Archive of Our Own

Megumi watches it happen in slow motion. The glint of Sukuna’s black claws against Itadori’s chest. The way they smoothly sink into the flesh of Itadori’s chest, pierce the skin and tear the muscle underneath it. Blood spurting out as the hand disappears inside the newly-created cavity. 

Megumi’s throat refuses to expand on his inhale, choking him. His body is frozen stiff. Muscles clenched as he slowly suffocates. Unable to suck in even a sliver of air through his barely parted lips.

He’s transfixed on the hole in Itadori’s chest. Eyes wide in dawning horror. Cold sluggish blood thrumming through his body as his mind attempts to process the scene. Imaginary fingers clawing into his chest, tearing him apart as he watches it happen to Itadori.

He can't look away. 

That's why he sees it in excruciating detail. The clawed hand reaching further into Itadori’s chest, the wrist twisting, as more blood spills from the wound's edges. The hand— claw —is searching for something. Then it stops short in its movements.

There’s a grin on Sukuna’s face. Teeth sharp and glinting in the light, like a shark’s right before it chomps down on its prey. Repulsive like only the darkest of curses can be.

The claw removes itself from Itadori’s chest with a wet crunch . 

It’s quick, the claw comes out a dark and bloody crimson. Thick globs of blood trailing along Sukuna’s nails, running down the fingers and along his arm. Collecting in the divots between his digits before the red droplets fall down. Dissipating in the rain, destroying the evidence as it accumulates.

There’s a heart in Sukuna’s clawed hand.

It’s still beating, slow and steady, it’s still alive. There’s blood dripping from the ragged edge of the cut off aorta. The atriums and chambers continue to contract and expand one after the other. As if the heart hasn’t realized that there’s no blood to pump around anymore. The veins and arteries running along the outside pulse. Glistening a deep red, the slick sheen of viscera making his stomach turn.

Megumi can’t tear his eyes away.

The purple-black claws are shiny with blood but the rain washes them clean as if Sukuna’s innocent . 

The small, naive part of Megumi’s mind has always believed that blood is supposed to stick to the ones committing a crime, is supposed to stick underneath their fingernails like grime, inescapable. Forever telling of what they are, what they had the audacity to do.

Yet the blood mingles with the rainwater and falls to the ground, leaving nothing behind but a beating heart.

Slow and steady. Like the cadence of feet running in tandem or the throbbing of a bass guitar, so heavy it reverberates through your body and rings in your ears.

Megumi half expects Sukuna to crush Itadori’s heart into a bloody pulp. Half expects him to tear it apart with his claws and laugh. He expects to be an unwilling spectator as his friend's heart becomes unrecognizable. Turns into pulsating muscle mush, fluttery and crimson, spilling from between Sukuna’s fingers. He fears he’ll have to watch Sukuna tear the heart in two, holding up the empty halves as they continue to pulse. He’d squeeze them, shake them so globs of blood and loose muscle tissue would fly everywhere. Splattering Sukuna’s face, his chest, the ground before them and Megumi too.

He’d taunt him with Itadori’s heart and then pulverize it, for fun.

Instead, Sukuna flings Itadori’s heart to the side with a lazy flick of his wrist. A disgusted grimace settled on his bloodied lips. As if Itadori’s heart is useless garbage, worth nothing, connected to no one, meaningless .

Next Sukuna pulls one of his cursed fingers from Itadori’s pocket. The wrinkly purple appendage dangles as he lifts it to his mouth and slowly places it on Itadori’s tongue. His mouth wide open like he’s taunting Megumi, before he closes it and swallows.

“There’s no real reason for this, but time for you to die,” the King of Curses utters, low and unaffected. Unbothered, and unconcerned with mortals and their lives, their deaths.

All Megumi can think of, all that the rapidly firing synapsis in his brain can conjure up, all he remembers is— a boy breaking through a window, four stories high. A boy attacking a curse right after it’s thrown Megumi out of a window. A boy swallowing a special grade cursed object because Megumi can’t fight and his senpai are in danger and he was told to help people .

“This is just like last time, except now the roles are reversed,” he mumbles. Itadori was told to help people and Megumi had selfishly chosen to save him.

The only thing fair about life is how unfair it is to everyone , Megumi thinks. His silent mantra grounding him. It lets him hold his conversation with Sukuna, lets him think, lets him prepare even as the gaping hole in Itadori’s chest taunts him.

The skin is ripped apart, torn like it was cut with pinking shears. It’s sagged in, too damaged to cover the muscle underneath. The tendons red and pulsating , bleeding out all over Itadori’s chest.

Megumi catches a glimpse of something white, straining underneath the muscle and his heart stutters in his chest as it registers that those are Itadori’s ribs. Fragile and exposed.

There’s blood dripping out of Sukuna’s mouth, and he wipes it like he’s taunting Megumi. Drawing attention to the damage he caused as he calls Itadori a coward, someone without guts.

The Itadori that Megumi’s known for the past month is nothing like that. The Itadori Megumi knows jumped four stories high and crashed through a window to save him and his senpai. The Itadori Megumi knows wants to save people, wants to lead them to a proper death even if the sentiment is naive. The Itadori Megumi knows laughs like the sun is always shining and lives every day as if his execution hasn’t been decided.

Megumi stares at Sukuna’s face. The four red eyes, the black markings and he imagines Itadori’s face breaking through.

Imagines the clarity in his eyes. The trust, the certainty that they’d held when he told Megumi, “Please,” signing his own death sentence with one word. 

Yet, who could’ve refused him?

Megumi had wanted to—every fibre of his being had wanted to—but he’d been met by those eyes and he’d given in.

Remorse stirs somewhere in his chest, even as he tries to squash it.

The enemy is in front of him, wearing the face of a friend. Megumi can’t afford to look anywhere but straight ahead.

He exhales, steadies himself, prepares for his first attack and the inevitable goodbye.

Resignation mixes with the fear tainting Megumi’s bloodstream.

Itadori’s going to save him again, will have saved him no matter what the outcome of this fight is, but Megumi’s going to try his hand at returning the favour first.

Sukuna sweeps Itadori’s hair back. Stands before him, relaxed as blood continues pouring out the gaping hole in Itadori’s chest.

Megumi grits his teeth and attacks.

.

.

.

“I don’t get it. Back then, why did you run away?” The King of Curses asks, voice a dangerous rumble, inquisitive and a little disappointed as he calls it a ‘wasted opportunity’. 

He’s seen through Megumi’s plan, and Megumi’s body is so heavy .

“This brat’s not worth the effort,” Sukuna states, matter of factly. 

Megumi thinks about his sister. He wonders briefly about the fairness of the world once more. He thinks about his place as a Jujutsu sorcerer, as a cog in the wheels of Retribution.

I’ll save people whether or not it’s fair .

Megumi changes his stance. Concentrates his cursed energy, envelopes himself in it and he calls out, “With this treasure, I summon—”

He stops.

There’s a little sting in his heart. Like a needle poking through the tissue, that disturbs his blood flow and tears apart the thin wall of the atrium, blood pouring out inside of him. Soaking his organs, coating his lungs, suffocating him.

The only thing fair about life is how unfair it is to everyone.

“I…” he stops, swallows, starts again.

“I didn’t save you because it was the logical thing to do,” he says, voice steady even as the world tilts on its axis. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a chill spreads through his body, like icicles on a window. He remembers that rooftop, remembers seeing Sukuna’s markings fade from Itadori’s skin. Remembers the crazed look leaving his eyes as they faded back into a soft brown and he became himself again.

“I didn’t want to see a good person, no matter how dangerous, die.” A field of flowers, at its centre a girl, her back to him. She loved him though, he loved her too. He failed to say so, not before it was too late and she remained unresponsive even when he lost his composure and begged.

“I did have to think about it,” he pauses and tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, fails as remembers Itadori’s angry and anguished, “Then why did you save me ?” 

He has an answer, now, and he’ll have to speak even as bile settles at the back of his throat.

“In the end, it was a selfish emotional decision,” he says.  Itadori reminded him of someone else, reminded him of bouquets of flowers next to a still figure in a hospital bed, reminded him for whom he turned down this path in the first place, “…but that’s okay.”

Megumi looks Itadori Yuuji straight in his honey-brown eyes. Thinks ‘ absolve him, absolve him, absolve him’ as he musters all the conviction in his drowning body and continues.

“I’m not a Hero,” he starts, and an eerie calm overtakes him, his voice is clear as still water, “I’m a Jujutsu Sorcerer. That’s why I’ve never regretted saving you, not even for a moment.”

He lowers his hands to his sides, stops them from balling into fists, and keeps his eyes fixed on Itadori.

Keeps them fixed on him as he smiles sheepishly. Eyes wrinkled shut, teeth on full display.

“I see…” he utters and there’s something like laughter in his voice, something akin to joy, even in his final moments.

Megumi hates it when he’s right about people.

He fucking hates it.

Itadori scratches the back of his head as he calls Megumi smart . He glances off to the side as he tells Megumi his way of doing things isn’t wrong but he thinks his own isn’t either.

There’s a smile resting on Megumi’s lips, even though his eyes burn.

Blood drips from Itadori’s wound and hits the tiled floor. It splatters there, stays in its disorganized puddle.

“Time’s up,” Itadori utters, his voice hoarse.

He falls like a puppet whose strings were cut. His arms swing limply at his side. It takes another second before his knees buckle and he falls forward. Crumbles, like a house of cards, that’s received one touch too many.

Megumi is forced to watch as Itadori’s body succumbs to gravity, collapses inwards under its own weight, listless, flimsy. Dead.

“ Live a long life, okay? ” Itadori Yuuji utters, seconds before his lifeless body hits the ground. Even in death, he wants his words to have meaning.

Megumi’s sure there’s a smile on his face as the light leaves his eyes, but he won’t check.

He stares up, up, up. Away .

He can’t look at the body, refuses to acknowledge its presence.

Bile rises to the back of his throat. Burns his oesophagus.

The air has left his lungs.

There’s a dam about the breakthrough. The telltale pinpricks of barely suppressed tears irritating his eyes. The beginnings of something akin to grief contorting his face.

He stares up, up, up.

Squeezes his eyes shut against the drizzle, and his blurring vision.

He imagines clear blues skies, imagines the height of summer, the sun beating down on him and warming him up. He tries to imagine them but the cold drizzle pulls him back to earth.

He opens his eyes, stares up, unblinking. His eyes burn, hurt every time a rain droplet finds its way into them but Megumi does not blink. Instead, he stares up at the overcast sky and lets the rain pour. Lets it cover him, and drench his clothes, till they’re heavy and sticking to his clothes. Cold and uncomfortable, making him shiver and shake, seeping into his bloodstream. 

He balls his hands into fists to stop his fingers from trembling, but his fists begin to shake. 

He blames the rain for his cold, wet cheeks and the water clinging to his eyelashes. Blames the rain for the salty taste in his mouth and his trembling lips.

He blames the rain for his cold and stiff body, for his dry throat and rigid stance.

The rain fizzles out minutes later but Megumi remains, wet-cheeked and shivering. 

Mere metres away from the body of his friend.

The only thing fair about life is how unfair it is to everyone .

Megumi can feel the cold from the smooth stone steps through his pants. 

It seeps past his flesh to clings to his bones. He didn’t create this chill, it does not pump out from his heart and spread through his blood that way. It does not turn his body into a mess of pinpricks and sadness.

It’s just the cold steps, messing with his homeostasis.

Kugisaki sits a little ways away, closer to the railing.

Neither of them looks at the other, nor the space between them, which is wider than it needs to be, now that it’s just the two of them. They wait in silence, holding their breaths, waiting for someone to call their names and fill the void in their midst, to fill the void preying on their hearts. 

