy was so stupid. He’d thought you got smarter the older you got. But that clearly wasn’t the case. At the time, he remembered his dad and Tsumiki’s mother arguing about something called drugs, which apparently made his dad stupider than he already was, according to Tsumiki’s mother. Megumi was pretty convinced this Gojo guy was on drugs. Tsumiki just thought he was peculiar.

When trying to coerce Megumi into summoning his dogs with sweets and money didn’t work, Gojo had the brilliant idea of bringing a six-year-old kid along with him on a mission to an old, run-down graveyard. Megumi doesn’t remember much of it, probably blocked it all out from the insane trauma it gave him (he couldn’t sleep for a month straight) but he does remember the sound of it all.

Curses are generally chatty things. Groaning out in pain and crying out for their parents or their friends. They swing between muttering nonsensical prayers, and screeching out for revenge, for violence, for blood. You get used to it. Which is pretty morbid in of itself, if he thinks about it.

At six years old, Megumi wasn’t used to it yet.

Which is why Gojo found him curled up into a ball, head tucked in between his legs and ears buried under his hands. He’d slashed his own throat to shreds, trying his best to scream over the sounds of the curse lashing out at Gojo.

He’d screamed and screamed and screamed, lungs too small and heart too fearful to bare it all. Listening to himself was preferable to the cries of the curse, who sounded like it was his own age, whining out for its father to save them. Hissing at Gojo like a stray cat cornered in an alleyway. Vile, heliotrope coloured blood splattered across the ground, dripping down the grass like Tsumiki’s nail polish. Gojo made the curse explode, and it sounded like someone had burst a juice-box. Megumi held his head between his knees so tightly that he thought he might crack his own skull, thin fissures spreading out, hidden away by a mop of dark hair. At the time, he wondered if he’d bleed the same as the curse did.

He didn’t stop screaming until Gojo assured him it was over. He remembers picking up on Gojo’s panic, the teenager yanking his sunglasses off as he tried his best to manoeuvre Megumi out of the foetal position he’d curled into. “f*ck, little dude!” Gojo yelled over Megumi’s cries. “Can you shut up? Please? Just shut the hell up, man!”

He eventually did stop screaming, tear stained face poking up as he glared at Gojo with all the venom he could summon at that age. Gojo hadn’t even really looked like he’d cared at the time, just relieved that Megumi had shut up. And then he started spitting out little glops of blood, and Gojo clicked his tongue, pinching the bridge of his nose.

That was the first time he was introduced to Shoko – so she could heal his throat. It took her hours to convince him to allow her to touch, smiling kindly at him and holding her palms out, like Megumi was a cornered animal. He wasn’t sure of her either, especially not since she was clearly friends with Gojo, but at the time he thought that she smelled like his dad used to – like smoke and honey whiskey.

He refused to tell her what happened, body trembling every time he remembered the cacophony of screams and blood – like something out of one of those horror films Tsumiki wouldn’t let him watch. He was never gonna ask to put one on again.

Gojo lied to Shoko, downplaying the entire thing as if Megumi had freaked out for no reason. “Nothing even happened,” Gojo had shrugged. He was a very good liar, Megumi remembers thinking. He had to give it to him. The teenager managed to paint his face with something very close to genuine befuddlement. “I exorcised the curse like normal. The kid just started shrieking for no f*cking reason.”

Back then, the way Gojo had called him kid felt like an insult. Like something belittling. As he got older, he realised it wasn’t even really to do with his age, or even him at all. Then especially, Gojo had seemed to find everything beneath him. Looked at everyone like they were something in his way. Like the whole of Japan was something foul marked on the bottom of his shoes. Like every single person who dared breath, was affronting him personally. Like everyone had somehow committed an awful, offensive slight against him.

The teenager had frowned tightly as he rubbed at his temples. The sunglasses were back on his nose, Gojo biting at the skin around his fingers as he said, “Got an insane headache now, thanks to the little sh*t. Tengen, I’ve never heard anything scream like that.”

Megumi just looked at him like he was insane. It took a while for them to rebuild back any kind of relationship after that. Megumi was set on never talking to the guy again. Even considered going to his teacher and telling her that some scary man was stalking him and his sister. But Tsumiki liked Gojo, for some inexplicable reason he wasn’t sure of, so he refrained from siccing the police on the guy.

Weeks passed with Gojo showing up like every day, and Megumi couldn’t tell if every teenager was this relentless, or if it was a Gojo Satoru exclusive. He guessed it was probably the latter. The guy was like a bloodhound who had just got a whiff of the sweetest, weeping wound. He ultimately wore down Megumi, because he was only six, and Gojo caught on pretty quickly that he could kind of just scoop Megumi up into his arms and teleport him away. Looking back on now, it definitely fell under the category of kidnapping.

Probably stunted his developmental growth a lot, being stolen away by an eldritch god/teenager/entitled asshole every weekend to watch him tear apart curses that no one else could see.

Each time, Megumi returned back to his flat with blood splattered across his clothes, because while Gojo could shove up Limitless to keep himself clean, Megumi had no such luck. It was really hard to scrub the stains out, and the idea of asking Tsumiki to help him made him sick. So he ended up tossing a lot of his clothes into the fireplace during those years, sitting curled up in a blanket as he watched the dried, mottling blood get swallowed whole by the flames. He relished in wasting Gojo’s money on replacing the clothes with the most expensive ones he could find, until he realised the teenager either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

At some point, Gojo must’ve realised the whole thing might be a bit shocking to a child though, because he started packing along a set of mini headphones every time he brought Megumi along. “You’ve got to learn, alright kid?” he would say. “And there’s no better way to learn than this. Trust me. It’s how I became the Strongest, after all.” And then he’d crouch down, softly setting the headphones over Megumi’s ears.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, kay?” Was the last thing Megumi would hear before the Pokémon theme tune would start up. After he got over all the violence of it all, which honestly didn’t take as long as it probably should have, it was kind of cool. Watching Gojo rip through evil monsters like some sort of anime protagonist, as Gotta Catch ‘Em All sang in his ears. He’d sing along sometimes, copying the finger movements Gojo made, imagining his own hair whipping around like white strands blowing in the wind Gojo created himself.

Gojo laughed so hard he ended up choking when Megumi finally summoned his gyokuken for the first time. He’d just finished exorcising a notoriously irritating Grade One curse who had been terrorising a seaside town for a couple of weeks (an event that, in hindsight, he definitely shouldn’t have taken a seven-year-old Megumi along to), dropping down to his knees in exhaustion in the ruined carpark where the fight had taken place.

Walking over to check Gojo hadn’t finally died, Megumi didn’t realise two small dogs, one white and one black, were bounding beside him until the teenager burst out laughing. “What?” he demanded, before following Gojo’s line of sight and letting out a soft, “Oh.”

“Finally,” Gojo sighed out, voice laced with exhaustion as he reached over to pull the headphones off of Megumi’s head. “You got your own Pokémon.”

“They’re more like Digimon,” Megumi argued back as the dogs nudged at him with wet snouts.

“f*ck,” Gojo laughed out, borderline hysterical as he wound his arms around Megumi’s small torso and pulled him into his chest, dropping his head into black hair. “You’re such a goddamn loser, little man. You gotta get a life.” That was the first time he hugged Gojo back.

Almost a decade later, and he’s still got the headphones. Not the same ones, obviously because Bluetooth didn’t even exist back then, and his head is like triple the size it was. But sometimes, when he’s on a mission, he’ll drop his stupidly expensive headphones over his ears and press play on Spotify.

It makes it easier, in a weird way. Dropping into his fighting stance as Tame Impala starts up. Throwing up his hands signs in time to the beat. And this way, he doesn’t have to deal with the curses shrieking or the sound of his own flesh being bitten into or his shikigami crying out in pain. He can hum along to Alex Turner’s voice as loudly as he wants after the veil’s been thrown up, Favourite Worst Nightmare on shuffle.

He likes to think of it as therapy.

Living in the dorms, there’s no such thing as privacy. And Megumi really likes music. Always has. Likes singing along to other people’s voices, hands tapping and fists thumping against his bookshelves and his desk and his window ledge as he lightly dances around his room. The first time he did this after moving into Jujutsu Tech, before he was even technically a student, Shoko had entered his room.

Really, she was the best person to have walked in, because she just waited for him to realise she was stood there, smirking around the unlit cigarette in her mouth as she leaned against his drawers. Still, he’d ended up screaming at her about the importance of knocking on a teenage boy’s room, because really, he could’ve been doing anything in there. He doesn’t even want to think about her walking in on him doing something else.

So, his speaker lies under his bed, only pulled out when they throw a small party in the dorms. And then, he’s forced to play everyone else’s music. And everyone else’s music is objectively and unmistakeably ass. Especially Nobara’s.

He refuses to sing in front of other people (excluding Yuuji obviously, because Megumi doesn’t really count him as a person, but more of a seraph), and only ever plays his own music through his headphones. Not that he really gets the chance to, because he’s always studying with Panda, or helping Inumaki cook, or training with Maki, or f*cking around and helping Nobara and Gojo film their stupid internet dances. There’s no peace and quiet. Like ever.

So, Megumi slings his headphones around his neck whenever he’s sent out on a mission. Goes through his little checklist. Sword. Check. Fully charged phone. Check. Fully charged headphones. Check. Two spare weapons in his little pocket of shadows (he’s still working on the name for that.) Check. Bowing his head to Ichiji, he’ll wait for the curtain to be fixed up, And then he’ll scroll for a moment, before picking the perfect playlist.

Unsheathing his blade, he’ll go in swinging, dogs at his heels. And bopping his head to the beat of DARE as he flies through the air, trainers leaping off of the ground. Normally, that’s the song he starts off with. Once though, somehow his Spotify had glitched and he was stuck fighting a curse with Tsumiki’s music blaring in his head.

It had taken the entirety of a Taylor Swift album for him to finally decapitate the damn thing. Its blood had sprayed into his mouth, coating his tongue with a horrible thick texture, and he'd collapsed to his knees and puked to a song called You Need to Calm Down, desperately scratching his nails down his tongue as he tried to get rid of the taste.

After that, he'd begged for Gojo to get him his own account and take him off of the one he paid for. “Get your own place, and then we can talk about removing you from the family account, Gumi-chan,” was all the older man had said.

Nobara had almost pissed herself when she learned Megumi listened to music when he fought curses. “Why don’t you do it when we’re together?” she demanded through her giggling. “I want to see you playing pretend at being in your own anime. f*cking loser.”

“It’s unprofessional,” he shrugged. “Apparently.” When the Higher Ups had caught wind that he listened to music, they’d freaked. Like a high school teacher catching a student with a stary earphone hidden in their sleeve. Megumi had just written back to them saying that if they wanted a teenager to fight curses for them, he’d do it in whatever way he wanted to. They’d seemed to accept that, because he never heard anything else about it. He wonders if they bitched to Gojo about it.

Still, he didn’t do it when he fought with other people. It would be impossible to anyway, even if he wanted to. You needed to be in sync with the sorcerers you were partnered up with. A key part of that was actually being able to hear what they were saying.

Currently though, he’s fighting alone. It’s been two months since he got out of the infirmary, and this is the first mission he’s been sent on. He’s pretty suspicious that Gojo was taking on all of the missions he was actually supposed to be doing, because there’s no way the Higher Ups would give him a whole two months off just because of a little major head trauma.

The curse is a grade higher than the file he’d been given to prep with said it would be. But at this point, Megumi has a rule of thumb to just round up the grade. Still, it’s not a massive issue. Shouldn’t be too hard to take down if he plays it smart.

His headphones are a comforting weight on his head, softly playing music as he swings his sword through the air, wrist twisting. It’s a playlist Yuuji made for him – mostly Japanese hiphop music mixed in with a surprising amount of citypop. The kind of stuff Hakari used to play loudly in his room whenever Kirara snuck in – his insanely lame equivalent to a sock on the door.

“I thought you exclusively listened to old sh*t,” Megumi said when Yuuji showed him, the last time they hung out. “From the 80s.” They were at some random café, sat outside together and Yuuji had laughed at him for buying a hot coffee in the stifling heat. The other boy was chewing on the straw of some sugary monstrosity that Megumi had bought for him.

“Ah well,” Yuuji spluttered, face flushed as he stared down at the ground. “I sort of…kind of exaggerated about all that.”

“Huh,” Megumi had smirked, leaning forward to knock his ankle against Yuuji’s under the table. The touch sending jolts of adrenaline spiking through his body, prickling mountains across his skin. “Why?”

“You know why,” Yuuji rolled his eyes, dropping his head in his hands as he blinked up at Megumi. “You just want me to admit it,” he murmured, voice softening.

“Maybe,” Megumi shrugged, tilting his head and waiting patiently. “You gonna?” Chuckling, Yuuji leaned across the table to kiss Megumi, almost knocking over both of their drinks in the process. “I wanted to impress you,” he breathed against Megumi’s mouth, pressing his lips against his once more before he flopped back onto his seat, looking way too pleased with himself. “I thought you’d think it was cool.” It took Megumi a second to realise he was still hanging awkwardly over the table, waiting for Yuuji to come back and kiss him again.

“That’s super embarrassing for you,” he shrugged as he leaned back, legs crossed and the metal chair digging into his back. Yuuji just grinned, before he kicked his foot into Megumi’s and said, “Well it worked, didn’t it?”

He hadn’t told Yuuji that he really didn’t need to try and impress him. He’s pretty sure he fell for the guy the moment they almost cracked their heads open literally falling into each other. He likes him so much he’s listening to the playlist he made him, songs he’s never heard before acting as a soundtrack as the curse lurches for him.

Snorting, he shakes his head and mutters Yuuji’s name under his breath with fondness as Flyday Chinatown starts playing. The song suits Yuuji, and Megumi wishes he was with him, instead of here, tired and pissy and fighting curses yet again. He tries to picture Yuuji in his head as he fights, with a goofy smile and dancing with his hands on Megumi’s waist. The curse spits at him though, and it kills his entire vibe.

It’s kind of humanoid. Looks a bit like a little kid, if someone had stuck it in an oven and left it to burn up. Its skin is an ugly green colour, like rotting algae floating aimlessly around a dirty pond. Frankly, it’s confusing the f*ck out of Megumi. It’s not really attacking him, but it’s also not doing anything else. And he can feel that it’s strong, can feel the pulsing Cursed Energy radiating off of it. It also has to be a fairly high grade because it’s trying to communicate with him. Something weak curses can’t do. They can only garble pitiful nonsense.

Which this curse is also definitely doing, don’t get him wrong. His music isn’t turned up loud enough to tune out the curse groaning at him. “I lost my papa. Where is my papa? Where is my mama? I want my mama!”

Megumi has never liked kids, and this demon-spawn curse is really concreting that for him. He doesn’t respond to the thing, moving forward to try and cut its damn head off with his sword. He’s pretty confident it isn’t strong enough to require his shikigami, so he’s making do with the blade for now. But the curse won’t even let him get close to it, shimmering in and out of focus and easily evading his attacks.

He'd been sent to some kind of abandoned orphanage out in the country, and he’s only now starting to consider that the Higher Ups sent him here on purpose. Kicking their own resident orphan out to deal with the issue. To deal with the curse lingering from the enduring and insistent feelings of abandonment and fear.

Unfortunately for the assholes upstairs, Megumi has no thoughts about his own parentless state. Couldn’t care less really. And he certainly doesn’t care about some old amalgamation of feelings from kids who grew up here decades ago. He proves to himself how little he cares by piercing the curse with his blade, music pounding in his ears as the thing writhes and squirms on his sword.

He pulls it back, ready for that to be the end of the whole thing, when the music is cut off by a buzzing sound. Blinking down at his phone, he leans his bloody blade against his chest as he clicks answer. “Yo Megumi!” Yuuji’s voice rings out through his headphones.

“Hey,” he smiles back, running his tongue over his lips. “What’s up?”

“Ah well, I was just wondering if you wanted to go for lunch or something this weekend?”

“Sure,” he replies, cleaning his sword on his jacket. “Whatever. Sounds fun.”

“Right,” Yuuji starts, and then goes on to say something else, but Megumi’s attention is distracted by a sudden whimpering sound. Glancing over his shoulder, he scowls when he sees that the curse hasn’t in fact died, but is upright again, floating slowly over to Megumi. You’ve got to be kidding.

“Where is my mama?” The damned thing is screeching now, Cursed Energy flaring up in an extreme way. “Where is my papa?” Rolling his eyes, Megumi tries to tune back into what Yuuji’s talking about as he summons Kon, fingers twisting into shape. Since Choso managed to exorcise one of his divine dogs, the black hound has grown in double the size, incorporating his fallen sister’s power. It’s his strongest shikigami that he can summon now, and he still only has to use a minimum amount of his own Cursed Energy to wield him. Still, he’s not going to start thanking Choso for it. Can’t believe the f*cker got away from Gojo.

“Are you listening to me?” Yuuji asks and Megumi blinks back into the conversation, watching as Kon snarls at the stupid curse, who starts sobbing hysterically.

“Yeah sorry,” Megumi apologises, eyes narrowing when Kon whimpers, backing off. The f*ck? “I’m riding my bike right now, so I’m a little distracted, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t text and drive, Gumi,” Yuuji laughs. Megumi hums, taking a cautious step towards the curse. “Anyway, I was asking what restaurant you’d want to go to.”

“Whatever you want,” he mutters, Kon bounding back over to his side. “I don’t mind.” Frowning, he watches in confusion as the sobbing curse floats higher and higher, charred skin moulding and contorting into something larger.

“Sick. There’s this cool Italian place that just opened up beside Junpei. I’ll book a table for there.” The curse rises higher, screeching out as if in pain as its limbs stretch out, until it resembles an adult man instead of a child. Megumi cringes as he sees his own eyes blinking back at him. Alright, so now he gets what all the Cursed Energy is for. Pathetic little mind games. Unlucky for the curse, because Megumi is very, mentally fortified. He’s been playing mind games since he was six years old.

“Junpei went with a friend of his and he said the breadsticks were crazy good. And you like Italian food, right?”

“Right,” Megumi murmurs. The curse has morphed into some sort of attempt at becoming an adult reflection of Megumi. “Where is my papa?” It screeches, voice deeper and sounding like some kind of monster from a crappy kid’s movie. This is what it thinks Megumi’s dad would look like? Some kind of buffer version of himself? Cringing, he scans his eyes up and down the hazy image.

“Great!” Yuuji says as Megumi pushes forward, blade slicing right through the curse’s left arm. It falls to the ground with a heavy thud, before dissolving into nothing. The curse, for some reason, imagines Megumi’s own dead father with a ridiculous hairstyle. Weirdly, he’s struck with the thought of Gojo, and the image of the man’s hair pushed up by his blindfold, and compares it to the curse’s floppy, pitch-black hair.

It must be hurt, or incredibly lazy, because as Kon snaps at it, jaws clamping around its leg, the curse morphs again. This time, as it screams out in desperation for its mama to come save it, the rippling muscles shift into a lithe body. More feminine curves, but still an almost identical picture to Megumi. Longer hair, framing its small jaw, and blue eyes instead of green, the kind of blue people use to paint the sky. It tries to smile at him, spindly and weird and wholly inhuman. Kind of ruins the illusion it’s trying its best to hurt him with.

Rolling his eyes, he ignores its cry as he takes the thing’s head off with an easy sweep. Stupid thing, he thinks to himself as he kicks at it before it crumbles into nothing but ash.

Curses aren’t known for their imaginations, but he thinks it’s kind of pathetic that the best the thing could do was mirror him as an adult man and woman in an attempt to upset him. Like that was ever going to work. Besides, as previously stated, he’s fine with his orphan status. Totally fine with it.

Although, he wonders what it might’ve been like if the curse was a bit stronger. What he might’ve seen if it had the ability to actually show him what his parents had looked like. He’d quite like to know how much of them is reflected in him. But then he thinks about how that would just twist the jagged piece of glass that sits nestled between his lungs, and realises it would just make it all worse. As everything always seems to inevitably become for him.

Maybe that’s why his father left him, discarded to a woman with no obligation to him but human decency. Maybe his mother did have his colouring, and his cheekbones and his smile, and the familiarity was all too much for his father. He doesn’t know if he can blame him for it, if that was the case. Must be pretty hard, to live with your wife’s ghost in the form of a child you cannot escape.

“Also,” Yuuji says, and Megumi remembers with a start that he’s on the phone with him. “Just to clarify-”

“Yeah?” he encourages when Yuuji cuts himself off. “What is it?”

“This is a date, right? I know we’ve been hanging out and…whatever, I just needed you to be aware that I’mtotally counting this as a date.” Blinking, Megumi’s jaw hangs open as he and Kon stare at each other. The hound looks just as surprised as he feels. “Meg? Don’t start tweaking,” Yuuji warns, and even though his voice is light, he doesn’t miss the thread of apprehension running through it.

“Yeah,” Megumi manages to say, lips slowly turning up into a stupidly wide smile. “Yeah, definitely,” he laughs, one hand raking through Kon’s marbled fur, and the other clutching his sword to his chest. “I’d like for it to be a date.”

“Sick,” the other boy says, sounding a lot more put together than Megumi feels. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he responds, still in disbelief. Operating on auto-pilot, the shadows from the crevices in the rotting floorboards pool beneath his feet, easily swallowing back his sword. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.” Crouching down, he pulls his headphones off of his head when Yuuji hangs up. “Holy f*ck,” he laughs, head thrown back as Kon leaps up onto him, panting and licking his tongue all over Megumi’s face as his own excitement courses through the dog as well.

“A date, Kon!” he shakes his head in disbelief, hands full of fur. Then he sits up suddenly, hair flecked with dirt and dust, as he curses out, tone slipping from exhilaration to terror. “Holy f*ck. A date.”

Ichiji drives him back to campus, and they pull up right at the same time as Nobara and Nitta do. “Hey Fushiguro,” she waves as she steps out of the backseat, stretching her arms out into the air and arching her back, like a cat pawing for attention. “How’d your mission go?”

“Fine,” he answers curtly, before he’s snatching her hand in his and dragging her up the stairs towards campus. He thinks most people would be put off by this, but Nobara really isn’t most people, and she just waves in thanks to Nitta before she lets Fushiguro lead her along.

“Yeah,” she hums. “Mine went fine too. No f*cking fingers though. I think the Higher Ups are toying with us. They sent me to the countryside today. And the curse was like Grade Three at most. In no universe would anyone with a brain think it might be a Finger-Bearer. They sent me all the way out there for no reason. Pieces of sh*t.”

“A part of me thinks they don’t think they want us to find the fingers at all,” he comments, sticking his head into the library and only entering when he’s sure no one else is around. “If they wanted them back, they wouldn’t be sending us and the Kyoto first years to look for them.”

“Where’d they send you off to?” she asks as she props herself up onto one of the desks, lazily crossing one leg over the other as Megumi sits down beside her. Her tone is matter-of-a-fact, but he can see the pity in her eyes. He wonders what the countryside means to her, if she’s also already successfully guessed that the Higher Ups are trying their best to torture them both.

“An orphanage,” he rolls his eyes. “Bet they had a real big laugh over that one.” Nobara scoffs in agreement before tilting her head to look at him.

“So, what’re we doing here, then?”

“I need help,” he admits, fighting against the sick feeling in his stomach that normally refuses to let him talk openly with people. “Yuuji asked me out on a date.”

“So?”

“So?” he repeats, nose crinkling as he looks at her incredulously. “Do I look like I know what to do on a date, Kugisaki?” A borderline evil smirk crept up on her face as she swept her eyes up and down the entirety of Megumi’s body.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that, Fushiguro,” she says pointedly, clicking her tongue in a feminine manner as she rests her fingers on her chin. “Besides, you hang out with the guy every weekend. And you talk to him like all of the time. I don’t even want to know how much Gojo-sensei spends footing your phone bill. I figured you guys were already dating.”

“You’re such a dick,” he groans, hands covering his face and weirdly feeling like a sick dog needing to be put down. “I don’t know why I came to you with this. It was a mistake.”

“Because I’m the best at this kind of thing,” she argues back, even though she definitely isn’t. And if she is, it’s purely because of a process of elimination. “Okay,” she says, tone serious as she pushes herself up onto her feet and stares down at Megumi. “I’ll prepare you for this date, Fushiguro. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing.”

Turns out, for some f*cking reason, Nobara’s way of preparing for a date is stabbing a needle repeatedly through Megumi’s ears. “I still don’t get what this is going to accomplish,” he murmurs as he sits on the toilet lid, feet tapping the tiled floor as he watches Nobara hold a sewing needle over her lighter. He doesn’t even know why she has a lighter.

He asks when she flicks it shut, coming over to stand inbetween his knees as she tugs at his ear. “Why do you think?” she shrugs, looking at Megumi like he’s an idiot. Then she’s smiling and whispering, “Don’t flinch,” before stabbing him. He doesn’t, because he’s suffered through a lot worse than someone poking his ear with a needle before.

Sitting patiently, he waits as she clicks a silver stud into his earlobe before she’s grinning. “You look hot, Fushiguro,” she decides, turning back to the sink to wash the needle. “That is what this accomplishes. Itadori won’t know what to do with himself.”

“Sure,” he rolls his eyes, watching as she meets his eyes in the mirror. “I bet I look real hot with my classmate’s old earring and a red, probably infected piercing.”

“They’re not gonna get infected,” she moans. “Besides, Ieiri-san would fix you up anyway. You know, Gojo-sensei has really expensive earrings. You could steal some of his if mine aren’t to your liking, your royal bitchiness.”

“Gojo doesn’t have his ears pierced,” he disputes.

“Well duh, they’ve closed up now,” she tells him. “When I asked, he said he hasn’t worn jewellery since 2007. It would be a shame; he’s got a whole box of lovely things. Diamonds and sapphires and the lot.”

“Would be a shame?” he asks, mindlessly coming up to prod at his own slightly aching ear. Nobara slaps his hand away as she presses a cold, damp towel against it.

“Yeah, ‘cause I can borrow them, so they won’t go to waste. And now you can too. Besides, Gojo told me he doesn’t even really consider them his anymore. He’s just keeping them safe or something. For your sister, he said.” Megumi blinks at that, breathing stuttering slightly. Nobara doesn’t notice, as she asks, sounding slightly disconcerted, “Megumi? You really are such a baby; it doesn’t hurt that much.”

“Huh?” he asks, looking up while Nobara uses her sleeve to dab at his eyes. He hadn’t realised his cheeks had become wet.

“I didn’t even cry when I got mine done,” she laughs lightly. “And I was like eight.” Megumi manages to laugh, not wanting her to press him, but it comes out kind of weak and wet. Nobara must pick up on it, because her hands pause in front of his face for a moment, and he’s struck with terror that she might try and ask him what’s wrong.

Instead though, she just smiles wider, and pulls a nail out from her belt before she wonders aloud, “You think I could pierce your other one with my Technique?” He’s so relieved, and caught up in his gratefulness for a friend like Nobara, that he almost lets her do it.

But then she flicks the nail against her perfectly painted fingernail, and he considers how insanely lame it would be if he died from tetanus.

They end up cooking dinner together (well, Nobara cooks and Megumi helps by either sitting on the counter and not getting in her way, or passing her down things from the shelves she can’t reach), and she lists off dating advice as the smell of oregano and chili fill the air. The conversation switches pretty quickly though, as it normally does when the two of them are together, ideas rushing past like rapids.

“Are you excited for the sister event?” Nobara asks him as they eat their pasta outside, the pot sat in between them as they sit on the gravel. Tapping his fork against his knee, he leans his head against the wall.

“Not particularly,” he shrugs. “I think it would be more interesting if the Kyoto school was holding it.”

“They’re not?” Nobara asks incredulously, leaning forward as she stares at Megumi with wide, hurt eyes. “No one told me that! I thought we’d get to go to Kyoto. I’ve never been.”

“Whoever wins, hosts the following one. We won last year,” he tells her, feeling a bit bad as she violently stabs at the pasta shells in the pot. “Blame Okkotsu-senpai,” he says, smirking when Nobara’s face darkens even more. Ah, so the same guy who used to have a crush on her crush is also the guy who’s ruined her opportunity for a holiday. Megumi kind of can’t wait for Yuuta to come home and meet Nobara.

“They never would’ve won if it wasn’t for him.”

“Jeez,” Nobara whistles, pouring more hot sauce over their pasta. “Just how good are the Kyoto kids?”

Megumi thinks back to last year, when Gojo had brought him along to watch. Gakuganji had been pissed, but there wasn’t really a lot he could do to stop Gojo. Especially not when Yaga had signed off on it, and was the one Megumi ended up sitting with the whole time as Gojo and Kusakabe argued about their strategy.

If he’s being honest, the whole thing had kind of bored him. It was cool seeing his friends fight, he guessed, but having to sit in a stuffy room and watch it alongside stuffy adults kind of killed any of his possible excitement. He’d been so bored that he spent the entire time staring at Kamo Noritoshi, and imagining what it would be like to speak to the guy.

The students’ weekend was spent scrapping each other in an abundance of vicious fights. Megumi’s weekend was spent fantasising over a guy who was two years older than him and wouldn’t even spare one glance in his direction.

“They’ve got a robot,” is all he says to Nobara, chewing around a mouthful of pasta. “He was the only first year allowed to compete from Kyoto last year. Because he has like cannons instead of arms.”

“And Okkotsu beat him?” Nobara asks in disbelief. Megumi smiles to himself as he remembers the look on Gakuganji’s face when Yuuta was the last kid standing after the first event. The old man had clearly been so convinced his school had it in the bag, what with Mechamaru and Kamo and Todo. Not to mention the creepy witch girl, and the third-year students at the time, who were both from important Western clans.

Compared to the Tokyo team, which was comprised of Hakari and Kirara (who spent more time making out and stealing sh*t from the teachers’ offices than paying attention to what Kusakabe tried to teach them) and all of the first years, since they had no third years to make up the numbers – it really looked like a clear win.

“Okkotsu beat them all,” Megumi grins. “They would’ve been f*cked without him, honestly. What?” he adds when Nobara’s face falls, poking at the now cold pot of pasta.

“We don’t have Okkotsu this year,” she winces. Megumi’s smile fades when he realises that she’s right. And he hasn’t even been training as much as he normally would, even without the sister event, given that his head is full of strawberry hair and purple bruises flecked along necks. “We’re screwed,” she groans out, head in her hands.

Honestly, they probably are screwed for the sister event. But Megumi is still a lot more worried about his date with Yuuji than what Maki will say at his funeral when the robot sorcerer manages to blow his head off with his unfairly sized cannon arms.

So, he washes the pot, as Nobara goes to the second years’ dorm to find Maki, resolved to beg for more training. Warm water washes over his hands as the sky outside dresses itself in indigo painted clouds. He panics silently as he dries the pot, putting it back on the shelf.

He panics as he gets ready for bed, standing under the showerhead and running through every potential mistake he might make on the date. He panics as he peers at his ear in the mirror, trying to imagine what Gojo might’ve looked like with piercings. But he can’t reconcile the image in his head, so instead he works through the steps on what he should do if he spills his drink at lunch.

Panics instead of sleeps, summoning Kon to keep him company. Panics as he eats breakfast with Nobara, pushing his food around the plate. Panics as he trains with Panda, getting knocked to the ground over and over again as he tries to figure out what you’re supposed to wear on a date. Panics as he tries to help Inumaki with his essay on the history of the three clans, spending more time imagining curses raiding the restaurant Yuuji’s taking him to than correcting Inumaki’s grammar. Panics as he paces around the entire perimeter of campus, Kon yapping beside him as he Googles what the f*ck you’re supposed to do on a date.

Panics as he tries to get dressed, because suddenly nothing fits him properly and/or has become ugly overnight. Panics as he gets a lift from Nitta, making her promise that she won’t tell Gojo where he’s gone under any circ*mstances.

Palms wet with sweat, and head spinning with insane, self-destructive thoughts that are incredibly unhelpful, Megumi stands outside the restaurant. Chewing on his bottom lip, he stands outside and peers through the window. As he stares at Yuuji, who’s already sat down, his back to Megumi, he considers leaving. Then he feels like an asshole for even letting that thought cross his head. Desperately shoving it down, he locks it up with all the other sentiments that only leak out of his brain at the dead of night, dripping down the side of his head and weeping into his ears.

