Archive of Our Own

The task had been a simple one. Retrieve the cursed finger and bring it back with him. The location had been labelled clearly on the map, on the edge of some random high school. It was meant to be an easy mission.

However, the mission did not end up being easy at all.

The problem he faced had manifested in the form of a guy named Yuji Itadori. With pink hair, unnatural speed, and inhuman physical prowess- it had been so impressive that Megumi had considered the use of cursed energy, but Itadori had been oblivious to the world of curses when Megumi had explained the situation. Though that hadn’t stopped him from forcibly tagging along, despite the students' protests. This was no place for someone who had little to no experience with curses, though the stony determination that set his features told Megumi that trying to get him to stay was a near-impossible task.

Megumi had ventured inside the main building and instructed Itadori to stay outside the school gates. He didn't need some random teenager getting in his way.

However, ironically, that random teenager had practically saved his life that day.

Yuji Itadori, who was this guy? He ran in, headfirst, into the mess that had congregated within the high school. He hadn’t hesitated to punch a curse as hard as he possibly could and then there was the whole issue of how the hell a kid even managed to shoot through the hallway window, unbothered by the shards of broken glass. They were on the fourth floor. Itadori didn't run away, didn't even consider that an option, not even when they were thrown through the walls by the curse and tumbled out onto the rooftop.

He stood there, skin illuminated by the crescent moon. Despite the balance of life and death blurring in this very moment- despite the monstrosity of gargling flesh and sharp claws in front of them– despite it all, the stars reflected in his eyes. Highlighting a strong sense of honesty and strength. His jaw was set. The rest of his body was toned, that much Megumi could tell. A muscular build–

Megumi shook his head, the thoughts scattering across the floor. He blinks, trying to focus but his head is pounding, a trickle of blood running down the side of his temple. He wills his legs to move– yells internally at his body to do anything– but it refuses as if lead has been stuffed inside his bones.

There's a familiar flash in Itadori’s eyes. Megumi only recognises it as something familiar because he’s seen it before. A telltale sign that you’re about to make a stupid decision. Itadori is being held by the curse, being dangled right above its mouth. Then, held by a thread between Itadori’s gritted teeth is the finger. He flings his head backwards, the finger soaring up above them, before opening his mouth–

“No, don’t do it,” Megumi whispers, pure, unfiltered shock coursing through his veins. Then, aggressively, he yells again, “ Don’t do it!”

This guy– the guy he met today. Who he knows nothing about apart from the fact that he had just lost a family member when he had managed to corner him in the hospital. Megumi, realistically, should not care about what happens. It goes against his better judgement, don't get attached. Don't worry about strangers. This was a dog-eat-dog kind of world, after all. But his mind can’t help but spiral. The fingers aren't fit for human consumption. It would be pure poison going down Itadori’s throat. It would be near impossible to survive that–

The hands of the curse explode, purple blood splattering everywhere. Itadori, head hung low, moves with monstrous agility. A wrist, now with two black rings wrapped around it, flicks upwards and the curse disintegrates in the blink of an eye.

It’s nearly impossible to survive swallowing the cursed finger. Though near impossible means that there is still a slither of hope- that there is still a minuscule chance that survival could happen.

Sukuna. Sukuna, the King of Curses, is rambling and laughing maniacally and Megumi cannot focus on a single word spewing out of the curse’s mouth because this was not supposed to happen. His mission was to retrieve the finger and return it. It was supposed to be easy. The embodiment of all things evil wasn't meant to have inhabited the body of a teenage boy.

“What do you think you're doing with my body?” A familiar voice cuts through the haze in Megumi’s mind. With what little strength he has left, he clambers up and intently watches. “Give it back.”

“Hey,  how are you doing that?” That's Sukuna speaking again, voice irritated, though it's littered with a sense of curiosity.

“What do you mean? It’s my body.”

Yuji Itadori. The guy who had managed to fight back Sukuna and regain control of his own body. 

Though Megumi cannot stray from his orders, he cannot, in good conscience, let this slip through his bloodied hands. Even if this miracle boy has strolled into his life with an obviously good heart and a will to help others.

“Stay where you are,” Megumi instructs. He cannot hold himself upright for any longer and instead kneels down on one leg, hands clenched in front of him. He takes in a breath and slowly exhales before continuing. “You’re no longer human. Under Jujutsu regulation, Yuji Itadori, I will now exorcise you as a curse.”

Itadori raises his hands, stepping back. “No, really I’m fine,” He reassures, the black markings fading away into his skin. “You and I are both pretty beat up, shouldn't we see a doctor?”

Megumi falters. The way Itadori speaks, his tone, it doesn't seem malicious. Though curses are getting smarter with each passing day, Megumi was in no place to underestimate what the king of curses was capable of. For the first time, Megumi felt conflicted about what to do. His mind was divided. This was Itadori speaking– or was it Sukuna? He couldn't be sure. He didn’t know what to do–

“What's the situation?” A new voice interrupts and Megumi glances over to be greeted by Satoru Gojo, who jovially explains that he's just checking in. “So, did you find it yet?”

“Urm, sorry,” Itadori speaks up, sheepishly raising a hand, “I ate that thing.”

Gojo freezes for a second. “Really?”

Megumi spits out “He did” At the same time Itadori mutters, “I did.”

It's how Mergumi ends up watching Gojo and Suknua fight for ten seconds. Too unbelievably fast, darting across the school roof. Satoru’s footsteps tap lightly against the stone as he moves gracefully and Sukuna, with brute force, making brash leaps and eager kicks.

“Seven, eight, nine, ten,” Gojo counts. Megumi watches from across the rooftop, sees the markings disappear once more as Itadori blinks a few and then straightens himself up.

“How’d it go?”

“How about that, you really can control that guy!” Gojo exclaims, mildly intrigued as he hops forward over the debris.

Yuji continues as Satoru strolls closer, “He’s really annoying though, I keep hearing his voice.”

“It's a miracle that's all he's doing to you,” Satoru muses, lifting up and tapping two fingers against Itadori’s forehead. His eyes roll back, body slumping forward into Gojo’s open arms.

Megumi frowns, “what’d you do to him?”

“I just knocked him out,” He explains casually, “If he isn't possessed by Sukuna when he wakes up, he might have potential as a vessel. Now! I have a question for you, what do you think we should do with him?”

He contemplates Gojo’s question. His eyes switch between his teacher and the unconscious boy in his arms. The boy who, without thinking, was willing to sacrifice himself for something he barely knew anything about. Who was ready to give his life up in hopes that he could do something good. Who trusted Megumi, without even knowing him, and followed him into this mess.

“Well, even if he is a vessel, Jujutsu regulations demand Itadori be executed,” He starts, his gaze stopping on Itadori. He hesitates before adding, “However, I don't want him to die.”

Gojo smirks. “Personal?”

“I suppose. So, can you save him?”

Satoru laughs as he hauls Itadori up onto his shoulder, “A request from a precious student? Leave it to me!”