They’re hollow as a duo.

The silence becomes grating the longer it lasts. It's a grim reminder that they won’t ever listen to Itadori’s chatter again.

“Is this the first time a friend of yours has died?” Kugisaki asks. At first, Megumi doesn’t react. He’s staring off to the side, not really paying attention to what she’s saying. She and Itadori always brabble on and on and on, bickering about everything and nothing there’s no need for him to—

He glances at Kugisaki from the corner of his eyes and is confronted with the empty air next to him where someone else is supposed to be.

She’d been addressing him, of course, who else was there to talk to?

“A classmate, yeah…” he answers, after a pause that’s slightly too long. That indicates to both of them he expected someone else to answer first.

He stares at his hands, his fingers are trembling. He barely notices, but it’s there.

He stops himself from clasping them together.

“Really? But you seem fine,” Kugisaki powers on and Megumi is a little tempted to scoff at her words. He doesn’t, he just adds the emotion to the deep pool inside of him and feels the water climb up his throat.

He wonders how long it’ll be till he can’t keep his head above water anymore.

“Look who’s talking,” he bites back, angry all of a sudden. Somehow he manages to keep his tone flat, to not lash out completely, but Kugisaki catches onto the venom hidden beneath the words anyway. His jaw’s tight, teeth clenched, and it takes everything within him not to ball his fasts. He’s cold as ice but there are shadows bubbling in his stomach, spilling over, enveloping him. A steady buzz reverberates through his head, getting louder and louder as his breaths become measured.

“Of course, I’ve only known him for two weeks,” she says. A needle pierces Megumi’s heart.

“I’m not the kind of girl who cries over a guy like that,” she continues but her face contorts anyway. Her mouth twists downward, and she hunches forward a little.

Megumi can’t see her eyes but he imagines they’re burning a little, just like his own.

He lets her words rest between them, in the open space where somebody is supposed to be. He returns them back to the silence from before, at a loss for words, and exhausted even though he slept through the night.

He arrived in his room so tired and numb that he fell asleep immediately and didn’t dream. Megumi wonders how long he’ll have that privilege for, he hopes the dreamless nights stay. Hopes that that is something Itadori can give him even though he had the audacity to tell him to, “live a long life.”

The senpai show up and change their mood with their awkward antics. Tiptoeing around the elephant in the room but also trying to give the two of them some space. Megumi appreciates their efforts, but he doesn’t want to be pitied or coddled.

He’s not a Hero, he’s a Jujutsu Sorcerer. This comes with the territory.

The Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event is a good goal to set, in Megumi’s mind.

Explaining it to Kugisaki allows him to distance himself from the discomfort settling in his stomach. Standing up from the cold stone dissipates some of the cold in his bones. Cuts him loose, let’s him take a deep breath and finally get some air.

It’s hot, the air a little humid. The warmth settles below his skin, perhaps he’ll thaw out, slowly.

“You’re in, right?” Zenin-senpai asks, “Do it for your fallen friend.” 

Megumi remembers his last moments. Remembers the smile on his face as he fell over, remembers how he threw himself into danger with his eyes wide open, seemingly unafraid to die.

“We’re in,” they say in unison.

Megumi wanted Itadori to die without regrets— Live a long life —wants him to rest in peace.

He’ll chase after his back though, will try and surpass him, so his death wasn’t in vain.

I will become stronger. I’ll do anything it takes .

Megumi does not sleep peacefully that night.

For a second he thinks he might… then the rain starts.

He’s soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging to his body, even though he can’t feel it.

The rain is so heavy he can barely see through it. A sheet of water, opaque like early morning fog.

He tries to peer through it though, tries to see into it and find what’s out there waiting for him.

He knows this is a dream, but it doesn’t help.

Itadori stumbles towards him, emerges from the rain.

His pinkish hair is plastered to his forehead, Sukuna’s markings are fading back into his skin, leaving only the red outlines where his extra set of eyes would be.

There’s blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, it’s stuck to his teeth when he smiles. Turning them a gooey red. 

He looks confused, a little unsure of where he is, his eyes half-closed.

He comes so close to Megumi, almost stumbles right into him, but stops. 

He looks up, they lock eyes.

Green meets light brown. 

Itadori smiles. It spreads across his lips slowly but transforms his entire face. 

His lips tug upwards, showcase his teeth in all their bloodied-glory. His nose scrunches up, his eyes squint shut.

His body relaxes.

He falls.

Megumi lunges forward a second too late, he can’t catch Itadori in time and lands in a puddle of blood instead.

It taints his clothes. Soaks his hands. 

The rain doesn’t wash it off, no matter how much he rubs his hands.

It’s red, red, red . 

He puts his hands in the puddle beneath him. 

He knows he’s dreaming, if he wishes hard enough, if he wants it hard enough, Itadori will come back, right?

He lets his hands sink into the blood. Let’s it cover his fingernails and his knuckles as he digs his hands into the earth underneath. He imagines that it seeps into his skin through his pores, and reaches his bloodstream. Mixing Itadori’s blood with his.

He wants, he wants, he wants .

He’s selfish, only in his dreams.

At first, nothing happens. Then, slowly and steadily the puddle disappears.

Itadori does not reappear in its place.

Instead, flowers start to sprout from between Megumi’s fingers.

They grow slowly, red buds tight till they stand tall. Blooming right in Megumi’s face, the thin unfolding petals, with their spider-like ends, tickling his face.

No , he thinks, this isn’t what I wanted . 

More flowers bloom, blood-red spider lilies, emerging from the bloodied underground. Hiding Megumi’s hands and the rest of him too.

This isn’t what I wanted , he thinks again, bring him back! Bring him back!

He doesn’t speak, can’t. His mouth opens but all he can do is heave and choke on air.

Itadori doesn’t return, it’s just red red red , till his sight is overtaken by an ocean of blood and the flowers start sprouting from him too.

Grow in his throat, in his stomach, in his lungs.

He chokes.

.

.

.

He gasps. Upright in his bed.

Heart racing, blood rushing through his head. Sucking in frantic breaths.

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe .

He lifts his hands to his face.

They’re clean.

No red underneath the nails, stuck there like grime. No blood coating his knuckles.

His lungs burn . Desperate for oxygen. There aren’t any petals catching. No thin red blooms spilling past his lips. No roots settling in his lungs. 

There’s a little relief, a spark of it, in between the panic.

His vision blurs, he doesn’t blink. Forces his eyes wide open even though it hurts. Forces himself to stay aware of his surroundings so he doesn’t succumb to the fleeing rabbit in his chest.

So he doesn’t succumb to the water trickling in his lungs. The sting in his heart that bleeds and bleeds and bleeds .

He doesn’t close his eyes. He covers his face with his hands instead.

It’s defeat, in its own right.

He remains shaking in bed, in the darkness of his room, for an eternity.

Till his body tires itself out, and there are little black spots behind his vision instead of those red petals and Itadori’s falling body. That fucking smile .

He lies back down, eyes unseeing as he stares up at the ceiling. A gaping maw in his chest where his heart’s supposed to be.

Two nights ago there’d be sound coming through the opposite wall.

The creaking of a bed, snoring, sometimes when Megumi was completely still he could hear him breathe.

Now there’s just his rapidly beating heart and his irregular breathing.

Live a long life .

He doesn’t fall back asleep. He stares at his ceiling, till the sun usurps the shadows, instead.

Megumi finds Okazaki Tadashi’s mother the following day.

She’s a fragile-looking lady. Timid, already mourning even though officially nothing’s been confirmed. There are dark bags underneath her eyes, exhaustion like a blanket over her body.

Something about her—her brittle appearance, her soft, tired eyes, the way there’s still hope in her eyes as she looks at him—makes him want to be honest.

“I wasn’t sure about saving people in that facility,” he says, eyes downcast, “but my friends thought otherwise.”

He remembers—Itadori’s determination to save, how he threw himself into the fray, how he fought Megumi because he wanted to bring Tadashi home. He remembers that damned “Please” that Megumi hadn’t been able to resist.

He smooths out the name tag between his fingers. Stares at the cloth in his hand when he hands it to the mother. He can’t quite bring himself to look her in the eyes.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t save Tadashi’s life,” he says and he means it. He means it, even though the guy was a criminal, even though he killed a child through his own irresponsibility, Megumi means it. Means it for the woman in front of him, who still loves her son.

She sniffles, and the telltale sound of barely contained tears fill Megumi’s ears. He keeps his head low, his body angled down in a deep bow. He doesn’t want to see her tears. He already feels his own stirring behind the carefully crafted dam he’s built for them, looking at her would tear them down.

Her words make them shaky.

“Please don’t apologize,” she says through her tears, “I’m the only one who will grieve for him.”

It sends a cold shiver down Megumi’s spine. Like an ice cube running down his neck and his spine. The sensation spreads, slowly, till it’s like he’s been drenched in ice-cold water, shivering and shaking as he turns his back on the house and finds his way back to the training grounds.

He wonders if he’s the only one grieving for him . If he’s the only one, thinking about him every second of the day, from the moment he wakes up even though barely a day has passed.

If he’s the only one who sees pink and has his heart stop, if he’s the only one who can’t look at flowers, can’t look at people smiling wide, if he’s the only one avoiding the colour red.

If he’s the only one feeling like the ground is crumbling right below his feet. Dislodging him, making him fumble, shaking him to his core when he’d always been so steadfast before.

Before feels like so long ago already.

.

.

.

“Zenin-senpai, as a Jujutsu sorcerer, what kind of people do you want to save?”

He doesn’t get an answer, not a satisfactory one anyway. He stores the thought away for later. Will let it settle somewhere in his mind.

He closes his eyes for a moment, sees that wide grin, those eyes squinted shut in mirth, and exhales.

The Exchange Event is a month and a half away. He’ll prove his worth.

He’ll prove that he’s strong.

He’ll prove that he’s changed .

He reaches into his shadows,  fingertips swimming through the darkness. It settles something in his stomach.

It’s a single stitch over a gaping wound, but it’s better than nothing.

It’s a start. He’ll change.

He’s up to his nose in an endless frigid ocean.

His head tilted back as he frantically treads water lest he be pulled under by imaginary curses moving below the surface, clawing at his ankles. They grasp him shortly. Drag him down, down, down . He fights his way back up, kicking his feet, his hands like claws as he drags his body back to the surface and breaks it, gasping. Hair stuck to his forehead, shivering, teeth clicking together as he shakes. Spitting out the water that forced its way into his mouth, down his throat, bitter, acidic, so cold it burns . Takes all the air out of his lungs and the fight out of his body, makes him sink even as he frantically attempts to stay afloat.

He fights and fights and fights but he’s thankful that at least it’s not rain.

At least it’s not rain .

He looks up, tilts his head back, desperate to keep his nose above water.

That’s when he spots it, a flash of pink in the distance, swaying slightly in an imaginary breeze.

He freezes but does not sink.

Is it you? he thinks, hopes. 

It is not.

His hair is pushed up, not covering his forehead. His skin is adorned by glimmering black lines, not bare. His hands are crooked claws, no longer gentle, soft, capable of caressing, touching tenderly.

It is Sukuna, King of Curses, stalking towards him, eyes locked with Megumi’s. His pupils are blown wide, with only a small circle of burning red left around them. His grin sharp as a knife, he looks at Megumi like he’s something to eat.

He’s miles away, yet crystal clear, a speck in the distance one moment and the next his feet stop right before Megumi’s face.

Megumi looks him in the eyes.

Jet black pupils with a sliver of red, teeth glinting under the light. A shiver runs down his spine, fixes him in place and slowly restricts his airway, filling his lungs with tiny shards of ice instead.

It’s like a million tiny needles stabbing into his flesh with every breath. Megumi is trapped in those crimson eyes.