Don’t f*ck this up, he tells himself, repeating it over and over again like some kind of twisted orison. Please, he thinks, fingers twitching into fists as his nails dig into his palms. Please, don’t let me f*ck this up.

“Hi?” A sound snaps him out of it, and he stumbles in shock, attention leaving Yuuji to blink at the couple behind him. It isn’t until they ask, “Sorry, are you going in?” that he realises he’s blocking the entrance.

He apologises quickly, before leaning forward and opening the door open for them. Less so out of politeness, and more so the incessant need to delay this for as long as he possibly can. Sickness drags its skeleton fingers down his ribcage, compressing all of his organs into a bloody ball bouncing around erratically in his stomach. He thinks he’s forgotten how he’s supposed to breathe.

But then Yuuji anxiously glances over his shoulder, biting down on his bottom lip as his eyes scan the restaurant. And then brown crashes against green, and Yuuji smiles at him, and Megumi lets out a shaky breath.

“Hey!” Yuuji says, practically leaping out of his chair as Megumi walks over. And very quickly, all the tense unease that’s been building for the whole day just fades away. Like the tides wrenching away from the shore at the mere sight of the moon. Yuuji pulls his chair out for him, and Megumi feels so f*cking stupid for even ever letting himself worry about this. Ever letting himself worry about Yuuji like that.

But then Yuuji sits down and tilting his head, says softly, “You look pretty.” And Megumi forgets to even feel anything but stupidly infatuated with the boy opposite him. “I like the earring,” he adds, reaching forward and very gently brushing a fingertip across the arch of Megumi’s ear.

He’s glad he dressed nicely, because Yuuji’s switched out the basketball shorts for a pair of blue jeans, which means this is incredibly lavish as far as Yuuji’s clothing goes. He looks unfairly handsome. Always does, but it’s different with Megumi knowing he’s made an active effort to look nice. To look nice for him.

All dressed up in nice jeans and an ironed shirt, golden chain hanging around his neck. Gel run through his hair, and an effortless smile aimed Megumi’s way. His own clothes suddenly feel heavy on his skin, like someone’s dropped him into a pool with his wool sweater and corduroy trousers.

“Thanks,” he laughs, smile wide as he pushes a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “So,” he says, rolling his shoulders back as he meets Yuuji’s eyes again. “What did Yoshino say was good from here?”

He ends up ordering pasta, pushing it around his plate as he thinks about Nobara making it for him. Really, he thinks he must be chewing on the inside of his cheek more than the actual food, because even Yuuji notices. “You wanna swap?” he asks, gesturing to his own bowl of risotto. “It’s really good,” he urges, and the tenderness on his face makes Megumi feel like an asshole, because f*ck, is he ruining it? Is this him ruining it?

“It’s alright,” he tells him, scooping up a purposefully large forkful of his own pasta as he chews it down. “This is good too.” He tries his best not to cringe at himself, his voice coming out stiff and unnatural, all pointed angles. “My friend made me pasta last night,” he offers. “Kugisaki.”

“She’s your classmate, right?” Yuuji asks, all enthusiastic and looking at Megumi like this is the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. And instinctually, because he cannot help it, he looks for the sarcasm in Yuuji’s face, strains his ears to hear it in his voice. But it’s not there, because of course it isn’t. Because this is Yuuji, and as much as Megumi wants to try and tell himself that a cute boy couldn’t like him, this one does. He’s shown Megumi that he does.

Suddenly, Megumi is caught by a memory he’d thought he’d forgotten all about. Nanami, a couple of years ago, arms tightly wound around a younger Megumi, brushing his dark hair away from his face. He’d just been tossed back to Gojo by the Zenins after they tried to steal him away, but now he can’t remember where Gojo was at the time, or why he’d been passed aside to Nanami for babysitting. But he does remember what Nanami said to him.

“You’re very brave, Megumi-kun. You’re brave in a fight, and you don’t balk from curses or authority or injustices. But part of growing, I believe, is learning to not fear yourself. You can’t fear everything in here,” he had said, lightly tapping his bruised and burst knuckles against Megumi’s ribs, right across from where his heart thudded. “You have to be brave in here too.”

Right now, he just has to be brave and let Yuuji like him.

So, he nods in response, picks up another forkful of pasta and starts into a story about Nobara trying to impress Maki. The awkward feeling in his spine slowly fades away, and he finds himself speaking to Yuuji like he always does anyway. He laughs, and rolls his eyes, and scoffs and finds himself staring at brown eyes and a soft jaw and a long nose and wistfully thinking about how nice it would be if life was always like this. Just him and Yuuji, in the Summer, talking about their favourite respective books and anime.

Everything is a lot easier, like this. In this blissfulness he feels with Yuuji. It makes the idea of everything else a lot simpler. Like looking at something in the blank darkness, compared to in the creamy summer sun.

“They gave us this form to fill out in class yesterday,” Yuuji says with a little pout, and Megumi’s face is covered from where he’s leaning his jaw in his hand, but he smiles all the same. As much as he is scorned and ensnared in an endless cycle of death and devastation by Jujutsu society, at least he doesn’t have to go to school festivals or join a basketball club like Yuuji does. The only forms he has to fill out is his life insurance ones.

“It was asking us what we wanna do when we leave school. As if that’s not a whole two years away. I barely even knew what my plans for the weekend were,” he scoffs.

“You seemed pretty prepared for this date,” Megumi muses, grinning when Yuuji breathes out a hum of amusem*nt.

“Well sure,” he nods, sauce caked into the edge of his mouth. “’Cause you’re important to me.” He almost chokes on his spit at that, but Yuuji doesn’t seem to notice, marching on as if that’s not an insane thing to say. “But how am I supposed to know what’s going to be important to me in two years? I mean, do your school make you do that kind of sh*t?”

“Yeah,” he nods as he clears his throat, hitting a fist against his chest. “I guess.” f*ck, he wishes they got to talk about their futures at Jujutsu Tech. But what would be the point in that? No one’s going to ask a drone of cattle whether they’d like to go to university or maybe look for an apprenticeship when they’re headed to the slaughterhouse eventually. Jujutsu society is more f*cked up in the way that there’s the illusion of choice, he supposes.

Sure, if you really want to, you can leave behind everything and everyone you’ve ever known. All you need to do to graduate is stay alive long enough for Yaga to give you your diploma before you’re free to move somewhere else and change your address, so that they know where to send your mission invoices to. Technically, you can go on to college and become a salaryman, or a teacher, or a policeman, or whatever your heart desires.

But even then, you’re essentially switching out one hellish limbo for another. Either you die a Jujutsu sorcerer, making the world better, or you die a coward, watching as the masses around you are swarmed by curses that only you can see.

It's a lovely little Catch-22 that inevitably ends up with retired sorcerers right back in the fray less than a decade later.

Megumi hadn’t even let himself consider the possibility of meeting people outside of Jujutsu before Yuuji. Doesn’t see what good it would do him imagining a whole life that will forever stay inaccessible to him. Maybe in his next one, he’ll be given the opportunity to decide for himself. Maybe in the next one, someone will give him a break.

“So, what do you wanna do then?” Yuuji asks, wiping at his mouth with his nice, clean sleeves.

“Unfair to ask me that question when you don’t know either,” Megumi frowns slightly, blinking up at the other boy from under his lashes. But Yuuji doesn’t seem offended as he shrugs, stating, “You just seem to have your sh*t together a bit better than I do, I guess.”

And that might just be the funniest thing Megumi has ever heard in his life.

“You don’t have any idea?” he asks, instead of hysterically laughing. He’s never been on a date before, but he’s pretty sure you’re not meant to do something like that.

“I don’t know,” Yuuji blows out, scratching at his jaw. “Not something at a desk. God, I’d hate that. I can’t see myself going to uni either. Even if I wanted to, my grades are kind of f*cked. Mhh, maybe like a firefighter or something,” he smiles, dimples creasing. And his smile is infectious with Megumi finds himself grinning along. Especially as he imagines Yuuji in the suit and helmet, victoriously holding a cat up in the air after saving it from a tree, or with kids thrown over his shoulders, sprinting from a burning building.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I could see that. You like helping people. You’d be good at it.”

“Alright,” Yuuji laughs, a warm sound, all clementines and grains of sand, daylight kissing his face despite the darkening of the sky outside. “So, I’ll be a firefighter. What’re you gonna do while I’m off saving peoples’ lives?” Megumi bites down his smile at that, wondering what Yuuji would say if he knew what Megumi was really up to while he went to class, and copied his friends’ homework answers and worked on group literature essays.

He hums thoughtfully, trying his best to think about what he actually enjoys. He likes reading, and the quiet stillness of the evenings, and the sound his boots make when the first crunch of snow of Winter flurries in. He likes Yuuji, and kissing Yuuji and talking with Yuuji. He likes piano, and spending hours crafting playlists. He doesn’t think any of these things equate to a career though, as much as he’d like them to.

“A veterinarian,” he says, surprising himself and Yuuji equally. “I like animals,” he says, because that isn’t wholly a lie. He always has liked real animals, like cats and dogs and hamsters. And in a way, his shikigami are almost like animals. Even though Gojo always stressed that he shouldn’t ever think of them as pets, he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if he didn’t have Kon.

“Y’know what?” Yuuji says, voice gentle and tender against the soft hum of conversation all around them. “I think that really suits you. Okay, so you can save the animals while I save the people. And then I’ll come home and cook dinner, and you can do the dishes. And we’ll have mochi for desert like every day. We can stay in a little apartment somewhere. With a balcony. And space for all your books and all my manga.”

“Oh, we’re together in this universe?” Megumi says before he can even think about it. But Yuuji is just shovelling more risotto into his mouth after he says, “Obviously,” like Megumi is being stupid.

“Alright,” he murmurs, blinking down at his own plate and trying his best to not smile widely like a freak. “I don’t mind doing the dishes, but I’m not doing them every night.”

“Learn how to cook an omelette without burning it, Meg,” Yuuji snorts. “Then we can talk about who’s doing the dishes.”

“Is that what you’re going to write on your form then?”

“What? That we’re going to be together, and you’ll clean the dishes?”

“No!” Megumi splutters out in a mix of irritation and mortification. “That you wanna be firefighter, idiot.”

“Oh,” Yuuji chuckles before shrugging. “I don’t know. I’ve got two years to figure it out. And even then, it’s not like I can’t change my mind. Honestly, all I know now is that I wanna be happy. I wanna make sure the people around me feel loved.”

“Yeah,” Megumi nods. “That sounds nice. I think I’d like to be happy too.”

“Well then,” Yuuji grins, all teeth and boyish charm and everything good in the world. “Looks like we can kill two birds with one stone and just keep being happy together.”

Crimson pricks at the back of Megumi’s neck, and his stomach turns, but it’s not a bad feeling. Actually, it might be one of the best things he’s ever felt. Especially as he grins back, unable to take his eyes off of the loveliest person to ever grace the Earth, and says, “I’d like that.”

Yuuji pays for the meal, even as Megumi tries his best to snatch the bill out of his grasp. “I’m the one who asked you out,” he argues as they leave, grabbing Megumi’s hand in his own. “That means I pay.” He can’t tell if that’s a bullsh*t excuse, or a secret rule that people who regularly go on dates should know about, so he decides to cut his losses and begrudgingly shrug.

“Come on baby, don’t pout,” Yuuji says, and even though he knows the other boy’s just teasing him, his mouth goes all dry with the way Yuuji says the nickname. “I’ll let you spend stupid amounts of money on me later, if you want. I know you’re loaded; you don’t have to prove it to me.”

“Shut up,” Megumi hisses, using their joint hands to shove at Yuuji’s side. “You’re so cringe. I can’t believe I agreed to go on a date with you.”

“Well, too late now,” Yuuji snickers, before twisting their hands up in the air to press a kiss against Megumi’s knuckles. “So,” he continues, almost obnoxiously oblivious to the blush that spreads across the bridge of Megumi’s nose. “You wanna come back to mine?”

“What?” he deadpans, instantly switching from embarrassingly weak at the knees to unimpressed. And not even just because Yuuji said that so effortlessly, and it pisses Megumi off when Yuuji can flirt like that. “Absolutely not.”

Now, is this the very thing Megumi has been fantasising over since the day he met Yuuji? Obviously. Because even though he is shadow incarnate and Gojo Satoru’s son and the master of the secondary most sought out Cursed Technique in the country, he is also a teenage boy.

A teenage boy who is borderline clinically obsessed with Itadori Yuuji. He goes to bed with his name on his lips, and he wakes up with tanned fingers and blue veins and untouched skin tattooed in his mind. Obviously, he wants to go back to his. If the situation were any different, he’d be jumping Yuuji right here right now and demanding the boy take him back to his.

Two months ago, Yuuji’s grandfather died. A month ago, he kissed Yuuji. Since then, a myriad of things has happened. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about kissing Yuuji, and every time he gets to see him, he wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him in, dying in the heat of it all. There’s that, and there’s also the fact that Yuuji ended up meeting his brother.

He called Megumi right after, slightly breathless on the line as he told him all about his half-brother. “And he told me to call him nii-san,” Yuuji had laughed, joy evident on his face. “Obviously, I’m not gonna do that. But I mean, I don’t know, it was kind of nice of the guy.”

Megumi, the soulless pessimist he was, couldn’t help but be slightly thrown off by the whole thing, but Yuuji was clearly so happy, so he kept his mouth shut. Mostly. “How did he find you again?”

“It’s kind of unbelievable, actually,” Yuuji had started. “I guess we have the same mom. Which is crazy my grandfather never told me, but I mean, the old bastard was super weird about my parents in general, so I’m not that surprised. Anyway, he said he saw my grandfather’s obituary in the newspaper, and that he was solely survived by me. No one had told him about me, I guess, but he knew about our grandfather.”

“Crazy,” Megumi had frowned, tapping the side of his jaw as Yuuji continued on.

“Yeah, it is,” he said, sounding a lot more enthusiastic about the whole thing. “So, he contacted the authorities to see if he could meet me. He’s so great, Meg. Like really cool.”

“That’s great,” he’d replied, satisfied that Yuuji seemed to be genuinely happy. If he was like Megumi, and had a clan trying to kidnap him, or like Yuuta, who had people actively trying to execute him, he’d be a bit more worried about some random brother showing up out of nowhere. But as long as he wasn’t going to hurt Yuuji, and Yuuji was happy, he didn’t see what the harm in it all was.

But then Yuuji’s brother moved in so that Yuuji could move out of Junpei’s and back into his own home. And that seriously put a damper on Megumi’s parade. He didn’t want to think about Yuuji’s family. Didn’t want to even consider the pressure of meeting his brother. That was all a bit much for him.

“Oh my god,” Yuuji laughs, squeezing Megumi’s hand in his as he lightly yanks him forward. It only works because he allows it, lightly stepping into Yuuji’s space as the other boy cradles his face in his hands. “You don’t have to worry; my brother works till super late at the bar. You’ll be gone before he’s home, promise.”

He should say no. He really shouldn’t run the risk of meeting Yuuji’s brother, no matter what Yuuji says. He absolutely cannot meet Yuuji’s brother, because that’s an indication of too many things that Megumi is comfortable ignoring. But he also doesn’t think he’s ready to face them head on yet.

Doesn’t know if he’s brave enough for all that yet.

Doesn’t know if he’ll ever be brave enough for all of that.

Originally, he was so sure he wouldn’t have to worry about it. Because Megumi is a teenage sorcerer, and Yuuji is a normal guy, who will go on and become a firefighter, and get his own lovely apartment with a balcony and not have to worry about whether the people he loves will have anything to bury when he inevitably expires, as it were.

He’s not an idiot. Knows how this is going to play out. He certainly is selfish though, because he’s starting thinking about what would be so bad in letting this thing play out for a little longer. Until graduation, at least. He’ll probably make it to graduation. He’d really like for him and Yuuji to make it until then too. f*ck, he’d kill to get to have Yuuji till then.

An awful idea though. A downright, moronically bad idea. He knows.

Sometimes though, he thinks maybe he could do it. Maybe he could pull it off. He’s a great liar. Gojo always used to say so. He could tell Yuuji he’s at university, studying to be a vet. He could work around the blood and the guts and the bile, and keep it away from his precious, lovely, normal Yuuji. If he tried hard enough.

Because he’s starting to hope he’s brave enough to let Yuuji love him.

f*ck it, he thinks as he leans forward, nose pressing against Yuuji’s before he captures his lips in his own. Yuuji tastes like spinach and feels so solid beneath him. He is everything Megumi’s ever wanted. And what the hell, he thinks he deserves this. He should be allowed this. He should be allowed this one f*cking thing. He’s never allowed anything he wants, not truly, so he’s gonna take this. He’ll take whatever Yuuji gives him.

That’s why he rolls his eyes, prays to Tengen, and whispers against chapped lips, “Yeah. Okay, I’ll come back to yours.”

It takes them longer to walk back to Yuuji’s than it probably should, because Yuuji can’t stop giggling every time Megumi kisses him, and Megumi can’t stop kissing him. Arms lazily thrown around his waist, Megumi leans against his back as he unlocks the front door, smirking when he bites down into Yuuji’s neck and the boy stills under his touch.

“Vampire,” Yuuji mutters under his breath fondly as he goes to yank Megumi inside, door slamming shut behind them. He snorts with little amusem*nt, because he thinks a vampire would probably be a lot less dangerous to be dating than a Jujutsu sorcerer.

Like Stoker’s monster himself, Megumi hesitates beside the front door, reluctant to enter. Pausing, he listens out for anyone else in the flat. But the only sounds are the crickets outside, and Yuuji scoffing at Megumi in amusem*nt. “Dude!” he drawls. “Chill out. He’s not here, okay?” Yuuji takes a step backwards as he kicks his trainers off, reaching forward to lace his fingers with Megumi’s.

“And I’ve got something fun for us.” Willingly accepting his fate, Megumi trails after him, finding himself back in Yuuji’s bedroom again. This time, he can’t help but scowl at the poster of Horigome plastered right beside Yuuji’s bed. “Ta-da!” Yuuji exclaims after rifling through his desk drawers, turning round to face Megumi as he proudly holds out what he’s pretty sure is a joint.

Megumi’s never smoked before, more so out of a lack of opportunity than any moral standing on the whole thing. He used to hang out with Hakari and Kirara a lot when they were still students, and he’s pretty sure the two of them spent 90% of their time at Jujutsu Tech high. Honestly, now that he also has Gojo as a teacher, he gets it.

They’d never let him try though. Kirara cooing over him and kissing his cheek as she said she refused to take his innocence from him. And Hakari always just said it wasn’t worth Gojo getting pissed at him, even though Megumi doesn’t think Gojo would’ve cared. He thinks he could’ve started drinking at ten years old and Gojo wouldn’t have cared.

“We don’t have to though,” Yuuji rushes out quickly when Megumi doesn’t react. “I don’t want you to feel like pressured or-”

“Shut up, Yuu,” Megumi tells him, before leaning forward and just shutting him up with his lips anyway. When they finally stop kissing, they find themselves lying down on Yuuji’s twin bed, shoulder pressed against shoulder and legs thrown haphazardly over each other’s. There’s barely enough space for Yuuji in his bed, let alone Megumi too, but they make it work. Yuuji’s head lies on the pillow, Megumi on his chest even though he’s taller, socked feet dangling off the edge.

“You believe in heaven?” Yuuji asks as he blows smoke up into the air. Megumi laughs, because this entire thing is so cliché that he can’t really believe it’s actually happening. In a good way though. Always in a good way with Itadori Yuuji.

“Nah,” he answers, feeling fingers start to play with his hair as he raps his knuckles against his own chest.

“I’d like to think my grandfather’s in heaven,” Yuuji muses, and Megumi can feel the words being pushed out of his lungs every time he speaks. f*ck being a veterinarian. He just wants to live here, curled up in Yuuji’s chest. “But I don’t think I believe in all that either.”

“Even though you’re in the occult club,” Megumi points out.

“Yeah,” Yuuji laughs, light and airy. “Even though I’m in the occult club.”

“There’s no way my father’s in heaven,” he adds, feeling Yuuji freeze up under him.

“Yeah,” the other boy starts slowly, passing over the joint to Megumi. “’Bout that. Your dad’s dead, right?”

“Yes,” Megumi replies, words feeling like ash on his tongue. He doesn’t even know if his father actually is dead. Assumes he must be, because none of the Zenins he’s ever met have ever spoken of him. Secretly, he hopes he’s dead. Already feels tethered to the stranger in his soul. He doesn’t want any corporeal strings attaching them if he can help it. “I told you that already.”

“Yeah, I know.” He can feel Yuuji nodding, and the fingers in his hair resume. “But then that guy showed up at mine. The guy who said he was your dad? With the blindfold and the white hair?”

“Oh,” Megumi blinks, because he’d kind of forgotten all about Gojo meeting Yuuji. f*ck, what a terrible first impression. But then again, it was Gojo. He didn’t think the man was physically capable of giving any other impression but awful. “Yeah, that was just Gojo.”

“Just Gojo?” Yuuji questions, sounding as confused as Megumi feels about the whole situation. How the hell is he supposed to explain Gojo Satoru to Yuuji? And not even just Gojo in general, but more specifically his relationship to Megumi? You can’t describe the relationship between Victor and his monster, or Cronos and Zeus. And he doesn’t even understand what lies between him and Gojo, most of the time.

“He kind of adopted me, I guess. He’s like my guardian,” Megumi tries. “It’s complicated.”

“f*ck complicated,” Yuuji murmurs, instead of pressing further. Laughing a little, Megumi nods in agreement. And then suddenly, he is struck with the desire to claw himself open. He could ask Nue to do it, with her claws perhaps. Shred him open right here, curled up into the boy he thinks he might be falling in love with. Just so he can show Yuuji all of it.

All of the rot and blight that is corroding his insides. The heart he broke when he was six, when he tripped and fell as he chased after his father, and all he was left with was his stupid heart, too childish to even understand the magnitude of what he’d just lost. The dust coating his bones, and the shadows he can’t get rid of that linger beneath him.

Suddenly, he feels desperate to put himself on trial. So Yuuji can see all of the damning evidence, see his true sins and transgressions. Just for the slim chance that Yuuji might still press a kiss to his head as he is lead away in handcuffs. He doesn’t think he can be brave unless Yuuji truly knows how repulsive he is. Every time he kisses him, he thinks he might be poisoning the other boy.

“God,” Yuuji suddenly says, hands still lost in Megumi’s hair, pressed together like a silent prayer caught in ribbons of reeds. “Enough of this morbid sh*t. Wanna get your ass handed to you in Valo or what?”

Pressing his weight up into his hands, he hangs over Yuuji, dropping down to press a kiss to his forehead before he murmurs, “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you, idiot.” Swallowing down his murky thoughts, the thoughts he hears in his own ten-year-old voice, he follows Yuuji. Watches as the light from the TV lights up his face like an angel, neon blues and pinks brushing against his skin. Adrenaline courses through his veins as they sit shoulder to shoulder.

He does end up wiping the floor with him, because Megumi is violently competitive and was raised by an equally competitive teenager, who was good at every single video game ever released. Eventually, Yuuji gets bored of Megumi shooting him in the head every round, and tosses his controller to the side, leaning over to try and yank Megumi’s out of his hand too.

“Get off,” he scowls, trying to kick Yuuji away from him, trying to be careful of the opened cans of Diet co*ke and the lit joint lying precariously on the lip of a coffee-stained mug. “Don’t puss* out now just ‘cause you’re sh*t at the game, Itadori,” he scolds as the other boy tries to drop his entire weight onto Megumi.

“I’m bored,” Yuuji sighs dramatically, drawing out the words. “Come on, baby, put the controller down.” And Megumi does, embarrassingly quickly. Which makes Yuuji chuckle under his breath before he presses his lips against the skin behind his ear, arms wrapping around his waist and practically pulling him into his lap.

“You’re such a simp,” Yuuji laughs, breath warm against Megumi’s neck.

“Shut up,” Megumi hisses, catching Yuuji’s face between his fingers as he pleads, “Stop yapping and do something more useful with your mouth for once.”

“Yes sir,” Yuuji laughs, head thrown back with all the grace of a Greek sculpture. And then he’s diving back in, the force of it all sending them tumbling to the floor. Megumi would’ve hit his head if it weren’t for Yuuji’s hand cradling the back of his nape, fingers twisted in black strands as his own hands end up fisting Yuuji’s collar.

And f*ck, he was always self-aware to know he probably didn’t have all his screws tightened on properly. Orphan; Jujutsu sorcerer; unconscious sister; anger issues; Gojo Satoru as his last standing family. But Yuuji kisses him in a way that he knows is going to screw him up forever. This Summer, with Yuuji’s igneous soul setting fire to his entire life, has ruined him. Completely and utterly. There’s no coming back from this. This is it for him.

How could he possibly come back from swallowing the sun.

He's too busy with Yuuji’s tongue against his, and Yuuji’s hands clasping his back, fingers splayed out on his skin, to notice the sound of someone buzzing themselves in from downstairs. Yuuji does though, pulling away with a slightly frantic look in his eyes.

“Oh f*ck,” Yuuji coughs out when the sound of the front door opening echoes around the house. “f*ck,” he repeats, eyes widening as he leaps up to his feet, dropping the joint onto the floor and stubbing it out with a chemistry textbook. Megumi stays on the rug, heart dropping through the wooden floorboards and crashing straight into the ground, five floors below them.

“Yuuji?” The two of them lock eyes as a voice calls from the hall. Yuuji grins, like this is at all a funny situation, before he’s leaning forward and covering Megumi’s mouth with his palm.

“I’m in my room!” Yuuji yells, voice a bit higher than normal before he locks his attention back onto Megumi. “Look, it’s just my brother. Don’t freak out, alright? Do not freak. He’s…he’s nice, okay? He’s gonna like you, I promise.”

“f*ck me,” he says, but the words are muffled by Yuuji’s hand. The other boy grins in amusem*nt before he moves his hand away from his mouth, and drops it onto Megumi’s shoulder instead. “Your brother?” he winces, cringing even harder as Yuuji’s smile just triples in size. “This isn’t f*cking funny, Yuuji,” he hisses, his own hands fisting Yuuji’s shirt as he clings as close to the other boy as he possible can.

“I’m about to meet your brother. Your long-lost, way older brother who saved you from the evils of the foster system.”

“Yeah,” Yuuji says, still grinning. If he wasn’t so handsome, Megumi would f*cking hate Yuuji’s stupid smile. It is so damn irritating. “It’s gonna be fine,” he adds with a shrug, before he drops his head against Megumi’s forehead, pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose. Because alright, apparently this is a thing they do now.

“I’m going to meet your brother,” Megumi repeats slowly and feeling awfully like he’s going to throw up. Maybe he still has a concussion. Holy f*ck, he might still have a concussion and he just smoked weed. “You said he always works late,” he whines, even as Yuuji presses kisses along his hairline, strong hands digging into the nape of Megumi’s hair.

“He normally does,” he shrugs unapologetically as he pulls back, fingers still spread out across Megumi’s neck. The sound of steps starting up the hall is maybe, definitely, the scariest thing Megumi has ever heard. He’d rather exorcise a million curses than deal with this sh*tshow. “He’s gonna love you,” he says again, whispering this time, because now the brother is clearly right outside Yuuji’s door. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yuuji, I was thinking we could just order in-” The voice cuts itself off when the door is swung open, Yuuji’s brother standing in the threshold. Eyes bouncing from Yuuji, who’s hands are holding onto Megumi carefully, like he’s scared he might shatter if he lets go, to Megumi himself. Who is trying his best to not sh*t himself.

And then he lets out a sort of strangled scream, because Choso is the one who is stood in the doorway, not Yuuji’s brother.

His first thought is that Choso is here to kill Megumi. The other curse had said they were looking for him, after all. And now they’ve found him. Yuuji’s going to be forced to watch Megumi be slit open from head to toe. Be drowned by his own traitorous blood. And then Choso will definitely kill Yuuji in turn, and the two of them will die high in Yuuji’s bedroom. Even after Megumi trying so desperately to stay alive, and trying his very best to keep Yuuji as removed from this awful part of his life.

But Yuuji isn’t screaming out in fear at the strange man standing in his bedroom. And Choso doesn’t really look so much like a curse as he did before, stood in a very casual outfit of shorts and a loose t-shirt, crappy headphones tossed around his neck and hair scraped back into a loose bun. He’s wearing a denim jacket that he’s certain is actually Yuuji’s, a pack of menthol cigarettes hanging out of the pocket. The f*ck?

Yuuji is just smiling awkwardly up at the curse, and oh no. Megumi’s eyes widen even more, horror washing over him in waves. And this must be some kind of nightmare inducing trip playing out in front of him right now. Because if it isn’t then…then Choso is Yuuji’s older brother. Which just…that just isn’t possible. Megumi refutes that.

Choso. The curse who tried to kill him. The death womb painting who killed one of his f*cking dogs. The last painting alive, reincarnated into this flesh, because Megumi had essentially murdered all of the other ones. All of Choso’s other brothers. All of Yuuji’s other brothers?

Choso is Yuuji’s older brother. And Megumi tried to kill him.

Choso who is standing in the doorway, dark eyes blown wide and mouth hanging open. Staring at Megumi, who is practically sat in his little brother’s lap. Megumi, who is high and probably in love with Yuuji and who tried and failed to kill Choso. And who is sat in Yuuji’s lap.

Oh f*ck. Oh f*ck his entire life. This is his cosmic punishment. For everything cruel he’s ever said to Tsumiki. For every time he damned Gojo to hell. For every mistake he’s ever made. Including dragging Yuuji into his f*cked up life. Oh Tengen.

“Hey,” Yuuji grins, totally unaware of the world crumbling around them as he speaks. Beautiful, innocent and ignorant Pandora, hands trailing along the Box. “This is Fushiguro. I told you about him.”

“Yeah. You never told me his name though,” Choso chokes out, brows furrowing with something very, very close to murderous intent. “I’m Kamo Choso,” he says, vein in his jaw twitching as he folds his arms over his chest. “Yuuji’s older brother.”

“Hey,” is all he manages to say, his own fingers tightening around the hem of Yuuji’s sweater. Oh please, not Kamo. Someone has got to be sh*tting him. Maybe this is a joke. A really, really f*cked up joke. Actually, that sounds right up Gojo’s alley. Maybe this is a really early birthday present or something. Maybe Gojo thought it would be nice to surprise Megumi with the curse who vowed to kill him, in Yuuji’s apartment. “It’s uh-it’s nice to meet you.”

“Well,” Choso says, gesturing behind him with an incredibly forced smile plastered on his face. “It’s really late.” It’s only six in the evening. The sun is still beaming, the creamy light dancing across Yuuji’s floorboards. “So you should leave. Wouldn’t want your father worrying about you, would we?” Megumi cannot believe Gojo let this guy go.

“I was hoping Megumi could stay for dinner,” Yuuji pipes up, and Megumi resists the urge to summon his shadows and fall back into them, letting himself get sucked up into the darkness forever. “So, you could get to know him better.”

“Your brother’s right,” Megumi objects quickly, scrambling out of Yuuji’s hold. He does not want to get to know Choso better. Honestly, he’s trying to figure out how upset Yuuji would be if he just straight up murdered his older brother in his bedroom. “It’s super late,” he croaks out.

“It’s only six,” Yuuji laughs, even as his face quirks in confusion. “Come on,” he says to Megumi as he stands up too, wrapping his arm around the other boy’s as he pulls him towards the door. Towards Choso, who is looking a whole lot like his patience is very close to snapping. Megumi really, really does not want to find out what’s gonna happen when it does snap. Suspects it might end up with him very dead though, bleeding out all over Yuuji’s nice rug.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Yuuji warns, voice dropping to a whisper as he frowns at Megumi. And really, he doesn’t want to be an asshole. But if Yuuji’s pissed at him, then he grovels and tries his best to win him back over. Choso being pissed is a whole different story. One that most likely ends with Megumi being stabbed in the heart, and chopped up into a million different pieces.

“Stay for dinner,” Yuuji demands. “We can order pizza or something.” Megumi just gapes at him, trying his very best to come up with an excuse, but coming up completely blank. Like he always does when it comes to Yuuji. “Right, Choso?” he asks, voice back to a normal level.