—

Itadori ends up moving into the room next to him. Then when Kugisaki joins the mix, she moves into a room in the girls’ quarters just a couple of corridors down. It's– and he would never say this out loud– it's nice. Nice to have other people around his age he could talk to, even if that consisted of a loyal dumbass who followed his heart more often than his head and a girl who was far more aggressive than she needed to be most of the time.

It was nice regardless.

They had already done a couple of missions here and there, the three of them were good and Satoru must have known all along that this was going to work. That smug bastard.

“Hey, idiot, what are you doing?” Kugisaki tugs him out of his thoughts, only for him to see that she currently has Itadori pressed into the grass in a headlock.

“Thinking.” He pauses, eyeing them both. “What are you doing?”

“You didn't even see my sick ass manoeuvre? Unbelievable,” She scoffs, untangling herself from Itadori. “I absolutely demolished him.”

“As if,” Itadori huffed, wiping the loose blades of grass from his trousers, “I was just going easy on you.”

“Want me to beat your head in with my hammer?”

“No, actually, I want to go eat. I'm hungry.”

Kugisaki smirks, “Not to agree with you but that's an idea I can get behind,” Her smirk falters for a moment though, “But I’m pretty sure we have almost nothing in the kitchen right now.”

“Then let's go out to eat?” He suggests.

“Are you going to be paying?”

Itadori doesn't respond.

“Though so,” She teases. “And I’m certainly not paying because there's this new line of clothing I’m saving up for so I cannot afford to go out spending money on random shit.”

Megumi does not point out that just yesterday he watched her buy a new pair of shoes that she hadn’t planned on getting. Instead, he decides to say, “We could just take Gojo’s card?”

Both heads snap towards him. “Really?” 

He shrugs. “Yeah? It won't be the first time I've done it.”

“Huh, I really underestimated you,” Kugisaki comments, dragging Itadori along.

Itadori grins at them both, “Thanks Fushiguro, you’re the best!”

Megumi, despite himself, doesn’t stop the subtle smile that forms on his own lips. Yeah, this was nice.

—

“I’m not really into watching films,” Megumi says honestly and the gasp that Itadori does sounds far too dramatic than it needs to be. It sounds like he's been told some horrible, terrible news. When, in fact, all Megumi has said is he’s not a film nerd.

“But films are great!” He rebuttals, twisting his neck to the side from where he lays across the couch, “Kugisaki back me up here!”

“I’m not getting involved in this lover’s quarrel you've got going on between the two of you,” She says around a forkful of food from where she's sat at the table.

“Rude. Films are good! You two don't know what you're on about.”

Megumi shoves Itadori’s legs off the couch, causing him to pout, but he wordlessly rearranges himself so they can both sit down. “I like books,” Megumi says simply.

“Nerd,” Kugisaki calls out.

He decidedly ignores that comment. “I just enjoy reading more than watching, I guess. I think it’s because growing up I had access to books whereas I didn't watch anything until I was older.”

“Well there’s no time to start than the present, if you ask me!” Itadori has already stood up, crossing the room to where the TV is, and rifling through the cupboards. Megumi hasn't touched those in years. He pulls out a handful of DVDs, most of them Megumi hasn’t even heard of. Some of them have probably been around as long as Satoru has. “Which one do you want to watch?”

Megumi eyes them all, only really recognising one cover and even then he hasn't watched it. He shrugs. “Which one would be your pick?”

Itadori’s eyes light up in a way that makes Megumi’s stomach flip. “Well since you asked…”

He finds himself sandwiched between Itadori and Kugisaki, a large bowl of popcorn resting on his lap. He’s honestly kind of lost regarding the plot of this film, he’s trying to keep up with the new characters being introduced every five minutes and the convoluted storyline doesn't make much sense. But he glances at Kugisaki happily munching her way through a handful of popcorn and then at Itadori, eyes sparkling as he enjoys a film he's probably watched a hundred times before but offered to watch again with them regardless. Megumi doesn’t suppose he minds the convoluted plot if this is the experience he gets. Relaxing a little bit more into the couch cushion, he looks back at the TV.

—

He hadn't bothered looking at what time it was, the sky outside was already plastered in darkness, stars twinkling against the deep canvas. More often than not he was spending the early hours of the morning filling his time with menial tasks, perhaps a run around the school grounds or powering through one of his newest books.

This time he was on his way to the communal living space to grab some water. Though as he approached, he noted a gentle buzz and saw the lights were still on. As he enters, he spots Itadori sitting at the dining table, staring off into the distance as a mug of coffee goes cold in front of him.

He looks up, and Megumi can see the tiredness woven into his features. “Oh, hey Fushiguro, what are you doing up?”

Heading over to the tap he fills up a glass, “Thirsty,” is his only answer as he pulls out the chair next to Itadori and sits down. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Oh, you know,” He says as he taps the side of his temple, shrugging slightly.

Megumi doesn't know. He doesn't understand because he currently does not have a curse sharing his body. Though he chooses not to voice that and instead just mumbles, “Yeah. Couldn't sleep?”

Itadori hums in agreement.

“I'm sorry you have to deal with that,” Megumi whispers because what else is he meant to say? Comforting others was never a strength of his to begin with, so how was he meant to comfort a boy who was part curse when he was born fully human?

Itadori stifles a yawn, “It’s okay. I brought this on myself.” His response is just as quiet.

Outside, he can make out the painted stars and the slithers of the moon that peaks through into the room. It's oddly peaceful, sitting here, despite the melancholy brought along with this conversation.

“You don't have to stay,” Itadori comments, it isn't at all confrontational. In fact, there's a hint of concern woven in there. “I’ll be alright.”

“I don't mind,” Megumi responds truthfully because in reality he wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon and he vaguely remembers a time when he and Tsumiki were sitting in their living room. She had been exhausted from exams that week and had wanted to fall asleep but was struggling to do so. He had sat next to her, and that had apparently been enough for her to sink into the couch and let her eyes flutter shut.

He thinks, naively, that maybe this would help Itadori too.

“Okay,” The aforementioned says, “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not a bother.”

They lapse into silence. It perhaps isn't comfortable but it isn't as awkward as he had expected it to be. At some point Itadori starts nodding off and, without thinking, Megumi shuffles closer and helps Itadori lower his head onto his shoulder.

It’s far too intimate, he realises suddenly. He had never done anything like this with anyone and he isn't quite sure why his mind had told him to do that. Though he stays still, he doesn't dare move and Itadori is soundly sleeping against him in no time. His breaths brushed past his neck whilst his own heart was in his throat.

When morning comes around, he blinks awake. The plan hadn’t been to fall asleep. He looks around and notices the chair beside him is empty but there's also a post-it note stuck to the table, a small smiley face and a thanks scribbled onto it.

—

It had gone to shit. It had all gone to shit in a matter of mere seconds.