Sukuna bends down, his mouth wide open, a bottomless maw intent on consuming Megumi whole. Infinite darkness, smelling like rot and decay, slimy and slick, like a curses body when you get sucked into it.

He closes his eyes, prepares to be devoured and let this be where the nightmare ends, where he wakes up breathless, with his heart jackhammering in his throat.

It is not.

A gentle pressure rests against Megumi’s forehead. The skin is warm, hot even, right below scorching. Hot enough to make your skin tingle, hot enough that it singes your hair and forces all your taut muscles to relax.

A nose touches his, equally warm, gentle as it nuzzles him and when Megumi opens his eyes it’s not Sukuna who he’s looking at.

Itadori is still kneeling atop the water, as its frigid cold holds Megumi in its clutches, but he sinks in slowly when their eyes meet.

Steam rises from him, there’s the telltale sizzle of water coming to a boil and immediately turning into vapour. 

One of Itadori’s hands makes its way to the back of Megumi’s neck, the other to his cheek. They are close enough that Megumi can count his individual eyelashes, can see the shadows they cast under his eyes, can see the tiny specks of gold hidden in honey-brown eyes.

He pulls Megumi closer still, presses their chests together and Megumi basks in his body heat. In the way his fingers twitch, in how his warm breath brushing past Megumi’s ear, in how there’s a steady heartbeat pressed over his own, resonating with the one in his chest like a reassurance, like a promise.

Hey, I’m here, don’t worry.

Itadori lowers his head, nuzzles the juncture between Megumi’s neck and collarbone, brushes his lips over it, feather-light without fully committing to it. Itadori’s breath ghosts over the spot afterwards and it sends another shiver down Megumi’s spine, that settles low and warm in the pit of his stomach. Radiating outwards as Itadori pulls him even closer, tightens his hold on Megumi’s neck and slips his other hand around his waist.

He nuzzles Megumi again, presses open-mouthed butterfly kisses to his skin, trailing up and down his collarbone reverently, till he reaches the juncture between Megumi’s neck and collarbone again.

He bites into Megumi’s neck, hard enough to pierce the flesh. Blood drips from the wound, leaving heated trails in its wake as it runs down his spine. 

The warm heat in his stomach turns heavy as a stone, bubbles and broils, forces stomach acid up his throat.

He opens his mouth to cry out, to warn Itadori that he’s hurting him, but all that leaves his mouth is an elated gasp as Itadori’s hands roam across his body. 

It’s like little infernos brushing against Megumi’s bare skin. He’s shirtless although he could’ve sworn he was wearing clothes moments ago. Itadori’s touch is feather-light, soft like the softest of fabrics as he explores Megumi’s body.

Maps the planes of his back with his fingers, in slow circles, like a massage. Touching softly, teasingly, letting his nails brush over Megumi’s back but never scratching him. Itadori’s fingers leave goosebumps in their wake and he chuckles against Megumi’s throat when he notices the raised skin, only becoming more intentional in his teasing.

He traces the knobs of Megumi’s spine, circles them and presses slightly between them as he moves downwards, coming back up once he’s reached Megumi’s tailbone. He goes through the same motions on the way up, excruciatingly slowly, but Megumi remains relaxed. Succumbs to Itadori’s heat, to his comfort.

Itadori settles his hands on Megumi’s shoulders, pulls him in a little more.

He’s kissing up Megumi’s neck, biting at the juncture with his jaw, sucking a bruise into the skin.

Megumi is putty in his hands.

Slowly, one of Itadori’s hands settles on his stomach.

It moves up, up, up , till it’s placed right over Megumi’s heart. He barely notices it though because Itadori just placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth, so close to his lips. Megumi can feel his smile as he presses another one to the other corner, and grips the back of Megumi’s neck.

He gasps. Sinks further into delirium, into the heady headspace Itadori hurtles towards, where he wants to be touched and taken, devoured.  

He licks his lips in anticipation, his eyes flutter closed and he leans forward.

Waiting, waiting, waiting .

Lips press against his, teasingly. Close-mouthed and quick.

A low whine escapes Megumi’s throat but he’s too preoccupied to be embarrassed.

Itadori finally, finally, presses a proper kiss to his lips. Tender and slow, a soft confession without words that gets heated as they meet in the middle again and again.

Itadori’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip and Megumi opens his mouth eagerly, bares himself in the face of a dead man, who he can only touch in his dreams.

His chest hurts but he ignores it. Moves to put his hands in Itadori’s hair, to pull him closer , to have all of him for as long as this dream might last.

The pain in his chest gets sharper, gets rough, like someone’s scrubbing sandpaper against his chest.

It’s bearable one moment, the next he’s being ripped apart at the seams. Like pulling freshly placed stitches out and rubbing salt in the irritated wound, like having your nails ripped out, one by one. Slowly, to let the pain linger.

One moment he’s kissing Itadori Yuuji, getting lost in him and his heat, his heart beating out of his chest, and his greedy desperate hands clinging to him, so he’ll never leave again. The next Sukuna looms over him, Megumi’s heart in his hand.

Beating grotesquely between his fingers. Pulsing red as it thrums. 

Blood spurts from the cut-off veins and arteries, splatters across his and Sukuna’s faces. Megumi tries to move backwards, to move away or scramble up, but finds himself frozen in place, forced to watch as Sukuna smiles and licks Megumi’s blood from his lips. 

Megumi glances down at the hole in his chest before looking up again, bewildered, off-kilter.

He had Itadori back for a little bit, right? Where’d he go?

Sukuna’s nails sharpen into black shiny claws that sink into Megumi’s heart without hesitation. He can feel them sinking into the muscle, feel them rooting around inside the chambers of his heart and slicing them apart, scraping against the mucus, and breaking apart the fragile membranes.

His mouth opens involuntarily, but he can do nothing but gasp, sound refusing to come out.

He squeezes his eyes shut to quell the pain but his senses hone in on it, amplifying the sensation tenfold, and he’s forced to open them again.

He’s no longer being held hostage in the endless expanses of frigid waters, instead, he’s on the ground in that fated courtyard, back pressed against the remains of a wall. Rain pouring from the sky and chilling him to the bone as Sukuna looms over him.

Sukuna smiles, predatory and hungry . He stares at Megumi’s heart like it’s something to eat, something to chew till it's mush and then spit out for the sake of it. 

Sukuna squeezes his heart, and cackles as Megumi’s muscles lock up, more blood gushing out. 

His head’s thrown back and his spine curved, arms lifted to the side as he chortles, lets the sadistic laughter bubble up from his core. He shakes Megumi’s heart, violently from side to side. Gets more enthusiastic as the organ falls apart in his hands, globs of blood and chunks of muscle and flesh flying off it. 

A piece hits Megumi in the face, right between his eyes, with a wet squelch. It's warm and slimy, and slides down his face, resting on the bridge of his nose. Other pieces splatter against his hands, or across his uniform, hit him on the cheeks and near his lips. 

Megumi is frozen still, can’t stand and shake the blood off, can’t fight back. 

He is powerless, can only watch as Sukuna plays with his heart. 

Abruptly, Sukuna stops. Stalks closer towards Megumi and looks him deep in his eyes. 

His gaze is dark as the abyss, his eyes like black holes sucking Megumi in with no intention of letting him go, its only purpose to tear him apart. 

He rips Megumi’s heart in two, breaks it into perfect halves, Megumi is numb to the pain. There’s a glass plate between his sensations and his body, these are things he watches happen, they do not happen to him.

 Sukuna crouches down before him, each half of his heart, throbbing restlessly in one of his hands.

Crimson meets green.

Slowly, he lifts one of the halves of Megumi’s heart, with its ripped edges, the flesh raggedy and throbbing, writhing between his claws like a live octopus, and slaps it against Megumi’s cheek.

It hits with a wet smack, sticks to his skin and leaves his cheek slimy as it lets go with a wet squelching sound. Megumi’s face contorts in disgusts, his nose wrinkles, his brows furrow, his mouth twists. 

Sukuna chuckles, low and dark.

For a second Megumi wonders if Sukuna’s going to force-feed his heart to him. It’s pressed so close to his mouth, and he’s helpless, frozen in place. It’d be easy for Sukuna to shove the half down his throat, to cover his nose and mouth so he’s forced to swallow or choke. He can almost feel the iron on his tongue already, imagines what the pulsing flesh might feel like as it slides down his throat. He braces himself, waits for it, holds his breath...

Sukuna does not force Megumi to swallow his own heart.

He smears the throbbing half against his cheek one last time before letting go with a squelch.

Time slows down as Sukuna lifts the organ to his own mouth instead. 

He treats it like he’s about to swallow one of his knobbly, purple cursed fingers. He opens his mouth so wide it’s almost like he’s unhinging his jaw, his teeth sharpened to a point and glinting. Megumi watches as his heart is lifted, can hear its weakening throbbing between his ears as he watches it pulse, helpless in Sukuna’s claw.

Half of Megumi’s heart fits in his maw with ease and he’s smiling as he bites down, swift and harsh, looking Megumi straight in the eyes the entire way.

He waits a moment, half a breath, before he starts to chew.

Mouth open wide, blood pouring out from between his crimson lips, his sharp shark’s teeth coated in thick slimy red.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts .

Megumi feels Sukuna’s teeth biting down on his flesh, feels it as his heart is turned into wet mush under his sharp canines and his strong molars. Squeezed to a pulp, smashed into something unrecognizable and obscene.

The gaping hole in his chest throbs as Sukuna chews, stings like the wound is being stabbed by a million tiny needles, then burns as if someone’s poured a vat of lemon juice onto it.

Megumi gasps, his eyes are forced shut due to the pain and he can finally move his body again, can curl into himself, cradling his face in his hands, wrap his arms around himself in comfort.

Tears run down his cheeks and make his vision blurry, he chokes on them, can’t stop the wailing that leaves his mouth as his body convulses in pain. All synapses firing and sending the sensation to his brain, it’s like he’s being thrown against the cliffside. Drowning in an angry ocean that relentlessly throws him against the rocks, not satisfied when he’s bruised and broken, only satisfied once he’s dead.

He looks up, wants to glare at Sukuna with every inch of hatred in his body, wants to make the King of Curses fear him, if only for a moment.

Itadori’s staring back at him.

His lips are a bloody red. When he opens his mouth to smile his teeth are too, but they’re not as sharp as Sukuna’s were moments before.

Itadori’s hands are caked with Megumi’s blood, coagulated into thick globs that he licks up with that same smile. 

He crawls closer to Megumi, seats himself nearly in the other’s lap, grabs the back of his neck with one of his sticky bloodied hands and forces Megumi to look at him, as he licks his other fingers clean.

Itadori’s face flickers between his own and Sukuna’s, the tattoos and extra eyes both gone and visible at the same time. Megumi can’t tell who he’s looking at, who he’s facing as the two faces merge into one.

Itadori presses their faces together, his iron breath fanning Megumi’s face.

He smiles, and he’s got Sukuna’s eyes.

The hand on Megumi’s neck squeezes, tighter and tighter, as he desperately gasps for breath but can’t pull anything in.

Sukuna returns in the final moments, He squeezes and squeezes and squeezes . Sets his claws in Megumi’s throat like he did with his heart, pierces through it till Megumi’’s gurgling blood, choking on iron as he gasps and chortles. Wishing still for Itadori to come back.

There are constellations dancing in his vision.

He swears the stars glow a beautiful pink

.

.

.

He lies in bed for a moment after waking up.

He’s not panicked this time, strangely calm instead.

It’s still the middle of the night, and just like before the only noise is his frantically beating heart. There’s silence from next door.

He’s clinging to the remains of his dream like a starving man.

The scenario turned sour before long but he’s focused on the good part, the part so abstract yet so real .