“Sure. No problemo,” he says, with a wolfish grin that very clearly proves that this actually is a problemo. A super massive one, probably. Like maybe actually the biggest problem ever. “If I find you guys smoking weed again though, I’ll kill your little boyfriend, Yuu-chan.”

Megumi is for sure going to throw up. Choso is going to kill him, piercing his heart with an arrow nocked back by blood. Seemingly, the same blood that runs through Yuuji’s veins. Maybe, if Megumi was more poetically inclined, he’d see the beauty in that. The same red blood that pooled into his mouth when Megumi accidentally nicked Yuuji’s bottom lip with his teeth, is going to kill him.

Well, he’d always known that. Had known that from the first time he set eyes on Yuuji. Had been so sure that Yuuji would be the end of him. Because he could try his best to survive the Zenins, and the curses, and the kidnappings, and the wars. But he really didn’t think he was cut out for surviving pattering hearts and thought-out playlists and boxes of pink hair dye and kisses pressed against the underside of his jaw and sucked into his neck.

Hilariously, none of it even matters anymore. Megumi tried so hard to keep the two worlds separate, spinning on their own individual axes, never colliding, never meeting. Megumi didn’t want to make it messy. And now here he is, Choso and Yuuji related, and one of the brothers leading him to fall in love with living, and the other ready to cut him down where he stands.

Actually, it’s not that hilarious at all. Actually, Megumi thinks he could cry. Watching everything he’s ever wanted slip through his fingers, right after he’d managed to catch onto it. Just as he’d dared to be brave enough to try.

He stands, watching as Yuuji rolls his eyes at Choso. He stands, trying to remember how the f*ck to breathe properly, trying to remember if he’s ever actually known how to breathe properly, as Choso’s dark eyes cut towards him once more.

“So, Megumi,” he says slowly. He smiles at him, but it’s clearly more him bearing his sharp teeth. Flinching, the sound of glass jars cracking in his dog’s canines echoes around his head. He remembers how Choso had fallen, knees buckling, as his scream, like a gunshot, cracked right up to the clouds above. Murderer! You murdered my brothers!

Choso doesn’t say anything for a moment, clearing his throat. And then Yuuji drops his head onto Megumi’s shoulder, and Choso asks, words frail and faltering, “What kind of toppings do you like on pizza?”

“Uh,” he stutters, because if he’s being honest, he wouldn’t mind the guy’s guts being sliced out onto a pizza. “Mushroom?” he says instead, because Yuuji’s hair is tickling across his neck, and there’s no way he can kill this guy in front of Yuuji. He’ll have to work something out. Preferably quite quickly, so he isn’t the one who ends up strung up by his wrists.

There’s a moment of silence, before Choso’s face turns from one of possible murderous intent to for sure planning the steps of Megumi’s murder. “Mushroom?” he repeats, disgusted.

“I like mushrooms too,” Yuuji offers easily, before he’s taking Megumi by the hand and leading him out of his room. Megumi accidentally brushes his arm against Choso, feeling the curse’s Energy flare up violently in response. Holding back a wince, he smiles when Yuuji glances over his shoulder at him. “I’m gonna give Meg the grand tour while you order,” he tells Choso, before dragging Megumi alongside him.

He goes along willingly, chest feeling too tight to push out stuttering breaths. Yuuji shows him the entire apartment, but Megumi can’t find it in himself to listen as he tries to figure out a gameplan. He tries his best to act normal. Which is already difficult, because being around Yuuji sets his brain alight at the best of times.

And now his crazy half-human brother is stalking them from doorways, eyes narrowed as Yuuji points himself out in childhood pictures on the walls.

He could try and text Gojo, but he really doesn’t think it’s a good idea to bring him here, to Yuuji’s place. His best bet is to just grit his teeth and suffer through this dinner, and ask Gojo for help when he gets back to campus. And hope this isn’t some weird ploy of Choso’s to have Yuuji murdered for some reason.

It doesn’t look like one though, he thinks to himself as he watches Yuuji and Choso answer the door together. The younger brother leans over Choso as he drops a tip into the driver’s hand, the older brother smiling affectionately as he holds the pizza boxes in his arms. The door hasn’t even been shut before Yuuji is shoving the boxes open, ripping into the food.

He wants to think it’s fake from Choso’s side, but he can’t help but see the candidness in the way he ruffles Yuuji’s hair, letting the teenager take the pizza from his hands and set it on the table, before he disappears to get some plates. As soon as he leaves, the tender warmth vanishes from Choso’s face, replaced with a brutal intensity as he whirls onto Megumi.

“You should leave,” he hisses, jabbing a finger into Megumi’s chest. “Before one of us does something we’re gonna regret.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna regret killing you,” he responds easily, tossing Choso’s hand aside before his own fingers are moving instinctively, the shadows in the dining room darkening. Creeping in across the ceiling, making the overhead light blink and stutter as they crawl towards Choso.

“What do you want with Yuuji?” he demands, voice low as Choso scoffs at him. The blood mark etched across his nose starts to bubble and change, the smell of iron washing across the entire room. “I’m not gonna let you hurt him.”

“Hurt him?” Choso scowls, sharp teeth bared as he takes a step towards Megumi, Cursed Energy hot and boiling around him. “I would never hurt him. He is my little brother. You are the one who is placing him in danger.”

“You think I would-”

“Ah, because it would be so out of character for you to murder my baby brother,” Choso cuts him off, and Megumi’s shadows falter at that. He moves backwards slightly, stumbling as he’s confronted with it all. f*ck, he can’t believe this asshole is trying to make him feel bad about exorcising a bunch of curses! They weren’t brothers, or innocent people like Yuuji, and this guy is really pissing him off now.

“You’re not a f*cking person, you’re a curse,” he argues back, shoulders raised. “And if Yuuji-”

“If Yuuji what?” As soon as said boy steps back into the dining room, balancing three plates in one hand and three glasses in the other, Megumi and Choso leap away from each other. The shadows fade back to their rightful places along the skirting boards, and Choso’s blood returns to its uniform line across his nose.

“If Yuuji doesn’t hurry up with the plates so we can eat,” Choso says smoothly, before he’s moving to help his brother balance the glasses. “I might just start eating out of the box.” Yuuji laughs, placing the plates on the kotatsu before gesturing for Megumi to come and sit beside him.

“How was work then?” Yuuji asks as they eat. Well, Yuuji eats and if this was a different situation, Megumi would be impressed by the sheer amount of food he can pound down so quickly. Megumi sits silently, hiding his trembling hands under the cover, and Choso smokes through almost an entire pack of cigarettes.

“Fine,” the curse says, dark eyes never leaving Megumi, even as he answers Yuuji. “Uneventful mostly. There was this strange woman though. Ordered six whiskeys on the rocks, before she asked me for my phone number.”

“Did you give it to her, man?” Yuuji asks, leaning across the table slightly, seemingly extremely invested in Choso’s dating life. It just makes the sick feeling in Megumi’s stomach grow.

“No,” Choso frowns around his cigarette. “Why would a woman I don’t know need my phone number?”

“God,” Yuuji sighs, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re useless. You’re gonna stay single for the rest of your life and die alone.”

“No,” Choso says easily, a kind smile on his handsome face. “I have you. I do not need some strange woman’s company when I have my brother.” It would maybe be sweet, if Choso didn’t then lean forward and extinguish his cigarette in Megumi’s glass of water. He blinks blankly at him, really resisting the urge to pour the entire thing over the guy’s head, and then have Kon tear out his throat.

“That was Megumi’s glass,” Yuuji frowns, blissfully unaware of the Cursed Energy simmering in the room, like an active volcano ready to scorch and incinerate any nearby settlements.

“Sorry,” Choso says calmly, sweet smile still tugging at his lips as dark eyes flash towards Megumi. “I thought it was mine.”

“No worries, man,” Megumi manages to grind out with a shrug he feels rattle through his entire body.

“Here, you can have mine,” Yuuji offers, pushing his own glass towards Megumi before he turns back to Choso. “Was she hot though? You should’ve let her ask you out, Cho-chan.”

“I suppose she was conventionally attractive,” he admits, reaching up to pull his hair out of its bun, dark hair falling across his face. “She asked what type of woman I like,” he explains. “I don’t think she was satisfied with my answer.”

“What did you say?” Yuuji questions. He shuffles under the kotatsu, knee bumping against Megumi’s. It manages to pull a small smile out of him, and Yuuji keeps his leg where it is, thigh pressed up against Megumi’s.

“I told her she’s the first woman I’ve really spoken to,” he says, like that’s not an insanely weird thing to say to a girl. Megumi can’t help but laugh, especially as Yuuji wheezes at his side, clutching his stomach in hysterics. Choso looks between them both, like he doesn’t get the joke.

Tengen, and Megumi thought he was a victim of social suicide. He’s surprised Choso can function in the real world enough to have swindled a job somehow. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it – how the f*ck did Choso get a job as a bartender? And how the f*ck did he manage to get guardianship of Yuuji? How did he even find Yuuji?

“We’re gonna have to teach you how to talk to women,” Yuuji snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “First rule, don’t say weird sh*t like that anymore.”

“How was that weird?” Choso murmurs, more to himself than Yuuji, as the younger brother stands up and starts picking up the empty plates. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes,” he says to them both, before leaning down to press a kiss to Megumi’s temple. That makes Choso’s eye twitch, scowling at Megumi like he just insulted him personally. “I’m just gonna go and clean up quickly.”

“So,” Choso starts, side-eyeing him suspiciously. Megumi drops the painfully awkward smile he’s had sewn onto his lips the entire time, scowling at the curse. “You don’t want to harm Yuuji?”

“Of course, I don’t,” he huffs with indignation. “You’re the curse here, not me.”

“I’m here to protect Yuuji-chan,” Choso insists, folding his arms across his chest. “I won’t let any harm come to him.”

“Right,” Megumi begrudgingly agrees. “So, we’re on the same page then.” He’s still going to go back to campus and try and figure out the most ethically acceptable way to kill Choso though, preferably in a way that won’t upset Yuuji too much.

“No. We are not,” Choso shakes his head forcefully, dark hair moving with him. “I won’t allow you to continue defiling my brother.” Megumi’s lips part in horror, face beet red. f*ck it, he’s just gonna exorcise Choso right here, right now. He’ll stab the guy with a f*cking butter knife if that’s what it takes to get him to stop speaking. “Break up with him, and I’ll let you live,” he finishes, looking at Megumi like this is a reasonable discussion.

“I’m not gonna-why would you-I don’t-” he chokes on his own words as his brain tries desperately to catch up with everything that’s happening right now. “We’re not even together,” is what he manages to land on, the declaration coming out clumsy and stupid.

Even Choso seems to think so, shooting Megumi a dry, unimpressed look before he mutters, “You’re the stupidest sorcerer I’ve met.”

Megumi can’t help but agree, especially when he finds himself standing at the front door with Yuuji, finally alone with him again. He’s stupid. So goddamn stupid. He’s leaving Yuuji with a potentially dangerous Special-Grade curse. He’s not managed to get any answers out of Choso about what the actual f*ck is going on. And he has no idea what you’re supposed to do after a date.

“Today was fun.” Yuuji clearly isn’t freaking out as much as Megumi is, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest and ankles knocked against one another.

“Yeah,” Megumi chokes out, unable to tear his gaze away from the boy. “I had fun.”

“Cool,” Yuuji says, before he’s leaning forward to kiss Megumi, leaning up on his toes and tossing his arms around his neck. “Thanks for staying for dinner,” he whispers against his lips. Megumi bites down the desire to keep his arms around Yuuji’s waist forever and drag him back to Jujutsu Tech with him. He could maybe hide him in his dorm, if he tried hard enough. Keep him safe from Choso and whatever the f*ck’s going on that Megumi’s accidentally dragged him into. He’d do whatever it took to keep Yuuji safe.

“It means a lot to me,” the other boy continues, eyes darting up to meet Megumi’s. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d dipped. But I know Choso really wanted to meet my boyfriend, and I really wanted you to meet him too.”

Megumi tries not to pass out at that, fingers digging into Yuuji’s sweater. “Of course,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead against Yuuji’s hair. “Whatever you want, Yuu.”

“I’m glad you two get along,” Yuuji says, and Megumi is glad he can’t see the other boy’s face, buried in his dyed hair.

“Yeah. He’s…cool,” he says, hoping that sounds genuine. “I should get going,” he murmurs, smiling softly when Yuuji pulls away slightly. He nods, before leaning up and kissing Megumi again, fingers grabbing onto the hair at the back of his head. He moans slightly as Megumi tightens his hold around his waist, but the taller boy swallows the sound. For a moment, he completely forgets about leaving.

But then he feels a small nick against his cheek, and hisses in pain, pulling away from Yuuji. “Oh sh*t,” the other boy swears, brows furrowing with concern as he presses a finger against Megumi’s cheekbone, fresh blood dotted across his fingertip. “How’d that happen?” he puzzles aloud, blinking at the graze on Megumi’s face.

“I wonder,” Megumi echoes, even as he glares at the man hanging in one of the flat’s windows, sticking his tongue out at Megumi and doing the shooing motion with his hands. Asshole, Megumi thinks to himself, before he turns back to Yuuji with a wide grin and pulls him back into another kiss, hands splayed across the other boy’s face.

As Yuuji kisses back, smiling against Megumi’s lips, he thinks to himself that he wouldn’t be surprised if Yuuji also had a blood manipulation technique. Not with the way all the oxygen blowing through his body rushes through his veins every time Yuuji puts his mouth on him.

But then the brother with actual Blood Manipulation is slicing at Megumi’s skin again, this time blood pooling from a cut behind his ear, and so he pulls away, thanks Yuuji again for the date.

And then he’s heading back to campus, ready to figure out the best way to assassinate his boyfriend’s brother, the taste of Yuuji’s mouth still on his lips.

Chapter 10: Run Fast for Your Father

Chapter Text

2014

The Akashi came to steal him away in the middle of the night.

He was a child, just turned twelve, and so the Zenin clan did not waste the time nor the effort in sending their warriors. Why would they bother sending their own samurai to collect a child who was owed to them?

It was the evening before Christmas Eve, and the heavy rain washed away the snow spotted across Megumi’s windowpane. Tucked under his duvet, his face was buried in his dogs’ fur as they slept beside him. Curled up like a trio of cubs, hibernating in the cold season, huddling for warmth.

The only light flickering in the Fushiguro’s home was from the Christmas tree standing proud in the living room, since Satoru had forgotten to switch it off when he left for the night. He had gone home later than usual, wrapping the childrens’ gifts to the best of his ability after they went to sleep. Shoko and Kento had told him to not spoil the children, and to stick to the custom of giving them a single gift each. But Satoru had never squandered the opportunity to pamper and indulge the siblings – preferring their smiles to the money sitting in his bank account and gathering dust.

Megumi had never been a particularly heavy sleeper – especially as a child. Every noise used to wake him up abruptly. He’d shuffle out of his room, blanket bundled up over his shoulders, a hopeful flicker alight in his heart. “Dad?” he used whisper out, poking his head out of his doorway.

Over the years, he saw a lot. He saw Tsumiki’s mother stumbling home in the dead of night, faceless men holding her up as she giggled drunkenly. He saw Tsumiki sat in front of the fireplace, teeth chattering from the lack of heating, back when they didn’t have enough money to pay their bills. He would sometimes walk out to find nothing but his own shadow, the pipes of the lonely apartment creaking and the floorboards groaning. He never saw his father return.

Recently, he’d stopped even hoping. It had flickered out, like a candle blown in the wind. Now, when he heard noises that drew him out of his sleep, he’d be expecting the familiar sheepish smile and Satoru’s voice as he murmured, “I didn’t mean to wake you, Gumi-chan. Back to bed, alright?”

That night, when he heard the sound of his window being pushed open, Megumi’s eyes snapped open, and he called out, “Gojo?” There was no response. Brows furrowing, Megumi wiped at his face as he blinked, trying his best to make out where Gojo was in his dark room. “Tsumiki?” he tried instead, sitting up, blankets pooling in his lap as unease gnawed at him. His dogs stirred, whimpering as Megumi’s growing anxiety woke them.

The shadows that had grown so familiar to him over the years suddenly shrieked away in the darkness, as if trying their best to hide away from Megumi. He opened his mouth to call out again, confused as to why Gojo was hiding from him, when a moving figure caught his attention in the pitch-black.

“sh*t luck, kid,” a voice said, sharp and biting. Megumi gasped out in fear, fingers grabbing at his sheets as his heart thudded painfully in his chest. His dogs snarled as the voice grew closer, but the same terror that was gripping Megumi inevitably befell them too. “Gojo isn’t here,” the voice bit out, before the cloaked figure was stalking towards his bed.

“Who are you?” Megumi demanded, but it came out as more of a tremble. The figure didn’t respond as they snatched Megumi out of his bed, dangling him above the floorboards by his collar. Horror dawned on him as the moonlight from the open window illuminated the stranger’s face. He did not recognise the man, but his Cursed Energy felt familiar. Tainted and violent, sweat pooled across Megumi’s forehead just by being close to it.

Rain was violently pelting outside, knocking desperately on Megumi’s window.

“I’m your family,” the man told him, lips curling into a sneer as Megumi choked against his neckline, tears lining his eyes as his legs kicked back and forth. “And I’m here to take you home, Zenin Megumi.”

He went to scream, panic clawing up his throat, but he could force nothing out. Not as the man yanked him out of his bedroom window, carrying him over his shoulder down to the street below. Where a dozen other cloaked people were waiting, footsteps still in the melting snow. Breathing stuttering out, Megumi couldn’t help the tears that clung to his jaw in fear. Not even as one of the figures stepped forward and sharply backhanded him across his face, red stinging at his cheek.

“There will be none of that, child,” the figure hissed, a cruel feminine voice. “You will hold yourself with the decorum fit for the sorcerer who embraces the Ten Shadows.”

“Screw you, bitch,” he managed to wheeze out, because he would not bend his knee to these people. The next slap was so heavy it threw him to the ground, muddy puddles seeping water through his pyjama trousers. Before him stood an ame-onna, hissing at him through pearly, white teeth, ready to snatch him away from his home. Away from Tsumiki. From Gojo. They thought they could hold him hostage, and then demand he show them respect?

Dirt splattered across his face, dripping into his lips as he held up his head, eyes narrowing at the people surrounding him as his terror easily gave way to his raging anger. The woman in front of him scoffed with amusem*nt as one of the figures yanked him up onto his feet, before forcing him to bow, heavy and stumpy fingers tearing at his hair.

“Demon child,” the woman murmured, and Megumi could see green eyes, so like his own, ablaze with brutality as she peered down at him. “Naobito will be happy with his choice. He likes them tainted. Bruised. Unpleasant. Just like him.”

“Screw you,” he said again, already braced for the punishment. Her nails left sharp grazes clawed into his cheek, Megumi wincing from the harsh pain.

“You will learn your place in the clan,” she told him, fingers itching into a fist that disappeared back into her sleeve, claws retracting. “You will grow into the man that is expected of you.” It was said with no room for argument.

It should have been then, that Megumi picked up on what was happening. He had heard of the Zenin clan before, with the entire run down of Jujutsu history that Satoru had been teaching him since he was six. But during those lessons, Satoru had picked around the harsher parts of the clans’ histories, out of his own fear of reliving his childhood.

Megumi knew that his father had tried to sell him back to the Zenin clan, who he was related to by blood, and nothing more. But Satoru had promised to protect him from them. Had given Megumi his word, his pride. He’d twisted his pinkie finger around Megumi’s, declaring that no one honourable could break a pinkie swear.

It was an unlucky combination for the child – his misplaced belief in Gojo Satoru’s godhood, and his childish instinct to bite instead of cower. At least if he’d cowered in fear, he might have preserved himself a bit longer.

He was too young, too stubborn to realise he should have been terrified. Even as the Zenins tossed him into the back of a car with blackout windows, doors locked no matter how violently he kicked his feet against them, he was more outraged than scared. And slightly confused. Satoru had also decided to skip over the necessary lesson about the importance of the Ten Shadows Technique, refusing to talk about the Zenins and Megumi’s lineage any more than he had to.

Maybe if Megumi had known what the Ten Shadows really meant, he would have been sobbing. Maybe if he had known that the Zenins had been in contact with Satoru for almost six years, trying their best to get Megumi back from him, he would have pissed himself in terror. Maybe if he had known whose son he truly was, and how most of the Zenins viewed Fushiguro Toji, he would have rathered died in the back of that car than ever step foot within the Zenin estate.

But he did not know any of this. And he was a scrappy twelve-year-old who had been waiting to prove himself, desperate and irritable and itching for a fight. He didn’t realise he was stood weapon-less in the middle of a battlefield, thousands of swords aimed right for his neck. The noose had been tied as soon as the Zenins stole him from his bed.

He was a child who had been raised by Gojo Satoru, and in turn, did not know the meaning of defeat yet. It would be a cruel lesson to learn. One that would mould Fushiguro Megumi to the point of no return, snapping bones and leering whispers acting as his teachers.

As Megumi was drawn down towards the depths of hell with all the snapping and howling of the fury of a stray hound, the sun rose, and the rest of Japan welcomed in the holiday.

If Satoru hadn’t found himself waking up in someone else’s bed that morning, he most likely would’ve been at the Fushiguros’ flat only a couple of hours after Megumi was taken. He will berate himself over it for years, asking himself why he didn’t stay over that night. Telling himself that should have been there.

Instead, he woke up with dark hair sprawled across his chest and a smirking, sleepy smile. He woke up to his best friend, and his greatest enemy all rolled into one devastatingly beautiful man, shaking Satoru’s ringing phone in his face, lightly giving him a flick across the face as he murmured, “Damn thing’s been ringing for ten straight minutes. Do me a favour and tell whoever it is to shut up so we can get back to it.”

He laughed, picking up without checking who was calling with the command to f*ck off already poised on his tongue. But then he heard Tsumiki sobbing, unable to choke out any words as she hyperventilated. Without saying a word to Suguru, he teleported to the flat with a blanket wrapped around his bare body, finding his daughter in Megumi’s bedroom.

Knees buckling, he drew the thirteen-year-old Tsumiki into his arms, blinking down at her like she was seven and too soft for the world all over again. “It’s gonna be fine,” he found himself saying, even as sick churned through him. Tsumiki wasn’t even listening to him, weakly pounding her fists against his chest as she tried her best to breathe through her weeping.

“He’s gone,” she roared with all the tragic fury of an onryō. “He’s gone.”

The presents under the tree went untouched for two weeks. The Christmas decorations Shoko, Kento and Satoru had put up for the kids stayed put, falling down of their own accord in the silent flat. Tsumiki was brought to Jujutsu Tech, put under the watchful gaze of Satoru’s first years and Yaga himself.

“You don’t take your eyes off of her,” he ordered the students; Hakari and Kirara blinking up at him. It was the first time he had ever raised his voice around them, teeth gritted as blue eyes glared down at them.

Gojo Satoru brought in the new year by trying his best to get his kid back. He stole Shoko and Kento away from their own responsibilities and obligations, and the three of them holed up in his office for two weeks as they tried to figure out the best way to get Megumi back without inciting an all-out war between the Gojos and the Zenins.

Satoru personally wasn’t above that option. He’d win. Everyone knew he’d win. And at that point, if that was what it was gonna take for him to have Megumi back, he was willing to sacrifice the entire Japanese population.

Gojo Satoru brought in the new year shifting through contracts with Kento and Shoko, and sorting through his own personal affairs as well as his entire clans, trying to seek an amiable compromise. Each night, he sat in Megumi’s bedroom, head in his hands as he used the Six Eyes to rewatch the events of Megumi’s kidnapping over and over again.

He tracked the movement of the child’s Cursed Energy, hands digging into his scalp aggressively as his eyes followed. Megumi being yanked out of his bed. Held up above the ground, Energy scraping along the floor, dangling desperately. Being pulled out of the window. Thrown to the ground outside. Driven away, Energy weakly throwing itself at the car doors.

Satoru’s own Cursed Energy lay dormant, conserving itself for the moment he was waiting for.

*

Fushiguro Megumi brought in the new year without his family. Sat at a table surrounded by people he hated, people he wanted dead, people that bowed their heads to him while also striking his face. People who refused to even allow him the dignity of his own name.

Zenin-sama this. Zenin-sama that. Megumi refused to acknowledge any of them, spitting that if they wanted his attention, they could use his name. They never did. He just ended up sprawled on the floor, blood wiped across his face.

Lip split open. Eye swollen shut. Bruises blossoming along his skin. Some of the older, more brutish men would unsheathe the katanas that hung uselessly at their waists. Desperate to show off to this child who they despised, yet were also ordered to respect as the clan’s gift from the heavens.

Most of them silently believed that he was their cosmic punishment. The deities had given the son of their most scorned member, the Ten Shadows. They gave a child who did not even share their name, their saving grace. For this, they wielded their blades against the child, defying the deities in any way they could, crimson blood splattered across their spotless floors.

Everything would hurt, body screeching out. Megumi would have to grit his teeth through the pain to bite down his traitorous screams as blood seeped through the expensive, garish traditional clothes they made him wear. He couldn’t do much about the tears, salt clinging to his jaw.

And how some of the Zenin loved the tears. Grinned and laughed and jeered. “Zenin-sama!” they’d smirk. “Do not cry, little lord. This is how you learn. This is how our heir learns.” And another awfully impressively precise wound would be slashed across his torso.

They wanted him to be their heir, but even then, it was clear to Megumi that more than that they wanted him to be their puppet. They wanted the Ten Shadows to be their puppet. They didn’t care about Megumi. Really, it seemed like they’d have appreciated if anyone else could have inherited the technique they coveted so highly. Because Megumi was a brat.

He always had been, to an extent. But he’d settled down when Satoru brought him in. Here, Megumi thrived on it. He realised pretty quickly that they couldn’t kill him, no matter how many of them appeared to want to. All they could do was maim him. And while a lot of the Zenin certainly pushed that rule to its boundaries, Megumi could handle maiming.

It was the first time he’d ever been hurt to the point of genuinely thinking he might die. He got used to it pretty quickly. Pain became the only thing he could focus in on. Pain made him grit his teeth and narrow his eyes and remember who he was. While they called him by their name, while they spat insults in his face as he trudged through the halls alone. Dog. Devil. Oni. Yōkai. Brat. Mutt. Dirty and ruined and a stain on the Zenin name.

He remembered who he was. And he remembered who he was waiting for.

Each night, he curled up in the room they locked him inside. A stupidly opulent bed, with stupidly opulent sheets. He couldn’t lie on them. The feeling made him want to scratch his skin off with his own bitten nails. Instead, he lay on the floor, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Come on, Gojo, he thought to himself. In that room, he didn’t just let the tears finally fall. He sobbed and writhed, holding onto his own arms as he pretended they were his sister’s.

Come on, Gojo. He begged. Prayed. Screamed into the awfully silky pillows. Clawed at his own skin, trying to get to his breaking heart. Come on, Gojo, he roared with all the desperation of a feral, dying dog.

As the days slipped by, he started to fear that Gojo wasn’t coming after all. “You promised!” he hissed as he stared out of the window, thinking that maybe if the older man was at least looking at the same moon, he’d magically remember all about the child he’d abandoned to the Zenin clan. He’d grip the metal bars placed along the windowpane, and they would never budge.

“You pinkie promised!” he screamed one night, voice rattling the glass.

The next day, during the torture session they pretended was Megumi’s training, one of the Akashi snapped his right pinkie finger all the way back. Knees buckling, a yell ripped its way out of Megumi’s throat as he dropped to the floor, cradling his hand. The man laughed, and soon, the audience who always gathered to watch joined in, their hilarity grating against Megumi’s ears.

Roaring in a childish phrenzy, Megumi leapt onto the man. Spitting on the man’s face before he started biting him. Blinded by a heart-stopping anger, Megumi considered trying to tear the man’s nose off with his teeth. Before he could, the man easily threw the child off of him, Megumi landing in a heap on the floor with a grunt. When he looked up, the man’s face was slick with blood and spit, teeth marks gnawed into his flushed skin. The only one who laughed then was Megumi, cackling ricocheting through his body.

Every day was spent in training. First, they would make him fight men one on one in hand-to-hand combat. After a couple of days, Megumi lost track of how many bones they broke. While the Zenins had a healer, she could not use reverse technique like Shoko. Her technique knitted things back together, instead of creating new things entirely. Unlike when Shoko used to heal him after fights, or accidental injuries he obtained during sparing with Satoru, the Zenin healer left him with scars.

He counted each one every night. The number grew and grew and grew.

After combat training, they tossed him in the disciplinary pit. This was another poorly hidden form of torture. As he was only twelve, and could only summon his two dogs, there was not much he could do against an entire dungeon brimming with curses. He would fight them off pathetically for hours, gripping a dagger so tightly it cut into his skin more so than the curses.

Then came the tutoring. They tried to teach him English, Korean and French. All the languages he knew Gojo could speak fluently, because he’d gone through a phase of trying to teach Megumi all the swear words he knew, in every single language he knew. Megumi spat out these words at the tutors, his dogs snapping the pens they gave him in their jaws.

They tried to make him learn shodō too, and Megumi had no idea why. He refused to do this too, the tutors backhanding him when he knocked the pots of ink over again and again, darkness spilling across the mahogany wooden table. He wasn’t strong enough at that point to do anything of importance with his Cursed Technique, but the tutors still scrambled away from him in fear as he pooled his inky shadows towards him, eyes ablaze with a sick satisfaction.

He soon came to the realisation that he would never be loved.

Especially not in this empty estate, where these people looked at him like a feral mutt, snapping his jaws and foaming at the mouth. When he prowled through the halls, fingers tracing along the panelled walls, the women who milled around doing household chores would clutch their children to their chests. Covering their eyes with their hands, so they didn’t look at Megumi. Someone had started a rumour that he would attack if you met his eyes, vicious and undomesticated.

He had thought that Gojo loved him, because the older man had told him he had. Had held Megumi in his arms and pressed large, pale hands across his forehead as he declared, “I love you, Gumi. I don’t know what I’d have done if you didn’t come along and save me when you did.” He had said that, and now Megumi felt like a fool for believing him. Because you didn’t let the people you loved go. And Gojo had let them take Megumi away.

He figured if he could not be loved, he would be feared.

He would take their beatings with gritted teeth, and he would bite back. If they wanted to call him a dog, he could be a dog. He would wear their hakamas and kimonos and let them scrape his unruly hair back into a topknot. He would ignore their hiding children, and stay forever in his bedroom on his own, living a life surrounded by adults who hated who he was so much that they smiled when he bled.

And then he would become their heir, like they so desperately wanted.

He told Zenin Naobito exactly that when he finally met him. The man who had ordered for him to be stolen from his family, from his big sister. From his life and everything he cared about. He didn’t even get a glimpse at the clan head for the first entire week he was at the Zenin estate. It wasn’t until he was dragged into an office, kicked right in front of a desk where an old man was sat, that he met the man who he was to replace in his own manhood.

“Megumi,” the old man hummed. He was the first Zenin to call him by his name. Normally, it was a cruel insult as they spat at him, or Zenin-sama as they bowed their trembling heads.

The room smelled like alcohol and cigarettes, and Megumi found it funny that everyone seemed caught up on calling him the child of a demon, when they all seemed partial to a few cardinal sins here and there.

“What a pleasure it is to finally meet you.”

“I hate you,” Megumi snarled, lurching forward to slam his fingers on the desk. “I hate all of you. Let me go home,” he demanded, a last-ditch attempt at leaving. “I want to go home right now.”

The old man just laughed, head tilting as he took in Megumi. He already looked like a Zenin, dressed up in his traditional clothing, with his dark hair and mossy eyes and typical Zenin scowl split across his face. “What makes you think I care about what you want, boy?”

“Gojo will kill you,” Megumi proclaimed. But the stammer in his voice betrayed him. And Naobito grinned wider at the sound of it, a predator latching onto his easy catch. “He will. I know he will,” Megumi said, high voice whining slightly as his fingers itched into fists.

“Gojo Satoru is not coming, child,” Naobito told him, not necessarily unkindly, but not softly either. He told Megumi this as teachers tell their students that the Earth is round. As if it was a universally accepted truth. Something undisputable. “I will not try and claim that the boy hasn’t taken care of you, in what I’m sure he thought was the best way possible.”