The partial domain was nothing they couldn't handle, but the unregistered special grade was. It hadn't been in the briefing, this hadn't been a part of the instructions for the mission. Kugisaki was whisked away somewhere by a smaller curse, Itadori was visibly getting riled up, and he couldn’t deny his own patience was wearing thin as well.

It's a whirlwind of claws against concrete. A mix of punches and kicks and shouting and swears until Itadroi is so sure he can distract the curse long enough for Megumi to go and retrieve Kugisaki. He doesn't have the luxury to wait and contemplate the potential consequences, he just runs. He has to believe in Itadori, he can no longer stand and wait around.

One minute he's alone, panting out short breaths as he watches the car trail off into the distance. The thought of Kugisaki being driven off to safety wasn't very comforting with the prevalent knowledge that Itadori was still stuck somewhere inside the twisted prison.

Then the next thing to happen is Sukuna suddenly standing right in front of him, grinning wide like a maniac, teeth sharpened into jagged points. With the rain blasting down around them it's hard to concentrate on what Sukuna is saying, hard to dodge the kicks and punches that come his way, footsteps slipping on wet ground.

It's hard to hear when his ears fill with static as he watches Sukuna's– Itadori's– whoever’s hands morph into claws and dive forward into solid flesh. The world around him a hazy buzz as he watches, wide-eyed, as Sukuna yanks harshly and there's a squelching pop . A heart, still feebly trying to beat is tossed to the side as if it is nothing but forgettable trash.

It's Itadori’s heart.

There's no time to even digest the fact that a human heart has been torn from its safe haven and disregarded as if it's nothing because Sukuna is fighting back with much more vigour. He lands a kick into Megumi's side and he feels the pressure in his ribs bend to an agonising degree. With how easy it is to lose his footing, he's sent flying backwards, winded, through brick and debris. His body is a ragdoll, smashing through the concrete as if it were sodden cardboard, thumping against the ground, stopping in a murky puddle of brown and red.

Sukuna approaches him, his flash of white fangs still morphed into a smile that cuts through Itadori's face like a knife. The gaping cavity in his chest gushes blood, thick and viscous as it mingles with the rainwater. 

In scenarios like this, where hope has fallen through his stained, shaking fingers, his mind only flicks to one solution. Clambering up, he stares Sukuna dead on, stance widening as he digs the heels of his shoes into the crumbly ground. With a huffed-out exhale, he steadies his palms into fists and opens his mouth to say the fated words. In the end, he won't be alive to see what damage had been done but if it’s enough to take down the rampant king of curses, then it's a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

Before he spits out the calling, he realises Itadori could still be listening. So, he says, “Just so you know, I don’t have any logical reason for saving you back then. Even if it was dangerous, I couldn’t bear to see a good person like you die.” Sukuna watches him, wordlessly and Megumi hopes that Itadori is somewhere in there listening. “I did have my reservations, but ultimately, it was for selfish, emotional reasons.”

Sukuna’s sly, intrigued smile lessens and his markings fade away into skin. Until Itadori is left, tiredly blinking, body swaying side to side.

“That's fine though. I’m not a hero. I’m a Jujutsu sorcerer.” Megumi finishes, a pleasantly surprised smile gracing his lips. “So I’ve never once regretted saving you.”

“I see,” Itadori grins. “You really are smart, Fushiguro. You put more thought into this than I have. I think your conviction’s a proper one, but I don’t think mine is wrong either.”

It’s bittersweet. Itadori still sways and a wave of blood is pushed out of the wound in his chest. Despite Itadori’s tone, despite him not looking at Megumi with anger or sadness, he can’t help but suppress nausea as his insides twist.

“Oh, sorry, I’m almost done for. Guess I won't have to worry about you, Kugisaki, or Gojo.”

Megumi cannot look him in the eyes any longer, head turning to face the floor.

“Live a long life,” Itadori sputters out, a hand gently hovering over his chest, not quite touching the congealed skin, but not brave enough to tear itself away.

Before Megumi can even utter another word– before he can say a single thought, Itadori sways one final time and crumples forward, defunct body slamming into the concrete. As relentless as always, the rain doesn’t give up. It continues to batter down onto them.

It’s cold and harsh, like the uneasy feelings settling deep within his bones. It crashes down onto lifeless skin as he bites down harshly on his quivering lip. The crimson pool surrounding Itadori becomes diluted against the greys of the floor. The rain drenches them both, making him shiver beneath sopping wet clothes and his soaking hair is slick against his forehead.

The only positive of the rain, he thinks bitterly, is that if anyone were to see him right now, they wouldn't be able to notice the tears currently carving tracks into his cheeks.

In the end, it’s Gojo who comes to pick him up. Who arrives on the scene and spots a shivering Megumi, folded in on himself on the floor and staring blankly at the corpse of his friend. He doesn't say anything as he approaches, only a low sigh escaping past his lips as he scoops up Itadori’s body.

For a while, Megumi refuses to move. Not until Satoru finally speaks up, “Come on Megs, we need to go.”

He doesn't respond with anything.

“We need Shoko to check you. Kugisaki is already being treated.”

He doesn’t even lift his head, it hangs low between his knees. The rain has yet to stop.

“Okay,” Gojo says quietly and in an instant his cursed energy disappears, the buzz of infinity gone for a short moment before he’s warped back to the wreckage, no longer carrying the body. He crouches down in front of Megumi, “You ready?”

He doesn't answer.

In the blink of an eye, he's out of the rain and surrounded by white walls and floors, the smell of antiseptic mixed with the coppery tang of blood. Satoru gently lowers him onto one of the beds. Somewhere in a distant room, he can hear the telltale sound of Ieiri’s heels clacking against the linoleum. Gojo is also speaking but it sounds like a faded hum, as Megumi curls in on himself and wills his body to succumb to exhaustion.

—

“Live a long life?” Kugisaki mumbles into the palm of her hand as they both slouch against the stairs waiting for the second years to arrive. Gojo had simply stated that joint training would be beneficial and then disappeared to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what. “Doesn’t mean much when you go and die yourself,” She adds.

Megumi glances to the side. Kugisaki hasn’t been her normal, loud self recently and Megumi cannot blame her. He doesn't feel like he's been himself these past few days either. It’s as if they've been forced back into the normality of their everyday school lives and have to act as if their classmate hadn’t just been murdered by the curse that had been inhabiting his body.

“Is this your first time having a partner die?” Kugisaki asks.

“First time for one my age.”

She sighs, “You seem to be taking it well, considering.”

He doesn't know if the statement holds any truth to it or not. Taking it well seems a bit of a stretch. He’s not been able to sleep for three nights straight and each time he does he feels the rain on his face and swears he can smell the rancid scent of rotting flesh and the familiar metallic hint of blood.

“Same to you.”

“Of course. I only knew him for about two weeks. I’m not some simple woman who breaks down bawling when a guy I barely know dies.”