The touching, the biting, Itadori’s lips. Soft and tender. Hot and forceful.

He sits up. Shakes his head to rid himself of his confusion but it lingers.

The dream replays in the back of his mind, stops right before Itadori reaches into his chest. Starts again from the first moment Itadori touches him. 

The visuals get vaguer and vaguer but he focuses on the sensation that lingers. On the tingling in his body that is all that remains.

Phantom lips settling against his neck, kissing his jaw, his lips. Phantom hands roaming across his back, mapping out every individual vertebra in his spine.

He shivers, he can’t stay in bed any longer.

He makes the decision without truly thinking about it. 

He’s in his own room one moment and pushing the door to Itadori’s room open the next.

It hasn’t been cleared out (yet) and he flips the light switch and carefully peers inside, not daring to cross the threshold.

It’s surprisingly neat. Itadori is— was —a loud guy with a big personality, Megumi thought that’d correspond to having a messy room but instead the space is neatly organized. 

Itadori’s bed is made, his dishes drying in a drying rack. Folded clothes rest atop his dresser, as if he wanted to put them away right before they left.

His shoes are lined up near the entrance and a small bookshelf is stacked to the brim with manga.

It’s like he’ll be coming home any second. 

There’s nothing final about this room.

He can almost imagine Itadori walking around his space. Grabbing his manga from the shelf and plopping down on the floor, head resting against his bed, his legs crossed as he reads. Slowly flipping pages, tongue poking out of his mouth as he immersed himself in the story.

His imagination runs away from him.

Megumi fantasizes that it’s a sunny summer afternoon. That he sits down next to Itadori, pressed against his side, his head resting on Itadori’s shoulder. Gently, Itadori would trail his fingers through Megumi’s hair, nails tickling his scalp as he continued reading. Megumi would flip open his own non-fiction book and read resting against the other man. Comforted by his warmth and their proximity, reassured by his steadily beating heart. 

He imagines their fingers next to each other, their hands slipping together slowly. Itadori would look up at him, inquisitively, Megumi would stare until he got the barest of nods and then slowly lean forward. Staring at his lips, wondering—

He turns off the light, shaking his head as he crosses the threshold. Holding his breath as he places his feet on Itadori’s floor and closes the door behind him.

He almost expects Itadori to tap him on the shoulder, to mysteriously appear and ask what Megumi’s doing in his room in the middle of the night. His imagined scenario is still so vivid in his mind, that he waits for it, with bated breath.

There’s no light tap on his shoulder. No sound beyond his own breathing, that turns shuddery as the seconds pass.

He walks over to the bed, wonders for half a second what he thinks he’s doing, and then flips over the covers and curls up underneath them. Pulling them up to his nose.

The sheets still smell like him.

Like sandalwood and grapefruit.

Megumi closes his eyes. Imagines for a moment that the best part of his nightmare was real. That he’s wrapped in those strong arms, engulfed by him, and that his head is resting over a chest with a strongly beating heart within.

He revisits his fantasy, imagines soft lips pressing against his forehead, fingers running through his hair and tickling the back of his neck.

It’s so vivid for a moment, feels so real for half a second but when Megumi opens his eyes— hoping, wishing —there’s no one there.

If he tastes salt on his lips, and his shoulders shake, that’s nobody's business but his own.

“What type of girls do you like?”

He remembers, phantom touch, teeth against his neck, pink hair, honey-brown eyes. A gaping hole in his chest, a beating heart.

“Why should I share something like that with someone I just met?” Megumi replies, suppressing the flashback to last night’s dream and his subsequent fantasies in favour of taking this new guy in.

Toudou Aoi is tall and muscular. Megumi remembers hearing his name in connection to last year with the Shinjuku and Kyoto Night of A Hundred Demons. He’s a third year and already a first grade sorcerer, a nobody who took the world by storm.

Currently, the guy stares at him expectantly, waiting for his answer.

To prompt Megumi he even says, “It can even be a guy.” Like he knows or suspects or wonders . 

Megumi doesn’t want him to know, he doesn’t want anyone to know. He doesn’t even like Itadori like that, didn’t. 

He just misses him a bit, is all. He just wants him back, wants his smile back, and the way he looked at him with absolute trust.

Megumi misses him, that’s why he’s been thinking about him so much, that’s why he can’t get him out of his head. It’s grief, and weakness caused by bad dreams, not the after-effects of something else mixed in with his mourning. There’s no hope for him either way, and acknowledgement would tear him apart.

“So tell me Fushiguro, what type of girls do you like?”

The type who’d rip out your heart by accident. The type that would treat your heart like a precious treasure and break it because they put your life above theirs. The kind that will tell you ‘live a long life’ with a soft remorseful smile and then haunt you for the rest of your days, he thinks. It rattles through his head without his permission but at least it doesn’t slip from between his lips.

He has to remain calm. Kugisaki’s unarmed, and he wants to avoid conflict above all else.

He figures his answer won’t be sufficient, he’s a plain guy after all, but he’ll answer anyway. Hope it gets him somewhere.

“I don’t have a preference,” he says and even as the words leave his lips there’s a voice calling him a liar.

“As long as a person is compassionate, then I don’t need anything else,” he finishes and he does know that that’s true. Beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

Itadori jumped four stories to save his senpai and Megumi who he’d just met. He swallowed a curse to keep Megumi safe, and chose to be executed for the sake of humanity. He told Megumi, “Please” like a dying wish and saved him again, by dying in front of him.

Smiling as he fell down, as his body crumpled, and he whispered, “live a long life.”

There’s no point in having feelings for a ghost, and it’s not like he really does (he’s not lying, shut up).

Perhaps in another life, in another time, if Itadori wasn’t destined to die, he might.

Loving him, liking him now that he’s six feet under would lead Megumi nowhere.

It’d eat him alive, it would ruin him, shatter him into a million shards of glass, splintered and jaded. 

The worst of it is how a part of Megumi preens at the idea. How willingly it would flagellate itself, force itself into spirals of him for days on end till it drove him to the edge. Till he would be so delirious with grief his cursed energy would turn against him and he’d have to be exorcised lest he become a curse himself.

(Maybe, if he dies they’ll meet again on the other side.) 

Chew me up and spit me out , that part of his mind thinks, I’ll follow you into the dark. Follow you into battle. Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me, I don’t mind.

His spiralling is interrupted by Toudou’s voice, a low growl as he calls Megumi boring and charges at him without hesitation.

There’s no more time to think about his potential feelings for a ghost, all he can do is chase his back and change so he didn’t die in vain.

He’s sore when he stumbles into bed that night.

Freshly bandaged but still rough around the edges after Toudou thoroughly kicked his ass.

He’s tired but his mind is too full for him to sleep.

It’s him again.

He just won’t leave Megumi alone. Following him in his dreams and his waking life.

Megumi sighs, frustrated with himself and his inability to let go of someone he met a mere two weeks ago. 

He doesn’t get this emotionally attached to people. He can’t afford to, not anymore. He cared about his sister and she’s in a hospital bed, unresponsive in a coma. The day she collapsed and didn’t wake up he locked his heart up and threw away the key.

Swore to himself he wouldn’t let others get too close anymore because the only thing fair about life is how unfair it is to everyone .

That’s how it was supposed to be at least. That’s how he normally operated, how he’s supposed to live his life. Distanced from others, analytical, organized, emotionless and unfeeling.

Itadori shattered his resolve within the first twenty-four hours of meeting him and Megumi wishes he could be angry with him for it. Wishes that he could yell and scream and kick and completely lose his composure because Itadori Yuuji made him care when he hadn’t wanted to.

He’d stubbornly kept talking to Megumi, including him, interacting with him like he’s normal and a good person even though Megumi’s inherently selfish. Only willing to save those he deems worthy.

He throws his arm over his eyes. Forces them shut and sighs. Tries to dispel the choking feeling creeping up on him. Tries to shake off the imaginary hands closing around his throat, the imaginary claws squeezing his heart, the teeth trying to bite down on it. The static creeping through his limbs, paralyzing him and taunting him with the illusion of an electrifying touch. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, brings his other hand up to wrap his fingers around his wrist. He squeezes. Squeezes with all his strength, nails digging into the skin. Till his wrist starts to throb, his nails cutting him open like tiny knives.

Wetness trickles out around them, he ignores it and presses down harder, hopes the pain turns into more than a sting, hopes it turns into something that will eat him whole.

The pain makes his thoughts muddy, makes the pink hair in his imagination vague, makes him forget his voice, his touch, his dying smile.

There’s just the hurt and his bleeding arm till he falls asleep.

They’re having a picnic in the park. Just the two of them sat on a red checkered blanket with various foods spread between them. 

Megumi knows that Itadori made them, even though he can’t remember watching him do it. They’ve got rice balls, egg rolls, fried chicken, they’ve even got watermelon and mugicha. Iced barley tea, perfect for the height of summer.

The sun beats down on them as they eat, hands touching in the middle of a soft blanket, the perfect summer memory. 

Megumi’s staring at Itadori’s pinky where it overlaps with his. Presses down on it and moves Itadori’s fingers around, tenderly.

The afternoon spreads out before them, like an infinity. An infinity where they are immortals, where they cannot die and remain here, in eternal summer and eternal bliss.

The sun lowers as they talk and eat, their hands creeping closer and closer together till they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined between them.

Megumi rests his head on Itadori’s shoulder, listens closely for his steady heartbeat, as he stares out at the pond before them. 

The water glitters like gold as the sun sets behind it. So bright it makes Megumi’s eyes burn, forcing him to squint.

Lips caress his forehead, he closes his eyes to bask in the sun for a moment. To simply enjoy this stolen time, that’ll disappear when Megumi opens his eyes again.

Itadori squeezes his hand and ruffles Megumi’s hair, lets his fingers linger for a moment as he scritches at Megumi’s scalp.

He stands slowly, careful not to disrupt Megumi too much but also dragging him up with him. Pulling him back into his side the moment they’ve both found their footing.

“It’s pretty,” he says, staring out at the lake, straight into the sun with wide-open eyes, unbothered by its brightness. He’s painted in golden hues, ethereal and surreal like the statues of old.

Megumi’d call him an angel, if he believed in them.

He turns towards Megumi, that permanent telltale grin on his face, and asks, “wanna go for a swim?” voice mischievous like a schoolboy giving too much freedom on a hot summer day.

Megumi doesn’t register what Itadori’s asked till he’s being pulled along. 

They’re rushing down the hill towards the water, illuminated by golden light.

Children at the height of youth, unaffected by curses, by Jujutsu, by death and all else that worsens human lives.

They’re holding hands, their fingers intertwined in a strong grip, and Itadori’s laughing, boisterous, full-bodied, real .

Megumi almost forgets that he’s dreaming. Too caught up in the rush of adrenaline, too caught up in Itadori’s smile, distracted by the laughter bubbling up in his own stomach.

They jump into the water hand in hand. Laughing as they go under and spluttering as they come up, delighted simply to be in the other’s presence, every moment be elevated by the promise of a kiss.

Megumi’s rubbing the water out of his eyes, a smile on his face. Hurrying so he can hold Itadori’s hand again, rushing so he can wrap him in his arms, pull him in, unimaginably close, till they forget where one of them ends and the other begins.

When he uncovers his eyes and turns around Itadori’s gone.

As is the sun.

He’s been plunged into nebulous darkness, water lapping at his body again. He looks around frantically, splashing in the water as he calls out.

“Itadori!” he yells, “Itadori come back!” but there’s no response.

What he does hear is a slow thrumming. A steady pulse reverberating through his body.

Ba-dum… ba-dum… ba-dum .

It gets faster the longer he searches, gets faster the more desperate he gets.

He tries to turn around to get back to shore but it’s gone.