Megumi’s lips parted at the words, so used to the people around him talking about Gojo as if he was something more of a criminal than a man. It made his heart ache to hear someone else finally talk about him with something other than scorn. “Maybe he even went as far as loving you,” Naobito shrugged. “But Gojo Satoru is not your family, no matter what he told you. And he will not wage an entire war on our clan for the sake of a child that does not rightfully belong to him. His clan would not allow it, and I seriously doubt he would even attempt to put the idea forward.”

Head hanging, Megumi fell back into the chair across from Naobito. “He is not your family. We are your family. Your father was a Zenin, as you too are a Zenin.”

“I am a Fushiguro. My name is Fushiguro Megumi,” he weakly tried to deny. Naobito just arched a brow at him, his own arms folded loosely across his chest.

“That was a childish whim of your father. He decided to act a fool and abandon the clan. Now, Megumi, if you were anyone else, I would allow you to be on your way. You could galivant around with Gojo Satoru for as long as you wished. Inevitably, he would irritate you, as he does everyone. Especially those closest to him. Maybe you too, would be pushed to genocidal tendencies.”

Megumi blinked at the old man in confusion. And then he softly smiled to himself, head bowed as he watched his own feet swing from the chair. Only Gojo could make the heads of other clans care about his ridiculous romantic drama.

“But I digress,” Naobito continued, waiving a dismissive hand. “You are not anyone else. And you are certainly not the pitiful excuse for a man that your own father was.” The older man paused for a moment, as if he was expecting Megumi to ask about his father. But the boy kept silent, brows lowering in irritation. He didn’t want to know about his father. Especially not with him being dead, if the tense Naobito was speaking about him in was anything to go on.

“You are the Ten Shadows. You are my heir. And one day, child, you will be the head of the Zenin clan. There is no room for argument. You will be trained, and schooled and raised here. You will not threaten suicide, or any other dramatics as children so often do. You will perfect your Cursed Technique, and bring honour to the Zenin name. You will soon marry a Zenin woman that I will pick for you, and your sons will be the clan heads after you. Now, Megumi, do you understand?”

When he didn’t respond, Naobito rose out of his chair with a heavy sigh, as if the entire thing was a terrible inconvenience for him. He struck Megumi with force, ringing his own hand out as the child winced. He wasn’t sure if the tears that lined his eyes were from the pain of the slap, or the pain arising from the finality of accepting Gojo wasn’t coming. That he was stuck here for the rest of his life.

“I understand,” he nodded, strands of black hair falling in his face.

“Good,” Naobito grinned, hands behind his back as he looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that adorned his office. “We shall announce that you are the new heir in a week. We shall throw a grand ceremony. Everyone will be in attendance. Tengen,” Naobito smiled to himself. “I love a good party. Would you like to invite that sister of yours?” he asked Megumi, glancing over his shoulder to look at the child.

A sinister smile was painted over his face, one that made Megumi’s throat squeeze up, as he said, “She’s very pretty. We could keep her here, if you wanted. As a little pet.”

“No,” Megumi shook his head in a panic. He pictured the girls his age he walked past in the halls, bruises blossoming on their faces to match his. But there were no heavy fingerprints etched into his wrists or his throat like there are theirs’, covered up poorly with makeup. He imagined Tsumiki stood beside them, head bowed and lips sewn tight. Cheeks and lips painted with red to distract from the black bruised under her silk clothes.

“I don’t want her here,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly, judging by the way Naobito snorted with amusem*nt. “I never want to see her again.”

“Fine,” Naobito shrugged, waving Megumi off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll meet again at the ceremony. Learn how to tie your clothes properly before then.”

“Learn how to brush your teeth before then,” Megumi scowled as he dropped down from the seat, geta clicking against the polished floors. “You smell like whiskey, old man.” He had been told that under no circ*mstance was he to speak back to the clan head, but the way Megumi saw it, the heir to the clan could do whatever he wanted to.

Naobito just laughed, sound ricocheting against the walls, before Megumi left, letting the door slam shut behind him. He paused for a moment, back of his head pushed back against the door as he tried to breathe in and out, his chest rising and falling heavily. Then, he straightened up, rolled his shoulders back and tightened his hakama around his waist.

The week leading up to the ceremony was a fresh kind of hell for Megumi. It was as if the Zenins were doing all they could think of to make him crack. With each new hindrance he stumbled upon, an audience sat by his side, hiding their smiles with their palms as they waited with anticipation to see him fall.

They changed his training routine, with Megumi appearing one day to an atrium full of male children, and an audience sat at the sidelines. The kids ranged from what looked like six to eighteen, his green eyes scanned up and down all of them, swearing under his breath before he begrudgingly dropped into a fighting stance. A moment of silence passed, before the other children unsheathed their bokkens.

Megumi was weaponless, and one against at least thirty. But no one seemed to care, especially not as the trainer’s words rang out across the empty hall. “No Cursed Energy. And no landing visible injuries on the heir!”

With that, the children ran at him, bare feet stampeding across the floor. The bokkens all rose at the same time, swishing through the air with a thunderous fury before they descended upon him. He held out on his own against the children his own age or younger, managing to kick a bokken out of a seven-year old’s hands before tossing him to the floor easily.

They stayed put once Megumi kicked them all to the floor, legs sweeping out and tripping them up as the bokken smashed against their temples. One kid’s teeth flew out, digging into the wall as blood splattered across Megumi’s face.

He quickly realised though, that the older children had finished letting him have his fun. And now they turned to him, taller and stronger and grinning widely. None of them spoke before they rained down on him, weapons landing heavily on his torso and the top of his legs. Places easily hidden by his clothes. He didn’t last longer than a minute before one of them knocked him to the ground, bokken pushing down on his ribs as they kept him on the floor.

No one escorted him to the infirmary after, and he had to hobble down the corridors on his own, keeping his bokken clutched in his hands in case anyone tried to get smart with him. Wincing and clutching his gut, he shuffled on. Ears picking up, he paused in his tracks when he heard shouting, followed by the familiar ringing of a slap. He tried to pick up his pace to the best of his abilities, rounding the corner to find a man towering above two girls around his age.

One of the girls was on the floor, clutching her wrist to her chest. The other was stood in front of the man, legs spaced apart and feet arching off of the floor, as if she was about to pounce. As soon as Megumi stumbled into the corner, the three of them whipped their heads towards him. The girl who looked ready to tear the man’s face off scowled at him, looking irritated that he’d deigned to interrupt. The girl on the floor, who must have been the other girl’s sister or something because they looked identical, sagged in relief. As if she thought Megumi could save her.

The man just started laughing, hands thrown back in his pockets. Megumi recognised this one from all the snooping he’d done in the private library. Unsurprisingly, the Zenins had a lot of literature on themselves. A lot of censored literature, because Megumi hadn’t stumbled upon anything written about him or his father.

Zenin Naoya. Grade A asshole.

“Get out of here,” Megumi demanded, weakly thrusting his bokken in Naoya’s direction as he stumbled in front of the two girls.

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own home,” Naoya clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing down at Megumi.

“You were hurting them,” Megumi guessed, free hand out in front of the girl who stood beside him, as if she stood any chance against Naoya. A fully grown Jujutsu sorcerer.

“I was punishing them for insolence,” Naoya shrugged. “Besides, I can do what I want. Again, this is my home.” Megumi was pretty sure it was also the girls’ home, but he didn’t comment on that.

“Not for long,” he said instead, smile working its way onto his lips despite the aching pain still thudding around his body.

“What’re you talking about?” Naoya hissed. The girl on the floor let out a scared sob, but Megumi ignored her.

“I’m gonna be the boss of you one day.”

The older man sighed, looking like he was trying his best to not let a twelve-year-old piss him off. He was losing. “Sure you are, kid.”

“I am,” Megumi pushed, eyes wide with glee as he jabbed the bokken into Naoya’s gut. “You know it too. They don’t want you as clan head anymore,” he laughed. Naobito didn’t even want his own damn son. Megumi guessed they had that in common at least. “They want me. And as soon as I’m in charge, I’m gonna let these two do whatever they want with you,” he added, sticking his thumb in the direction of the two girls.

“Demon child,” Naoya snarled, snatching the bokken out of Megumi’s grasp and snapping it easily over his knee before tossing the splintering wood over his shoulder. The girl on the floor cried louder at the violence, her sister dropping down to her knees to try and hush her.

“You besmirch your father’s name.”

Megumi blinked in confusion at that. Every other Zenin he’d met only had insults to spit about his father. He’d never heard anyone speak positively about him, even to insult Megumi himself further. “I don’t know my father’s name,” he shrugged, watching as Naoya’s eyes flared with rage.

“You don’t deserve to. You are barely a Zenin. You are ruined and impure. Your blood has been watered down.” Tengen, these people were obsessed with the whole inbreeding thing. Even then, Megumi knew that wasn’t going to be happening with him. He’d rather become a eunuch. “You are little more than a dog.”

“Whatever, freak,” Megumi scoffed, flipping Naoya the bird. “You’re gonna bow down to this dog one day.”

“No,” Naoya told him, crouching down so he was eye level with Megumi. Lips pulled back into a sneer; he jutted his chin out violently. “I’m never gonna bow down to a bastard child. Princes like me do not kneel to stray dogs. Especially not one’s that heel to a Gojo.”

“They’re naming me the heir,” Megumi grinned. He felt a sliver of his own life peel past him as Naoya stared him down. Felt like he did back in school, knuckles split open as spite drummed through him, louder than his own heartbeat. Standing on a mountain of fellow students, another expulsion letter shoved into his chest.

“I’m just a stupid, little kid,” he shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m pretty sure it means you don’t get a f*cking choice who you bend your knee to. Youngest son of Naobito.”

“Sure,” Naoya responded, licking his lips. His eyes flicked from Megumi to the two girls behind him. They’d both stood, one twin holding the other against her chest, wiping her thumbs softly across her tear-stained cheeks, even as she shot Naoya a look so foul even Megumi recoiled. But the older man just smiled, like a teacher smiles at children who talk about the tooth fairy in genuine ecstasy.

“No one can kneel to a dog that’s dead and buried though, can they?” he murmured, sharp brown eyes snapping back to clash against green. Shoving his hand against Megumi’s collarbone, he laughed when the boy stumbled backwards, the girls grabbing onto him before he could fall. Clutching his aching body, he managed to stand back up, but Naoya was already shaking his head victoriously.

“Count the years, mongrel. Trust me when I say you will be dead and buried before you can become head of this clan. I’ll personally see to it myself. I’ll dig a grave deep enough for you all,” he said, nodding towards the sisters. “Because when little Zenin-sama isn’t around to protect the two of you, and you don’t grow up to be pretty enough to marry or quiet enough to keep tied up in my room, your corpses will be joining his.”

With that, he straightened up and turned on his heels. The light glinted off of the golden jewellery adorning his body, lighting him up like a beacon for dickhe*ds everywhere.

“Tengen,” one of the girls rushed out when he had left, gripping onto Megumi’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t speak to him like that. You don’t know what he’ll do to you.”

“I think it’s pretty clear what he’s planning to do to me,” Megumi told her, voice snapping more than he meant as pain shot through him. Great, now he had an impending assassination attempt to also try and deal with.

“You need to tell Naobito,” the girl said, either not picking up on his attitude or not caring. “He might-”

“Mai,” the other girl cut in, lightly tugging her sister away from him. “Stop it.”

“Stop it?” Mai hissed, face turning furious. “He just threatened to-to kill us all!” Naoya had also threatened to do a lot worse to the girls, but Megumi couldn’t stomach thinking about it all. Shaking his head, he started to move in the direction of the infirmary once again.

“Naobito won’t do anything to help,” he shrugged as he hobbled along. “Besides,” he added before he turned the corner. “I’m going to become stronger than Naoya anyway. He won’t be able to kill me when the time comes. And when I’m head, I won’t let him touch you either.”

The bruises painted across his skin were easily hidden by his clothes for the ceremony later that week. Everyone had done a very good job of listening to the command of no visible wounds. They’d also done a very good job of making Megumi bleed still, and while he looked fine by the time the ceremony rolled around, he could barely walk. He supposed that didn’t matter to the Zenins though. As long as he could be propped up like a good little shadow puppet, all was right with the world.

They dressed him in the stiffest clothes known to man, and when he tried to argue against it, arms flailing as he threw a tantrum, they just pinched him sharply. He bit his tongue eventually, figuring it wasn’t worth it. He had to learn how to properly pick his battles now. Especially now that neither Tsumiki nor Gojo were here to fight them all for him.

He allowed them to drag him through the estate, snapping at him to stand properly and walk straighter and to lower his shoulders. He ignored them as they entered a grandiose hall, sandals clicking against the mosaic tiles. The entire room was supported by large, marble columns, painted with stories from Jujutsu society. Many of the paintings depicted the Zenins of the Heian and Edo periods who possessed the Ten Shadows.

As he walked, hundreds of eyes on him, he moved his fingers and murmured under his breath. He eased up slightly, as his hounds appeared to pad along behind him. Especially as they snarled ominously, jaws snapping at people in the faceless crowd. He kept his eyes trained on the table right at the end of the hall.

Where Naobito and the Hei sat waiting for him.

Sick churned through his body as he walked alone, hounds at his heels. He had the very childish urge to flee, run as fast as he could with his dogs. Just get as far away from here as possible. He wanted to sob, wanted to pound his fists against the floor and demand they all let him leave.

I’m not like you! He wanted to scream. I don’t want this. I don’t need this.

He was hungry, like the Zenins were. Starving, even. But not for power like they were. Not for tradition and wealth and control. He was starving to be loved without begging for it. Starving to be loved and cherished and why the hell was that too damn much to ask for?

He didn’t want to be heir to the biggest clan in Jujutsu society. He just wanted Gojo to please come and get him. He didn’t want to marry someone he was related to and have children. He just wanted to see his sister again. At least once. He didn’t want to fight with Naoya over the seat, a vicious fight to the death between two dogs. He just wanted to go home and open his Christmas presents and celebrate the New Year with everyone he missed so much it ached.

But he didn’t get any of that. And nothing changed as he made his way to the table. Nothing moved as he sat beside Naobito, face blank as he refused to let his tears fall. No answered prayer from God, no sign from the Heavens. His father did not resurrect himself to save the child he had sold to this fate. His mother did not appear as an angel to rush him away from this world that her name had failed to protect him from.

There was only Naobito’s voice as he stood up, glass of shochu in his hand as he gestured to the hundreds of people staring up at him. Staring up at Megumi, who was trembling in his chair. He tried to crane his neck and look for Mai and his sister, but he couldn’t see them in the sea of faces. He didn’t know anyone there. He covered his mouth with his palm in what he hoped was a casual manner, terrified he might throw up.

“Thank you all for coming,” Naobito laughed cheerfully as a chorus of claps sounded. It sounded like thunder, and Megumi wished someone would strike him down in a bolt of lightning. “We are all here to celebrate the naming of our new heir, who has finally been returned to where he rightfully belongs. Our friends from the Kamo clan are here, as is all of our own family. Thanks to the Inumaki clan for joining as well, and everyone who has travelled far and wide to be here tonight. Unfortunately, the Gojo clan refused to send a representative, but their insolence and vulgarity no longer surprises nor offends the Zenin clan. So, everyone feast and rejoice in the naming of Zenin Megumi!”

More cheers erupted before the hall lapsed into conversation, the sound of slurping alcohol and forks scraping against ceramic plates ringing around Megumi’s ears. He just stared down at his plate, fingers digging into his palms so brutally blood pooled under his nails. Chest rising and falling heavily, he just concentrated on not bursting into tears. He had to be strong. Strong like no one else was.

Gojo was weak in his promises. His father had been weak in his love. Naoya was weak in his cruelty. Megumi refused to be like them. Head bowed, he resolved to be like Tsumiki. For as long as he could remember her. Because he refused to bring her into this world, this world that was now his to claim entirely, he would likely never see her again. So, he would carry her soul, her love, her kindness, in his own heart. Keeping his big sister close to him at all times.

“Megumi.” His head snapped up to look at Naobito. Despite everything, he found a smile crawling onto his face when he realised that Mai was now stood in front of their table. She didn’t smile back, tears lining her dark eyes as her chin wobbled. Megumi’s heart sank as he turned back to Naobito.

“This is Mai,” he said to him, gesturing at the girl as if she was nothing more than an expensive gift someone had placed in front of him. Horror washed over Megumi as he realised what was happening. Somewhere further down the table, he could hear Naoya laughing hysterically. “She is to be your-”

Naobito was cut off by the sound of screaming coming from the bottom of the hall. Silence fell over the room, Mai using the distraction to scurry away, shooting Megumi a filthy look over her shoulder before she vanished into the crowd. “What the hell is going on?” Naobito demanded, clicking his fingers at a servant who had paused in their pouring of more drinks.

“I don’t-I…uh…” The servant trailed off as the massive doors to the hall were flung open by seemingly nothing but a pulsing ball of blue Energy. Megumi hadn’t realised he flew to his feet in response until Naobito roughly shoved him back into his seat.

As soon as Gojo Satoru stepped inside, tears broke out of Megumi, and he became a hiccupping mess of a child.

“Sorry I’m late,” Gojo laughed, completely devoid of humour. Megumi cried harder at the sound of his voice. He had come for him. He had come for him. He had come for him. Gojo had come to save Megumi.

“It appears my invitation got lost in the mail,” the man shrugged with a heavy sigh, walking further and further into the room. As he did, Megumi realised that there were other people behind him for backup, weapons already drawn. When he saw Nanami, his breath caught on another sob, fingers brushing at his eyes so he could see properly. “Can’t trust Japan Post for sh*t I guess.”

“Don’t worry,” Naoya laughed, the hoarse sound breaking the still air. Gojo’s attention snapped towards him, but he didn’t stop strolling up to the table as he does. He still hadn’t looked at Megumi yet, and the boy wanted to start screaming for Gojo to please meet his eyes, just so he could check that this is all real. He needed to know this is all real. “We’ll send you a handwritten invite next time, Satoru.” Posion dripped from his words. “Right to your doorstep.”

“That’s quite alright,” Gojo snarled, clearly bored of keeping his composure. “Considering the fact that there won’t be a next time.” And as he said that, he reached the table, stopping right in front of Megumi. He reached up, tugging his bandages up and off one eye with a finger to shoot Megumi an achingly familiar smile.

“Hey Gumi,” he murmured, throat bobbing heavily. “I’m so sorry I-”

Before he could finish, Megumi threw himself across the table, falling right into Gojo’s already open arms. He latched his own arms around the older man’s neck, burying his face in his chest as his shoulders rocked with sobs. “I didn’t think you were gonna come,” he managed to choke out through his hyperventilating.

“I promised I would,” he heard Gojo say, his hands coming up to rub at Megumi’s back and cradle his head. “I pinkie promised, didn’t I?” Megumi didn’t say anything back to that, pulling back slightly as salty tears clung to his jaw. He just held up his right hand, showing Gojo his taped finger. The older man blinked. Then he blinked again, entire body shivering before he ran his fingers down Megumi’s face, knocking their foreheads together as he used his knuckles to brush away the boy’s tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, hands on Megumi’s face. “I’m so sorry, Megumi. I-”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Naobito’s screaming cut off Gojo, who clamped his mouth shut dangerously fast. He didn’t look away from Megumi instantly, tucking the boy into his side before he straightened up and glared at the Zenin head. “He is not your child, Gojo. He belongs to us. He belongs to the Zenin clan. Fushiguro To-”

“Think again, asshole,” Gojo rolled his eyes, digging into the inside of his uniform jacket before he pulled out an enveloped file. “You have really sh*tty lawyers,” he snapped, lips curling in disgust. “I’m not surprised though. You guys have always been broke as f*ck. I think you’ll like the new little contract I’ve drawn up.”

“How dare you!” Naobito roared, the Hei slowly standing up from their spots on the table, attention directed right at Megumi. He dug his fingers into Gojo’s sleeve, heart picking up as he watched them slowly move. Naoya in particular was grinning at Megumi wildly, as if he’d finally been given free rein to cut the boy’s heart out of his chest.

“Don’t even try it,” Gojo said, head rolling to look at the Hei, irritation flashing over his face. And when they didn’t stop moving forward, Gojo’s hand shot out quicker than Megumi even realised, and one of the soldiers went flying into the ceiling, crumbling to the floor with a very loud snapping sound. Blood started pooling onto the tiled floor, and a collective gasp of horror echoed through the room.

“Relax,” Gojo waved it off. “He’s not dead. But if you take another step towards my kid, I will for sure kill whoever’s next up.” None of the Hei listened. They didn’t even blink in the direction of their fallen relative. Megumi thought that they were just thrilled to finally have an excuse to attack Gojo Satoru with all they had.

“Nanami!” Gojo shouted, and suddenly Megumi was being hauled up into a pair of strong arms. “Take Megumi and go,” he demanded. “To Shoko, as planned. I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

“No!” Megumi yelled, borderline screeching as he pounded at Nanami’s chest with all his might. “I just got you back!” he argued. “I’m not letting you leave me again. Not like this. It’s not happening!”

“Megumi,” Gojo said sternly, blue eyes flashing as he turned to him. “I’m not leaving you, alright? I just have to deal with this whole sh*tshow quickly, kay? I’ll see you soon. I promise.” And with that, he quickly pressed a kiss to Megumi’s forehead before Nanami was running in the direction of the exit, Megumi jostling in his arms.

“They’ll kill him!” Megumi wailed as Nanami desperately tried to shush him. They sprinted through the Zenin estate, Nanami’s machete strapped to his side. “Nanamin, they’ll kill him! You have to go and help!” Because Megumi knew Gojo was good, knew Gojo called himself the Strongest, but he really had no idea how good he was in comparison to an entire clan. He surely couldn’t take on the Zenins, even with the few guys he had brought along for support.

“You don’t know how strong they are!” Megumi shouted against the wind as they left the estate. “They’re cruel! They’ll kill him for this.” He started screaming louder as they came to a familiar black car, Nanami settling Megumi in the back before he followed in beside him, snapping his seatbelt on.

“This is kidnapping!” he protested, wildly flailing in a poor attempt of escape.

“Ichiji,” Nanami demanded, leaning forward to speak to the driver. “Go. Right now. Drive.”

“Ichiji,” Megumi snarled, voice cracking terribly. “Don’t you dare.”

Ichiji drove off, and Megumi continued yelling, thrashing his fists against the window. “Megumi-kun!” Nanami said as he tried to shush him, hands a familiar weight on his shoulders as he leaned into him. “Megumi-kun, please believe me when I say the Zenins are no match for Gojo. He could kill them all, if it came down to it. Trust me, you do not need to be worried about the Zenins harming him. He will be fine.”

“But…” Megumi trailed off as the tears continued, feeling entirely too weary and worn out for everything that was happening. He collapsed backwards, body letting itself relax for the first time in two years. “But they’re cruel,” he said again, tilting his head to look up at Nanami. The man looked like he’d aged ten years since he’d last seen him. “They’re not sorcerers like you or Gojo or Shoko,” he murmured, yanking down his kimono so Nanami could see the splattering of black and blue skin. “They are cruel. They will hurt him if they can.”

“They won’t be able to,” Nanami said firmly, grasping Megumi’s hands in his own. “Satoru is stronger than all of them. Than any of us.”

“He’s the Strongest,” Megumi murmured, slowly realising what that actually might mean. If Nanami was confident Gojo really could take on the entire clan. And all the other clans who had gathered there to see Megumi. Then maybe Gojo was stronger than Megumi had ever realised. Maybe the Strongest wasn’t just an egotistical nickname Gojo had come up for himself like he’d thought.

“Will he…is he going to kill them all?” he asked meekly, thinking of Mai and her sister still stuck in the estate.

“No,” Nanami shook his head, the tension visibly leaking from his face as Megumi finally calmed down slightly. “No, he won’t kill all of them. He won’t touch anyone who’s innocent,” he added, even as his face faltered slightly at that. Megumi hummed in response, eyes growing weary as his head lolled back. “Stay awake, Megumi-kun,” Nanami ordered, lightly patting Megumi’s cheek in an attempt to wake him up. “Just until we get you to Shoko, alright?”

What could have been mere seconds, or lingering hours later, Nanami carried Megumi out of the car. He was vaguely aware of where they were, but everything was kind of spinning and now that Megumi didn’t have to be constantly alert, his mind had seemingly decided to shut down entirely.

It wasn’t until he saw a group of people sprinting towards them that he realised where they were. Jujutsu Tech, gates groaning open to welcome them back in.

Shoko was in front, leading the charge, as she held her arms open, ready to take him from Nanami. He fell easily into her chest, and she lowered them both to the ground, fingers roaming his body as her Cursed Energy soared over him. “Jesus,” he heard her hiss. “What’d they do to you, Megs?”

But he was too focused on the other faces hovering behind her shoulder to even listen. He didn’t recognise any of the other kids apart from one. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks all over again as he met Tsumiki’s eyes, a crooked smile tearing at his face as she sobbed into her hands.

“You’re safe!” she cried out, practically collapsing into Nanami as she came closer to Megumi. “Thank god, you’re safe. I was so sure I’d never see you again,” she shuddered, hands coming up to thread themselves in his hair as she pressed a kiss against his hairline, lips ghosting over his skin.

“Me too,” he managed to croak out, hating the way her face fell. “I’m glad I’m home,” he added, hoping it might make her smile instead. She did, nodding enthusiastically in agreement before she giggled manically through her tears and said, “I never thought I’d see you in traditional clothes.”

Megumi managed to huff out a laugh as well, body entirely going limp in Shoko’s arms. His head lolled back, eyes peering up at the stars. He hadn’t seen the stars in so long. Breathing in, holding the fresh air in his lungs, he promised himself he would never, ever return to the Zenin estate.

He would never, ever let himself be taken away like that again. He would never, ever be the head of the clan. Even if it killed him.

Chapter 11: Lately I'm a Nervous Wreck

Chapter Text

The cicadas are chirping, and the heat is sweltering. People jump from foot to foot outside, gravel burning skin. The sun paints blue skies over all of Japan, holding the smiling citizens happily in its gaze. Popsicles melt down children’s wrists like tears, ice melting easily in iced teas, and Megumi is a total f*cking mess.

Like way worse than normal. As in he genuinely might need institutionalised, that is how insane he feels.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh about it all, or commit a felony. In a fit of madness, he downloaded a meditation app because that seemed like a happy medium, but then it tried to tell him to write down everything he was stressed about. So he’s back to either laughing or murdering.

He texts Yuuji every five minutes, trying his best to be super casual about the whole ‘curse being his half-brother’ thing. The only issue is that Megumi has never managed to be casual about anything, ever – in his entire life. And he’s never been one for breaking habits, if he’s being honest.

After this bullsh*t, he’s realised he really doesn’t do super great under pressure. Honestly, he should’ve realised this before now, because his go to in situations he can’t handle is to summon Mahoraga. But he can’t rely on his suicidal lifeline this time. Killing himself won’t save Yuuji. It would just make the entire thing worse, leaving Yuuji with no protection at all.

Megumi’s never been chill. He doesn’t think he has the physical capacity to do that. Thinks Gojo stole it all from him when he was younger, sapping out all of his nonchalance and leaving his neurotic awkwardness to cement over the gap.

But now his boyfriend (boyfriend, by the way!) is living with a possibly insanely murderous curse, and Megumi is so stressed out he thinks his brain is frying itself. Like the blistering heat outside melting vanilla ice-cream, Megumi’s intelligence and mental fortitude has turned to a sloshy mess, dripping down his skull and down his spine.

He only has the attention to think about two things.

One: the assassination plans. Carefully drawn out on his notes app with very detailed points on how to severe Choso’s stupid head from his broad shoulders. He’s listed out every single weapon he could use, from most efficient to the sword that might spill the most blood over Yuuji’s tiles.

Two: the horny thoughts about the boy he’s dating. Thoughts that he can’t get rid of no matter what. Yuuji had bitten a hickey into Megumi’s neck the last time he saw him, and now he can’t go ten minutes without prodding it. Some weird sort of way to remind himself that someone else actually wants him. The guy he wants, wants him back.

And now he has to kill that guy’s stupid, f*cking brother.

Megumi refuses to even entertain the idea that they might actually be biological brothers. Yuuji is a human, through and through. Megumi can feel it. In Yuuji’s hands and his mouth and his smile.

No Cursed Energy could even touch someone that bright, no matter how strong. Megumi would like to see any curse even try it. The King of Curses couldn’t even get within a five-meter radius of Yuuji. And even if anyone did get close, Megumi’s pretty sure the spirit of Menelaus would possess him for long enough to wage a war against any curse that even got near him.

He’s just stuck on trying to figure out what the f*ck Choso is actually up to. So far, it seems like the one hundred-and fifty-year-old Cursed Womb Painting is just…playing house. Yuuji’s story is now a near constant exhibition of pictures of the guy.

Sitting in front of the TV playing Valorant as Yuuji films himself braiding his hair. Standing outside a tattoo parlour, sheepishly showing off a new tattoo on his arm. Hair down, tossing a basketball over Junpei’s head before Yuuji turns the camera to his own face to exclaim that his big brother should be playing for Alvark. Slouched in front of the stove, pots and pans boiling over in a pitiful disaster, hands in his hair as the sound of Yuuji’s laughter fills the video.

Each time he clicks onto it, Megumi’s eye starts twitching. It doesn’t help that Yuuji has taken to sending him voice notes on Instagram, voice far lower through his phone speaker than it’s ever been in real life.

He’s going to have a heart attack. Swinging from fretting like an old woman every time he thinks about Choso, to almost cracking his head against the shower tiles every time Yuuji teases him.

Each time it takes the other boy longer than an hour to respond, Megumi is lacing up his boots, sheathing his sword and readying to decapitate Kamo Choso. But then Yuuji will end up texting back a picture of him and Junpei watching a film on his laptop, Choso in the background with his f*cking pigtails, and Megumi will drop down on his bed with a heavy sigh. Tossing his phone against the wall and kind of hoping it splinters.

Everything going on at Jujutsu Tech isn’t exactly helping either. He keeps trying to desperately talk to Gojo, but the older man is never around. Which alright yeah, big f*cking surprise. Gojo’s never around, but Megumi actually needs him this time. And not just for a homework extension or to ask about a new jujutsu technique. He really needs him this time.

So now he’s getting insanely irritated at the ominous lack of Gojo Satoru. Because even when he is around, he somehow manages to always dismiss Megumi, cutting him off to talk about something else or just teleporting away as soon as Megumi starts walking towards him. Which is a complete switch up from Gojo’s sole entertainment in life being pissing off Megumi.

Not only is his teacher/legal guardian/second sh*tty, abandoning father ignoring him now, everyone else is clinging to him like insatiable leeches. Ever since Nobara snitched to the other students that he has a “insanely OP technique that he’s been hiding from everyone because he’s rooting on their collective downfall,” they won’t leave him alone. They’ve taken to threatening him with severe bodily harm if he doesn’t join in on the Sister Event.

And seriously, if one more person mentions it to him, he thinks he might bite their f*cking head off.

“Fushiguro!” Eye twitching, he lifts his head out of his hands to see Maki and Nobara slipping into the kitchen. He thought he’d be safe here, with everyone else seemingly out of the dorms for some reason. Inumaki and Panda follow the other two in, Inumaki slipping down beside him to steal his untouched miso and fish. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Tengen, he wishes it had taken them longer to track him down. He misses the times when everyone used to mostly ignore him. “The Sister Event is starting! We have to go welcome the Kyoto school.” Megumi hadn’t even realised the fork had been in his fingers until it’s buried in the wall right next to Nobara’s head. “What the f*ck?” she cries out, brushing fingers over her untouched skin to check.

“Woah,” Maki whistles, impressed. He looks up to find Nobara scowling at her, eye twitching in offended irritation. Then her vicious glare pins itself on Megumi, and he considers stabbing the knife he has left into his own f*cking eye. “Beautiful aim, little kohai,” Maki admits, clapping him fiercely on the shoulders. “But you have to save that sh*t for tomorrow when the fights actually start. And don’t aim for us, idiot,” she adds, leaning across to flick his temples.