He knows that statement isn't true either. He’s seen Itadori and Kugisaki argue, with no real malice behind their insults, as Kugisaki would slap him playfully and Itadori would dramatically fall to the floor. Or the movie nights, whilst there hadn't been many they had all enjoyed them. Or when he caught them in her room, gossiping about whatever as she painted his nails and music crackled out of her laptop speaker.

“Jeez.” Kugisaki mumbles. Megumi glances over to her and spots the tremble in her lips, strands of hair shielding her eyes from his view.

He looks away. For the sake of her privacy. He felt like there was nothing he could do, he was not suited to comfort others. “It’s hot, huh?”

Kugisaki straightens herself before replying. “Yeah. Wonder if it’s time for summer uniforms.”

They fall into silence once more. Itadori had always been the best out of the three of them at filling up blank spaces. Whether it be with a bad joke, his rambunctious laughter or his complaints about how annoying Sukuna was being.

It feels a little too quiet now.

Though he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because the second years are approaching and soon he's whisked off to an afternoon of practice.

—

Sleep had always been a battle for him, not that he needed much to begin with. Sometimes a couple of hours would suffice and he would be able to go about his day and function normally. He was used to a few, uninterrupted hours of dreamless sleep and then waking up fairly early.

He doesn’t recall ever falling asleep, but he opens his eyes and is met with a grey, clouded sky. In fact, he doesn’t think he had drifted off because he doesn’t recognise this place- an open field, stretching far and wide. As he stands up, the grass reaches his knees. There is nothing here, just the seemingly endless grassy field and the dark grey sky that's threatening to release a torrent of rain at any given moment. He looks around, looking for anything until he finally spots something off in the distance.

It’s a humanoid figure.

Currently, it’s the only thing he’s got for potential answers so he trudged through the grass towards the mystery silhouette, hoping he’s not stuck in some curse’s domain and this was a trap. As he approaches, dread starts to flow over him because he recognises that silhouette. The broad shoulders and muscular frame. His worries are confirmed as he gets close enough to see. The grey clouds are hiding the sun so he has to strain his eyes a bit. He spots a tuft of pink hair, as the figure stands shitless in the field, not looking in Megumi’s direction.

His chapped lips are bone dry. “Itadori?”

This cannot be real.

For a moment, he isn't sure if he has been heard but slowly the figure turns around, just as Megumi feels a small droplet of rain hit his face, holding his breath, he waits as the figure continues to turn agonisingly slowly, until, eventually, he can actually make out the face-

He freezes.

The clouds open up and rain thunders around them.

It’s Itadori, cheeks hollow and eyes sunken. His skin is ashen, not holding the joyous colour it usually would. The figure– Itadori– blinks slowly, and Megumi cannot move, feet stuck to the ground.

He glances downwards–

It’s a mess. Itadori’s heaving chest is tattered beyond recognition, bloodied clumps hanging onto his skin by thin threads. Pulsing muscles have been shredded, leaving an empty cavity where a heart should be. Though instead there's nothing but a bubbling waterfall of crimson, sluggishly trailing down the front of his chest, dripping off into the soil below. 

“Fushiguro, why?”

No response is pushed out, his mouth agape with horror as he watches his friend– well, his best friend, if he’s honest– watches the hollow figure stumble forward, face contorted in pain. He blinks and suddenly there's something weighted in his hand and he looks down to see a spluttering heart in his palm, its juices staining his skin instantly.

He can't let go of it.

It's warm against his skin, the heat irritating as the organ helplessly splutters and coughs and pumps blood into the open air. It’s Itadoris heart, he realises, suppressing a gag as he desperately tries to let the organ fall away. It’s stuck, coagulated blood too sticky to slide off his fingers.

“You couldn't save me,” The corpse goes on and Megumi shakes his head. “That’s– you didn't save me, Fushiguro. My heart, my soul, gone.”

“No, no, I tried,” He starts feverishly shaking his hand to get the damned thing away but the flesh has fused with his skin and sends boiling hot jolts of pain up his arm. He glances back up and there are deep carvings in Itadori’s skin, reminiscent of what Sukuna’s black markings look like. But they’re gashes, weeping blood. His bruised face was a warzone, eyes an endless black void and when he opens his mouth, a spurt of blood shoots out and slaps against Megumi’s cheek.

“Why didn't you stop it?”

“I tried, I tried,” He repeats, the coppery tang getting too much, his heart and head pounding in tandem. His hand burns now, each joint in his fingers screaming in agony as he tightens the grip around the dying heart.

Itadori’s arms shoot forward and he wraps his hands around Megumi’s neck, clenching aggressively into his pale skin.

“You did nothing to help me.”

“I- I couldn’t, I couldn’t,” His voice cracks and the laugh that comes out of Itadori’s mouth is far too deep to be his. It’s guttural and primordial, belonging to a beast who only knows bloodlust and death.

“What if you save someone who hurts others?” It mocks, tone dripping with venom. “We saved each other the day we first met and now I’m dead and you get to live. How is that fair? How is that fair? ”

Nausea takes hold of his entire body, and he feebly paws at the ironclad grip around his throat. “I didn’t want this–”

“You should feel the same pain as me.”

“I’m sorry, stop–”

“You should have to experience the excruciating pain of death.”

“Stop– Itadori stop–” He chokes. Was that even Itadori anymore? The figure does not relent, Megumi’s throat closing up, darkness dancing around the corners of his vision as his eyes roll upwards-

He blinks and suddenly he’s intaking torrents of air, stumbling backwards and clutching at his own throat, coughing as his vision swims and swirls until finally clearing. His hands, whilst still bloodied, are now empty and, hesitantly, he straightens himself up again.

Itadori is holding his own heart this time, face now longer beaten but his chest is still a cavernous hole. “Hey,” He speaks, voice soft as if comforting a scared abandoned animal, “Fushiguro, it’ll be okay.”

“What?”

It’s a complete turnaround. None of it feels remotely real but the figure seems more like Itadori than before. Comforting rather than aggressive. There's an almost apologetic tint in his eyes, a glint of guilt. “I want you to live, Fushiguro.”

“Hang on a minute, you can’t leave,” He rasps, hoarse. He goes to step forward and the figure just retreats a couple steps back.

Itadori’s fingers sharpen into claws, and he presses down the tips of his nails into the muscle of the heart. The smile that graces his lips is regretful, it’s full of untouched sadness and Megumi wants to swipe at it with his thumb and tell Itadori that it will be okay, not the other way round.

“Live a long life, remember?”

“No, Itadori, wait–”

The claws rip the heart in two and Itadori crumples to the ground.

Drenched in sweat and panting heavily, his eyes shoot open and he’s met with his bedroom ceiling. Hastily, he flings the bed covers off of his warm body and sits up, trembling fingers clawing at his pyjama top as he fails to cough out a single breath. The label at the back of his collar chafes at his neck uncomfortably, his clammy palms don't find comfort in twisting the fabric repetitively, his head spinning.

Inhale. Exhale–

He can't.

He sucks in a breath and almost chokes on his own saliva, gasping for air, begging for his lungs to work. 

Inhale. 