He’s in the middle of an ocean, with no way to get out.

Something bumps against his hand.

He turns. Looks down. Freezes.

It’s Itadori’s heart. Still whole. Floating, throbbing silently as it bumps into Megumi’s hand again.

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Just a choking gasp as he stares at it.

He’s seen it so many times but it doesn’t get any easier. 

This time is just as harrowing as the first, will be just as harrowing as the next, will fill his body with sloshing dread again, like it did the time before. Pulling him down, further and further into the dark murky waters.

The heart bumps into his side again and on impulse Megumi reaches for it.

Cradles it in his hands and pulls it against his chest. Turns his hands red as he lifts it and presses it over his heart.

He tries to curl around it, tries to turn his body into a cradle or a coffin holding it close, keeping it safe and drags himself underwater in the process.

Head submerged, eyes wide open.

He sees it when a clawed hand reaches for him from the darkness.

Sees it when the hand closes around his throat, nails cutting into the back of his neck.

Sees the red eyes staring at him from the darkness, sees the glint of pearly white teeth. 

He’s pulled into the abyss.

.

.

.

He wakes with a gasp.

Choking on air immediately after, hands reaching up to his throat, to assure himself the pressure he feels crushing his windpipe is imagined.

His eyes burn but his cheeks stay dry.

The burn transfers to a throbbing between his ears, a pinching headache that makes his entire body clench up. Stabbing pains shooting through his limbs as he curls into himself.

Head pressed to his knees under his covers.

Trembling. Taking in shaky too-short breaths.

There’s a gaping maw in his chest, a metaphorical hole for the one in Itadori’s chest that he can’t unsee.

This is only the third night, it’s been so little time but Megumi wants him back .

He misses his stupid pink hair and those honey-brown eyes. Misses his happy-go-lucky attitude. Misses his smile, like the last one he saw but brighter.

With his eyes squinted shut in genuine joy, a flush on his cheeks, pearly whites on full display.

He misses how easily he’d put a hand on Megumi’s shoulder, how he’d fling an arm across it and pull him into his side. Hanging off of him as they walked.

He misses his naivety, his willingness to do anything. Misses every little thing about him, that Itadori Yuuji who haunts his dreams.

He wraps his arms around his knees, squeezes himself. The nail marks in his arms still sting, but that pain isn’t enough to drown out the overwhelming despair crashing into him, like waves crashing against a cliffside.

The dark murky sadness broiling in his chest is a riptide pulling him under and dragging him into a sea of whirlwind emotions that he can’t escape.

He is borne back ceaselessly into the past, can’t get it to unstick from his mind.

“I hate you,” he whispers, voice muffled against his knees.

“I hate you,” he whispers, voice shaking and soft.

“I hate you,” he whispers, vicious, choking on a sob.

“I hate you,” he whispers but it sounds like I miss you to his own ears.

He’s pathetic, useless, too emotional.

Why can’t he shut all his emotions away? Hide them behind a wall of indifference like he had all the years before.

What’s so special about Itadori Yuuji that Megumi can’t stop thinking about him?

A voice in the back of his head, tinier than a gnat, softer than a feather floating to the ground, tries to whisper it to him but Megumi blocks it out. Shakes his head and gets out of bed on trembling legs instead. Stumbling to his door. 

This time he steps over Itadori’s threshold without issue. This time he doesn’t feel guilty as he slips under Itadori’s covers and curls up underneath them.

He wraps himself in Itadori’s fading scent. Inhales all the sandalwood and grapefruit that lingers and lets sobs wrack his body.

Tears running down his cheeks as he keeps his eyes closed.

The darkness more welcoming than reality.

Megumi wakes up warm.

Phantom arms around him, faint warm breath on the back of his neck. He’s in that sweet spot, on the edge of waking and dreaming.

Sheltered in someone’s comforting, strong arms. Held by someone pressing phantom kisses to his neck, who whispers softly, near his ear, “Megumi,” and pulls him closer.

He sighs, tries to snuggle further into the embrace, get more of that warmth that he so craves. 

“Yuu—”

His eyes shoot open and he abruptly sits up.

He’s in Itadori’s room. Light filters in through a gap in the curtains.

The bed is empty behind him, there is no one in the room except for him.

No noise except for his shaky breathing.

That shudders more as he tries to contain it.

His body is perfectly still but his throat burns and his vision blurs, the longer he sits there, unblinking. 

There’s a hole where his heart is supposed to be, it’s a gnawing mouth, hungry. Eating away at the rest of Megumi from the inside out, slowly, after it has chewed on his heart.

He wipes his eyes and gets out of bed, straightening the sheets and fluffing the pillow before he leaves. 

He shuts the door behind him with a resolute thud.

I won’t come back here , he tells himself, but he already knows he’s lying.

It becomes something of a routine after that.

Every night, without fail, Megumi will crawl into his own bed. He will remain there, stubbornly, tossing and turning for hours on end till he finally falls into a fitful sleep.

Every night, without fail, his determination is rewarded with nightmares.

Dreams of Sukuna’s crimson eyes, his onyx claws glinting like gemstones before they tear into Itadori’s chest. 

Dreams of Itadori’s dying smile, his final words, that final fight. 

Dreams in which Itadori touches him, cherishes him, tells Megumi all the things he’s never been told before and he’s always so convincing, his words always so insidious that Megumi’s naive dreaming self will believe him. Will bear his soul before his ghost only to be betrayed without fail, as Itadori kills him.

He’ll rip Megumi’s heart out, sometimes he crushes it under his boots, sometimes he throws it away like trash, sometimes he turns it to mush between his hands, sometimes he eats it, chews it slowly like he’s savouring the taste before swallowing it down.

He’ll get his own heart ripped out, by Sukuna, the stealer of his face over and over again.

(Sometimes, by Megumi, who wakes up scrubbing imaginary blood off his hands.)

He kills Megumi without remorse many times. Chokes him, breaks all his bones, rips him limb from limb, reaches into his chest and crushes his heart in one swift move.

Sometimes Megumi notices his murderous intent too late. There’ll be blood flowing from his mouth into Itadori’s, turning his lips sticky but Megumi won’t notice the taste of iron as they kiss, won’t notice the way their lips are thick with blood as they press into each other over and over again, he won’t notice till Itadori has him by the throat, till he’s reached into his chest and holds him down.

When he wakes—gasping for breath, blind with panic, perfectly still, statue-esque—the taste of iron lingers in his mouth, it’s so strong some nights that he wonders if he dreamt the moment at all.

He lies awake after these nightmares first. Remains in his bed as he attempts to process them and yearns for the heady goodness of a phantom’s touch. 

Some nights, he’ll wake up crying. Stone in his stomach and silent tears running down his cheeks as his body remains unmoving.

Some nights, he’ll wake up in a panic, twisting and turning in bed, gasping and choking, desperate for breath.

Some nights, he’ll wake up cold as stone. Emotionally numb, heavy and unable to move. Like gravity has increased tenfold and lifting a finger would require more effort than his fragile body could ever expend.

The next part of his routine is much more universal. After the tears run dry. Once his heart beats normally and air flows freely into his lungs, once he’s no longer heavier than stone and shackled in by the earth’s gravitational pull, he gets out of bed.

There’s shame in this part of his routine.

Humiliation in every staggering step towards his door. 

He’ll slide his door open with trembling hands, he’s not afraid but nervous, waiting with bated breath to be caught in the act. Always with half a mind to return to his own bed.

He pushes forward after looking back at it, taking in its nebulous silhouette, blurry before Megumi’s eyes. There’s always a creeping terror when he takes it in on these nights, and it doesn’t subside till he slides the door shut behind him.  

He ventures out into the dark hallway, watches the darkness outside, stares at the shadows on the floor as he collects himself further before crossing the distance between his door and Itadori’s.

It always takes him a moment, always requires a deep breath, before he can open the door.

It doesn’t get easier, seeing the once inhabited room so lifeless, but Megumi pushes through it for the delusional comfort he finds underneath those covers.

He keeps his eyes on the bed as he closes the door behind him, fixates on it as he traverses the room, closing his eyes the second he slips under the covers and wraps himself in them.

The smell of sandalwood and grapefruit is faint after a week.

Unless he concentrates, it escapes Megumi’s attention altogether.

He tries not to think about it. Instead, he focuses on the heavy blankets pressing into him, focuses on the slight unfamiliarity of the bed, the strangeness of his position—curled up, knees pressed to his chest.

It never takes long for him to fall asleep in Itadori’s bed. He can’t explain why, can’t but the calm that washes over him into words. Perhaps it’s a simple as to say that Itadori’s bed feels like a cradle, whilst his own is slowly turning into a coffin. 

The rest of the night, spent in Itadori’s bed, will pass in dreamless bliss. He wakes up a little less tired than he was the night before.

Some mornings, when he’s still stuck in some half-asleep state, his delirious mind will conjure Itadori for him. His arms, wrapped around Megumi in a protective hold, warm, sweet, tender . His front pressed to Megumi’s back, his heartbeat reverberating through the both of them, till Megumi’s syncs with it.

He realizes his fantasy soon after, when he turns around for a good morning kiss and stares into empty air.

He’s stopped denying these feelings, it’s foolish to suppress something so inescapable. Something that haunts you at every twist and turn, rests in the back of your mind, till you let your guard down and it usurps your thoughts.

Over and over again.

Distance supposedly makes the heart grow fonder.

Megumi suspects death might too.

One month after Itadori’s death Megumi wakes up to heavy torrents of rain.

He’s wrapped in Itadori’s blankets, curled into them in the fetal position. 

In the first few moments after waking—when he’s still focused on the warmth surrounding him, the comfort of Itadori’s fading scent, the softness of his covers—he’s dozing in a comfortable heat.

When the steady clatter of rain registers in his half-asleep mind his blood turns to ice. 

It hadn’t rained since Itadori’s death. 

The one blessing Megumi received all these weeks was the absence of rain. Even as he woke up cold and shivering in the middle of the night, delusional and upset, frantic, as he stumbled to Itadori’s bed desperate for comfort, even as he dreamt and dreamt and dreamt every single night, the universe had been kind enough to not also torment him with rain.

The sun shone brightly every day for the past month, smothering heat beating down on them as they trained outside. It’d been painful and exhausting but it’d been better than rain.

He’d quietly thanked whatever good that’s out there that it wasn’t rain.

His luck’s run out.

There’s water pouring down from the heavens, beating against the ground and the roof. Filling the entire room with a steady clatter that tugs Megumi back in time to that day and all the events that ensued.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, tries to block out the noise as he stumbles out of bed, swaying as he pads towards Itadori’s door.

Somehow, that’s his first mistake.

In his delirium he’s forgotten about the massive windows that run along the entire hallway and when he opens Itadori’s door he comes face to face with them, coated in raindrops and showing even heavier sheets of rain behind them.

He squeezes his eyes shut, hopes the discomfort will dispel his other thoughts, will focus them on this instead of—

He remembers; a hole in Itadori’s chest, like a hungry maw, the ripped flesh, its distorted teeth. A bleeding heart held in pitch-black claws, throbbing, pulsating, glistening with viscera. The feral glint of teeth under sunlight, as Sukuna’s lips stretched into a hungry smile moments before he tore into Itadori’s chest.

He remembers the look in his eyes at the end of it all. Sheepish. Apologetic. A little relieved. Even in his final moments, he was putting Megumi before himself.

Live a long life .

Megumi exhales. 

His hands shake as they come up to cover his ears. Blocking out the rain’s noise. 

He drops his chin onto his chest and keeps his eyes downcast, focused on his feet as he shuffles to his room which he enters quickly, so he can leave the rain behind.

It doesn’t get better when he’s in his room.

The shadows, normally so comforting, are too dark.