“Yeah,” Nobara hisses, hands on her hips as she shoots Megumi a very annoyed look, silently telling him that she’s not done with the whole fork thing. “Today we just need you to be your usual, sullen, asshole self, kay?” she smiles sweetly at him when he just blinks at her, saccharine dripping all over her.

“Stop doing that with your face,” he pouts back, because she’s not the only one who can be bitchy. He can play this game way better than Nobara can, actually. He can out-brat her if she wants to go there. “It’s creepy.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nobara scowls, stalking forward to hit him over the head. “If we didn’t need your annoying ass for this competition, I’d spin your damn jaw, Fushiguro.”

“I already told you all I’m not competing!” he cries out in frustration, because this is seriously the last thing he needs right now. And he has told them all, multiple times, that he is not taking part. Who’s gonna make him? Gojo? Tengen, he’d love for the man to show up to lecture him about it. Then maybe Megumi could actually speak to him, like he’s been dying to for the past week. Woah, that’s something he never thought he’d want.

“Seriously guys,” he says when his classmates all just share pointed looks with one another before four pairs of eyes turn back to him, varying degrees of apathetic. “I’m not doing it. I’m too busy for this sh*t.”

Panda gives a huff of amusem*nt at that, before he’s snatching up a fistful of fish from the plate Inumaki is snacking off of now. Inumaki is also smiling, evident even from under his scarf, eyebrows raised as he tilts his head condescendingly in Megumi’s direction. Nobara is still scowling, fingers tracing over the hammer at her back, like she’s considering cracking Megumi’s head open right there at the kitchen island. Maki is grinning slyly, fingers tapping along the underside of her jaw.

“Megumi,” she warns, voice lilting with a familiar delight. Sick Zenin bastard. He shakes his head firmly, arms folded tightly into his chest.

“No,” he says with force, ignoring the collective nod the four of them give each other. And then they’re pouncing on him, and Megumi only has the effort to let out a resigned sigh. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s been kidnapped, he supposes. And as far as he’s concerned, his irritatingly competitive friends aren’t the worst abductors he could have.

“You’re such a puss*,” Nobara snickers when they’re stood outside, ready to welcome the Kyoto kids to their campus.

Inumaki and Panda had threatened to tie him up if he ran away to hide again, and with Maki stood behind them, naginata leaning over her shoulders, the three of them made a pretty formidable trio. Megumi wishes Yuuta was here. If Yuuta was here, none of them would even have to join in. He could have the Kyoto kids on the floor with the raise of an eyebrow.

But Yuuta is off pissing around Africa for some reason, and Megumi is stuck right here. “Like seriously,” Nobara continues, goaded on by his lack of response. Megumi tries his best to ignore her, scrolling through his phone as he waits for Yuuji to respond. “Can’t even say no to your friends.”

“I did say no,” he argues, frown only tightening when a message pops up onto his screen. “I vividly remember saying no multiple times, Kugisaki.”

[08:04] just getting ready
[08:05] think me and choso r going to see a film after skl – its so cool having someone who wants to pay for my tickets
[08:05] yk uve gotten a lot more clingy after I called you my bf
[08:05] its cute

Megumi feels his stomach drop as he reads, for a multitude of reasons. None that he can really make sense of, messy threads all mottling together in his chest.

There’s definitely something there about Yuuji calling him his boyfriend, because every time that happens he feels like he might need his heart restarted with medical intervention. There’s also for sure something there about Yuuji complaining about paying for tickets, because Megumi has taken him to see not only one, but two whole films. And he’s paid for it. With Gojo’s blood money. Maybe he should buy Yuuji something, some kind of romantic gift, just so he remembers that his boyfriend has infinitely more money than his stupid f*cking brother. But maybe that’s crazy.

There is also something in him that alights at the mention of Choso, as there always is. Maybe Megumi could stake out the cinema, just in case anything goes wrong. He can have Choso dead in two seconds flat if the curse isn’t expecting it. Could easily slide right into his seat beside Yuuji and take over.

But that’s where all his theoretically perfect assassination plans start to fall kind of flat. He has no idea how he would explain any of it to Yuuji. For a moment, he considered just telling him the truth, but that seemed so laughable that Megumi discarded that idea as quickly as it came.

Besides, Megumi doesn’t want Yuuji knowing the truth – as much as that makes him sound like an asshole. He doesn’t want his boyfriend thinking he’s been lying to him the entire time they’ve been together. Even though maybe Megumi has kind of been lying to Yuuji the entire time they’ve been together. But only technically. And only about the Jujutsu stuff.

To be honest, Yuuji would probably just think he’s mentally ill if he starts yapping on about cruses and monsters and what is essentially magic. Tengen, it would be like an eighteen-year-old Gojo trying to tell a disbelieving six-year-old Megumi about Jujutsu all over again.

Megumi knows how it would end. With his heart broken and Yuuji dumping him for a normal teenager, who would probably be really good at skateboarding, have lovely soft skin and have less of a stained history than Megumi does.

“Who’re you texting?” Nobara demands, leaning forward to snatch his phone out of his hands. He easily evades her, training kicking in without even thinking about it, and he holds his arms above her head. He’s tempted to kick her uneven legs out from under her but restrains himself as she juts her chin out at him.

“What?” she smirks. “Don’t want anyone seeing what cringe, gay texts you send to your boyfriend?” When he doesn’t say anything, red pricking at his cheeks, her eyes light up. “Oh my god!” she squeals, loud enough that the second years and Kusakabe turn to glance at the two of them.

“Kugisaki, shut the hell-”

“It’s official? He asked you out? Like officially? Oh my-” Before she can continue speaking, Megumi throws his hand over her mouth, wincing when she tries to bite his palm in retaliation. But her eyes soften, going all caramelly and crinkly, so he lets go all the same.

“Megumi!” she squeals, albeit it quieter, throwing her arms around his neck. “That’s so freaking cute! I’m so happy for you. You were like so pathetically in love with the guy,” she adds as she pulls back. “Really, it was getting embarrassing watching you pine over him.”

“You’re such a supportive friend,” he winces, even as his chest feels a bit lighter. “Don’t tell anyone,” he adds with what he hopes is a serious face.

“Please,” Nobara clicks her tongue. “Who would I even tell?” As if she doesn’t text a multitude of people as soon as she gets her hands on any piece of gossip. She’d had a field day when she found out Gojo’s ex was the same guy who tried to kill Yuuta, sending out a mass text to everyone on campus. When she’d realised everyone else already knew, she’d been pissed off for two days straight.

“Wait, if you guys are official, why have you been so pissy the past few days?” she asks, frowning.

“I’ve not been pissy,” he snaps.

He definitely has been pissy.

Laughing at that, Nobara rolls her eyes. “So, did you guys fight or something? What did you say to him?”

“We’re not fighting,” Megumi scowls, before his brain catches up with the words that just came out of her mouth. “Wait. Why would you automatically assume I was the one who did something wrong? You’re supposed to be my friend. You don’t even know Yuuji.”

“Between your…” she trails off as she gestures to the entirety of him with a wince. “Emo sh*t,” she settles on. “And his bizarrely cute and preppy Instagram photos I’ve seen, it would definitely be you starting sh*t. You’re kind of an asshole, Fushiguro. And your boyfriend literally has pink hair. He looks like he stepped right out of a shoujo manga. You have the vibes of some f*cked up, even more suicidal Edward Cullen.”

“I didn’t understand a single thing you just said,” he shrugs in response, still trying to figure out how to reply to Yuuji. “Besides, we’re not fighting.”

“Mhh,” Nobara hums. “Well, if you’re not fighting, I can only think of one other reason why you’ve been acting like such a bitch.”

Green eyes snap up, and before he can even think about what he’s doing, he asks, “Why?” Because there’s absolutely no way Nobara guesses the reason. She doesn’t know about Choso acting as an imposter in Yuuji’s life. But he regrets asking as soon as Nobara smirks, leaning back against the fence as she whispers, eyes ablaze with satisfaction that Megumi has fallen into her annoying little joke. “Your virgin-self is getting blue balled.”

His lips part in horror, because alright, yeah. That also might be a small reason why he’s been so pissy. With Yuuji attending an actual school, they can only hang out in the evenings. And ever since Megumi realised who is actually sitting in the living room while Yuuji and him hang out in Yuuji’s room, he’s found himself unable to even touch Yuuji with Choso there. That might also be a key reason factoring into the assassination plans.

But he refuses to let her have this. Fuming, he pockets his phone before he lurches, fully prepared to knock Nobara to the ground. She starts laughing loudly, easily sliding out of his reach as she cracks her knuckles. Her neatly ironed skirt swishes around her legs as she steps one in front of the other, prowling towards him.

“You’re so predictable, Fushi,” she smirks, trainers kicking up dirt as she skids on the ground to escape his hands. “But whatever. I don’t mind sparring with you so you can let out some of that pent up energy you’ve got going on.”

Before either of them can even land a hit, Kusakabe is shouting at them, bored and uninterested and incredibly pissed off as usual. “Assholes!” he yells around the lollypop stick between his teeth. Megumi and Nobara drop their fists as the teacher snatches them apart by their collars, their shoes scraping against the gravel. “What an inventive way to welcome the Kyoto students to our lovely campus. Maybe stick to shaking their hands like everyone else though, alright?”

It isn’t until then that Megumi and Nobara glance at each other, before turning their attention to the school’s entrance. Where their own classmates are now stood with the Kyoto kids and their teacher. Utahime is frowning deeply at the two of them, as well as Kusakabe, looking thoroughly disappointed in the whole scene. Megumi’s never seen her look anything other than frustrated when she steps foot onto their campus. Unless she’s talking to Shoko.

“Uh…” Nobara starts, smiling widely as she tries to struggle out of Kusakabe’s hold. Megumi just lets himself dangle; chest already heavy with the knowledge that this might possibly be one of the worst days of his life. “Welcome!” she tries to exclaim, throwing her hands up into a wave, but it comes out as more of a grimace.

“These are the first years who are joining in?” one of the Kyoto kids asks with a scoff. A small blonde girl with a ridiculous hairstyle, and a sneer decorating her face. Megumi thinks he remembers her being a cow last year too.

“Tengen,” Utahime sighs with a sad frown, arms folded across her chest. “What is Gojo doing to these kids? I can’t believe they ever let him become a teacher.”

“Neither,” Kusakabe snorts, as if he isn’t borderline choking out two teenage students himself. Utahime must also pick up on the hypocrisy because she sends a particularly foul scowl in his direction, snapping her fingers and demanding, “Put the children down, Kusakabe-san!” The man sighs, before dropping Megumi and Nobara back onto their feet begrudgingly.

“Speaking of Gojo-sensei,” one of the Kyoto girls pipes up from the back of the crowd, twirling a strand of blue hair around her finger. Megumi shudders at the look on her face. “Where is he?”

“Don’t look at me,” Kusakabe shrugs, hands slouched in his pockets. “I’ve got no idea where the guy is.”

“Well, he can’t be on a mission,” Utahime cuts in, chewing on her bottom lip. “All staff were given the days of the Sister Event off so we could all be here,” she adds pointedly, before her eyes land on Megumi questioningly. He just shakes his head in response, not really wanting to get into why he might know where Gojo is when no one else does. Especially not in front of the Kyoto students. Especially given that he doesn’t know.

“Right, well,” Utahime frowns. “This is unacceptable. Gojo has to be present for the Sister Event. He’s a teacher! Kusakabe-san, come with me. We need to talk to Yaga-sensei and Gakuganji-sensei about this.” Kusakabe looks like he’d rather do anything else than that, but follows behind Utahime anyway, probably because he can’t be bothered arguing with the woman about it.

“Brats,” he says as he leaves, snapping his fingers at his own students. “Show the Kyoto students to the rooms they’ll be staying in. And you two, Gojo’s assholes,” he sighs, narrowing his eyes at Nobara and Megumi specifically. “I catch you fighting again, and I’ll personally see to it that you rot in detention all holiday long.” With that, he takes off after Utahime, leaving the Tokyo and the Kyoto kids staring blankly at one another.

“Well, you sure know how to make first impressions,” Mai practically purrs with a smirk, eyes scanning each of them in turn. Great, now he gets to deal with his borderline evil cousin as well. The one who seems to personally blame him for all the sh*t she must get living with the clan. As if any of that is his fault.

“I’m Kugisaki Nobara,” his classmate introduces herself, completely blanking Mai who looks at Nobara with a characteristic mix of awe and disgust. Like she’s impressed by the other girl’s boldness, while also unable to rid herself of the Zenin instinct to look down on literally anyone.

“Nishimiya Momo,” the blonde asshole speaks first. She’s holding a broom to her side, fingers tapping alongside the handle rhythmically. “You’re pretty,” she says with a graceful smile, pointing the broom handle in Nobara’s direction. “Very pretty.”

“Thanks,” Nobara preens, because she’s an attention whor* like that. “I know,” she nods as she flicks her red hair over her shoulder, not bothering to throw the compliment back to Nishimiya. That clearly pisses the other girl off, eyes narrowing as she glances to her side to share a look with Mai. Then she juts her head in Maki’s direction before simpering, “Been a while since Tokyo’s had a pretty girl enrol.”

The satisfaction instantly fades from Nobara’s face at that comment, and Megumi leans forward to catch her wrist in time before she can slap the other girl. “The hell did you just say?” Nobara hisses, even as Maki laughs lightly.

“You’ve made such nice friends, little sister,” she sighs, looking bored by the entire interaction. The Kyoto kids might fall for it, but Megumi knows all of his classmates aren’t fooled by the cast of apathy. Especially not when Maki’s fingers are twitching where she’s thrust her hands behind her back. Panda and Inumaki look like they aren’t even breathing, sending each other silent looks of worry behind Maki’s back.

Megumi knows that they’re all wishing Yuuta was here right now. He was the only one who could help Maki with this kind of sh*t. The rest of them, as much as they love Maki, are pretty f*cking useless.

“I have no sister,” Mai rolls her eyes, not even looking at Maki as she picks at her nails. “As far as I, along with the rest of Jujutsu society to be honest, is concerned, I am the only Zenin here.” She shoots a particularly foul look in Megumi’s direction at that, as if he wasn’t the one who chose to denounce the Zenins himself.

“Trust me,” he snorts, still lightly holding onto Nobara. When everyone’s attention snaps to him, his stomach clenches, and he grips onto his friend’s hand tighter. “You’re not gonna hear anyone complaining about that,” he snaps back despite the awful feeling in his stomach. If everyone doesn’t stop looking at him soon he might claw his own damn eyes out. “I think we’d much rather there be no Zenins here. Nothing we can do about that though, I guess.”

Mai’s green eyes, so like his and Maki’s, flare with a matching anger, but before she can spit out anymore vitriol, a student from behind is shoving past her, arms open towards Megumi. His breathing hitches as Todo Aoi grins down at him.

Please, he cries out silently. He really, really does not need this bullsh*t right now. But no one listens to him, and as another shining example of how much the universe likes to sh*t on him, Todo’s booming voice echoes around the entrance, boomeranging off of the trees and causing the leaves to sway.

Inumaki snorts with amusem*nt, burying deeper into his scarf, and Panda is giggling behind his furry paws. They’re the only two who seem to be finding any of this humorous. The rest of the Kyoto kids already look irritated, and Todo hasn’t even gotten into it yet. Maki is still watching Mai like she doesn’t trust her twin to not pull her gun out of its holster and shoot her dead where she stands.

“Fushiguro Megumi!” Todo calls, cracking his knuckles. “You are finally a man now!”

“What the hell is going on?” Nobara asks him from his side, fingers tightening around his own, but before he can even try to explain, Todo is continuing on.

“You will answer my question now,” he tells Megumi calmly, as if this is a reasonable thing to do. As if Todo isn’t actually the weirdest person Megumi has ever met. Weirder than even Gojo probably. Because what normal person asks every guy he meets what his type in woman is? Not only is it weird, but feels irritatingly pointed now. He’s finally managed to find someone he actually is into, that is his type, and he’s pretty convinced Yuuji is about to be murdered by a rogue curse.

Last year at the Sister Event in Kyoto, as soon as Gojo had introduced all of the students, Todo had pulled his big, showstopping question out of his sleeve. ‘What is your type in women?’ And well, apparently, he hadn’t been particularly satisfied by any of the answers given by the Tokyo students.

Inumaki had just shrugged after saying, “Salmon.” Panda had told him he liked a woman who walked on all fours. Yuuta’s face had burned a bright red as he spoke about a completely ‘hypothetical’ dream woman who could land him on his ass in two moves. Hakari answered way too happily, giving a disgusting amount of detail into his own relationship as he threw a possessive arm around Kirara, who was caught up in dragging her nails across her boyfriend’s neck.

“Someone who can look past a potential gambling addiction,” he had smirked, Kirara grabbing his jaw with her nails. Megumi remembers throwing up in his mouth. “A crazy bitch with a tiny waist, big tit* and hot tats.” The two second years at the time had vanished after that, completely missing the Opening Ceremony, as well as the dinner. As well as most of the Event, if he remembers right.

After asking everyone else, Todo turned on Megumi.

He had kept his mouth shut, face impassive as always, but inside he felt like he was suffocating. He’d never had any issues with liking boys. Never found it hard to accept, or harboured any sort of internalised hom*ophobia. It had actually taken him a while to realise that some people didn’t f*ck with gay people, since he’d been raised by Gojo Satoru, who had no qualms openly telling children who he slept with. Megumi had never even considered some people would be total dicks about it until he got to middle school.

Then he found himself kicking said dickhe*d kids into the dirt, their teeth knocked out and blood drippling down their jaws after they said some hom*ophobic sh*t. And then he found himself in the Zenin estate, where everyone there seemed to love spouting slurs. Especially about Gojo when they thought Megumi was listening. Especially about Megumi himself when they thought Megumi wasn’t listening.

He had always kept himself to himself. Didn’t particularly enjoy drawing attention or having people prying into his own private sh*t. And after he’d grown up a bit, it had been a little hard to shake the cruel insults people had started to whisper around him when he rejected girls that confessed to him at school, or spoke sh*t about the weird incest crap at the Zenin estate. As if not wanting to sleep with his cousins automatically made him gay.

So last year, when a random student from another school demanded to know what type of woman he was into, Megumi had found his legs trembling. Thankfully, Gojo had been there to lightly push Megumi behind him as he said to the student, “Todo-kun, Megumi isn’t even a high schooler yet! Maybe wait until he’s a man before you start prying into that kind of sh*t, kay?”

Instead, Todo had asked Gojo what his type was, to the horror of Utahime. She had launched into a lecture about respecting teachers and elders. About two seconds in, she’d been cut off by Gojo laughing. “I’m the same as Hakari,” the Kyoto teacher had shrugged. “Long, dark hair. Sick tats. Big tit*. And I like ‘em super crazy. Like borderline clinically mentally ill.”

That had drawn all the attention away from Megumi. Especially since it was very much widely known that Gojo had dated Geto Suguru back in high school. A little bit less well known that they had, at the time, still been almost dating. But it wasn’t very hard to figure out. Especially not when Utahime shrieked at Gojo, dragging him away while hissing about HR and how to responsibly talk to children and how he’s a misogynistic pig who should have had his teaching license revoked years ago.

But now here they are, Gojo nowhere in sight to distract with his messy life, and Todo has apparently decided Megumi is a man now. Which is absurd, because Megumi has never felt like less of an adult. Right now, he feels like a child again, desperate for someone, anyone, to tell him what to do.

“What type of woman is your type?” he bellows. There’s silence for a moment. It’s broken by Nobara hysterically laughing, hand falling from Megumi’s as she cradles her stomach. “That’s a tall order for an antisocial guy like him,” she wheezes.

“Ah,” Todo nods solemnly. “This is your type of woman? Crude and crass?”

“What did you just call me, meathead?” Nobara scowls, laughter dying away as she straightens up instantly, eyes sharper than the eyeliner drawn across her waterline.

“No,” Megumi frowns. “I’m not dating her, for f*ck’s sake.” Tengen, why does everyone keep thinking he’s with Nobara? And it’s always the assholes that think that. As if he wouldn’t rather eat his own tongue.

“Hey,” she hisses, whirring round to face Megumi as she jabs her finger into his chest. “Don’t say it like that, Fushiguro. You’d be so lucky if I let you touch me. You wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like me.”

“If you prefer men,” Todo shrugs as he looks from Nobara to Megumi, looking awfully like he’s figuring something out. “That’s fine too.”

Oh, and isn’t that just great! Isn’t that lovely! The psychotic gorilla isn’t a hom*ophobic piece of sh*t. Just standard psychotic.

Nobara sets off into another fit of hysterics at that, slapping her leg as if Todo is putting on the best comedy routine the world has ever seen, when really, he essentially just called him gay.

“But men who like boring people are boring men themselves. And I hate boring men!” Todo roars, dropping down into a fighting stance. There’s a chorus of sighs from the other Tokyo students.

“I…I don’t have a particular preference,” Megumi shrugs, hating that he’s answering this. He supposes he doesn’t have a type. Glancing quickly over at Kamo, stood behind Todo and looking incredibly bored, Megumi’s heart thuds. He remembers last year, watching with parted lips as the older boy fought with Maki. With a thudding heart and a heat pooling in his stomach and the awful, burning desire for a boy like that to just look at him.

Kamo’s completely different from Yuuji. Sharp and harsh, like the katana pinned at his side, compared to Yuuji’s soft features, all warm and golden all over. From his birth, Kamo has been written into the history books. As good as a prince, he holds his head high with an obnoxious pride that Megumi can’t believe he ever found hot.

Yuuji’s just a guy. A guy who was allowed to fall off of his skateboard as many times as he needed before he learned how to land a crailslide. Which Megumi cannot believe he knows the name of. Can’t believe he finds it hot. Yuuji’s just a boy, who likes skateboarding and sh*tty films, and arty, pretentious films Megumi has never even heard of. Just a boy with the kindest smile Megumi has ever seen.

“As long as they have an unshakable character,” he finds himself saying, a smile tugging at his lips as he thinks about his boyfriend, eternally kind against a constantly unforgiving world. “I wouldn’t ask for more.”

“Not a bad answer,” Nobara murmurs, grinning knowingly. “I thought you were gonna say you liked girls with big boobs and fat asses.”

“Shut the hell up,” he hisses, snatching her by the shoulder to yank her back away from the Kyoto kids.

“I knew it,” Todo murmurs softly, and Megumi is horrified to see a tear run down the older student’s face. “I waited a year for your answer. Gatekept by Gojo Satoru himself. I waited a year for you to blossom into a man. And all that for nothing. You’re boring, Fushiguro.” He says it like he’s delivering Megumi’s death sentence.

Wincing, because last year he watched as Todo tried to fight Inumaki and Panda for their own boring answers, he makes to bring his arms up in a defensive position. But before Todo can move, face a cast of disgusted rage and the clear desire to beat Megumi into the ground, Kamo is swiftly stepping in front of him and knocking his polearm lazily into Todo’s chest.

“We’ll have none of that,” he sighs. Megumi releases the breath he was holding, dropping his arms from his face. “Not until tomorrow at least,” he shrugs. “And then you’re free to attack him if you’d like.” Kamo doesn’t even look in Megumi’s direction as he says that, head tilted Maki’s way, as if he’s decided she’s their unofficial leader. With Yuuta gone, Megumi supposes she sort of it.

“Show us to our rooms,” he demands idly, as if this is the Kamo estate and the Kyoto students are his servants. “This whole interaction was inane.”

“Find your own damn rooms,” Maki scowls, violently waving her hand in the vague direction of the dorms. “It’s not that hard. Even you morons should be able to figure it out.” Which is kind of a funny thing to say, because Megumi has seen the rankings for the two schools. Especially the academic rankings. The Kyoto kids are for sure not the morons here. Hakari’s grades alone bring the average down by almost 100%.

The Kyoto students sway past them, and Megumi stumbles backwards to avoid Todo’s fist as he passes. Nobara scowls at all of them, lips pulled back into a sneer. “I totally thought you were bullsh*tting,” she whispers up to him as they watch them make their way towards the dorms. “About the robot thing.”

And despite everything, that makes him smile. Rolling his eyes, he lets Nobara grab his hand and drag him towards the second years. Maki is almost steaming with rage, jaw clenched and breathing heavily from behind her hands. Inumaki groans before she even says anything, pleading with her. “Seaweed. Seaweed!”

“He’s right,” Panda pouts. “We’ve been training all day for like weeks now. We’re tired.”

“I don’t care,” Maki scowls, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “You saw those guys,” she splutters in disbelief. “They’re assholes! We cannot under any circ*mstances let them win this. We’ll use this last night before the first day to our advantage. Just a little bit more training, okay?”

“You’re a sick woman, Maki,” Panda sighs. Megumi would be inclined to agree, if he hadn’t already decided he was gonna dip on this entire thing. Maki just clicks her tongue as she rolls her eyes. “Tch. I wish Okkotsu were still here. At least he understood the importance of commitment.”

Inumaki makes a comment under his breath about how that’s for sure the only reason why Maki wishes Yuuta were still here, which in turn causes Nobara to glare furiously in his direction. “I’m with you, Maki-senpai,” she cuts in, grabbing Inumaki by his collar as she practically drags him onto the training field. “We need all the help we can get. Me and Inumaki-senpai will go first. It’ll be fun,” she adds with a sad*stic smile as her fingers twitch into fists. The look of Inumaki’s face enough to tell that he definitely doesn’t think this will be fun.

Megumi stays where he is, watching as Nobara rushes at their classmate, hair whipping in the wind as Inumaki manages to dart out of her way just in time. Panda is clapping and cheering, probably more out of happiness at not having to train first than anything. Maki is the only one who thinks to glance back, green eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

“Where the hell did Fushiguro go?” Is that last thing he hears before he ducks into his shadows, easily hopping back the dorms in less than a second. The darkness spits him back into his room, where he easily finds his step again. The more shadow jumping he does, the more he gets used to it. He rarely throws up after it anymore. If he strains, he can hear the second years out on the field arguing about whether to track him down again, or cut their losses and train without him. And on the other side, he can hear the Kyoto kids at the other end of the building, arguing about which rooms they want to stay in.

Grabbing his headphones, he considers texting Ichiji to ask for a lift, but he’s not sure even he knows the address Megumi is planning to go to. It’s way too far to jump too, and Megumi’s not convinced he can travel far distances without getting himself stuck in the Shadows. Instead, he makes his way down to the nearest train station, going around the long way through the forest so he doesn’t run into his classmates.

As he waits, he texts back Yuuji, biting on the inside of his cheek the whole time. When the train comes, he sits down and finds himself scrolling through his camera roll. He hadn’t even realised some of these were on here. Pictures Yuuji’s taken of him.

Napping on Yuuji’s bed, legs thrown over Yuuji’s lap, mouth hanging open and arms dangling off of the mattress. Washing the dishes after Yuuji cooked for them, cringing at the camera Yuuji’s shoved into his face. In the distance on one of their runs, throwing up the middle finger to the phone. Playing League in Yuuji’s room, sitting insanely weirdly on the chair, jaw leaning on his knee as his face screws up in concentration.

It's odd. Looking at himself through the lens of Yuuji. Seeing himself the way his boyfriend must see him. He looks younger than he thought he did. Was half convinced he must look thirty with the way he feels sometimes. Thought he scowled enough to have given himself frown lines, and creases in-between his brows. But he looks his own age. He looks happy.

Blushed cheeks and hair pushed back from his face. He’s not wearing his uniform in any of the pictures, since he hates having it on around Yuuji and tries his best to always get changed before hanging out with him. Wearing Gojo’s old, faded sweaters, and Yuuji’s borrowed socks and a white, toothy, boyish smile that is so rare it seems to change what his entire face looks like.

He looks like he could go to a normal school. Looks like maybe he and Yuuji met in a club or something. Nah, probably during their respective delinquent phases. Both sat outside the headteacher’s office or something. Megumi would be caught off guard by Yuuji’s eyes and he’d be done for. Really f*cked. He’d never graduate if he and Yuuji went to the same school.

It’s muscle memory by now, when he gets off at Minato. His feet take him down familiar streets, and he’s used to the luxury and opulence now. When he was younger, he used to stare in every shop he walked past, eyes watering at the price tags. Tsumiki was the same, lips parted as she gaped after fancy businesswomen strutting down the sidewalk with their designer handbags, and lovely painted lips. After a couple hundred shopping trips with Gojo and Tsumiki, it ended up getting boring.

When he reaches the apartment block, the receptionist smiles in his direction, welcoming him with a “Good afternoon, Gojo-kun. It’s been a while.” His heart stutters pathetically at that, something he refuses to think about further as he nods to her, before sliding into the elevators.

They used to scare the sh*t out of him, with the entire thing being glass to let you see out across the cityscape. He used to hide his face in Gojo’s leg, gripping the older man’s trousers until the familiar ding rang out across the elevator, and he would take off sprinting into the penthouse, with its solid floors and opaque walls.

He still keeps his head down, even now, as the elevator rises. And as the doors slide open, and he steps into the conversant flat, he feels eight again. Kicking his trainers off with the opposite foot, letting them stray abandoned on the tiled entrance. Socks skidding across the floor as him and Tsumiki run through the seemingly endless flat, stupidly big. Impressively big. The type of big only asshole billionaires can buy. The type of big that works perfectly as a playground for two children who have lived their entire lives in a shoebox of an apartment.

Now, he unties his boots, dropping them neatly onto the shoe rack. They stick out amongst all of Gojo’s untouched loafers, not broken in Docs, and expensive trainers that don’t even have a speck of mud on them. He steps quietly through the halls, the silence eerie. It throws him off, being here now. With everything that’s happened.

He isn’t eight anymore. Not as he steals a book from the library before he traipses into one of five living rooms, dropping himself onto the couch. But he also isn’t an imposter here anymore. Feels almost at home, as he flips mindlessly through the pages. Wonders if Gojo’s ever even heard of the titles that he keeps in his own library. The entire apartment seems so staged. More like a hotel suite than anything.

But Megumi still feels almost at home, maybe the closest thing to it he’s ever gonna get, as he sits and waits for Gojo to arrive. Waits for Gojo to come home.

He’s been avoiding him. Megumi doesn’t know why, and he’s desperately trying to ignore the way it’s making him feel. Like a dog kicked by its owner, still sitting at the bottom of the stairs, waiting and waiting and waiting to be loved. He doesn’t know why, but he knows how to put a stop to it. If Gojo isn’t at the school, and he isn’t on a mission, he’ll turn up here soon enough.

A couple of years ago, it would’ve been almost impossible to track down Gojo. Back then, the Fushiguro flat was still an option. But now that place is less of an apartment and more of a tomb to a crumbling childhood blown away with the wind – for both Megumi and Gojo. Then, there was also the nameless place Gojo always seemed to disappear to at night. As if in the darkness, he could pretend the man he was staying with wasn’t the same one he’d been ordered to execute. Megumi’s always wondered if a part of Gojo did want to just kill Geto.

Listen to the Higher Ups and just slit the guy’s throat. He figures not, since he clearly had ample opportunity to kill Geto Suguru when the other man wasn’t expecting it. Or maybe the guy was always kind of expecting it, even when they were together. Or maybe Gojo’s desire to slaughter him just couldn’t outweigh his desire for him.

Megumi never asked, anyway.

He finds his eyes shutting to the idea of that. Slaughtering a lover. And as his sleepless nights finally crash into him, a swell dragging him down and down, Geto morphs into Yuuji, and Gojo’s face washes into his own. Palms streaked with crimson, blood trickling down Yuuji’s lips, dripping onto the ground. Bodies pressed with purpling bruises, bitten and scratched and clawed through. Hands wrapping around throats and screams that struggle to get out.

Megumi wakes up with a gasp, sick churning through his stomach as the book that he’d fallen asleep reading drops onto the floor. He feels awfully dramatic about the entire thing as he presses the back of his palms into his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. Broken out of his sleep like a heartbroken Austen heroine, except his dreams are a lot more morbid than he bets Elizabeth’s ever were. At least all she had to worry about was Darcy maybe dying from dysentery. Not monstrous creatures born from everything cruel and awful about the world.

Shuddering, he refuses to let out a sob, hands clawing at his own hair. He’s got too much to think about. He can’t be crying over any of this. Not when Yuuji is in danger. Not when he has put Yuuji in danger. He has to be better than that. Has to be better than this. He tries to swallow around the stone that has sat in his throat since he was six years old, and pushes himself onto his feet.