Itadori was dead and Megumi, at fifteen years old, had watched him die right in front of him. 

Exhale. Exhale. 

Itadori died because he wanted to save people, his heart torn to shreds by an inhumane curse. 

In-hale. Inhale. In-fucking-hale. 

Yuji Itadori, at fifteen years old, was forced to face the horrific fate of reality and forced to choke on his own blood. 

Exhale. 

And, the worst part, was that he had done so with a smile. A smile. 

Inhale. 

He had wished Megumi to live a long life, even though they had only known each other for a few months. 

Exhale. 

He had looked at him, as he was dying, and smiled his wondrous, beautiful, precious smile that Megumi wished he could see again. He wished Yuji Itadori had said nothing, had made this just a little bit easier on him because now Megumi wanted to succumb to the void and not look back but he couldn't because the one person he realised he truly, deeply cared about had asked him to live a long life and Megumi isn’t going to throw away a dead man's wish.

Inhale. Exhale.

He bites down on his lip so hard he feels it split. Grinding his molars together to force the sob trying to make its way up his throat back down. Down into his aching chest where his erratic heart feels heavy and his lungs groan painfully as he tries to hold onto a minuscule piece of composure.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Silently, he curls up. He tightly contorts his body into a small, enclosed ball, with his knees hugged tightly to his chest, head buried between them.

Live a long life.

Megumi isn't sure that he can.

—

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” Satoru’s voice, soft and gentle, sounded out in the kitchen. Megumi shrugs. “All right,” Is the simple response his teacher gives, as Gojo gets to work around the small nook.

Megumi tries to focus on something, on anything, right now. He tries to listen to the oven hob as it bursts into life, flames heating the bottom of a saucepan. Or Satoru’s steps across the tiled floor, forever bouncy and light, as if he was weightless. He tries to focus on the smell of chicken broth filling the air, the comforting scent of childhood. Reminding him of late-night meals with his family after Gojo had rushed through the front door, an unspoken apology sat on the tip of his tongue as he fished out the quick and easy meal he could make for the kids before eventually having to shuffle them off to bed. 

He tried to focus. He tried to focus on anything else but with each blink, eyelids heavy, he sees burning red that stains his memories. Tinted with sin, thoughts of loss weighing down on him. The room was by no means cold but his body shivered as he sat at the table, hands tracing the grain in the wood because if he stopped fidgeting for even a moment he feared that the tips of them would turn claggy and crimson, leaving a smear against the surface within its wake.

His mind wanders. It supplies him with scenarios he doesn't want to face. Itadori sat across from him, laughing at a rude remark Kugiaski had made. Then Megumi would roll his eyes in hopes that they would shut up and let him finish his morning coffee in peace. Though that was never the case. Not with Kugisaki stating that tea was always the better option. Or with Itadori, voice lilted with curiosity and perhaps a hint of disgust, wondering how Megumi could drink such a bitter concoction when Itadori had to even it out with far too much milk and an unholy amount of sugar.

Or he imagines it’s late at night, the window showing the sky has turned into a brilliant deep navy, purple if you squint. Kugisaki is giggling to herself, a beauty facemask already on and the timer on her phone ticking away. She's laughing because Itadori had managed to fall asleep at the table instantly. Leant back in the chair, mouth open, loudly snoring and now a pair of crudely drawn glasses around his eyes and an even uglier looking– let’s say, a male phallic symbol– on his right cheek.

“He’s not going to be happy when he wakes up, you know that, right?” Megumi mumbles into his mug. Look, he may favour the bitter taste of black coffee but he was no monster. At some point, he would slink back to his room for, hopefully, a night of restful sleep. Hot chocolate would always suffice in moments like this when coffee just would not help him unwind.

“Oh, I know,” Kugiaski grins, stopping her phone alarm before it goes off so it doesn’t wake up Itadori. Then she quickly swipes to her camera and snaps a photo, “But I can see you trying to hide your smirk, this shit is funny.”

He tried not to think about it.

He desperately tried to think about the moment he had walked in on Itadori at the table at the ungodly hours of the morning. He tried not to remember the strained tiredness in his voice and the way his eyes glistened, telling him all that he needed to know. That it was one of those restless nights that meant sleep would do more harm than good at the moment. He tried to forget the way Itadori melted into the crook of his neck after whispered words were exchanged. How easily Itadori’s eyes had fluttered shut as they sat and how Megumi’s heart, trapped behind his ribcage, was beating against the bones so aggressively he thought it could burst out at any given moment.

Though, his heart is still there. Still beating.

Others hadn’t been so lucky.

His throat closes up. Blinking rapidly, he notes how blurred the table had become. How everything around him looks like a passing motion more than anything. How the watery image of the chair across from him is a reminder that no one will be able to fill it. No one could replace who had claimed that seat previously. A cough, short and violent, is ripped from his chest and Megumi feels nausea claw at his insides as no matter how many times he blinks, the world stays blurry. Satoru is moving around him but he stops hearing his teacher entirely. The grain of the wood under his fingertips grates at his skin now and he yanks his hand away, noticing the way his joints ache, his body hurts, his heart heavy.

It’s as if all the air has been removed from his lungs, each breath a jagged struggle against his throat. Each one is painful and slow and diminishing. Whatever he’s experiencing right now he thinks he has only had to experience once in his life and that was when his sister was put in a coma by a curse–

Oh. It clicks.

This feeling, this is the feeling of grief. The isolating thought of realising you’ve lost someone you loved.

Whatever noise came out of his mouth next– he wasn’t proud of. A mix between a gag and a sob, then flickering off into a pathetic-sounding whine. He runs his hands over his face, through the knots in his hair, tugging at the ends of each strand harshly.

“Did you say something Megs? Hey, hang on,” His fingers are pried away from his hair and Megumi shrinks into himself, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he realises the blurriness was simply due to tears. The realisation was made apparent by the wetness cascading down his face, fat droplets landing on his t-shirt. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head. He clenched tightly onto the hands that had guided his own away from his hair. Then, to prevent any more helpless sounds from escaping him, he bites down hard enough on the inside of his cheek that it hurts.

The hands let go of him, gently cupping his face instead, a thumb carefully brushing past his lower lip to swipe away a crude mixture of blood and spittle.

“You’re hurting yourself,” Satoru states, though his tone is not accusatory but instead doused with concern. It throws him back to a time long ago when Megumi was sitting shaking in a hospital chair, his sister hooked up to far too many wires and surrounded by far too many machines, refusing to move the nails digging into the palms of his hands. Then a flash of white hair is all he makes out as a figure crouches down in front of him and carefully, one by one extends all Megumi’s fingers away and checks if any of the indentations from the nails had broken skin or not.

It makes him feel small and helpless as if he’s a child again. Hopelessly lost now that daunting realisations are slamming into him, like a solid punch to the face.

Itadori is dead.

Yuji is dead.