He imagines red eyes popping out when he turns his back on them. There’s a throbbing heart under his floorboards that gets louder the more he tries to ignore it.

There is rain outside and Megumi can’t stop thinking about Itadori Yuuji and his dying face.

His melancholic sadness, somehow still bright and without regret.

Itadori’d known he would die eventually the moment he entered the Jujutsu world. His sentence was suspended, not lifted. 

He’d understood it better than Megumi had until then. 

Megumi’s been familiar with death since he was young, he’s been aware of curses and their damage for much longer than Itadori but he’d been naive either way, thought him invincible till he crumbled right before Megumi’s eyes. Smiling all the way to the bitter end in an attempt to lift Megumi’s spirits, to say ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’ and to absolve Megumi of his guilt.

I want him back , Megumi allows himself to think, wrapped in his own blankets, head underneath his pillow to block out the noise. He’s taking in shallow breaths, a little delirious and strangely calm due to his lack of oxygen, there’s no panic though, just aching loneliness.

He lets his thoughts wander. They follow a path of old bedtime stories and mythos that he read as a child.

For a moment he imagines he’s among the Gods. He imagines a tale as old as time, Izanagi and Izanami parents of all other deities.

Their story was tragic in its ending, too.

Megumi allows himself a moment of presumptuousness, allows himself a moment to think that maybe this aching, stinging pain in my chest is what Izanagi felt when he lost Izanami during childbirth . She’d left him by chance, due to a stroke of bad luck, when they could’ve lived together forever. 

She left him due to circumstances beyond either of their control.

I would travel to the underworld for him too , Megumi thinks and a wet chuckle passes his lips.

He would fashion himself Izanagi, discard his humanity, and travel deep under the earth to the entrance of the Underworld. Selling his soul to the shadows along the way. 

He would go back diligently, believing that the spirit was following him, he would not get overzealous or anxious and turn to look before it’s time.

He wouldn’t. He’d know restraint and wait to gaze upon his love’s face till they were back outside, together under sunlight.

He would not light a flame, would not shine a torch into the darkness and ruin his chances, doom himself to a life without Itadori for the second time.

He would march on straight ahead, walk without pause till they were out of the Underworld. He would wait, nervous and twitchy till Itadori told him it was okay and turn to face him slowly. Afraid he’d been tricked and that he’d find a mangled corpse, maggot-infested and desperate to drag him back down instead of Itadori.

This scenario is a little sweeter, like honey fresh from the honeycomb.

He turns and finds Itadori, without any of Sukuna’s markings, smiling wide and brighter than the sun. 

They’d embrace and he’d marvel at the warmth of his skin, at the strength of his body, at the strong beat of his heart where it’d rest firmly in his chest.

He’d confess his love, explain that distance makes the heart grow fonder but death has too. Neither would be sure who surges forward first, who presses his lips against the other’s first but the end result would be the same. 

The two of them wrapped in each other’s arms as Megumi’s heart beats out of his chest in joy, ecstatic at the knowledge that he can finally bring Itadori home .

He’d call him Yuuji and say, ‘welcome back,’ and Yuuji would understand that he meant I missed you . 

He’d answer, “I’m home” and intertwine their fingers, softly squeezing Megumi’s hand afterwards. 

I missed you too .

It’s too rose-coloured to come true in this unfair world where Megumi is nothing but a cog in the wheels of restitution.

Itadori is dead. He won’t come back, no matter how much Megumi wishes him to, not even if he begs or pleads or prays. 

He’s lucky it’s a Saturday and he isn’t expected on the training fields until afternoon. 

He lies there, blocking out the rain and the thoughts of Itadori’s death with countless fantasies, unrealistic and childish. 

Puts them as the pivotal characters in every star-crossed tale and gives them a happy ending instead as the shame bubbles and broils in his stomach, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

There’s a dichotomy between his careless fantasies and the harsh reality, a dichotomy between Yuuji’s homecoming grin and his final goodbye.

Another needle, a tiny pinprick, stabs through his heart. Drowns him further.

The happy fantasies are forgotten now that his stomach churns and his vision blurs. Now that a high-pitched ringing fills his ears and his breaths shake on every inhale and exhale. A stabbing pain choking him, overwhelming his senses and it hurts .

Hurts like none of his injuries have ever hurt before, not even the first ones that tore him open and left him gasping for breath for days. Hurts more than Sukuna kicking him around in the rain, it hurts almost as much as it did when he watched Yuuji die that very first time.

Megumi doesn’t know how much of him there’s left.

How much longer he’ll be able to take these constant nightmares, the lack of sleep, seeing Itadori in everything, no matter how mundane.

He’s tired.

When , he thinks, desperate, when will it end?

He’s alive.

He’s alive .

Jumping out at them like a jack-in-the-box. Smiling that bright, treacherous smile, not a drop of blood in sight.

What the fuck , Megumi thinks and then again, what the fuck?!

People do not come back from the dead, not even in a world filled with cursed spirits and Jujutsu.

Those who are gone are gone. No amount of cursed energy would resurrect anybody, no matter how desperate you might be to save them so how —

Megumi wants to scream, wants to ask Itadori what sick joke he’s playing, wants to pinch himself to see if he’s dreaming. 

It would be his cruellest nightmare yet. Vivid, realistic, from the tilt of Itadori’s head, to his smile and the way his eyes squint shut. From his crow’s feet to the exact shade of pink of his hair.

Blood rushes through Megumi’s head, louder than his thoughts, even as he schools his expression and stoically follows Kugisaki over to Itadori, still in his box.

“You got something to say?” Kugisaki bites and Itadori’s slightly sheepish expression turns remorseful. 

Her voice is thick with tears and Megumi can see them welling up at the corners of her eyes. Her mouth is a thin, angry line, her brows furrowed in an effort to hold them back.

“Sorry I didn’t tell ya...about being alive and all,” Itadori says, equally tearful, the words are aimed at Kugisaki but he’s looking at Megumi when he says them. Locks eyes with him and forces Megumi to look back, to stare into this remorseful brown orbs, with a murky darkness hidden underneath.

Megumi’s got tears making his eyes burn too, he’s got tears, clogging up the back of his throat, tears throbbing in his head, blocking his airways, but he refuses to let them fall.

It’s like he’s been freed from his shackles only to have a boulder placed on his back.

Itadori might be alive now, but he’s still slated for execution. He’s living on borrowed time.

It’d been better if you’d stayed dead , Megumi thinks as they make their way to the conference room. 

He repeats it over and over, doesn’t let any other thought slip in, lest he contradict himself with something like relief.

He knows how this story ends, with Itadori dead and Megumi left to grieve. 

He won’t be the same as that mother two months ago, he refuses the mourn for an inevitable death because then he’s the stupid one for getting attached.

He has to be resolute in his decision because his treacherous mind, his treacherous lonely mind, would throw himself into this like he’s never been hurt before.

Chew on my heart, it whispers, fixated on Itadori’s back. Tear me apart, rip me into a million pieces, leave me broken and battered. Bruised, never to be the same again.

He shoves the thoughts down, locks them up in the recesses of his mind, far away.

He acts normal as they prepare for the event. Looks off to the side instead of at Itadori, in the flesh, holding the picture frame like he’s still deceased.

He’s listening to the others as they talk, cutting in to answer Itadori’s questions reflexively and wishing he hadn’t spoken at all when those honey-brown eyes, full of life , look at him.

Each time their eyes meet it sends electricity down Megumi’s spin, makes his heart skip a beat and his body heat up involuntarily.

Panda-senpai answers Itadori’s question about Inumaki-senpai and with those eyes away from him he expects his resolve to strengthen.

He’s a weak, weak man.

It breaks.

So far he’s watched Itadori from the corner of his eyes, glanced at him quickly, eyes darting back to him without fail, subconsciously.

Now that there’s no chance of Itadori staring back at him Megumi allows himself to drink him in.

He hasn’t truly allowed himself to be perplexed by how soft Itadori’s pinkish hair looks, by the flush that is once again sitting comfortably on the apples of his cheeks. The way his pink lips shift as he speaks and he smiles, showing off his pearly white teeth.

He’s endearing in how attentively he listens to those around him. How he pays them his undivided attention for the few moments they speak to him.

It’s clear that Itadori cares about all of them even though he’s only just met the senpai. He cares that he hurt Kugisaki and his feelings and wanted them to be happy to see him. As if he couldn’t imagine that they’d grieve for him, as if he thought they might just continue on with their normal routines and set him out of their thoughts. 

Megumi wonders if Itadori’s lonely sometimes. If he doesn’t expect people to miss him. Expects to be but a speck in history, easily forgotten.

Megumi wonders if that’s why Itadori doesn’t seem to mind his execution, maybe that’s why he wasn’t afraid of death then at the end.

The conversation moves on. 

Itadori attempts to explain his fighting abilities to the others. There’s a moment though, right before he starts speaking, where he averts his eyes. His shoulders tense up, crawl higher almost imperceptibly, like he’s remembering something that he doesn’t wish to, caught in memories he wishes he didn’t have. It’s almost unnoticeable, nothing changes about his features, but it’s a flash in his eyes that Megumi’s seen one too many times, staring back at himself in the mirror. 

He collects himself though and finishes his sentence.

In Megumi’s opinion, it’s an inadequate description to say that Itadori can “just” punch and kick.

Megumi’s seen him jump four stories, has seen him fight a high-level curse without any prior knowledge, has seen him rush into battle against a first-grade curse he could never defeat, to buy Megumi and Kugisaki some time.

“I don’t know what he was up to while he was gone,” Megumi starts, trying to keep the resentment out of his voice, avoiding Itadori’s eyes and looking at his hands instead, “but if it comes down to a brawl without any cursed energy involved… Itadori would win.”

“Itadori,” he calls out moments before the battle starts. 

His eyes are wide, furrowed, the hint of something different hides behind their honey-brown. Itadori’s posture has changed, his shoulders rest a little further back, his hands are tense, his fingers twitching.

“You okay?” Megumi asks, massaging his shoulder as he walks up to Itadori nonchalantly. Itadori evades the question. Answers, “Well, it’s a big job, but I should be fine,” deliberately obtuse.

“Not that,” Megumi interrupts, “something happened, didn’t it?” he tries again, as sincerely as he can.

Itadori’s face contorts into something that’s probably supposed to be a smile. Megumi would classify it as a grimace. His eyebrows pinched, his mouth and eyes tense, his smile artificial and too close-mouthed.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” he tries but Megumi fixes him with a look. Stares him down, unimpressed. You can’t bottle these things up, and he’s noticed that besides lying about his death,  something else has been eating at Itadori ever since he popped out of that box.

Megumi doesn’t have to say anything else, it takes but a moment for  Itadori to concede.

“Yeah,” he says, halfway between sheepish and contemplative.

“But I’m okay,” it isn’t a lie this time around, “In fact, thanks to what happened, I don’t want to lose to anyone anymore.” His eyes blaze with an unfamiliar fire as he says those last words, voice hard as steel.

“Good,” Megumi responds, brushing against Itador’s side as he joins the others, “Me too,” he says, “I don’t want to lose either.” Not anymore, not you .

They leave Itadori behind to fight Toudou.

Megumi continues straight ahead, he won’t look back. Not even to satiate the uncomfortable churning in his gut, that wants him to keep his eyes on Itadori at all times.

Itadori said he didn’t want to lose anymore, Megumi needs to trust him.

He’s alive and he’ll stay that way.

.

.

.

They end up in the same situation again.

The unclassified cursed spirit that broke into their camp stands before them. Toudou and Itadori are a barrier between it and Megumi, he’s injured and weak this time too.

He’s woozy, his body’s sore, but panic is creeping up now that lives are at stake.