He doesn’t realise he’s no longer alone until he hears something clattering in the kitchen. All of a sudden, Gojo’s familiar Cursed Energy washes over him. Megumi lets himself stew in it for a moment, arms coming up to hug around himself tightly.

A nightlight. That’s what Gojo’s Energy feels like. The nightlight he used to have when he was younger. He’s pretty sure it was from IKEA, and it always cast a soft, blue shadow across his ceiling. He would lie in his bed, dark hair falling across his pillow and small hands fisting his duvet, and sleepily blink up at the light, pretending he was under the ocean and swimming amongst the fish and the whales, or up in space and flying through the stars.

Pushing himself up from the couch, Megumi pads through the apartment. He passes Gojo’s bedroom, door always pulled tightly shut. Passes the room he used to sleep in, and the room Tsumiki used to, ignoring both of them as his heart needles in his chest. Pausing in the threshold to the kitchen, he watches as Gojo f*cks around in front of the stove. He’s heating up leftover Chinese food. The domesticity of it all would be comforting if Megumi didn’t feel homicidal.

The older man’s not wearing his uniform, which is unusual for him. He’s thrown a dark T-shirt on, and it’s way too big for his lean frame, hanging off his collarbones. Megumi already knows the tracksuit bottoms he has on are probably stupidly expensive, and Gojo’s already managed to smear sauce all over them.

“Sleep well?” Gojo asks without even turning to face him. And then he shudders dramatically, always performing for the silent, faceless audience, before he glances at Megumi over his shoulder. “Yeah, you look like sh*t, kid. When was the last time you actually slept?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Megumi accuses, refusing to entertain Gojo’s bullsh*t. He shuffles further into the room, breathing hitching when Gojo turns around to place a plate of steaming leftovers in front of him. He thinks the neighbours can probably hear his heart break.

“No, I haven’t,” Gojo denies. Way too quickly. He turns back to the stove, jaw clenched. Alright. So, he’s definitely been avoiding him. He just doesn’t understand why. Never seems to understand why this happens. Not when he tries so damn hard to keep it from happening.

“Then why the hell are you here?” Megumi demands, arms folded over his chest. “You never come here. You hate it here.”

“This is literally my apartment. I live here,” Gojo deflects, like a child. Like he has no idea what Megumi’s talking about. And fine, if Gojo wants to act like that, Megumi doesn’t even care anymore. Well, he does care. A lot actually. He cares a pathetically large amount, really. He cares so much that he can’t sleep, and his entire body hurts because he was beginning to be so sure that Gojo was the one person that wouldn’t do this to him.

And now…well, now he feels eight again. Because he has a very childish rage, and a very childish loneliness that has managed to haunt him his entire life. And there is no one else who can set it off like Gojo Satoru. For someone who is supposedly untouchable, Megumi cannot for the live of him figure out how to unravel the shards of Gojo that are stuck beneath his skin. Like shrapnel, condemned to slice at Megumi every time he moves wrong, or breathes too easily for a bit too long. It’s going to be the death of him.

“Whatever,” Megumi hisses. “I need your help. And you are refusing to give it to me. Refusing to even hear me out. That’s why I’m here. You need to help me.”

“Shouldn’t you be on campus?” Is all Gojo says. Megumi might start screaming. “It’s the Sister Event today.”

“Shouldn’t you be on campus?” Megumi shoots back, tripping into Gojo’s trap like he always does. Lets him distract him with clever words and false promises. “Given you’re supposed to be a f*cking teacher and all?"

“Yeah,” Gojo snorts, although it lacks his usual amusem*nt. He has his blindfold on, tied neatly around his head. White hair sticks up like a mop. Megumi wishes he would just look at him. “Utahime has been blowing my phone up all day. Crazy bitch. She’s been like that since we were kids. Anal about everything. All the damn time. Used to really piss me off, actually because she never-”

Megumi takes a shaky breath, face crumpling in upset frustration. And then the dam breaks. “Yuuji is living with a curse. The Cursed Womb Painting who tried to kill me. The one who managed to get away from you,” he blurts out, words tumbling from his tongue. And once he’s started, he can’t stop, desperate and fraught and dying for someone to just please help him.

“He somehow…I don’t f*cking know, integrated into society? And now Yuuji thinks he’s his half-brother, and Choso is f*cking living with him! And I can’t figure out what he’s planning to do with him, but I think it’s some kind of really f*cked up revenge plan for me killing his brothers so now I don’t know what to do. I’ve got some plans on how to kill him, but I couldn’t even do that last time so I think he’ll actually finish me off this time.”

Gojo’s lips part, but Megumi doesn’t let him speak. “And Yuuji asked me out. Well, he just sort of called me his boyfriend. So that’s a thing now. We’re like dating, and it’s my fault he’s in this position. And I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him, actually. And Tengen, he’s being used by some sort of f*cked up curse guy who is a total dick, by the way. He put his cigarette in my f*cking drink. And, oh God, we smoked weed. I met the psycho who Yuuji thinks is his older brother high! And it made me freak out a bit and think about dying and everything and-and then you started ignoring me, and I don’t even know what I’ve done wrong!”

“Tengen.” He’s cut off by Gojo dropping one hand onto his shoulder, pressing the other firmly against his chest. “You’ve gotta breathe, Gumi.”

“You need to help me,” he chokes out, tears of frustration and exhaustion and anxiety pricking at his eyes. He can’t breathe. Not now. Not when Yuuji might get hurt because of him. “Satoru, please.” He doesn’t even know if what’s coming out are proper words anymore. Tries to shove him away, because Gojo can’t be here right now. He has to go to Yuuji’s place, with the fraying curtains and fridge stocked with kids’ yogurt and protein powder and the nicest boy Megumi has ever known.

But he is so f*cking tired, arms like noodles, and Gojo just holds onto him tighter. Like they’re both drifting out to sea, and Megumi is the stupid f*cking child freaking out. That’s what they literally always tell you not to do. Float, not swim. He’s pretty sure he remembers that from school. And yet here he is, splashing and screeching and sobbing as the water drags into his lungs.

“You need to save him. Go and exorcise Choso, please. I don’t know, just go and help Yuuji.”

“Okay, kid,” Gojo nods, squeezing Megumi’s shoulder. “I’ll help you. You’ve got to calm down first though. Alright? You need to try and breathe.” Suddenly, a sharp coldness is spreading through his body, tingling across his skin. And Megumi can feel his breathing calming, slowly blinking up at Gojo. “Better?” he asks, and Megumi can only numbly nod in response.

Shrugging Gojo’s hands off of him, he slides down onto the floor, back pressed against the kitchen island. He lets his head knock against it, furiously wiping at his face. “What was that?” he asks after a moment, voice coming out broken and strained.

He wouldn’t let anyone else see him like this. But Gojo has seen him puking his guts out as a child, trekking home with dirt splattered all over him, passing out after every shikigami exorcism. To be honest, mental breakdown doesn’t even scrape the top of the list of embarrassing sh*t. Especially not when he’s constantly on the edge of one anyway.

Gojo grins as he sits down beside him, yanking the blindfold off of his face. “Vacuum powers,” he explains, waving his hands in the air. “If I lower my own kinetic energy, I can make Limitless’ temperature drop. Pretty f*cking sick, right?”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Megumi frowns, tilting his head back away. There’s still air for a moment, before Gojo breaks it. “Someone told me once; about how cold temperatures can help with panic attacks.” Megumi can feel the older man shrug as he says it. “I’ll tell Ichiji to keep watch outside Yuuji’s place. Just until the Sister Event is over,” Gojo elaborates before Megumi can protest that. “And then we’ll figure out what to do about Choso. Together. Alright?”

“Okay,” he agrees with a heavy sigh, feeling more exhausted now than he ever has before. A part of him still feels uncomfortable with it all, insides lit on fire at the idea of abandoning Yuuji like this. But Gojo thinks it’ll be alright. And he’s never led Megumi astray before. Well, never too disastrously.

“So,” Gojo murmurs. Megumi rolls his head to see the older man grinning widely down at him. “You got high?” he giggles, knocking his shoulder against Megumi’s. “Didn’t think you had it in you,” he teases. “What a troublemaker you’re turning out to be, Gumi-chan.” As if Megumi wasn’t already expelled from multiple middle schools for literally making trouble.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind the words. The only warmth in the room comes from Gojo himself, and Megumi is too tired to be embarrassed as he practically falls into the older man’s arms, head leaning against his neck. He wonders if Gojo can also raise his natural temperature with Limitless, or if he’s naturally like this.

It would make sense. Blue flames are the warmest.

“No, seriously,” Gojo laughs, hand coming up to soothe over Megumi’s hair. “I think this Yuuji boy might be a bad influence on you. Maybe I’ll have to have a talk with him. What do they call it – the murder talk or whatever?”

“Shovel talk,” Megumi snorts. “And that’s not a real thing. Only happens in the movies.”

“Whatever,” Gojo replies. He can feel Gojo’s voice in his chest as he speaks, heart beating safely under Megumi’s cheek. “It’s not like I’d need a shovel, anyway.”

“Choso might,” Megumi murmurs, screwing his eyes shut. Gojo’s hand pauses in his hair, and for some insane reason, that causes the stuffiness behind Megumi’s eyes to return. “I think I should maybe…let him go,” he whispers, terrified to voice the doubts that plague his mind.

“What?” Gojo questions, and Megumi can hear the frown in his voice, even as he keeps his eyes pressed shut. He doesn’t trust his own body to not betray him, can feel the tears stinging at the back of his throat again. “Like break up with him? The f*ck would you do that for?”

“It’s not safe,” he tries to explain, but it comes out as a broken whine instead. “I’ve put him in danger. And even if we fix it, sh*t like this is just going to keep happening.”

“So what?” Gojo frowns, carefully manoeuvring them so Megumi is sat up on his own again, fingers lightly prodding underneath his eyes. He refuses to open them until Gojo’s violently flicks his temples. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” he scowls, lips trembling pitifully. “I’d rather he not actually die because of me. He…he deserves more than all of this. More than me. He’s going to go on and become a firefighter with a nice apartment. He’s going to have like…real friends, and a real family and a whole, entire, all-consuming life. And I’m just gonna be stuck here, like this, forever.”

“But you’re in love with him,” Gojo says easily, like any of this is easy. Like being in love with someone can just easily fix everything crooked and skewed in him. Like being in love with Yuuji can iron out all of his creases. Like kisses and caramel eyes and soft hands mean more than they do. Like he isn’t sixteen, and was never going to manage to make this last anyway. Especially not when every single thing in the world is trying to stop it.

Because even if Megumi wasn’t a screw up in the Jujutsu world, he’d definitely still be a screw up in Yuuji’s. And f*ck, even if he wasn’t, sixteen-year-olds don’t just fall in love like that. They don’t stay together. They don’t get married and grow old and stay delusionally happy forever.

Like Yuuji is what Megumi needs. What he really needs is to take a wrench to his insides. Dismantle it all. Batter and thrash and pummel it all until maybe it resembles something at least close to normal. He doesn’t even think he’d be able to recognise normal if someone dropped it into his lap.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he sighs angrily, sniffing pathetically. “The love was there with you,” he says, throwing Gojo’s broken heart back into his face. He sees the moment it slices at him, the older man frowning sadly, blue eyes crinkling. “It didn’t change anything. It didn’t save anyone.”

“Yeah,” Gojo nods. For a moment, he looks like he’s Megumi’s age, and he’s struck with the realisation that Gojo was really only a couple of years older than he is now when it all happened. When the horses and their soldiers were sent home, and the battlefield was drawn, and Gojo’s heart was the first casualty of the war.

“You’re right,” he admits, lips curling up into a wistful smile. “It didn’t save anything. It killed him. Almost took me too. But it was still there,” he says firmly, as if he’s never once doubted any of this. “The love was still there. Despite it all. I think that’s probably the most important thing.”

“I don’t know,” he huffs sarcastically. “I think the most important thing is Yuuji at least making it to his seventeenth birthday. If breaking up is what it takes to get him there, then it’s just something I’m gonna have to get through. Right?”

“Not right,” Gojo scowls, dropping his hands from Megumi’s hair, and sharply kicking the younger boy’s side as he stands up. “Don’t try and get me to agree with you. I think you’re being a dipsh*t. The guy clearly makes you happy. I’ve never seen you like this. A week ago, you were practically planning your f*cking wedding to the guy.”

“What are you talking about?” Megumi hisses as he scrambles to his feet, watching Gojo tackle the burnt atrocity that is his portion of the leftovers. “I don’t…I never…men can’t even…do you think he would marry me?” he finds himself wondering aloud.

Then he’s imagining it all, Yuuji in a suit and a golden band around his fingers, and Megumi’s entire brain stops functioning. Not that it’s been processing anything that well since the whole Choso thing happened. He’s running on little to essentially zero sleep, and a sh*t ton of Red Bull (from the campus vending machine and expired years ago.)

“See!” Gojo exclaims, exasperated as he dumps the entire pot into the trash. “f*ck me, teenagers are cringe. You get a little, tiny bit stressed out and suddenly you wanna dump the guy? Maybe just…I don’t know…process your emotions for more than two seconds next time?”

“You are being such a dick about this,” Megumi scowls, snatching up a fork before he starts stabbing at his now cold plate. “You’re meant to be supportive. And tell me you’ll love me no matter what I do.”

“I’m not gonna be supportive of your stupid sh*t,” Gojo shrugs, before coming over to pinch at Megumi’s food. The food he gave Megumi. “How about you just sleep for longer than two hours, and then we’ll see if you still want to break up with Yuuji?”

“Whatever,” he snaps. Even though it doesn’t sound like the worst idea ever. Maybe one of the best ideas Gojo’s ever had, actually. “f*ck off. This is my food.”

“Who bought it?” Gojo shoots back, scooping noodles into his mouth in a disgustingly obnoxious way. “You’re staying here tonight,” he says to Megumi, seemingly leaving no room for disagreement. But whatever, Gojo’s beds are stupidly big and a whole lot comfier than his sh*tty single bed back on campus. “I’ll make sure we’re back at the school before Utahime really loses her sh*t tomorrow morning.”

“I think she’s way past that point,” Megumi murmurs.

“Nah, she’s just neurotic,” Gojo waves it off. “She’d be a lot more bearable to be around if she wasn’t so lame.” Megumi bites back the urge to inform Gojo that he is also, in fact, insanely lame himself. He doesn’t think the man would appreciate that though, because he seems to weirdly pride himself on knowing what TikTok is and listening to Olivia Rodrigo. Like he’s not twenty-eight and embarrasses himself every time he opens his mouth.

Megumi lets Gojo scoop up the empty plate, dropping it lazily into the sink before he’s dropping his hands onto Megumi’s shoulders, and gently manoeuvring him out of the kitchen. “None of the clothes you have here fit you anymore,” the older man says. “I mean it could be like a cute baby tee moment, I guess?"

“Shut up,” Megumi groans, but he breaks into a yawn half way through and it comes out as ‘shuddup’ instead, making Gojo chuckle with amusem*nt.

After a warm shower (that Gojo practically shoved him into), yanking on a soft pair of pyjamas (a pair that Gojo pulls out of his own closet), and brushing his teeth (apparently Gojo still keeps two spare toothbrushes in his bathroom for him and Tsumiki), Megumi finds himself in a bed he hasn’t slept in in years.

Blinking up at the ceiling, throat dry and wriggling his toes under the duvet, he does his best to just chill the f*ck out. In the middle of fighting with himself, demanding to know why he can’t act normal for once in his life, a knock sounds at his door. He turns to meet Gojo’s eyes, blue burning through the dark, like a ridiculous lighthouse.

“Goodnight,” Gojo says.

“Mhh,” Megumi nods, burrowing himself deeper under the duvet. “Night.” Gojo still doesn’t move. “Was there something else or…”

“Yeah,” the older man says, scratching at the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say that I’m-it’s-I’m glad you came here. To talk to me about all of this. About how you’re feeling.”

“Right,” Megumi nods, because he didn’t really mean to come here to talk to Gojo about his feelings. He just wanted his help, and he just couldn’t seem to help himself breaking down in the man’s kitchen.

“I just…sometimes I worry about you, you know?” Gojo shrugs, and Megumi’s kind of happy he can’t fully make out the entirety of his face, because even seeing Gojo’s eyes as he’s saying this is all a bit too much. “And I mean obviously all parents worry about their kids but…you’re like the silent, stoic type. And that’s not super great for processing sh*t. Especially not when you’re depressed or-”

“I’m not depressed,” Megumi cuts him off, voice sharp.

Gojo falters for a second, before he gingerly nods. “Yeah. Sure. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to assume or anything. I was speaking more on general terms, I guess.”

“Seriously,” Megumi tries again, because Gojo is speaking weirdly and it’s freaking him out a bit. “I’m perfectly fine. I’m not depressed or anything. Maybe like a little bit stressed out, I guess? But everyone’s stressed out.”

“You were just sobbing on my kitchen floor.”

“That was a minor slip up,” he argues, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “That’s not like…a regular thing. That’s never happened before. I am not depressed,” he reiterates. Feeling like maybe the more he says it, the less believable it’s coming across.

“Sure,” Gojo responds, and Megumi lets out a huff at his tone of voice, dropping back down onto the mattress. “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to try and deal with sh*t like this on your own. Jujutsu stuff or just like…normal teenager stuff, okay? You can always talk to me about it. I’m like the expert on Jujutsu and I was your age once. I can help. So just don’t-if you-you don’t have to crucify yourself alone.”

“Okay,” Megumi says, desperately wanting Gojo to quit with this bullsh*t and just let him sleep. “I know I can talk to you. I’ve always known that.” And that’s not a lie, really. He does know he can talk to Gojo, if he wants to. He just never really wants to.

“Right, well. Go to bed now. Pissy Megumi needs to f*ck off. Sick and tired of him.” And Gojo shuts the door before Megumi can throw the middle finger up in his direction, instead rolling onto his stomach with a groan. He does bury his face into the pillow though, and lets his eyes slip shut.

Sleep does not follow. His phone does start ringing though, a couple of hours into him lying silently in the dark.

A familiar ringtone drifts through the room. It’s the opening to some anime apparently. The one that Yuuji is always trying to get Megumi to watch with him, even though its like a thousand episodes long, and Megumi struggles to sit through a two-hour movie without getting fidgety.

He picks up without removing his face from its squished position, dropping the phone beside his ear. “Can’t sleep?” he murmurs, shifting slightly so his voice isn’t muffled.

“No,” Yuuji whispers back. “You?”

“No,” he sighs back, eyes so heavy they sting. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Yuuji responds, and Megumi smiles just at the sound of his voice. And then he feels guilty about it because he does think the morally right thing to do is probably stop involving Yuuji in his f*cked up life. But Yuuji makes his life feel way less f*cked up, that the idea of even breaking up makes Megumi want to pull his eyes out with chopsticks.

“Think I just drank too much caffeine today or something,” Yuuji murmurs on, voice washing over Megumi like bathes of light. Imbibing Yuuji’s soft whispers, quiet so he doesn’t wake up Choso, he sinks deeper into the mattress.

“You always drink too much caffeine.” His tongue is heavy in his mouth, body not feeling quite right as the exhaustion sewn into his skin starts to unthread.

“Why can’t you sleep?” Yuuji asks, as if he doesn’t know by now that Megumi is a borderline insomniac at the best of times. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, and then because he feels kind of high from sobbing, and exhaustion and confusion he adds, “I just really miss you, I think.”

“You think you miss me?” Yuuji snorts, but he can hear the lovely wonder in his voice even then.

“I know I miss you,” Megumi corrects. “I always miss you like crazy.” He almost expects Yuuji to laugh again. To chuckle and say that they just saw each other a couple of days ago, and they talk all the time anyway. To sigh and say they’re gonna see each other soon, and that he never thought Megumi would be this clingy. He doesn’t know why he expects that. Doesn't know why he always expects the worst, even out of people who have only ever done their best.

Because Yuuji just hums softly in agreement, before saying softly, “I miss you like crazy too. All the time, really. You’re up in my head near constantly. Maths and the train times and everything’s really taken a backseat in comparison to you, Meg.”

And maybe he’s only sixteen, and maybe it’s just because its three am, but that’s the most romantic thing Megumi has ever heard.

His eyes blink open, and he’s struck with a painful ache in his chest. “I wish you were here,” he rushes out, staring down at his phone like if he just thinks about it hard enough, Yuuji will appear in its place.

“Me too,” his boyfriend whispers, voice heavier than normal. “We could hang out tomorrow? After school?” And there’s a desperation to his voice, matching the hunger in Megumi’s heart.

“I can’t,” he sighs in response. “I’ve got this sh*tty school event.”

“Oh. Well, this weekend then. I’ll take you out on a real swanky date. With starters and everything. Tell me about the event?”

“It’s kind of like a sports day thing,” Megumi tries to explain. A sports day on black tar heroin. “We’re competing with our sister school from Kyoto.”

“That sounds cool,” Yuuji says, sounding genuinely enthusiastic about it. “It would be sick if I could come watch you. I’d be your sexy cheerleader.”

“Shut up, Yuu,” he replies, even though he’s laughing. Dropping his head back down onto his pillow, his eyes slide shut to the sound of Yuuji giggling about how he could rock a skirt. If Megumi wasn’t so exhausted, that image would send him reeling. “And you wouldn’t wanna watch,” he adds. “I think I’m gonna get the sh*t kicked out of me, to be honest.”

“Nah,” Yuuji says, unaware that Megumi’s already fallen asleep to his words, arms thrown across the mattress lazily, legs sprawled out under the duvet. “You’ll give them hell, baby.”

Chapter 12: Can I Call You Back?

Chapter Text

Megumi decides he’s going to stop underestimating the power of a good night’s sleep. Realistically, it’s probably not the biggest change he could make in his life. But baby steps and all that sh*t. He’ll get there one day.

He’s really starting to believe he’ll get there one day. It’s a nice feeling. Thinking about the one day.

It helps to imagine Yuuji in it. Even as the guilt at pulling his boyfriend into this world threatens to flay him alive, it still helps. He doesn’t remember when it started. When he started imagining a future. A proper future, with Yuuji in it. Not just in it, but a future where Yuuji is it. And it all becomes a little bit easier. Believing in the one day. Believing in the love that Gojo promised might be worth it all. Be worth everything.

After a full eight hours rest, a phone call with Yuuji, breakfast Gojo teleported from Bordeaux and a freshly washed uniform, he stands beside his classmates feeling lighter than he has in a while. He might even go so far as to say he’s happy. Stood beside his friends, knowing that Yuuji’s going to be safe and the whole Choso thing will get sorted out. Yeah, he’d say he’s feeling happy.

And there’s nothing that makes him even happier than beating the absolute f*ck out of assholes (apart from his boyfriend and his family and his friends and ginger sprinkled over onigiri). Especially when those assholes are Kyoto students. And especially when his bitchy cousin, sh*thead of an ex-crush, and Todo Aoi are those Kyoto students.

“Someone’s in a better mood,” Nobara points out as she saunters over to him, leaving the second years to themselves. She leans her chin on his shoulder, arching a brow up at him. “Yeah,” he nods, running his tongue over his teeth. “All good now.”

“Great,” she smirks. “I was getting super sick of your little gay meltdown. It was exhausting to watch.”

“f*ck you.” Scowling, he easily shoulders her off of him. She just giggles in response, an infuriating sound, as she steps away, skirt flailing around her legs. “I wasn’t having a meltdown.”

“Oh, you totally were. At least now I know all you need to get over it, is getting laid.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he stutters out, getting more irritated because he can feel his face reddening, which just makes him blush even more. This girl is going to be the death of him before any curse. He doesn’t understand what he did to be forced to live amongst the most infuriating people that walk this earth. Maybe he was a tyrant in his past life. A curse malicious enough and base enough to rival Sukuna. Even then, he doesn’t know if that would be reason enough for gifting him Gojo Satoru and Kugisaki Nobara.

“I didn’t-I wasn’t even-I stayed at Gojo’s place last night, asshole,” he hisses, ignoring the way Nobara’s watching him through narrowed eyes, like she doesn’t quite believe him. “I needed his help. Needed to talk to him. I wasn’t…I didn’t even see Yuuji.”

“Okay,” she shrugs, hands on her hips. “So all you needed was a hug from your dad, I get it.”

“He is not my dad,” Megumi splutters in protest, even as his heart sinks weirdly at his own words. f*ck his entire life, why is Nobara trying to terrorise him like this? For a moment, he considers swiping her legs out from underneath her, yanking her into a spar before she can do anything about it.

“Freud would have such a field day with you, Fushiguro,” she wheezes, hysterically laughing to herself. “You are literally the poster child for father complexes.”

“Well done, dumbass,” he rolls his eyes, easily yanking her into a headlock as the second years make their way over to them. “You know the name of one psychologist.”

“Let go of me!” she squeals as she tries futilely to get out of his grasp, punching his arm with all her, admittedly little, strength. “You’re gonna f*ck up my hair, dickhe*d!” Crazy that this is what she is concerned about, but Megumi doesn’t have time to ridicule her any further before Panda is yanking the two of them apart.

“Get it together, guys,” he grunts fondly, holding the two of them up by their collars even as Nobara swings her legs out towards Megumi in a futile attempt to kick him.

“Stop it,” Maki snaps, and Nobara instantly falls still. Megumi snorts, and suddenly two pairs of very irritated, borderline murderous eyes fall upon him. “You’re already on thin ice, Fushiguro,” Maki tells him, warningly swapping Playful Cloud from hand to hand. “Skipping out on training the day before the event, seriously?”

“What else do we expect from the kid raised by Gojo-senpai?” Panda murmurs as he sets Nobara and Megumi back onto their feet. The former starts erratically brushing her fingers through her hair, as if this is a photoshoot and not a weird, slightly less murderous version of the Hunger Games, while Megumi swallows around the lump in his throat.

“I expect more than that from my kohai,” she responds sharply, lips pressed into a tight frown. “You know how much this means, Megumi. To everyone.”

Which frankly is a crazy thing to say, because he actually couldn’t give less of a f*ck about this entire thing. He doesn’t really care about the rivalry between the two schools, or the rivalry between the Zenin twins or the rivalry between the Kamos and the Gojos and the Zenins which has somehow manifested in pitting the two schools against each other. As if by some magic, Kamo and Mai beating Megumi and Maki will solve all their issues. Like it will set Gojo Satoru’s head neatly on the chopping block, and bring Megumi back to the Zenins in chains.

But he understands that Maki cares about it all. So, he keeps his mouth shut.

“And don’t let him drag you down,” she continues, attention now directed at Nobara. “Keep focused. Keep your eyes on me, alright?” As if Nobara would need any help doing that, he thinks to himself as everyone positions themselves to ready up.

“Okay guys,” Maki says as they wait for the speaker hanging above them to start up. “This is it. We’ve got this. We’re going to bring them down to their knees.”

As Gojo’s voice rings out across the forest from the speaker, Megumi shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fingers twitching to the beat of his own heart. Here we go, he thinks to himself. Here we go. In his head, he hears Yuuji’s voice cheering him along. He doesn’t know when that happened – when he stopped hearing his thoughts in his own voice and started hearing them in Yuuji’s instead.

Give them hell, he imagines Yuuji saying. Smiling wide, all boyish and toothy and with that slightly vicious competitiveness he thinks he hides way better than he actually does. When they’re playing Valorant and he’s three rounds down, or Megumi’s keeping a faster pace on their runs and Yuuji’s left eye twitches erratically.

Honestly, Megumi kinda wishes he could see what Yuuji might be like in a situation like this. With swords drawn and fists tightened, and teeth bared. With everyone itching to spill blood. With everyone counting on spilling blood.

The thought of his boyfriend here with him definitely horrifies him. But then Megumi pictures Yuuji bringing Kamo, or Todo, or Mai down to the ground with his muscles tightened and his eyes sparkling and his mouth goes completely dry. f*cking hell, he’s down bad.

Atrociously bad. And now he desperately wants to beg Yuuji to spar with him just to see. Just to taste. Just to-

“Snap the f*ck out of it, Fushiguro.” Now that voice definitely doesn’t sound like Yuuji’s. It very much belongs to Nobara, who is clicking her fingers in front of his face with a scowl painted across her face.

“The rules of this event are very simple!” Gojo says, sounding a lot like he’s shouting into the microphone – because that is exactly the type of thing he would do. “The first team to exorcise the second-grade cursed spirit released in the designated area wins! Several third-grade and lower-grade cursed spirits will be released into the designated area as well. If a winner is not decided by sundown, the team that exorcises the most wins. There are absolutely no other rules,” he adds on at the end, singing the words.

“No murder!” Utahime’s voice chimes in. Beside him, Nobara winces, looking slightly horrified that that needed clarified at all. And beside her, Maki grins wider, kissing her teeth as she swings her blade from hand to hand.

“Yes, I should’ve made that clearer,” Gojo says, and Megumi can hear the eyeroll in his voice. “Be certain not to kill other competitors or injure them beyond repair.”

“Of course, you’re welcome to sabotage the others,” Utahime adds. “But remember, you’re all on the same side in the fight against the curses.” All of Megumi’s classmates laugh at that, Maki’s giggle ringing out louder than the rest as it harmonises with the hum of her blade swishing through the air. “This exchange event will allow you to learn about yourselves and your comrades through competition.”

“But don’t be scared to get violent, kids!” Gojo adds. “There’s no rules against temporarily injuring each other!”

“Would you shut up?” Utahime snaps, voice fraying in irritation. Megumi tries to picture the two of them, Utahime and Gojo, at sixteen themselves. Stood on the opposite sides of the same forest, just like they are now. Smiling and laughing, starving with the hunger to prove themselves. Uniforms pressed, lined up with their classmates, weapons in their own hands.

Not that Gojo would have been holding a katana, or a naginata or a tessen. Even back then, braced at the precipice of youth, ready to freefall down towards godhood, Gojo Satoru hadn’t needed anything more than himself to bring down an entire forest.

“While some degree of injury might be unavoidable, how about you all uhmm…” Utahime trails off, as if she is also now realising how ridiculous she sounds trying to encourage them to fight together. “Well...now and then, help each other out. Or something.”

“Wow Utahime,” Gojo clicks his tongue, voice dry and unimpressed. “Really inspiring. Now, let the event begin!”

“Respect your seniors, you ignorant-” Utahime snaps back, but her voice is already being drowned out by the sound of the Tokyo students’ footsteps pounding along the forest floor. Diving over upturned roots, kicking up stones and splashing over streams as they sprint.

As his breathing labours, the fresh air cutting through his chest, a smile rips its way across Megumi’s face. If he were younger, or lighter or someone else, he would maybe let out the yell of glee that threatens to burst out of him. But he is older and heavy and Fushiguro Megumi and so he settles for the grin stretching his cheeks so hard it hurts.

“Remember,” Maki calls to all of them as they come to the part of the forest where they’ve planned to split up. The Kyoto class’s plan was easy to figure out. It made sense for Todo to try and crush them all straight away – wiping them all off of the board before they even got the chance to exorcize a Grade-Four. So they decided (Maki decided) that they would split up, and try and pick off the Kyoto kids one by one.

“We are not letting Yuta come back to losers.” Her voice softens slightly, curving over Yuta’s name like it’s something she holds a little more carefully than most. “We are not letting Gojo-sensei down. And we are sure as hell not giving this to the Zenins and the Kamos.”

Nodding in agreement, Megumi glances to the side to see his classmates grinning. Nobara lets out a loud whoop, face flushed with pink, and eyes blown wide with an unhinged thrill that Megumi has only ever seen Jujutsu sorcerers wearing. It looks good on her. Especially as she leaps over a fallen tree, red hair flying out behind her like a halo. Like a Valkyrie, soaring through the skies to select the souls of the slain.

“Give ‘em hell!” Panda roars, Inumaki’s eyes crinkling in delight as they race through the forest together, peeling away from the group. Megumi goes to follow their lead, turning over his shoulder to give Maki and Nobara one last nod. But as he moves, something slams into him, bringing him down to the ground with a sickening cracking sound.