He stifled a sob and tried to pull away from Gojo, whose warm palms still hadn't stopped cupping his cheeks. Though the attempts are futile. As Satoru leans forward and gently knocks their forehead together, Megumi is overcome with such intense protective curse energy that he almost melts into it. 

“You’re allowed to cry, kid,” Satoru whispers. Megumi still refuses to open his eyes.

“No. No, I–”

“You are,” Gojo reassures. It’s a dirty trick, whatever he’s doing right now but Megumi is leaning more and more into the little bubble that's formed around them, as if the rest of the world simply did not exist in this moment. “You can cry, Megs. You can go mental if you want. Scream and shout and curse. It’s only me here.”

“You– no– fuck.” He spits out, trying to hold in a breath for more than two seconds but failing miserably. “Fucking, he’s fucking dead. He’s dead and I couldn’t do a single fucking thing,” He takes a moment to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Satoru says nothing, but one of his hands moves upwards and runs through Megumi’s hair. Reminiscent of a childhood memory of young Megumi, sniffling after throwing up due to a stomach bug going around the school. Where Gojo had ignored the kids' protests about staying safe and not catching the sickness too. Instead just calmly ran fingers through his hair until Megumi, exhausted yet still fighting to keep his eyes open, eventually fell asleep.

(“I don’t get sick, don’t worry,” Satoru had reassured them.

Then a week later he was bedridden with the same goddamn stomach bug.)

“I didn’t do anything. I couldn't do anything,” His voice cracks as he continues, “Sukuna was too strong. You weren't there either and I tried, I tried, but it wasn't–”

“Hey, take a deep breath in for me,” Gojo says slowly, exaggerating his own breathing.

“He’s dead.”

“I know, Megs. Follow my breathing, alright?”

“He fucking died and told me to live. Fucking fuck–”

“He did. In and out, like this.”

Inhale. Exhale. “He’s dead. He died.”

“In– yeah. Yeah, that's it. Try and hold for just two seconds now,” Gojo instructs, “Good, you’re doing so well Megs.”

“Yuji is dead.”

“I know, Megumi,” His teacher, the man who raised him, basically his dad, adds, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not fair.”

Satoru hesitates, only for a brief moment but Megumi catches it. However, in this state, he can’t dissect what it could mean. “I know. I know it’s not fair.” 

Minutes pass by until eventually, Gojo pulls away. He continues with whatever food he was making, silently working as Megumi regains his composure. The heat in his cheeks is uncomfortable. He has still not opened his eyes, almost fearful to see what expression Satoru’s face holds.

He hears something ceramic knock against the table. Then another. Then the chair across from him is dragged across the tiles and Megumi knows Satoru has sat down in front of him. He supposed he couldn't avoid this forever. Hesitantly, he cracks open his eyes and instantly meets Satoru’s parental gaze, blindfolds discarded. He’s smiling gently but Megumi sees the sadness held in his blue iris’. Can see how the smile doesn't hold the same strength it usually does.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t apologise,” Satoru cuts in. He then nods towards the bowl of steaming ramen, “Do you want any?”

Although his plan had been to skip eating and stumble into his bed until utter exhaustion took him out, he couldn't deny that he wasn’t hungry. His stomach cramped up into thigh knots– whether that was because of not eating or because of the deep pit that had settled after this whole fiasco, he wasn’t sure. Regardless, he began to eat and just like the smell of homemade meals had transported him back home, so had the taste. Suddenly he’s six years old again and his older sister is sitting beside him on the stools at the kitchen island at Gojo’s apartment. Satoru had had to make do with the ingredients he had had in his cupboards, not being fully prepared for two kids to be staying at his place. Though it had been a pleasant meal nevertheless.

They eat in silence and neither of them say anything as Satoru collects the dirty dishes and dumps them into the sink, not even bothering to fill them up with warm water from the tap. He just abandons them. Whichever poor soul woke up first would have to deal with them in the morning (and it was most likely going to be Megumi who had to deal with them).

“How are you feeling, kid?” Gojo asks, his blindfold now back on but Megumi doesn’t need to see to know that Satoru’s gaze is directed towards him. In fact, Megumi can sense all six eyes are focused on him, watching intently.

“I don’t know,” He shrugs, honesty lacing his words, “Just tired, I guess.”

Satoru nods, understanding, “Well, why don’t we curl up on the couch?”

“What?”

“Like the good old days,” His teacher grins, and it feels like the most genuine one that Satoru had done this evening. “When you were young and found me passed out on your couch after endless missions and then I would wake up to find you and your sister on top of me. Along with far too many blankets.”

“In our defence, we didn't know what the appropriate amount of blankets were. We thought you would get too cold,” He mumbles, then stiffens slightly. “I mean, if you're offering–” His voice trails off.

A hand ruffles his hair. “For you, Megs? Of course, I’m offering.”

That’s how he ends up on the couch (with far too many blankets, might he add) pressed up against the weight of the man he’s always been too afraid to call a father but in reality, he knows it’s the truth. With his eyes still red and tear stains on his t-shirt. He feels infinity around them both, a comforting embrace. 

A part of him would rather die than be caught like this.

A different part of him, for the first time in several days, feels at ease. Though he knows it won't last, he leans into the warmth and, for the time being, revels in it.

—

“What’s your type?”

It had been an odd question, especially one to ask a complete stranger. To confront someone you had never met before and immediately ask about their preferences was weird. Before he had even met Todo, he understood that he was an eccentric character but he certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

It’s now late evening and he’s lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling. There’s a spider's web on his lights that he’s been meaning to get, the silk strands intertwining with the metal fixture.

He can't help but always end back at that question.

He doesn't even fully remember what answer he had given. Some basic response about vague attributes. Not the response that Todo had been hoping for and suddenly he's in a fight with someone considerably larger and more muscular than him.

The thing he keeps getting caught up on is that when Todo uttered the question, his mind instantly responded with Itadori.

Yuji Itadori.

With his pink hair that was in no way natural, right? The undercut was brown so he had to have dyed it. He wonders if it smells like cotton candy and if it would feel the same way too, soft strands that felt like pure fluff. With his eyes that held all his emotions, a door to his soul. That shimmered with excitement and glistened with joy, along with how the corners would crinkle as he would grin wide and bright. A smile that could rival the sun and eyes that put the stars to shame. His hands, were they calloused? Were they smooth? If Megumi intertwined his fingers with Itadori’s would it warm up his cold palms? What does the rest of his skin feel like? His lips, were they chapped or were they–

Megumi was going to be sick.

He turns over, pulls the duvet around his body tightly and shuts his eyes in hopes that he will be met with a dreamless sleep.

—

Normally, he would've been excited for an opportunity like the exchange event. A chance to show off his skills compared to all the other students as well as being a time to learn. Usually, first years didn’t get involved with this but since the third years are currently not here and Okkotsu is away, he and Kugisaki stepped up to join the mix.

He just can't seem to bring himself to be excited though.

Not when Itadori would’ve loved this. He would have excelled at it too, with his natural strength and speed. Though instead, he’s six feet under and Megumi has to act like he hasn’t recently lost someone dear to him and power through this event instead.