The cursed spirit is strong, Itadori won’t be able to beat it, Toudou might not even be able to beat it and what if—. He shakes his head.

Itadori turns to face the curse, drops into a fighting stance as Toudou calls out to him and Megumi’s heart stops.

Not again , he thinks, please, please, please , not again.

There’s blood in his mouth, his head hurts, there’s a stabbing pain in his abdomen where the roots try to sink deeper and deeper into him. His heart’s beating in his throat.

“Stop Itadori!” he calls out, failing to hide the mix of desperation and horror making his stomach churn, “That’s not the kind of enemy we—” he dissolves into coughing, like pebbles scraping his throat. It’s dry, rough as sandpaper. Globs of blood, thick, crimson and slimy splattering against his hand.

Toudou tells Panda-senpai to get him and Zenin-senpai out but Megumi’s barely listening.

He’s got his eyes fixed on Itadori’s back, watches his shoulders rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall again.

He’s alive , he reminds himself, he’s alive .

That awareness doesn’t make it any better.

If he’s alive now it means he can die again, which means Megumi will be back where he started, the only difference being the fleeting seconds where he hoped for a future.

Naively.

“Wait!” he calls out, “even you won’t—”

“Fushiguro.” Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a smile. Eyes clear, relaxed, unlike that day. It flashes before Megumi’s eyes, Itadori’s determined eyes, his mouth a thin line, his body tense as he said, ‘Please’.

Once again, Megumi cannot fight him.

His heart skips a beat, he gapes. That familiar cold seeps back in.

What exactly happened in the two months he was gone? Who is this Itadori standing before him, ready to protect him again?

“You see it too,” Toudou says, like he’s a samurai proclaiming the wondrous tales of his brethren, “He’s beginning to spread his wings. He must find his own way. That is where he stands.”

Megumi grits his teeth. Tastes the iron in his mouth and steels himself.

He said he wasn’t going to lose anymore, he’ll come out on top, he will. He has to.

“I’ll kill you if you die again,” Megumi yells moments before he gets hoisted onto Panda-senpai’s back.

The last thing he hears before they disappear between the trees is, “I guess I can’t go dying on ya then.”

You better fucking not .

They survive it all, somehow.

It’s almost comical by the end of it. 

Megumi’s the one resting in one of the infirmary beds, gnawing down on the pizza Kugisaki and Itadori brought him as they devolve into useless chattering about Toudou.

Megumi isn’t paying attention, he doesn’t have to, he's not part of the conversation, but this is the first time in the two months since Itadori died that he feels truly settled.

His heart is beating calmly in his chest, his muscles are relaxed and every time he looks up and glances to his left he sees Itadori there. Talking to Kugisaki with a pained look on his face. It sends something warm coursing through his body, dispels the harrowing cold he’d become so familiar with. 

It’s like basking in the sun after six months of darkness. The first day of spring after an endless decrepit winter.

“But anyway, we’re glad you’re okay, Fushiguro!” Itadori turns to him. 

Honey-brown meets emerald.

Megumi’s breath catches at the life within those light brown orbs.

It still doesn’t feel quite right, doesn’t feel quite real and Megumi does everything in his power to suppress the urge to reach out for Itadori. To put a hand over his heart, or against his neck, to press his fingers against the pulse point on his wrist, to confirm that this is real and he isn’t just making the past events up whilst stuck in some twisted dream, which will soon turn dark again.

It registers then what Itadori said and he sighs, there’s a smile creeping up on his face.

“It ended up being a good thing that I was out of cursed energy,” he explains, turning towards more clinical matters before his emotions run away from him, “once we got rid of the roots Ieiri was able to heal me.”

“So things like that happen too, huh?” Itadori mumbles.

“You fought against it right?” Kugisaki asks but he ignores both of them.

He remembers those two instances, they overlap in his mind. That final desperate and resolved, ‘Please’, and this unconcerned and determined, almost jovial, ‘Don’t worry.’

“Itadori,” he says, sharp and clear, “You’ve gotten stronger.” Itadori stares at him, surprised, pizza slice halfway to his mouth.

“We talked about our own truths back then,” he continues, trying to suppress the flashes from that rainy day but failing as he remembers Itadori’s bloodied smile. His eyes filled with acceptance, his final words both feather-light and a heavy boulder on Megumi’s shoulders.

“Maybe we’re both right. Or both wrong,” he finishes, mind still caught on those memories and trying to convey his feelings appropriately.

“There are questions that don’t have an answer, y’know?” Kugisaki cuts in, “You’re overthinking it, you’re gonna go bald,” she finishes bluntly. Head resting on her palm and staring at Megumi like he’s a weirdo.

“Yeah… there’s no answer,” he concedes, “it comes down to whether you can come to terms with it or not. It’s impossible to do that without a sense of self. Weak Jujutsu sorcerers don’t have a sense of self,” I don’t have a sense of self , “I’ll also get stronger… and surpass you,” he states with finality. 

He’ll never have Itadori, he’s sure of it. Won’t hold him in the ways his treacherous dreams have shown him, won’t be able to love him in the way his heart yearns for, won’t be able to get so close to someone whose life’s thread is ready to be cut at any instance.

Itadori grins at him, all teeth and wide eyes twinkling with mirth. It’s like a declaration, somewhere hidden deep underneath the challenge Megumi’s saying I’ll stay by your side till the end and he knows that Itadori understood even if he didn’t quite catch the depth of emotion.

“That’s more like it,” Itadori says with a laugh and Megumi’s treacherous heart skips a beat.

“Don’t forget about me!” Kugisaki grumbles off to the side, teeth bared in anger.

“As I expected of my brother’s friends,” a new voice cuts in and they all turn their heads, surprised to find Toudou sitting at the foot end of Megumi’s bed.

Within seconds Itadori’s dashed outside, vaulting through the window as he runs away, Toudou hot on his heels.

That night Megumi enters his own room and slips under the covers without the familiar trepidation. There’d been a moment, right before they entered their respective rooms where it’d seemed as if Itadori wanted to say something to him, he’d closed his mouth last minute and walked into his room with a mumbled “Goodnight”.

Megumi had let him go, unsure if he could do much more than acknowledge that Itadori was alive now that the adrenaline of the day’s events had settled.

He needed to be alone, in the hopes that it might grant his restless mind some peace.

It does, for the first time in two months.

He falls asleep listening to Itadori stumbling around in the next room over, moving his things around before he finally climbs into bed.

 Megumi expects a peaceful dreamless night.

If only he were so lucky.

It’s just him and Itadori standing before the unregistered cursed spirit. Megumi’s injured, on his knees, in the river. He can’t get himself to move, his limbs heavier than stone and all he can do is watch.

Watch as Itadori charges at the monster and gets blasted back, as he charges again and slowly starts falling apart at the seams. His fingers become charred, his hair smokes, there’s blood dripping from his mouth, from his nose, from a cut under his eyes. His hands tremble and shake but he continues to attack, again and again, blocking Megumi from the curse’s line of sight.

Megumi knows, Gojou-sensei won’t come to save them this time.

This is the end.

Please , not again.

Itadori turns to him, smiles, whispers something that floats away in the breeze before it reaches Megumi’s ears and charges again.

There’s a flash of blinding light, a thundering boom that shakes him to his core, a sudden scorching heat.

Megumi expects to open his eyes to ashes, floating from the sky.

If only he were so lucky. 

When he opens his eyes he is met by Itadori Yuuji, with a gaping hole in his chest. Stumbling towards Megumi in desperation, reaching for him, tears in his eyes. He’s moving his mouth but Megumi can’t hear over the ringing in his ears.

Itadori comes closer and closer, his charred arms reach out for Megumi like he’s reaching for salvation, for his final saviour to end his pain.

He falls before he reaches his goal and dissolves into nothing before Megumi’s eyes.

.

.

.

He can’t remember waking up. Can’t remember stumbling out of bed and stepping out into the hallway. He can’t remember walking over to Itadori’s room nor can he remember opening the door.

Yet he finds himself here anyway, on the threshold, peering into the darkness.

His beating heart is calmed when he notices the lump in the bed, when he listens and hears the soft breathing of someone deep in sleep.

This is enough , Megumi thinks. He’s alive, it was just a dream, there’s nothing to worry about anymore , but he can’t stop himself from fidgeting. Can’t stop himself from worrying and imagining worst-case scenarios. What if the lump in the bed isn’t Itadori? What if it’s Sukuna feigning sleep? What if he’s on the brink of death, unable to move and Megumi, the only one who could help, leaves him? 

He tries to shake the thoughts, tries to shut them out of his head but finds it impossible. They’re incessant in their intrusiveness, gruesome in their persistence and the imagery they show him.

Don’t you remember? They tell him, Don’t you remember what he looked like then?

He does, they know he does.

Between one moment and the next he’s stepping into the room. Tiptoeing towards the bed, quiet as a shadow. 

He stops when he’s right next to it, tries to silence his heavy breathing and still his rapidly beating heart. Itadori’s pinkish hair is the only thing sticking out from underneath the blankets, the strands flattened after a few hours’ sleep.

Megumi’s finger’s tremble as he reaches for the covers and carefully lifts them, letting out a sigh of relief when Itadori’s face is devoid of Sukuna’s markings, smiling as he notices the rhythmic up and down of Itadori’s chest.

There’s one last thing, one final thing he wants to check. Slowly, carefully, so he doesn’t disturb Itadori’s sleep, he slips his right hand under the covers and lets it rest, feather-light, over Itadori’s chest. 

For one horrifying second Megumi doesn’t feel anything but then, faintly, Itadori’s thrumming heartbeat comes alive under his fingers, its steady cadence more obvious the longer his hand remains in place.

Air rushes easily into his lungs, his muscles lose their tension now that he’s met with the undeniable proof that Itadori’s alive.

Megumi’s about to retract his hand, to tuck Itadori back underneath the covers when the other boy shifts and mumbles something incomprehensible, shaking his head slightly. Megumi freezes, slowly counts to ten and attempts to slip his hand away again.

He gets grabbed by the wrist and before he registers it he’s pinned to the bed, hands above his head, held in Itadori’s strong grasp. Itadori’s other hand pressing down on Megumi’s chest. 

In the darkness his features are almost indistinguishable but Megumi knows Itadori’s teeth are bared and that his eyes must have something a little crazy to them. In the way that only happens when you’re woken unexpectedly and have become accustomed to reading anything unfamiliar as a threat.

Itadori lets up soon though. He lets go of Megumi mere seconds after he’s pinned him to the bed and scrambles backwards, surprised noises the only sound to leave his mouth.

“Fushiguro?” he asks, bewildered but Megumi’s too overwhelmed to answer. His heartbeat has sped up again, his wrists and chest burn where Itadori touched them and his head has yet to catch up to what happened. One moment he was on his feet, the next Itadori was hovering over him.

Reminiscent of the sweetest parts of his many vivid dreams.

He shakes his head and slowly sits up, shuffling backwards till his back hits Itadori’s headrest.

“I’m sorry,” Megumi says but he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for.

He can feel Itadori’s eyes on him, burning with questions, but waiting till Megumi offers up answers on his own. It’s embarrassing though to admit why he was there, even more shameful to admit that it was part of his routine to rush to Itadori’s room for comfort after a nightmare.

He concedes after a few moments, breaks underneath those eyes, and says, “I had a weird dream and wanted to check on you, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

The words sound flat and distrustful even to his own ears and he doesn’t need to see Itadori’s face to know he’s sceptical.

“Okay…” Itadori says shifting on the bed, and then, “give me a second.” 

He gets out of bed and shuffles around the room, there’s a soft click right before the lights turn on.

Megumi’s momentarily blinded and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, opening them slowly to let them adjust to the light.

When he sees Itadori his mouth goes dry and his heart speeds up another gear. 