“Megumi!” He hears Nobara yell. Vision blurry and head pounding, he tries his best to gather his surroundings, letting out a hiss of irritation when he picks up on familiar Cursed Energy. He’s been trapped by a net of solid blood, swept clean off of his feet. Spitting out leaves, the shadows cast by the trees swallow him up.

“I’m fine,” he calls back to Nobara as he easily steps back onto his feet. Beneath him, the net of solidified blood seizes up and crumbles, crimson soaking into the forest floor. Crouching down into his fighting stance, it doesn’t take long to lock onto the figure in front of him. He should’ve expected this. He just always forgets how f*cking lame the clans are. “Stick to the plan!” he orders before surging towards Kamo, teeth bared and frustration searing through his veins already.

“Hello Fushiguro-kun,” the other boy muses as he easily evades Megumi’s punch, ducking out of his reach. “I’ve been waiting for this day, I must admit.” As he speaks, he easily steps further and further away from Megumi, slinking around trees and deftly manoeuvring over rocks and fallen branches. He moves like a dancer; Megumi has to give it to him. Beautifully done, each step poised and graceful. Even as crimson seeps through his eyes, pools down his wrists, and circles his fingers like a king’s ring.

He moves like a dancer, but Megumi moves with his shadows. Each step Kamo takes away, refusing to engage in close combat, Megumi slinks closer. Steps silent and swift, the darkness that seeps over everything like glue pulls Megumi closer to the other boy.

It’s as if the forest moves for them. Bending and bowing to the two heirs, similar in title only.

“You have been holding out on us, Fushiguro-kun,” Kamo says easily, even as he shoots arrow after arrow towards Megumi. He doesn’t break eye contact, looking at Megumi the same way people look at still paintings of great wars pinned behind glass, or mollified beasts waiting to die in cages. Like he knows something Megumi doesn’t. Like he can see Megumi’s own demise clearer than he can. Like Megumi hasn’t been planning his own demise his entire lifetime.

Yuuji looks at him like he’s an idiot. And like he’s the funniest guy in Japan. And like him reaching up to pick something off of the top shelf at the konbini is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Yuuji looks at him like he’s another sixteen-year-old boy. A sixteen-year-old boy he might like just as much as Megumi likes him.

“We were not aware your Jujutsu had manifested this strongly yet.” It is so insanely creepy how these clan freaks talk about themselves as one entity. Like they’re not just a bunch of traditional, insane misogynistic pigs but some hivemind of Gods. “It is very impressive to be this strong this young, Fushiguro-kun,” Kamo says. As if he’s not two years older than him.

Megumi thinks about how last year, his heart might’ve stopped at Kamo saying his name. He would’ve blushed under his attention, eyes widening and throat drying and knees buckling. Now he just really wants this guy to f*ck off and leave him alone.

Tired and irritated and slightly frantic at the idea of losing the good mood he only just managed to snatch up, he decides to switch up tactics. He goes on the offence, desperate to hurry this thing up, and yanks out a tanto from his shadows before he lets himself fall through them. Spinning the blade in his hand, he manages to step back into the sunlight right out behind Kamo, slashing at his arm.

Hissing with pain, the other boy slides out of the way, narrowing his eyes in Megumi’s direction. “Shikigamiusers who can fight this well in close combat are precious.”

“Good thing you’re not even competent enough to land a hit on me then,” he shrugs in response. Arrows whir past him, sloppier with Kamo’s clear frustration. He lets his flying toads snap them in their tongues before they even get to him.

“I am trying to sympathise,” Kamo hisses. “Someday you will be one of those supporting the major clans. We will work together in the near future.”

“Are you people ever gonna let that sh*t go?”

Kamo hesitates for a moment, and Megumi can’t tell if he’s cringing at the swearing, or the blatant disrespect for everything he holds in high regard. “That is not how this works, Fushiguro-kun.”

“Well, then we’re just going to have to kill each other, because like f*ck am I ever working with you. Might as well just get it over and done with now,” he adds, tilting his head. Because even though they are not allowed to maim or kill each other, everyone knows the rules apply a little differently to the clan heirs. And as much as Megumi refuses to acknowledge that status for himself, he’s down to let it slide if it gives him the pass to take Kamo’s head clean off.

“I cannot afford to lose!” Kamo yells, borderline shrieking, and Megumi is panting from exertion, but he still manages to roll his eyes. Seriously, these clan people are f*cking freaks. They somehow manage to make Gojo Satoru look reasonable, normal and level-headed. An enormous feat in of itself. He just wishes they would stop trying to drag him into all of their bullsh*t.

Or at least that they would stop trying to ambush him. At least here, him and Kamo are on an equal footing. Here, with the wind rushing across his face and his hair whipping in front of his face and his blood roaring, Megumi feels kind of invincible in a way. Despite it all, despite everything, he’s always known how to do this.

Even when he was a bad son, or a bad student or a bad friend or a bad brother, he was always a good fighter. And now, he’s a good soldier. Soon, he’ll be good enough to scythe them all down. All of the Zenins, if that’s what it takes.

Like Achilles, he will tear them apart with all the anger of a twelve-year-old boy. With all the anger of a twelve-year-old boy with shaking fists and trembling teeth. With all the anger and rage and vengeance of the twelve-year-old boy who was never allowed to be kind, but never meant to be cruel.

The world’s balance might have shifted when Gojo Satoru was born, but the Zenin’s downfall was inked as soon as their blood ran through Fushiguro Megumi’s veins.

Just as he manages to duck out of the way of an arrow of blood, crimson splattering across a tree and licking itself across his cheekbone, his phone rings in his pocket. He pauses in his tracks, which in turn causes Kamo to do the same, looking at Megumi like he’s grown a second head.

“You can’t be serious,” the other boy says, tone dropping way back down to normal volume due to pure confusion and disbelief. “You’re joking. This is a joke,” he chokes out as Megumi flicks the blood off of his fingers before sliding his hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone. There’s only three numbers set to go through Do Not Disturb. And only one of those has Yuuji singing the Attack on Titan theme as its ringtone.

“Hey, Yuu,” he starts, narrowed eyes sliding to Kamo as the other boy’s shoulders slump in what he thinks might now be defeat. “I’m actually kind of busy right now.”

“Kind of busy?” He hears Kamo repeat under his breath, scratching the back of his neck as he waits for Megumi to finish. Well, at least the guy was raised to have some manners.

“You think I could call you back later or-”

“Nah.”

Megumi almost drops his phone at the response. It’s not his boyfriend on the other line. And suddenly he is twelve years old again, on his tiptoes and trying his best not to sob because he has no idea how to make everything better. No idea how to save himself. No idea how to save anyone.

“I don’t think he’s gonna have a lot of time to call you back,” Naoya continues, and the sick suddenly churning in Megumi’s stomach only rises further and further. The blade falls from his palm. He is no longer sixteen and invincible.

His fingers tremble around the phone. “I swear to Tengen if you’ve touched him, I’ll-”

“You’re not going to do sh*t, Megumi,” Naoya snorts, poison dripping from his words all the way into Megumi’s ear. “All you’re gonna do is what I tell you to, alright?”

“What do you want?”

“You dead,” Naoya replies easily. “Same thing I’ve wanted since your whor* mother birthed you. I want you strung up by your neck in front of the entire clan, while they bow their knees to me. I want to keep the promise I made to you all those years ago, baby cousin. I want a grave deep enough for you and the whor* twins, and I want to piss on it.”

“You’re repulsive.” Knees buckling, back hitting a tree, bark digging into his shirt. Scrambling and scrambling and scrambling.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Naoya clicks his tongue chastisingly, seemingly bored by the conversation now. “Look, it’s your life or his, mongrel. Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be.”

“You’ll let him go?” Megumi rushes to clarify, hating the way his voice comes out broken and desperate. But he doesn’t think he’s ever been anything else when it comes to Itadori Yuuji. He thought he’d get to be happy. Thought he’d get to be proud and fearless and happy with Yuuji.

“If I come to you. If I let you kill me, you won’t touch him?”

“Sure. If you come alone, and ready to die, I’ll let him go. I swear on the honour that is my name.” And that doesn’t mean a f*cking thing. They both know it doesn’t. But what choice does Megumi have?

What choice has he ever had?

“Okay,” he breathes out, because that’s the only thing left to say.

“I knew you were a smart kid, Gumi-chan,” Naoya hums, before there is a clicking sound and the line goes dead. Megumi’s head hangs, hands falling back down to his side. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe. And then something pinches his cheek, and he glances up to see Kamo in front of him, and to the side to see an arrowhead buried in the tree behind him.

“What the hell was that?” Kamo demands, another arrow already knocked back and positioned right for Megumi’s forehead. Lips parting, he shakes his head lightly, unable to speak. And then his own shadow is swallowing his corporeal body up, because he cannot allow Kamo to kill him. Now, more than ever before, his life matters.

He stumbles out into the school’s garage, shoes hitting against the concrete floor. It’s easy to snap up Ijichi’s keys from their place on the wall. It’s easy to unlock the door to his car, falling into the driver’s seat.

And then it’s easy to scream. Cursing Naoya, and himself and his father and mother and Gojo and Tsumiki and Tengen himself. He screams and pounds his fist on the steering wheel and trembles with the overwhelming desire to break something. Preferably Naoya’s face. Maybe his own. He screams and yells and roars like the stray hound everyone has always told him he is. The hound, grieving and pitiful and screaming at the sky because there isn’t anything else to do.

f*ck, he was so selfish. And worse than that, he was stupid. So insanely stupid to think he could do this. Live two separate lives, without the rotting, awful flesh that is his godforsaken life seeping into Yuuji’s life too. Each word he speaks is always sharp and his tongue is coated with blood and his world is literally haunted with the embodiment of everything cruel and wretched and desolate.

But somehow, everything he said to Yuuji had felt soft. Yuuji had made him feel like a goddamn poet. Screenshotting jokes he would text, or writing words Megumi used down in his notes app, or scribbling whispered words down on the back of receipts, or notebooks or the palm of his hand.

“I just like the way you say things,” he had told Megumi one night, back when they were still only friends. “Sometimes you say something and I just-I’m like woah. And I never want to forget it. So, I make sure I don’t.”

Somehow, every time he kissed Yuuji he would forget everything in favour of the feeling of chapped lips and dry, pink hair beneath his fingers and a strong nose pressing against his cheek.

“What the hell are you doing?” Megumi had demanded another night, when the friendship had turned into the something more. Yuuji looked up at him with his big, doe eyes and the Xbox controller had gone slack in his hands. “You’re trying to distract me,” he had said pointedly, because Yuuji liked taking advantage of Megumi’s weaknesses like that.

“Yeah,” Yuuji had murmured, and Megumi couldn’t look away from his lips. “Is it working?”

Somehow, Yuuji kept the curses at bay. The embodiment of kindness. He’d been all Megumi’s. Even if just for a couple of months, Megumi had felt the sun’s light against his skin in Yuuji’s bedroom. Heart incarnate. Yuuji was the type of boy wars were started for.

Sat in the car, panting heavily and fingers trembling around the steering wheel, Megumi thinks he finally understands Gojo. Pushed to ruin by Geto Suguru, and seemingly quite happy to go along with it all. He finally understands Achilles, and realises all at once that there is no such thing as a good soldier. Like Achilles, his heart breaks and the only way he can imagine fixing it is with carnage.

Rolling back his shoulders, he goes to turn the key in the ignition, when someone clears their throat beside him. Head snapping to the side, he comes face to face with the devil himself.

“Get out of the car, Megumi,” Gojo says, and he’s not smiling. Not amused, not entertained. It’s all very unlike Gojo Satoru. His nose is scrunched up under his blindfold, and Megumi can tell he’s one thing away from snapping. It doesn’t happen often, especially not anymore since Megumi is no longer a bratty preteen, but he’s always been able to tell when Gojo’s genuinely pissed off. This is clearly one of those times.

And Megumi is definitely about to be the one thing that makes him snap. Isn’t he always? It might be the only thing he knows how to do. Making people bleed. Gojo Satoru most of all.

“Go away.”

“Get out of the damn car!” Gojo explodes, fist slamming down on the roof of the car. Megumi doesn’t say anything else, fingers already trembling where he’s gripping the wheel so tight, he’s half surprised the damn thing hasn’t snapped. How the f*ck does Gojo even know anything about this? The man must have a f*cking listening device attached to his phone or something.

“Alright,” Gojo sighs, shoulders tight with irritation. “f*ck it.” And with that he’s straightening up, and crossing easily over to the other side, before the door is being flung open and Gojo drops into the passenger seat. “You don’t even know how to drive, you little sh*t,” he tells him pointedly, gesturing to the gear stick. “If we want to even get anywhere, we’re going to have to swap seats.”

“What’re you talking about?” Megumi hisses, because he really, really does not have time for this bullsh*t. He has got to get out of here and get to Yuuji as fast as he can. He has to fix this mess he made. The mess he has silently been stewing in since he was twelve. Since he was born with his name and his blood and his father’s eyes.

“I’m coming with you,” Gojo shrugs. “Obviously.”

Megumi is now one second away from committing patricide. “Can you stop f*cking around and get out? I’ve not got a lot of time here.”

“I’m not the one f*cking around,” the man spits back, voice sharp and cold and painfully unlike Gojo. “You’re the dumbass who tried to get in a car you don’t even know how to drive so you can hand yourself over to the f*cking Zenins.” He’s never heard Gojo sound so frustrated. Never at him. Sure, at Yaga and the Higher Ups and Shoko or Nanami whenever they try to bring up a genuine concern they have over Gojo’s general wellbeing. But never at him.

He feels ten again, when the idea of disappointing Gojo felt like the worst thing that could happen. Back then, he didn’t think he’d be able to bare it. But here he is, sixteen and shielding himself against it. Because now the idea of Yuuji being completely vulnerable to Zenin Naoya is a much worse, and very real, scenario.

“I wasn’t going to just hand myself over,” he tries to argue. It comes out a lot sulkier than he means it to. Gojo just stares at him, lips parted incredulously.

“Really Megumi?” he scoffs. “Then lets hear your big f*cking idea! Please, I’m dying for you to explain yourself!”

“I really, genuinely despise you, you know that?” Megumi snaps back, because he can. Because it’s the only thing he knows how to do with Gojo.

“Yeah, sure you do,” the older man clicks his tongue chastisingly. “Now get out of the driving seat so the actual adult can get us there,” he orders, gesturing to the door.

“You’re not coming,” he objects firmly. “And I don’t think your dumb ass actually qualifies as an adult.”

“f*ck, Megumi,” Gojo cries out into hands, as he kicks his foot against the bottom of the car. “How many times do I have to save you until you start to believe in me? How many times do I have to prove that I’m not leaving you alone until you start actually seeing that you’re not alone? I’m your family, and I’m not letting you go on a f*cking suicide mission, okay?” He’s panting now, voice frayed and weary, and Megumi is starting to wish this was a suicide mission, because he can’t handle this right now with everything else going on.

“I don’t-”

“Preferably I’d rather we wait and call for more backup, but if you want to go in just us, fine. Whatever. I’m sure between the two of us we can kill most of the Zenins anyway,” Gojo huffs, folding his arms into his chest like a stroppy teenager.

“It wasn’t going to be a suicide mission.” The words come out broken. As if Megumi doesn’t even believe it himself.

“Sure, Megs. You know I don’t mind waiting for you to start loving yourself, okay? It’s hard enough doing that as a teenager, I get that. Especially one that’s got all the sh*t going on that you do. I don’t mind waiting, but I’m not going to sit back and wait for you to get yourself killed. It’s what makes you a poor sorcerer, by the way.”

He literally cannot believe what he is hearing.

“Are you kidding me? This is what you want to talk about right now?”

“Why not?” Gojo shrugs, yanking his blindfold down around his neck. “No time like the present. The teacher-student review isn’t for a couple more months but f*ck it. You rely too much on your willingness to die. To summon Mahoraga. Tengen, every mission for you seems to turn into an opportunity to kill yourself. You need to get a grip, Megumi. Seriously. It’s embarrassing.”

“Maybe this is another consequence of your failed parenting!” Megumi hisses through gritted teeth. “Don’t put it on me!”

“Yeah…you’re probably right,” Gojo groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But f*ck, I can’t just…look, this happened before, and I just stood by and ignored the situation. Because I didn’t know what to say to him, or what to do to show him I cared or to…I didn’t know how to fix him. To fix it. I’m not going to make the same mistakes this time.”

“So, your idea is to instead ambush me by telling me you think I’m suicidal, and that it’s pissing you off?” Megumi questions.

“I guess?” Gojo frowns. “I don’t really know what to say here.”

“Clearly! You never seem to. And stop comparing me to all your past f*cked up relationships with people! That’s what’s f*cking this one up too!”

“Right. Cool. Please, don’t pull your punches here, Gumi-chan.” And f*ck him for using that nickname against him. f*ck Gojo for using everything he knows about Megumi against him. f*ck Gojo for knowing everything about Megumi.

“Whatever, I’m sending you to a f*cking therapist as soon as we get back from this. They’re paid to know what to say. That’s not my job.”

And like f*ck is he going to a goddamn therapist, but he’ll deal with this entire separate issue after he gets his boyfriend back from his psychopathic cousin.

“And what is your job?” Megumi demands, because he honestly is dying to know. Would love to hear what Gojo thinks he’s supposed to be doing. Because whatever he thinks he’s supposed to be doing definitely isn’t what he should be doing. And somehow, he’s still f*cking up what he thinks he should be doing.

“My job is to look after you. And Miki. And-f*ck…I know I’ve been kind of sh*t at it recently. And by recently I guess I mean the entire past decade. But I’m trying, alright? I don’t know what the f*ck I’m doing. How the f*ck am I supposed to know what I’m doing!” The last part comes out as a strangled scream, and for a moment Gojo isn’t Gojo Satoru anymore.

He isn’t even Gojo: his teacher or his pseudo father figure/his actual, genuine real father. He’s just Satoru. Satoru with the stupidest blue eyes, lined with tears of frustration. Satoru with the stupidest white hair and pitiful split ends. Satoru, who is also clearly on the edge of a nervous breakdown, breathing too heavily in this car, shoulders rising and falling in resentment.

“It’s okay,” Megumi sighs, even though it’s not. He doesn’t know what else to say anymore. He’s sick and tired for waiting for everything to be okay. For everyone to start being okay. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an okay job.”

Gojo lets out a small scoff of disbelief, and Megumi resists the urge to smack him over the head. “Right. Well, your sister is in a coma and you’re constantly trying to summon an exorcism that would end up with you dead, so I don’t know about all that.”

“I didn’t say you were doing a great job,” he points out.

“f*ck,” Gojo swears, face buried in his hands. “I gotta tell you something before we do this, okay? f*ck, I should’ve told you earlier.”

Megumi’s stomach drops. “What?”

“I lied. I didn’t- I helped Choso so he could watch over Yuuji. So, he could protect him, alright? I let Choso go, and I told him where Yuuji was and I sort of…created an entire fake life for Choso so he could legally adopt Yuuji. Like with a passport and everything. Fake degree too.”

Okay. What? What the f*ck?

“What the-what?” Megumi’s words fall out of his mouth at the same speed he tries to connect them in his head. “How- you knew about Choso before I told you? You helped him? You purposefully didn’t exorcise him? You-you orchestrated this?” he spits out in disbelief, physically recoiling away from Gojo.

“Because I knew something bad was on the horizon,” Gojo tries to defend himself, tries to explain, but the ringing in Megumi’s ears is almost too loud for him to even hear the words. “And I knew Choso wanted to keep Yuuji safe just as badly as you did. So, I managed to f*ck around with the foster system a little, tiny bit and get Yuuji placed under Choso’s care.”

“Wait. Wait - something bad?” Megumi demands, because absolutely none of this is making sense to him.

Gojo’s face falls slightly, hand landing softly on Megumi’s shoulder before he murmurs, “You went and fell in love with the vessel of Sukuna Rykomen, kid.”

“What the f*ck are you talking about?” Megumi explodes, slapping Gojo away from him. “What the f*ck is going on? Yuuji isn’t-”

“I don’t fully understand what he is yet, okay? I don’t know how he was made. But he…he’s a walking urn, Meg.”

“How did you figure this out?” he demands.

“Me and Choso figured it out together. When you were knocked out cold on the ground. He was yapping on and on about his dead brothers that you’d killed. And I could tell with the Six Eyes that they weren’t all dead, there was some Energy lingering that was definitely alive. It didn’t take long for me to realise it was lingering to you.”

“Yuuji,” he breathes out, blinking down at his own trembling hands. He thinks he might throw up all over Ichiji’s lovely new interior. Which will be a bitch in cleaning fees.

Yuuji.

“Yeah. They’ve got the same dad. Or mom in Yuuji’s case. f*ck if I know, that sh*t isn’t important right now. But Choso started tweaking out like crazy, talking about how his dad was an imposter or something. I don’t know, he wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, but I got the gist of it, I’m pretty sure.”

“I don’t even understand what you’re talking about right now,” Megumi cries out, heart thudding pitifully in his chest. And he never really understands what Gojo is talking about but this is seriously getting to him now. “Nothing you’re saying is making sense!”

“Choso was working with a group of curses in order to get his brothers incarnated into real, corporeal bodies. The cruses he was working with want to reincarnate Sukuna.”

“The King of Curses,” Megumi chokes out.

“Yeah, that asshole. In turn, they need a vessel for him. Some kind of living corpse he can use to reincarnate himself.”

“Don’t talk about Yuuji like he’s already dead,” Megumi snaps, because he isn’t. He isn’t going to die. Megumi’s going to save him. And then they’ll figure this whole Sukuna thing out. And then Megumi will leave him alone for good, taking the entire world of Jujutsu with him out of Yuuji’s life.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Gojo says easily, too easily, like he’s already decided Yuuji’s gone. “Choso realised that the boy the curses had prepared for Sukuna was the same boy I was picking up as his brother. Said that that meant the curse he was working for had to be Kamo Noritoshi.”

“He’s dead!” Megumi yells, because now Gojo has to be taking the piss. He’s ready for the laugh now. Ready for Gojo to admit this is one big, crazy joke. He’s been waiting for Gojo to say that for years now. For someone to please tell him this is all one big joke. “He’s been dead for hundreds of years.”

“Exactly,” Gojo nods, like they are at all on the same page. “Some weird sh*t is going on here, Megs. I’ve got no idea who the curses Choso was working with are. They could be any number of dangerous individuals. This is what I’m trying to tell you. If we do this, we’re not just going to try and save Itadori Yuuji, we’re attempting to steal a potentially incredibly dangerous cursed object.”

“Shut the f*ck up!” Megumi yells. “Yuuji isn’t an object, and he sure as hell isn’t a curse! He’s my goddamn boyfriend. He likes skating and Jennifer Lawrence and chocolate strawberries. And you have got to stop talking about him like he’s already dead!”

There’s a pause. And then, “In my defence, he might as well be.”

“Get out of the car, Satoru!”

“I’m just trying to help you!” Gojo argues, and that just makes Megumi want to hysterically laugh. Only Gojo could spin lying to his student for almost a month into helping him. “All I do is try and fix things for you and you just cannot help but push me away, I don’t get it!”

“Don’t you see how this is doing the exact opposite? How this might be making the entire situation worse? My boyfriend has already been kidnapped by my insane, psychopathic family! And now you’re trying to tell me that he’s…what? Been a body for Sukuna to desecrate this entire time?”

Gojo opens his mouth to no doubt argue back, but is cut off by the sound of the garage door creaking open. “Tengen, you two are so f*cking lame.” Megumi squints at the sudden influx of bright light, before realising that Maki is the one speaking, the rest of the Tokyo students stood beside her, with most of the Kyoto kids behind them. Mai and Kamo are notably missing.

“Megumi, the Zenins are not your family,” Maki snaps. “That moronic sh*t-for-brains asshole is your family.”

“And obviously we’re going to get your stupid little boyfriend back,” Nobara cuts in, hands on her hips.

“Now,” Maki claps her hands together. “We’re not all going to fit in that car, so someone better work something out really f*cking quickly before Megumi’s boyfriend gets fed some pretty rancid fingers.”

As everyone speaks around him, Megumi stays where he is. Tuning everything out except the slow thud of his own heartbeat, all he can think about is the look on Gojo’s face when he had come home that night.

The night after he killed Geto Suguru.

It’s the only time he’s ever seen Gojo cry.

Watching from his bedroom door as his guardian fell to the floor, knees buckling. A man he had started to convince himself was untouchable. Invincible. Shuddering on the tiled floor, looking like a teenager with red eyes and a raw ache painted across his face.

Watching as Gojo silently sobbed, shoulders shaking and body wracked with moans of grief. Even as he went to Gojo, unsure of what to do so flinging his arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tight. Let the older man fall into his chest, burying his face into Megumi’s pyjamas as his silent cries turned to howls.

They never spoke about it after that night.

And now it was happening again.

But this time it wasn’t Gojo Satoru with his hands dripping with blood, and a hole torn through his chest. It was his son, Fushiguro Megumi, doomed by his name and his nature and his inherited foolish, doomed hope.

Chapter 13: The Art of Jumping

Chapter Text

Then, the sky was streaked with pink, and the cityline was dotted with windows lit up with gold, shadows walking past as people went about their evening lives. Setting plates on tables, scribbling homework answers in the window seats, lounging around in gardens with beer bottles dangling from fingers. Glasses, dripping with condensation because even though it was eight pm, the heat was still washing over the summer suburbs.

While the soft song of tired laughter and easy conversation hummed over the houses, two boys were lazing on a balcony on the highest apartment. sh*tty speaker pouring out Yuuji’s music as Megumi nodded his head along, even though he hadn’t ever heard half of the songs before.

Two cartons of ice cream were sat between them, one matcha and the other raspberry. As Megumi leaned against the railing, shoelaces dangling down below, Yuuji bounced a tennis ball against the wall behind them. Each hit went with the rhythm of the song playing, following the heartbeat ringing against Megumi’s chest.

“Gimme some of yours,” Yuuji demanded, words warbled around the spoon in his mouth as he gestured to the matcha ice cream.

“f*ck off, Itadori,” Megumi snorted, any heat that might’ve been behind his words stolen by the sweltering sun. “You should’ve picked a better flavour.” Yuuji didn’t even like raspberry – he had just been so caught up in the idea of picking something that matched his hair again.

Giving up with the tennis ball, Yuuji shuffled over to where Megumi was sitting at the edge of the balcony, also draping his legs through the railing to lightly tap his ankle against Megumi’s. “Baby,” Yuuji grinned, like he already knew Megumi was going to give in. “Give me a taste, c’mon.”

“Sounds like a you issue, baby,” Megumi rolled his eyes in response, manoeuvring his ice cream so it was on his left, out of Yuuji’s reach.

“God,” Yuuji sighed wistfully, leaning his forehead against the iron railing and smiling softly.

“What?” Megumi pressed, letting their ankles cross each other’s.

“I like it when you call me that.”

“I was saying it sarcastically,” Megumi argued, face flushing crimson as he tore his attention away from Yuuji to look back out towards the city below them.

“Yeah, I know,” Yuuji shrugged, shoulder brushing against Megumi’s. “Doesn’t matter. Still like it.”

“You’re an idiot,” Megumi breathed, even as he dropped his ice cream back between them. “Hey,” he clicked his tongue, using his own spoon to knock Yuuji’s away before he could dig in. “Don’t contaminate them,” he said as he passed his own spoon over to Yuuji, picking the raspberry spoon out of his fingers.

“You’re such a loser,” Yuuji laughed, even as he did as told. “Yeah, this is way better than raspberry.”

“Told you,” Megumi murmured, dropping down onto his back to blink up at the sky. Yuuji followed, settling his head onto Megumi’s outstretched arm, keeping the matcha ice cream close to his chest. He hadn’t noticed the melting green dripping down onto his shirt yet. Megumi didn’t bother telling him, almost ready to drift off to sleep in the peace of the moment.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, right now,” Yuuji started, voice reverberating through Megumi’s entire body. “Where would you go?”

Nowhere, he wanted to say. I only ever want to be wherever you are, he wanted to say. But that was a bit much to say to the guy you only just started…seeing? Kissing? f*cking around with? Maybe when Megumi figured out what they actually were, then he could tell Yuuji all the insane, borderline obsessive thoughts he had about him.

“I don’t know,” he said instead. “Where would you go?”

Yuuji hummed around the spoon for a moment before pulling it out with a click of his tongue and the declaration of Florida spilling out along with it. “Florida?” Megumi repeated incredulously, unable to stop the chuckling from escaping his chest.

“Yeah,” Yuuji said, manoeuvring himself so he was lying facing Megumi, sprawled across his chest. “Florida seems sick as f*ck,” he grinned, not backing down even as he laughed along with Megumi, brown eyes crinkling in amusem*nt. It was maybe the thing Megumi liked the most about Yuuji – how unapologetically committed to his character he was. Even about sh*t like Florida.

“I mean…” Megumi tried to see where he’s coming from, even as the two of them keep laughing. “I think it would be too hot for me,” is what he landed on saying, fingers coming up to play with the back of Yuuji’s nape, running them through freshly dyed hair, curled slightly with sweat from the heat. “Even this is too hot for me,” he murmured through the soft air.

“Nah,” Yuuji shook his head, before wordlessly offering Megumi some ice cream. “We’ll just wear shorts and sh*t. You can borrow my cap to keep the sun out of your eyes,” he said as Megumi took the spoon from him.

“So, we’re going?” Megumi asked, brows raised. Yuuji smirked at him, before leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“You had ice cream on your face,” he explained when he pulled back, dropping his head against Megumi’s chest again. “Well, now I’ve said it, so we’ve got to go.”

“Right now?”

“Megumi, baby,” Yuuji preened, and Megumi knew it was mostly a joke, he did, but every time Yuuji spoke to him like that he thought he might combust. His fingers stilled on Yuuji’s neck, fingertips kissing the moles dotted across his skin. “If I could take you to Florida right now, I totally would.”

“But,” Megumi finished for him, the ice cream dripping down the spoon and onto his fingers.

“But,” Yuuji nodded along. “One day though. We’ll go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think it’ll be fun. Go on all the rides and sh*t. And all those insane American restaurants where the portions are like for five people, and they give you breadsticks. And we can like f*ck around on the beaches and sh*t. It’ll be cool.”

“Sounds cool,” Megumi admitted, because even though he was pretty sure Florida was a cesspit of a State, he was beginning to see it in his head. The citrus groves. Peels of sunshine washing over Yuuji, lightening his hair, and browning his skin. Widening his smile. Dunking their heads in the sea, water spraying across their skin. Sand sticking to their feet. Peeling sunburn, and stomachs clenching with laughter and cicadas singing along with them.

“Okay then,” he grinned, because while before this he never would have felt an inclination to visit Florida, now he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather go, if he could go anywhere. Now, he can imagine an entire lifetime with Yuuji there.

Florida, with long days and a burning, bright sun. Surely there are no shadows for himself to get lost in, in Florida. No haunting ghosts, speaking Japanese in his dreams. No despicable monsters roaming the same streets as them.

“Me and you,” he murmured, dropping the spoon back into the carton to lean down and kiss Yuuji, pressing his hands against his cheeks. “Me and you and Florida.”

*

Then, Yuuji had sticky lips that tasted like matcha and raspberry and hope.

Now, Yuuji’s lips are stained with crimson. His face is almost unrecognisable from how awfully he’s been beaten, blood matting his hair. Megumi swallows down bile, eyes narrowing on Naoya, standing in front of the unconscious Yuuji.

“You’re alone then,” Naoya says, suspiciously, because he’s not an idiot. He knows, just as well as Megumi does that sorcerers, if strong enough, can hide their residuals. However, he’s betting on the fact that Naoya loves to underestimate sorcerers, and there’s no one that he loves underestimating more than Gojo Satoru, for some reason. He’s betting that Naoya won’t know Gojo can’t just cover his own residuals, but his classmates’ as well. If there’s one positive of having Gojo as his guardian, it’s that he’s a pretty f*cking powerful guardian.

He's also betting on the fact that Naoya thinks there’s no way Gojo would let Megumi walk into this situation on his own, if he knew anything about it. Honestly, Megumi had also kind of thought there was no way Gojo would let him do that. But as soon as they’d arrived here, Gojo had left him.