He doesn't bother adding any input when the others are talking with the Kyoto students. It’s mostly empty threats and the promise that they were going to win, so he tunes it out. Instead, he narrows his eyes as he spots Gojo approaching, an annoying smirk plastered across his face as he pushes a large box towards them.

Satoru, far too enthusiastic, goes about giving the other students silly souvenirs. Like the previous conversation, Megumi pays no mind to it, rolling his eyes. He’s had enough experience with that man that ignoring him is as easy as breathing.

“And for everyone from Tokyo,” Gojo is still talking, Megumi glares at the man, who is unlocking the clasps of the box, “We have this!”

He hears Kugiaki mumble, “Overly excited adults are creepy.” He couldn’t agree more.

The lid of the box is slammed open.

It’s Itadori.

Shooting out from the box, a huge welcoming grin on his face is Yuji Itadori. The boy whom he had watched die, had watched his whole heart be clawed out of his chest and tossed to the side like scrap. Itaodri was dead. At least, he should be. Instead, he is standing right in front of them, arms outstretched, obviously excited. Next to him, Kugisaki is frozen in place, he’s glad he’s not the only one who cannot move because what the absolute fuck is going on?

His heart is racing. This cannot be real. This cannot be real. Behind him, the second years are seemingly uninterested, mumbling between themselves and in front of him, Gojo exclaims, “It's your departed friend, Yuji!”

Seconds pass by at a snail's pace because this isn't real. He’s dreaming. This is a dream. He's thinking of the sleepless nights he spent mourning, vomiting up grief, gagging painfully. He thinks of the way his own heartbeat feels uncomfortable, each one powered by guilt because he was still standing but his friend was not. He thinks about his discussion with Kugisaki, usually stone-cold, hiding tears behind her hair and shielding her trembling lips with her hand.

Gojo is introducing Itadori to the Kyoto students but nothing is registering, his head is full of cotton and static fills his ears. He’s certain that his teacher is now teasing the Kyoto school Principal too but he cannot focus, eyes staring directly at Itadori, watching him inhale and exhale easily.

Alive.

Inhale. Exhale.

He’s alive.

Itadori looks uncomfortable as if he isn't quite sure what to do since no one is giving him a second thought. Probably not the response he had been expecting. It’s Kugisaki who breaks Megumi from his spiral, as she storms over to the box Itadori is still standing in. Megumi follows her wordlessly.

“Hey.” She says as she kicks the box. Itadori braces himself against the edge so he doesn't tumble over the side.

“Uh, yes?” He asks meekly.

Kugisaki crosses her arms, “You got something to say?”

“Huh?” Itadori blinks and then realises what she means. His eyes flick towards Megumi and then back to Kugisaki, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. Itadori’s stance softens, his shoulders lowering, “I’m sorry for keeping quiet about being alive.”

There isn't any time for pleasantries and reintroductions because the event is almost starting and they now have to factor in a new player. Kugisaki seems happy enough with Itadori’s reappearance, having given him an earful on why he was an idiot loser asshole who should have told his friends that he was fucking alive instead of keeping it a stupid secret.

Her words, not Megumi’s. (Though Megumi does agree with her.)

A plan has been put down, now involving Itadori, though he had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout it all. The past couple of days have been full of planning, he hasn’t had a chance to talk to Itadori by himself. And he needs to. Desperately. Whilst he isn't sure how his friend feels, Megumi personally thinks that there are a few things that need to be discussed.

The event is about to begin. Everyone is practically ready. “Itadori,” He calls out since he’s standing by himself and this feels like a good chance to at least have a small chat. Itadori turns to face him and Megumi studies his features. He looks different. Not hugely different but it feels like whatever happened between Itadori dying and coming back to life has affected him to some degree. It’s understandable, Megumi doesn't think he'd be the same afterwards either. “You okay?” He asks.

Itadori smiles but it doesn't feel completely natural. “Yeah, it sounds like I’ve got a big role, but I’ll manage.”

It’s a deflection, Megumi realises. “I’m not talking about that.” When Itadori falters, he knows he’s correct. “Something happened, right?”

“Huh? Nothing happened.”

Megumi stares long and hard, eyes narrowing at Itadori. His friend squirms under the gaze, knowing he’s been caught in the spotlight. He raises a hand to rub the back of his neck and sighs, “Okay, it did.”

For a moment, Itadori doesn't elaborate, lost in thought as he recounts something Megumi does not know about. There’s a sadness in his eyes but he blinks and it dissipates. “But it’s true that I’m fine,” He reassures but Megumi doesn't know whether to believe him or not, “In fact, because of what happened, I don’t want to lose to anyone.”

Between life and death, are you treated fairly? Were you treated with the kindness you deserved? When he was training with the second years and Kugisaki, trying to grow stronger and not think about the recent events, what was Itadori doing? What happened that made him utter those words, be so certain that he wasn't going to lose, that losing was not an option?

Though the determined, unwavering look on his face tells Megumi that he isn’t going to budge. That he isn’t going to expose the secrets he's holding close to his chest. Megumi isn’t going to push either. In fear of making Itadori uncomfortable, or even worse, causing his friend to shut in on himself completely.

 “Okay then.” He decides to say. If Itadori had changed, it was fair to say that he had changed too. That he’s more understanding of what's important to him. He knows where he stands and who he wants to protect. So, he adds, “I don't really want to lose, either.”

—

Everywhere aches. He doesn't have enough energy to get up from where he’s kneeling, the wound in his chest pulsing blood that stains his uniform a deep, murky maroon. Each breath struggles to surface and he’s actively fighting his eyelids from shutting themself, exhaustion weighing down on them.

Though, despite it all, he musters up what little strength he has left and shouts, “If you die, I’ll kill you myself!”

There is an unregistered curse roaming around. A powerful unregistered curse and Itadori stepped up to fight it, determination woven into his features but Megumi could not swallow down the panic rising up his throat. He cannot lose him. Not again. If the idiot goes and gets himself killed by another curse Megumi is going to scream and cry and throw up and maybe punch something really, really hard. 

It dawns on him how much Itadori truly does mean to him. How, even in his final moments the pink-haired boy whispered, a smile on his face, “Live a long life.”

What if Megumi wants that for both of them? What if he wants to, despite the fact they're going into a dangerous profession that throws high risks at him every day, grow old with him? So they can look back and laugh about the absurdities and reminisce on the fond memories and cringe at the embarrassments. 

Live a long life.

It didn't mean much if the person you wanted to live a long life with was dead.

Though Itadori, forever sturdy and an unmovable pillar within the small community they've built, refuses to go down without a fight. Refuses to see those who he cares about get hurt and not do something about it. He stands in front of him, stance wide and resolution written all over his face. Todo is muttering something about you see it too, right? And whilst he isn't fully listening he understands what Todo is trying to say.