He hadn’t noticed it before in the darkness but now that Itadori’s awkwardly standing before him, a hand swiping his hair to the side, he realises that Itadori’s barely dressed.

The fabric he’d felt was that of a tank top, so loose and flowy that it leaves nothing to the imagination when Itadori’s standing up. 

Megumi’s thankful that Itadori sleeps in a pair of basketball shorts and not in his underwear.

He swallows thickly and forces his eyes away from Itadori, staring down at his fingers instead. 

He can’t, however, keep his eyes off Itadori forever.

The other boy doesn’t return to his original spot on the other side of the bed, instead, he sits down right in front of Megumi, turns to face him and crosses his legs. If Megumi were to point his feet they’d brush Itadori’s ankles. If he shifted forward a little their heads would knock into one another. If he moved his hands a little to the side, their fingertips would meet.

He wants to, needs to, put more distance between them but can’t, constrained by the headboard.

Itadori stares at him, eyes boring into his soul, laying every single one of Megumi’s well-kept secrets bare. Megumi stares back. 

He’s not sure if Itadori wants him to elaborate on his dream, or wants him to do or say something else, if he’s still thinking about what he wanted to bring up earlier and contemplating how to say it. 

Megumi’s prepared to hold his tongue, for fear of what might come spilling out now that they’re finally alone. Now that he’s felt Itadori’s heartbeat and knows that, at least for now, he’s alive.

To Megumi’s surprise, it’s Itadori who breaks the silence.

“Look,” he starts, “I mean,” he sighs, scoots a little closer to Megumi and this time when he speaks his voice is soft, “I feel like I didn’t say it properly before but so, I’m sorry for not telling you I was alive,” he runs another hand through his hair, but doesn’t break eye contact. He’s determined to finish speaking and convey his message.

“I’m not completely sure how I survived either,” he says, “something with Sukuna, and afterwards Gojou-sensei put me through a bunch of training and…” he trails off for a second, lost in thought, lips downturned for a single instance, “and… some other things happened. Two months passed before I knew it and I didn’t get a chance to speak to you or see you, I doubt Gojou-sensei would’ve let me. The higher-ups wanted me dead, apparently,” he shakes his head, his voice quivers on the last two words.

“I’m sorry, again. I didn’t mean to hurt you or cause you unnecessary grief.” 

Itadori smiles at him but it’s watery, thin, easily blown away by the slightest gust of air.

Megumi cups his cheeks and presses their foreheads together without thought, instinctively he brings Itadori closer, attempts to provide him with comfort and touch to stave off whatever darkness might linger in his thoughts.

His eyes widen at his own actions, at his inability to control himself.

He tries to recoil, wants to take his hands off Itadori like he’s been burned, but is unable to.

Itadori grabs hold of his wrist, whispers, “don’t,” his voice hoarse which stops Megumi in his tracks. 

Itadori’s eyes are closed, his eyelids quivering slightly, but Megumi can’t close his own. Transfixed on the face of the boy he likes so close to his own.

Itadori’s skin is smooth, its warm bronze hue compliments his eyes. 

His lashes are short, barely casting a shadow over his face. This is the first time Megumi’s been able to study him like this, noticed him and can look without guilt broiling in his stomach. 

Megumi’s biggest discovery is Itadori’s freckles. A smattering of them across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, more on his neck and along his shoulders. Megumi forces his eyes back up, lest he gets lost in the expanses of Itadori’s exposed skin, barely hidden by the thin fabric pretending to be a tank top.

Megumi’s breathing shakes, his hands tremble the longer he stares at Itadori. The more he soaks in the realisation that this is a living, breathing human being, blood pumping through his veins. A heart where it’s supposed to be, beating without fail.  

“I’ve been dreaming about you dying,” Megumi says, low and controlled. 

Itadori flinches backwards, his eyes open and his pupils are small black pits that look anywhere except Megumi. He lets go of Megumi’s wrist, tries to pull away and curl into himself. This time it’s Megumi who won’t let him, who pulls him back in and holds him tight.

“Stay,” he says, barely above a whisper, vulnerable in a way Itadori hasn’t seen him before. It stops him in his tracks. 

Megumi presses his other hand to the back of Itadori’s neck, pulls him even closer with a tender touch. Itadori relaxes against him, slumps forward, resting his head on Megumi’s shoulder. Going boneless under Megumi’s ministrations and it’s like a dam inside him breaks.

“I’ve been dreaming about you dying,” he repeats, “I’ve had nightmares since the first day,” he hums morbidly, desperate for alleviation, “I kept dreaming of Sukuna and you and your heart being ripped out of your chest. It sucked,” he says with a chuckle, trying to lift the mood, Itadori’s lips do not quirk upwards.

He powers on.

“I started sleeping in your room to feel better or something, it became a habit,” Megumi pulls back a little, hesitant to remain this close now that his secret’s been exposed.

He can’t quite bring himself to let go of Itadori though, he just loosens his grip, enough that Itadori lifts his head upwards, to look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “it’s gotta be weird to hear that.” He averts his gaze, waits for the words to register and for Itadori to pull back, for their comfortable friendship and this moment to end. 

Itadori doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t move either. The stillness between them is a heavy weight on Megumi’s shoulders.

He shifts, keeps his eyes downcast, turns his body to the side and says, “I’m going back to my room,” putting one foot on the floor and readying himself to rush out. Cold fingers settling around his heart again, that same cold spreading into his veins against his will. He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat but fails. Once, twice, thrice. His hands tremble and breathing becomes difficult, tears welling up behind his eyes and nose, sending sharp sparks of pain through his head.

Itadori’s been back for less than a day and Megumi’s already managed to make things weird. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Right as he’s about to stand up, leave this room and the boy within it behind to return to his room filled with nightmares, Itadori’s hand closes around his wrist in an iron grip. He tugs, pulls Megumi back onto the bed with force, so he stumbles backwards right into Itadori’s lap.

Itadori won’t look him in the eyes, but there’s a rosy blush high on his cheeks. There’s something vulnerable in the iron grip around Megumi’s wrist that softened moments after he first grabbed it.

He rubs his thumb across Megumi’s pulse point, in slow languid circles, his breath tickles the back of Megumi’s neck.

His senses are dialled up to eleven, Megumi is hyper-aware of the boy behind him, he never wants to leave.

“Stay,” Itadori whispers, softer than Megumi had, almost too quiet for Megumi to catch at all, but he hears it, and is too weak to deny him. 

Fushiguro Megumi saves people unfairly, he is selfish in his decisions and in his designations of human worth. Itadori Yuuji breaks him down to his essentials, to his bare bones, to the ugliest parts of him with a simple word.

“Okay,” he breathes and moves to position himself properly in the bed. 

Itadori moves to accommodate him, shuffling back towards the wall and opening the covers, covering the both of them once Megumi’s laid down.

They lay in silence for who knows how long, before Itadori lets out a sharp exhale and curses under his breath.

“The lights,” he says by way of explanation before he clambers over Megumi to switch them off.

Megumi would’ve laughed at him, if the darkness didn’t make their positions even more intimate.

Made him even more aware of Itadori’s breathing, of their proximity. There is less space between them than there should be between friends, but Megumi knows he wouldn’t be able to move away unless Itadori kicked him out of the bed.

He knows that, If he moved his fingers slightly to the side, their hands would brush, if he turned they’d be face to face, mere centimetres apart, if he was that close, close enough that they could feel the other’s breath on their face, that they could brush noses then maybe they could k—

He sighs and turns on his side, facing out into the room instead of towards Itadori.

This way he’ll be able to sleep, he hopes. If he just pretends Itadori isn’t there, if Megumi ignores his breathing, the heat coming from the other side of the bed, the way the bed creaks when he moves. He’ll be able to sleep.

This plan is ruined when Itadori quietly asks him to turn around. 

“Fushiguro?” he asks, low, and then once Megumi doesn’t react, again but quieter, “Fushiguro?”

There’s something a little fragile in his voice, like glass right before it shatters or ice moments before it breaks.

The next time he asks in a way Megumi can’t ignore.

“Megumi,” Itadori whispers, breathes softly, reverently, shame clinging to his tone, “can you turn around?” And who is Megumi to refuse him? Who is Megumi to pretend he doesn’t want to give this boy everything good the world has to over? Who is Megumi to not turn around when Itadori Yuuji calls him by his first name?

He turns around, a little too quick, and finds them but a hair’s width apart.

“Hey,” he blurts, desperate for some distance as his heart picks up a gear.

“Hey,” Itadori responds, a little sheepish, a little apologetic. 

“Sorry for using your first name,” he whispers, “we’re not really that close but I kinda wanted to catch your attention because—”

“It’s fine,” Megumi interjects, “don’t worry about it, I didn’t mind,” he trails off. Voice getting softer the longer he speaks.

A warm hand presses against the back of his neck, there’s an arm slung across his side and Megumi’s being pulled forward, being pulled in , till he’s unsure where he ends and Itadori begins.

They are one warm body, with one heartbeat, breathing in tandem.

There’s a frantic little voice in his head, panicked and nervous, worried for his rabbit heart, that tells him to pull away. That tells him don’t, please don’t , because he might be alive now but Itadori’s still on death row, even if he’s got a suspended sentence. 

Some day Megumi will have to watch Itadori die and know that, this time, there’s no coming back. He’ll have to see him torn to shreds and set ablaze, with nothing but the memories left behind. 

Megumi wonders if, when that day comes, he shall play at executioner.

If he doesn’t pull away from this collision course there will be no turning back.

He’s going to know what Itadori tastes like, if his hair is as soft as it looks. He’ll know every one of his expressions, know what he’s like early in the morning and late at night. He’ll know how soft his lips are, how soft his most tender touch. He’ll know what it’s like when Itadori Yuuji focuses all his attention on you and exalts you as the most important in the world.

He will know what it feels like to be wanted , to be loved and cherished, held dear to someone’s heart.

The voice tells him, he’s going to ruin you, he’s going to ruin you for anyone else if you do this , but Megumi doesn’t care.

He stares into Itadori Yuuji’s eyes, feels his warm body pressed against his, his warm breath fanning Megumi’s face and he decides it’s worth it. If he’ll have him, Megumi will let Itadori chew on his heart, chomp down on it till blood spurts out and it’s a shade of its former self, blackened and bruised, weakly beating, clinging onto a worthless life. 

Megumi wants to know what it’s like to be loved by Itadori Yuuji even if it means that, once he’s gone, all other forms of love will fall short. Even if it means all other touches will leave him aching. Even if it means the smell of sandalwood and grapefruit will tear him apart at the seams.

Even if it means he’ll never love again, forever trapped in the memories of someone who is no longer there.

Megumi shifts his head. Their noses brush together, and a hot shiver runs down his spine.

“I missed you,” he whispers against Itadori’s lips and it means something else, it means something more . 

Itadori seems to grasp it though, made clear as the hold on the back of Megumi’s neck tightens ever so slightly, and Itadori tries to pull him even closer, like he wants to absorb Megumi into himself, wants to cling to him and never let him go.

“I missed you too,” Itadori whispers back, Megumi knows it means the same.

He locks the panicked screaming voice in his head away, shuts the door on its wailing and throws away the key.

Itadori Yuuji has returned from the dead. Megumi’s wrapped up in his arms, engulfed by his sandalwood and grapefruit smell, body relaxed under his gentle ministrations.

Their lips are but a hair’s width apart, and Megumi might not know what the future holds, he might not know if the story laid out for them will end with them, happy like this in each other’s arms, but in this moment he can choose if he wants a chance at happiness or if he wants to condemn himself to a life of what-ifs.

With that in mind, it becomes a thousand times easier to lean in that last bit and press his lips to Itadori’s.

.

.

.

Fin.