“Look, can you just wait like two seconds?” Gojo had argued as Megumi’s classmates spread out to take out the seemingly endless supply of curses surrounding the perimeter. f*ck knows how Naoya got them all to surround Yuuji’s school. Tengen, Megumi cannot believe Naoya is so psychotic he kidnapped his f*cking boyfriend after his damn algebra class.

Cannot believe that Gojo knew about Yuuji. Cannot believe that Gojo knew about Choso and let him go in order to protect Yuuji. Something that is clearly out of Choso’s remit, considering that Yuuji is now lying slumped behind Naoya, breathing too shallow and skin too pale.

“I can feel something dangerous here,” Gojo had told him. “Something way more dangerous than Zenin Naoya.”

“More important than Zenin Naoya?” Megumi had demanded.

“Yes,” Gojo had answered easily.

“More important than Yuuji? More important than me?”

Hesitation. Then, “Megumi.”

“Just go,” he’d sighed with a shake of his head. It wasn’t as surprising as it maybe should’ve been,

“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Gojo had ordered him, even as he was already walking away, eyes visibly moving erratically under his blindfold, Six Eyes scouring for something as Megumi stood in front of him. “Just distract Naoya until I come and get you. Do not fight him. You’ll lose, and probably die, and this will have all been for nothing. Don’t do anything stupid, Megumi.”

And then he’d vanished. After acting like Megumi was a child who was waiting to get picked up from elementary school. As if Gojo would have ever picked him up from elementary school.

*

He was only seven, and so when Megumi broke his arm at elementary school it kind of felt like the world was ending. Especially because he hadn’t broken his arm falling over on the playground, like he’d told the school nurse. He’d broken it after stumbling upon a real-life monster that was hiding behind the shed where the gym equipment was kept.

The curse had gone straight for him, and his bone had cracked with a sickening sound when he hit the concrete. He’d managed to bite down on his lip so he didn’t scream out loud, drawing the teacher’s attention, before summoning his dogs while holding his limp, crooked arm in his good hand. Pain had ricocheted down his wrist as he moved his fingers, and as soon as his dogs appeared, padding out of the shadows, he had sagged in relief.

At first, they’d gone straight to him, wet noses nudging at his scabbed over knees, because he was still too young to know how to instinctively order them to follow his silent orders. “Please,” he’d whispered, scared too be loud in case someone heard, and not trusting himself to speak without screaming. “Please, kill it!” he begged, gesturing with his head to the small curse, who was already slouching away from the boy and his magic hounds.

With one last look of hesitation, the dogs leaped. He’d sat there, fat tears rolling down his cheek as his puppies tore into the curse viciously, jaws snapping. It screamed the entire time, and he didn’t have his headphones with him to muffle the sound. His arm hurt too much to move, so he couldn’t cover his ears with his hands. He sat and waited, tears spilling over his cheeks.

Finally, when it was dead, he’d let out a strangled cry of pain and his teacher came running at the sound. The entire time completely oblivious to the two puppies that were padding along after him, following with scared, widened eyes and whimpering little barks.

“No one’s going to come,” he whined to the nurse, a desperate plea to have her just cave in and take him to the hospital herself. His dogs were distressed, silently padding around him, as if they were worried another curse might appear to attack him again. “Please.” He’d never outwardly begged so much in his life before that day.

“Your father said he’s on his way,” she lightly scolded him for whining, gently placing his broken arm onto a cushion that looked like it had never once been washed in its days at the school. Tears of frustration more than pain welled up in his eyes, because he really did not want to have to tell the nurse that his father had left three years ago and was probably dead, so he definitely had not picked up that phone.

But she sounded so sure, and all Megumi really wanted was for someone, anyone at that point, to tell him his dad was going to come home, and so in his haze of delirious pain, he even started to believe her.

“Oh wow.” He heard her speak, but all he could focus on was keeping his head low and not screeching out in pain. “How did you get here so fast? You were just on the phone.”

“Teleportation.” That familiar voice was almost as painful as his arm, but Megumi still refused to look up. Of course it wasn’t his father that had answered. His father was probably dead, no matter how many times Megumi wished on an eyelash, or a birthday candle, or a coin in a fountain. And all he had left was this sucky teenager who had introduced demons and monsters into his life, and wouldn’t leave him and his sister alone.

“You look a bit young to be a father,” the nurse commented suspiciously.

“I hear that a lot. Especially from beautiful women.”

“Gojo,” Megumi hissed, head heavy on his shoulders as he looked up from tear-stained eyelashes. “What’re you doing here?”

“They called me,” Gojo shrugged as he crouched down in front of Megumi. He was still taller than him, even with his knees bent and his head tilted. “Said you were sick,” he hummed, lifting his stupid sunglasses off of his nose and onto his head. There was a lollipop stick stuck in his mouth, Gojo twisting it around his teeth as he waited for an answer.

“My arm,” he managed to mumble, pouting down at the traitorous limb in question.

“Damn, kid,” Gojo whistled, blue eyes sparkling with something akin to understanding. “Right well, we better get you straight to Shoko, right?” Now, Megumi didn’t really like Shoko. Didn’t like the way she smelled like smoke or the way she looked at him like she didn’t understand what a child was. But she always made his colds go away, or the cuts or grazes he accidentally found on himself stitch themselves right up, so he nodded up at Gojo all the same.

“Fushiguro-san, I think it’s best if-”

“Gojo,” the teenager interrupted the nurse as he stood back up to his full height. “It’s Gojo-sama,” he said easily, with that smile that people could never figure out. It was hard to tell when Gojo was joking or being serious. But the thing was, Megumi didn’t think Gojo even knew. Megumi didn’t think Gojo knew what he was talking about most of the time.

“I think it’s best if you take Fushiguro-kun here to the hospital,” she continued on anyway, because she had no idea who Gojo Satoru was. Because she didn’t care that he was the Strongest or a Gojo. She just wanted Megumi to get his arm fixed. He missed when he had someone who just wanted to fix everything for him. Blinking down at his dogs, rubbing his fingers over his white puppy’s leathery ear, he came to the sinking realisation that he had never had anyone who just wanted to fix things for him. Apart from Tsumiki of course, but even at seven he knew a nine-year-old could want to do a lot of things that she couldn’t actually do.

“Shoko is kind of like a personal doctor, right kid?” Gojo asked as he bent down slightly, easily wrapping Megumi up in his arms, letting the boy wrap his legs around his waist. Supporting him up with one arm, he used the other to drop his sunglasses back onto his face.

“She smokes a lot,” Megumi told the nurse, because he refused to agree with Gojo on anything at that age. “She asked me if I wanted to try a cigarette once. Said it was better for me than candy.”

“Alright,” Gojo said, laughing loudly as he wrapped one hand over Megumi’s mouth, not letting go even as he licked all across his palm. “That’s enough out of you, little man. Thanks for looking after Megumi. We’ll go get that arm fixed now.” And with that, he strode right out of the nurse’s office, holding onto Megumi tight in his arms, ignoring the nurse yelling after them both about kidnapping little boys and cigarettes causing cancer.

“f*cking hell, Fushiguro. You really are a little sh*t, you know. I didn’t know kids could be so funny. Didn’t think you were developed enough for that yet or whatever,” Gojo snorted when they made it outside, opening the front door with his back. The fresh air cut right through Megumi, and as they walked down the stairs, he was jostled in Gojo’s arms, and reminded sharply that his arm was broken.

He burst out into tears, and Gojo’s face quickly went from amusem*nt to horror. He seemed to be so caught up in the fear of a crying child, that he teleported them straight to Jujutsu Tech, stood right on the pavement in front of the school. “Shoko!” he barked, voice reverberating around Megumi’s entire body as he buried his face in Gojo’s chest. Good hand clutching the teenager’s shirt, because even though he despised Gojo Satoru for refusing to leave him alone when it wasn’t Gojo he wanted, Gojo was still all he had.

“We’ve got an injured soldier here!”

Gojo was the one who had come. It was Gojo’s arms placing him softly down on the infirmary bed, even as Megumi cried out louder in protest, just wanting someone to hold him again. It was Gojo who held Megumi’s head in his hands as Shoko’s Cursed Energy wrapped around his arm, something infinitely better than any sling. Gojo’s untouched, unblemished fingers running through Megumi’s hair as he sobbed in pain. Gojo who smiled sadly down at him after Shoko was done, jumping up onto the infirmary bed beside him and letting Megumi crawl onto his lap.

“What happened, kid?” Gojo asked, because somehow Gojo could tell it wasn’t just about the crack in his bone. Even back then, Megumi had been convinced Gojo always seemed to know because of the Six Eyes. Even now, Megumi doesn’t realise Gojo just always knows what Megumi’s thinking because he knows Megumi.

“There was a monster,” he whimpered, lips still quivering despite the numbness of his arm.

“A curse,” Gojo gently reminded him, because apparently it mattered in the Jujutsu world what you called the haunting beats that roamed the streets. “There was a curse.”

“Yeah,” he sniffled, rubbing at his own eyes before he summoned his dogs, little fingers taking a couple of tries at the hand movement before they appeared, yapping and tails wagging. They were always happier at Jujutsu Tech. Shoko snorted with amusem*nt, cigarette tucked behind her ear as the dogs sat beneath Gojo and Megumi’s intertwined legs, dangling down towards the tiled floor.

“I couldn’t do anything,” he whined. “My dogs had to kill it. I was scared,” he admitted. “You weren’t there. I didn’t know what to…I don’t know what to do when you’re not there.”

“You did the right thing,” Gojo said, like he was certain. Megumi didn’t understand how a teenager could be so sure of anything like that. But he supposed most teenagers weren’t the Six Eyes. Most teenagers didn’t have the weight of Limitless on their shoulders. The burden of Godhood placed upon the crown of their head.

“I didn’t do anything,” he argued, tired and weary as he let Gojo pull him into a soft hug.

“You were brave, Megumi,” Gojo told him as he tucked the boy’s head under his chin. “That’s all you have to be, kay?”

“But I’m little,” Megumi murmured, voice breaking off at the end into more tears. “I’m just little.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Gojo clicked his tongue, pulling back and lightly tapping Megumi’s chin so he looked up to meet his eyes. “That doesn’t matter at all, kid. Besides, you’re not going to be little forever. One day, you’ll be as tall as me. Or at least as tall as Shoko. And anyone who ever made you feel little or small is going to regret it. But for now, just be little. You can be little and brave, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated. “Okay.”

“Now,” Gojo smirked, clapping his hands as he wrapped his arms around Megumi again. “Does the patient get a lollipop or what?” he asked, eyes darting up to look at Shoko, who was preoccupied trying not to tread on the two puppies that were running around in circles at her feet. “And what about one for his favourite guardian?”

*

“How did you find us?” Naoya asks, running a hand through his sh*tty ass hair with his sh*tty frosted tips. Really, he is such a f*cking cliché. The c*nt with frosted tips? If Megumi wasn’t so homicidal right now, the whole thing would be more embarrassing.

“Picked up on your Cursed Energy,” Megumi shrugs in response, fingers twitching irritatedly at his side. “Look, I’m here now,” he says through gritted teeth, trying his best to remember what Gojo told him. Don’t do anything stupid. It was a relatively easy order to follow, in theory.

In practice, not so much. Because Megumi has always had a childish temper. And with each second, Naoya’s grin is widening, and Megumi’s patience is fraying. With each second, Yuuji’s breathing is becoming shallower, the blood streaked across his face, spilling from his mouth, drying against his skin. And while Megumi can hear Gojo’s voice in his head, Gojo’s voice is so f*cking irritating, it generally makes him want to punch something.

“Let him go,” Megumi says, voice coming out thinner than normal.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Naoya laughs, glancing over his shoulder at Yuuji like he’s a dying animal he found on the road. Disgusting and pitiful and not worth his time. Megumi’s eye twitches. The room darkens. “Told some asshole that if he helped me kill you, I’d give him the kid.”

They’re stood in a gymnasium, laminated floor screeching with each step Megumi yearns to take closer. The windows are high up, red curtains drawn to cover the sunlight. Shadows draw in, sharpening with Megumi’s wrath. Throat bobbing, he looks past Naoya towards Yuuji again. Slumped under a basketball hoop, like a corpse cut down from the gallows.

There’s blood browning his new white sneakers. Megumi’s never seen him so still. Lips slightly parted, chest struggling to rise and fall. Strong, tanned legs laying limp and fragile. Untouched, unblemished fingers reaching out, face up. There’s an old Hello Kitty band-aid peeling off of his elbow. It’s almost comical, how it stands out against the rest of his beaten body.

Megumi has never been more furious. Never has his blood flown so red through his veins. Never has his maw been so tight, teeth snapping and starving to rip out Naoya’s throat. Part of him is ready to stand on the battlefield because who is he if not a child of war? A soldier from birth, abandoned and discarded by all but the call to arms. He was born from the muddied blood, the murky waters of war. It is why the Zenins desire him so badly.

Megumi is so angry he thinks he could scream until he made the Kamis' ears bleed.

Megumi has never been more furious. But he has also never been more frightened.

And because he is sixteen, that wins out.

“What?” The words that fall from his mouth are broken. “But you promised.”

Naoya sneers. “You’re so pathetic, Megumi. At least that’s one thing that tool of a Gojo has right. He doesn’t care whether he’s worthy of something or not. Doesn’t care if he deserves it. Just cares that he wants it. And if he wants it, he takes it.”

“Gojo doesn’t want anything from you,” Megumi protests.

“Not true,” Naoya hums, face painted with a repulsive smugness. “He wanted you.”

“The f*ck are you talking about?”

“How do you think he got the Zenins off your back?” Naoya laughs, head thrown back. The imagery of slicing his throat out is so visceral that Megumi falters slightly, taking a step backwards. “You think he could have taken on the whole clan and won? Really?”

“Shut up,” Megumi snaps, because they both know Gojo could’ve. He still could. Could decimate the entire clan with a blink of his eyes if he wanted to.

“There’s a contract,” Naoya says, dragging out the words around his teeth. Each syllable hits Megumi in the gut. “He bought you from us.”

“Shut the f*ck up.”

His temples are thudding violently. “Gojo owns you,” Naoya snorts. “For now, at least.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.” And he’s starting to sound genuinely frustrated that Megumi isn’t listening to him. “There’s a provision. Says you only become your own person when you finally get control of your cursed technique. That’s why the Zenins are biding their time. They’re gonna come for you as soon as Gojo’s ownership runs out. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

And with that, and a squeak of shoes against the gymnasium floor, Naoya is moving at a rapid speed, and a sharp pain is burying itself into Megumi’s side.

And with that, Megumi roars, his shadows roaring with him, an endless, monstrous army rising its haunches.

Because Megumi might be a sixteen-year-old, but he is a sixteen-year-old who has been raised by Gojo Satoru, alongside other slightly deranged Jujutsu sorcerers, and he is fierce. He might still be relatively little, like a whole five inches shorter than Naoya, but he is brave and fierce and scrappy and also slightly deranged himself.

He is a sixteen-year-old boy who has smashed his fair share of controllers against his walls. He is a sixteen-year-old boy who is as addicted to winning as his blood father, and as aggressively competitive as his real father.

He is a sixteen-year-old boy who is painfully in love with Itadori Yuuji. And while he might’ve got his kiss, that for sure as sh*t isn’t enough for him. He wants everything with Itadori Yuuji. He isn’t dying a f*cking virgin to the hands of Naoya Zenin.

*

The first thing Megumi felt when he woke up that morning, that first morning of freedom, twelve years old and severly exhausted, was terror. At the Zenin estate, he’d gotten used to holding his breath. It was almost second nature at that point, to keep his eyes closed and his breathing even. He was so good at playing asleep, only a step away from playing dead, that even Gojo Satoru in all his omniscience didn’t realise he was awake.

“Yeah. He’s fine now. Well, I don’t know. No. Shoko said he’ll be alright eventually. I just…you don’t know what they do to kids in the clan. Oh, she did, did she? Yeah well, she doesn’t know sh*t about it either. Neither of you did. You still don’t know sh*t. You didn’t…you weren’t there.”

As soon as he heard Gojo’s voice, he remembered what had happened the day before, and a thread of hope started to needle in at his chest. He cut at it immediately, because he’d had dreams so vivid they had felt real before. It felt like every night spent at the Zenin estate consisted of false memories of escaping, being freed, murdering every single Zenin he could before eventually running.

In the months that he had spent as a gilded prisoner, Megumi had learned that while grief was an amputation, hope was a far more excruciating wound. Clotting, but still bleeding out slowly. Until it kills.

“Whatever. You used to be way better at consoling me, dickhe*d. You always knew what to say.” There was a pause in Gojo’s words, and Megumi used the time to try his best to figure out whether last night had been real or not. “Yeah. I guess I never did. Never pretended to be good at that though...Well, it’s different with kids. I don’t-look I’m not asking for f*cking parenting advice. Besides, girls are different than boys. And it’s not like yours have issues like this to deal with. The worst thing in their lives is their asshole of a daddy.”

A click of tongue. Colourful swearing. The sound of something being thrown at a wall with Cursed Energy. Shattering.

The shattering snapped Megumi out of it. Dream or not, he had to be ready. As he opened his eyes, he leapt up, bare feet dropping to the floor. Teeth bared, his hands clapped together, and his dogs were by his side, maws snapping and growling in warning already.

Megumi scanned for the danger, faltering when all he found in the room was Gojo Satoru, blindfold pulled down around his neck and looking a little feral, and a smashed iPhone 6.

“Hey kid,” Gojo said, a small smile on his face. It was a little creepy, the smile. Like he was trying not to cry or something. And the thought of that really freaked out Megumi.

“Hey,” he replied, clearing his throat and awkwardly stepping out of his fighting stance. But as he moved, he grimaced in pain, trembling legs buckling in on themselves. “Oh,” was all that punched itself out of his mouth before he was falling onto the tiled floor of the infirmary. Huh. So that’s where he was. Back at Jujutsu Tech. Always in that damn infirmary.

Not a dream.

Instead of cracking his knees on the tiles though, he found himself in Gojo’s arms, being swept up and firmly place back on the infirmary bed with the familiar scratchy hospital sheets. “You okay?” Gojo asked before cringing at himself, tired hand coming up to dig into his hair. He was trembling too.

“Sorry,” Gojo huffed in a poor attempt at humour. “Stupid question.”

“It’s whatever,” Megumi shrugged. “I’m used to you asking stupid questions.” Gojo laughed at that, sounding like himself for a moment. And then he kind of folded in on himself, before he was reaching forward and pulling Megumi into his chest, blunt nails scraping the back of his neck as Gojo prodded at him, as if making sure Megumi was really there.

“We’re gonna get you some more shikigami, kay?” He heard Gojo say, even as he returned the hug, bringing his arms filled with lead up around Gojo’s waist. “So you can properly protect yourself. So something like this never happens again.”

“Why…why did it take you so long to come?” Megumi found himself asking back, eyes screwed shut. There was a moment of a heavy silence, before Gojo was stepping back, Megumi’s arms falling back to his side. “Look, I couldn’t just…” Gojo trailed off with a frustrated sigh, before he crouched down, so they were eye level with one another. “I couldn’t just come in and kill all of them.”

“Isn’t that what you did anyway?”

“They attacked first.”

He really didn’t understand why that mattered, but nodded all the same. “Oh. Okay.”

“Megumi, I wanted to come and get you so bad, okay? The entire time. I was going crazy here.” Megumi would’ve preferred to go crazy safe at home than be tortured at the Zenin Estate, but he didn’t say that out loud.

“There was just-I had to do it a certain way,” Gojo continued, working his bottom lip through his teeth. “I had to figure some sh*t out first.”

“And you got it figured out?” Megumi asked. He shuffled in place, the feeling familiar ache of pain thudding dully around his body. He knew he would need to ask for Shoko soon, bones too heavy in his body and blood too hot in his veins. But first, he needed Gojo to tell him what the hell was going on.

“Yeah,” Gojo nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

“What was it?” Megumi demanded. The older man sighed heavily before wrapping his arms around Megumi again, tucking his head under his chin as he hugged him tighter than he ever had before. “You’re a kid, Megs. Just be a kid for now. Let me worry about all of the bullsh*t, okay?” And he thought it was kind of ironic, that Gojo trusted Megumi enough to defeat more of his shikigami, that he trusted Megumi to tame an entire gigantic evil snake, but not enough to tell him his secrets.

“Just…” Megumi trailed off. “I don’t want that to happen again.”

“It won’t,” Gojo answered instantly. “I promise you it won’t, Megumi. I won’t let it.”

*

Blood coats Megumi’s hands as he hisses through his teeth, eyes narrowing at the wound sliced through his jacket. At least the crimson isn’t super obvious. Probably won’t leave a stain. Huh. Maybe that’s why the uniforms are black. He’s never thought about that before.

But now, it’s all he can think about. Especially as he refuses to think about the bullsh*t Naoya was spouting about Gojo. He’s got too much sh*t piling up on his plate right now to add to it.

He wipes his wet hand off on his sleeve, blinking back up towards Naoya. Standing there, breathing considerably harder than before, he suddenly notices something he hadn’t before, too focused on his unconscious boyfriend. The asshole’s left eye is slightly swollen, a blemish of purple already blossoming beneath it.

Megumi doesn’t bother stopping the grin that spreads across his face, slightly manic as he goads, “You let a normie get a hit on you?” Whistling amusedly, green eyes dart towards Yuuji, before landing back on Naoya.

Too late though, because Megumi is already knocked onto the floor, wind punched straight from his lungs as Naoya stands over him, twirling his pretentious tantō in his fingers. “If the Zenins hear about that, you’ll be disowned for sure,” Megumi wheezes, eyes tearing up.

“Good thing you and the monkey are gonna be dead before anyone hears about it,” Naoya hisses, leaning down and lifting Megumi up from the linoleum floor by his hair.

“Maybe,” he stutters out. “But they’re still gonna see that shiner my boyfriend landed on you, dipsh*t.” And in the frame that Naoya moves in, pulling his forearm back to strike a blow to Megumi’s face, he manages to drop to the floor, and hide amongst his shadows. He bites down on a cry of pain, swearing colourfully as he presses his own shadow against his side, trying his best to stem the bleeding. He cannot believe Naoya is such a coward that he’s resorted to using a dagger. puss*.

“You’re gonna bleed out before you get a hit on me, mutt.” Naoya’s voice rings out, and Megumi watches him from the safety of his shadows as he stalks along the length of the gymnasium. If the Zenins really thought he was a feral mongrel, they should’ve pulled his teeth out if they ever wanted a shot at domesticating him.

“Yeah?” he laughs as he slides out of the darkness back into the dim light, Kon at his side, snarling in Naoya’s direction. “You’re the one that needed to get in reinforcements to kill a sixteen-year-old, asshole.” With that, Kon darts forward, paws thudding against the floor as his jaw widens, ready to tear at any limb of Naoya he can reach.

While the guy’s distracted for a moment, Megumi quickly summons all of his Cursed Energy into pooling all of the shadows in the room he can reach into one big wave of darkness. As he stands on one side, Naoya on the other, he can see the exact moment the other sorcerer hesitates. With a snort of amusem*nt, the tsunami of darkness is rushing towards Naoya.

Naoya uses his technique to dart away, but the darkness doesn’t let up. Megumi doesn’t let up. Not as he lets his own wave wash over him, and he stalks within in towards Naoya, pushing the asshole away from Yuuji. And with a smirk, he flicks his fingers forward, and Orochi bursts from the wave, floorboards splintering as it snaps towards Naoya, the painted basketball court ruined.

The serpent can’t hold Naoya in its jaws for long, the asshole using his technique to escape easily, but that wasn’t Megumi’s aim. No, Naoya fell for the bait easily. Hook, line and sink as Megumi bursts out from the shadows to Naoya’s side, sailing through the air with his hands wrapped around his blade, falling straight for Naoya’s neck. While he manages to cut at him, blood spraying onto Megumi’s own face, Naoya still darts out of the way, keeping his head attached to his neck. Snarling with irritation, and the knowledge that he is slowly running out of time here, Megumi flicks his shadows up onto Naoya’s hakama. Slowing his movement down enough so he can’t effectively use his technique, Megumi swings at Naoya again and again, reducing the fight to more of a close combat brawl than anything else. They both dance around each other, Megumi refusing to let Naoya touch him, and Naoya darting away from the shadows that constantly creep in towards him.

“You’re so predictable, mongrel,” Naoya sighs, sweat dripping from his face. Rolling his eyes, Megumi keeps switching between defence and offence, the hilt of his blade slick from his own sweat, when suddenly he feels something familiar press against his Technique. Gojo is still dimming Nobara’s Cursed Energy so neither Naoya nor Megumi can sense it. But Megumi picks up on the feeling of her shadow as soon as she drops down into the dark gymnasium, Maki’s shadow right beside her, casting their silhouettes across the wall.

Silently, his fingers twitch around his blade, before he’s throwing it towards Naoya’s head. In the single frame it takes for the older man to avoid it, Megumi claps his hands together to summon a singular rabbit, wordlessly ordering it to go to Nobara and Maki, relying on Maki to understand his plan.

“It’s a pity, honestly. What Gojo did to you. What you let him do to you. You allowed another clan to stifle your potential. You allowed the Gojos to spit all over your father’s name.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Megumi groans. “Like seriously? You love the sound of your own voice that much? Is it cause every time you tried to speak back home, your daddy slapped the sh*t out of you? No one wanted to listen to little Naoya’s stories? Your dick that small that you gotta yap this much to make up for it? Do you talk this much to the women you pay to sleep with you? Beg them to listen to you since no one else will?”

“Listen here,” Naoya hisses, drawing in closer to Megumi, green eyes ablaze with rage. “You’re a pathetic, little-”

He’s cut off by Playful Cloud emerging from Megumi’s wave of shadows and brutally smacking him against the head. “How dare you, stupid bitch!” Naoya roars, spinning in an attempt to snatch at Maki. “That weapon belongs to the Zenin Clan!”

“Isn’t it funny?” Nobara cackles as she ducks out from under the shadows too, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Poetic justice or whatever. You getting f*cked up by your cousins, with your family’s weapon!”

“You brought the whor*s as backup?” Naoya snorts in amusem*nt, as he glances back over at Megumi, not even deigning to respond to Nobara. And in typical Nobara fashion, being denied attention doesn’t go over well with her.

“Gimme that thing, Maki-senpai,” she snarls, teeth biting down on her bottom lip. “I’m gonna shove it down this dickhe*d’s throat and split him in two.”

“Concentrate!” Maki just yells back at her, at the same time Naoya bursts out into manic laughter.

“Senpai. Tengen, that’s hilarious. I’m gonna make you call me that when you’re finally fulfilling your role as your superiors’ personal slu*t.”

“You should’ve been hit a lot more as a child,” Nobara snarls, hair flying with the speed she hits her nails towards Naoya. As the two of them fight, Nobara panting with either immense rage or fatigue, Maki slinks over to Megumi. “We’ll keep him distracted,” she rushes out. “Go to your boyfriend.”

“You won’t be able to win against him. He’ll kill you.”

“Did I say we’d win?” Maki snaps, ponytail whipping as she glares at Megumi. “Or did I say we’d distract him? Now go.” She doesn’t leave room for argument, fingers wrapping tightly around her staff as she pushes forward towards Nobara and Naoya, knuckles strangled with white.

He hesitates for a moment before sprinting to the other side of the gymnasium, shoes squeaking with each step he runs. Skidding onto his knees, he drops down beside Yuuji, grasping at his boyfriend’s face as he lowers his ear towards his parted lips.

“Yuuji?” he murmurs, trembling hands moving from Yuuji’s cheeks to his neck to his shoulders. “Yuu?” He’s begging now, desperately shaking his boyfriend’s body, nails digging into Yuuji’s blazer. “Come on baby,” he pleads. “Wake up.”

He’s almost so panicked that he doesn’t notice Yuuji stirring. Almost. “f*ck,” he exhales when Yuuji’s eyes blink open one at a time, squinting in confusion. “f*ck. Piece of sh*t, you scared me,” he half sighs, half sobs, head hanging in relief. “Look, I think you’ve got a concussion. Your pupils are huge.”

It almost looks like he’s high, big brown eyes all glassy as he looks up at Megumi, grinning widely. As if there aren’t bloody handprints pressed into his skin, and bruises kissed all over his face.

“You called me baby.”

Megumi draws back in surprise, holding Yuuji up by his shirt and blinking down at the other boy. Someone had to be taking the piss.

“Can you get it together for like two seconds please?” Megumi manages to stutter out in annoyance. Glancing over his shoulder, he swears under his breath as he watches Nobara stuck in place due to Naoya, before she’s pushed to the side, body limp as she smacks against the wooden wall.

His attention is drawn back to his boyfriend when a clammy hand comes up to circle his wrist. “Yuuji. Look, we don’t-”

“God,” Yuuji breathes out, blood coating his teeth. He looks demented. They probably both look demented. Sitting here, bleeding out in their respective uniforms. Megumi, a failed soldier. Yuuji, a powerless civilian caught in his crossfire. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Itadori, for f*ck’s sake!” he cries out in frustration. Yuuji just keeps smiling up at him, all wistful and gorgeous covered in both of their blood, lying beaten half to death in his high school gymnasium, because Megumi has just spent the last four months with a gun pressed against Yuuji’s temples while distracting him with fleeting kisses and pink hair dye and promises of a future he knows is already condemned.

As Megumi sits there, white knuckled grip clutching at Yuuji’s ruined school shirt, he prays to anyone that will listen for help. Tragedy blossoming, Megumi feels his hope splintering, giving in to the familiar ache of helplessness. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, shaking his head at Yuuji, and his glassy brown eyes and his split lip. “I’m sorry, Yuu.”

And as always, the blue, burning flame of Gojo Satoru banishes his shadows from the room as he teleports himself right beside Yuuji and Megumi. Pale, unblemished hands pass over Yuuji’s face before the teenager is chuckling softly to himself and muttering, “Woah. Brain freeze.”

“He’ll be fine,” Gojo says, completely looking over Yuuji as he turns to Megumi. “Keep an eye on your boy. Don’t let him shut his eyes.”

Before Megumi can say anything else, Naoya is yelling from the other side of the room. At the same time, Gojo and Megumi both glance over their shoulders to see Nobara crumpled up at the side, blood dripping down from her hairline, as Maki stands between her and Naoya, breathing heavily.

“Gojo!” Naoya snarls, eyes wild.

“Yo,” Gojo waves, fingers dancing through the air as he straightens up to his full height. “Been a while, Naoya. Sorry kids,” he smirks, rolling back his shoulders. “Something came up. But Sensei is here now to save the day."

“f*ck you!” Naoya roars, all prior composure gone from barely winning a fight against three teenagers. “You piece of-” Gojo doesn’t let him finish, before a mass of opal light is hurtling towards Naoya at the speed of light, infinitely quicker than his Technique, and the man is being crushed into the floor by matter itself, held there as the laminated floor around him splinters everywhere.

Sharp splinters of wood spray in every direction, and Megumi throws himself over Yuuji to cover him, vaguely aware of Maki doing the same with Nobara. “What did I tell you back in 2012, Naoya?” Gojo demands, his usual giddiness at getting to fight someone gone.

“Eat sh*t, Gojo,” Naoya wheezes out, the area around him continuing to snap and collapse in on itself as Gojo pushes him further and further into the ground with Blue.

“I told you, the last time you f*cked with my kid, that it was gonna be the last time. Didn’t I? Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I did. So you wanna tell me why the hell you’re f*cking with him again?”

“He’s not your kid,” Naoya snarls. Megumi can’t even see him anymore, not as Gojo continues burying him into the soil beneath the building. The foundations crack and scream under Blue, metal supports fracturing.

“Yes, he is,” Gojo snaps back. He’s rising above the ground, hands twitching at his side as he stares down into the grave he’s punched through the Earth itself.

“He’s your property. Some sort of f*cked up prize you think you earned by killing-”

Naoya’s voice is cut off abruptly, along with the sound of the floor collapsing around them. “Gojo?” Megumi calls out as he sits up, blowing away the sawdust and grime floating around. He watches, still clinging onto Yuuji, as Gojo drops back onto the floor without a noise.

“Now,” Gojo sighs, grinning over his shoulder towards Megumi. “We have two options here. Resolve this whole thing diplomatically. Or bury this asshole alive under a high school gymnasium.”