Whatever happened when Itadori was ‘dead’ has changed him to some extent. Not a bad change, he might add, but a change to become even better. To help others unapologetically. Itadori had shrugged off Megumi’s earlier questions. Had insisted he was fine and mentioned that something had happened whilst he was away but didn't explain further.

Megumi wants to break down those walls and peer inside to see the highs and lows that make up Yuji Itadori. He wants to examine his beating heart ( his beating, very much alive, heart) and see what makes his blood pump. What forces him to keep going despite the hardships? What allows him to smile so brightly despite the world having treated him unjustly, He wants to look deep into those caramel eyes and peer directly at his soul so he can learn every slither of information there is to know about him.

Though, he cannot do any of that right now.

Instead, he’s hauled over Panda’s shoulder and whisked away to a safer location. Exhaustion is starting to overpower him and the last thing he sees before his eyes slip shut is Itadori’s silhouette, ready to fight for others once again.

When he wakes up, he's in his own bed. It doesn't take long for him to be up and moving again. Kugisaki too. She’s fully healed and back to her normal self. She had explained that apparently Gojo had managed to break through the barrier but in the end, the curse had gotten away. Apparently Itadori and Todo had fared pretty well against it.

Though Itadori is seemingly avoiding him right now.

He can never seem to find him. Ever since the baseball game they had played as their final event, he had managed to slip away unnoticed and is currently keeping his distance from Megumi. He just wants to talk, is all. Discuss some prevalent topics with him. And, perhaps, he just wanted to stare at Itadori for long enough to confirm that he was, in fact, alive and that this wasn't a twisted nightmare he was having.

“He’s been avoiding you?” Kugisaki asks as she currently paints her nails, sitting at her desk.

Megumi is lying across the rug on her floor. It’s surprisingly comfy. “Yeah.”

“Well that's odd,” She comments, “Because he's been chatting with me just fine.”

He glares up at her but she pays him no mind to him, “You’re not helping.”

“Look, don’t ask to come into my room if all you’re going to do is lie on my floor and sulk. You’ll end up ruining my immaculate vibes.”

“I’m not sulking,” He mumbles.

“Sure thing, maybe if you keep telling yourself that, you’ll actually believe it,” She mocks, holding up her left hand to inspect the nails. Satisfied with the results, she goes about adding the second coat to her right hand.

“He’s been avoiding me, I want to speak with him but can never catch him.”

“Then knock on his door or something. Corner him in his own room, then he has nowhere to go.”

“How do you make it sound so creepy?”

“Next time I won't give you any advice and you can suffer in silence.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Megumi says, sitting up from where he lay, “I'll talk to him at some point.”

“What’s been bothering you so much that it’s urgent you need to talk to Yuji about it?”

The use of his first name doesn't go unnoticed but he decides not to comment on that, “I don't need to tell you.”

She shrugs, finishing off the last finger before carefully capping the bottle of nail polish. “Suit yourself but if you don't tell me, I’ll immediately go track down Yuji myself and tell him you’re madly in love with him and that you’re looking for him because you want to confess.”

“I don't– hang on, what?”

“You heard me.”

“Madly in love? What are you on about,” He splutters, a warmth dusting his cheeks pink. Kugisaki barks out a laugh.

“Am I wrong though? You’re both as obvious as each other and I'm quite frankly sick of seeing you two awkwardly flit around and avoid your own feelings. You’re worried about him, are you not?” He decidedly doesn't give a verbal answer, just nodding, so she continues, “Exactly. He was dead, but now he's back but something obviously went down when he was away and you’re concerned. Plus, you want to check he’s alive. Just to be sure.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because I had to check too,” She responded honestly, “he came into my room to apologise for staying silent and I forgave him. Then we watched a film together and he didn't even flinch when I rested my head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat.”

It is surprising to hear this much vulnerability from Kugisaki. To hear that she had the same worries too. The thought of this not being real was a little too much to swallow. He almost forgot about how this conversation had started in the first place.

“So, you’re going to talk to him and then you can confess your feelings and life will be happy and swell.”

Almost , being the keyword.

“I do not–”

“If you try to deny this I will get out my hammer and smash you round the back of your head,” She cuts in. “Stop being an idiot and just go talk to him, it's really not that hard. I know for a fact that Yuji is too dumb to take matters into his own hands, he’s too sweet and is also worried.”

Megumi deflated, flopping backwards onto the rug again. “I hate you sometimes, I hope you know that.”

“You know, a thank you Nobara, you are such an amazing friend, thanks for all your advice, would have sufficed.”

“No need to be an ass about it.”

“I have every right to be an ass about it,” She smirks, hopping off her chair to lie next to him on the floor. She turns her head to look at him. “He’s alive, Megumi. Yuji is alive and you can go talk to him.”

He meets her unwavering gaze. “What do I even say? Is there even an appropriate way to go about this?”

“Well, what do you want to say? When you think of Yuji and think of what you want, what questions come to the front of your mind? What is your heart telling you to say?”

“He told me to live a long life,” He mumbles, Nobara nods. “I want to tell him to live a long life too.”

“You two are honestly made for each other, it's sickening,” She says playfully, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Tell him that. Just speak from the heart and you’ll be fine.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, I know so.”

—

Too much blood surrounds him. The concrete floor was stained, the murky crimson seeping into it, turning the greys brown almost. The walls, the floor, even the ceiling, it's all red, red, red. With blood gurgling through the cracks, trickling down the sides of the walls. 

In the centre, there's a twitching mass. A mess of veins and arteries and tissue and seeping muscle. In the very middle a pulverised heart, flickering out of existence.

“Live a long life,” Echoes around him, bouncing inside of this suffocating prison.

With a sharp inhale, he’s awake. 

Blinking away the sleep, he clambers up so he's stood in his room. He cannot continue to lie in his bed any longer, he doesn't even want to stay in his room. Instead, he’s already out the door and stumbling into the corridor.

Dreams fucking sucked. Dreams could go die in a hole and leave him alone. He doesn't need to be reminded of his own failures. He doesn't need his brain replaying some of the most horrific things he’s had to experience. All he wanted was to sleep and not think about Nobara’s advice. He especially did not want to think about the fact that Itadori was only in the room next to him, so close but at the same time it felt too far away.

“Fushiguro?”

He blinks, now face to face with Itadori, who is standing in his pyjamas, the door swung open. He doesn't even remember knocking and feels embarrassment flood his cheeks as he realises he probably woke Itadori up all because he subconsciously knocked on his door without even realising.

“Everything okay?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“I, erm, yeah,” He stutters, suddenly very aware of how weird this must be. “Sorry, I should go.”

“Wait,” Itadori calls out, grabbing Megumi’s wrist before he can turn and retreat back into the confines of his bedroom. The touch sparks against his skin. His breath hitches. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

Tonight seems to be full of surprises, primarily Megumi doing things that he hadn’t planned on doing, so he twists his hand around and presses it lightly into Itadori’s wrist.

Under his fingers, he feels the thrum of a pulse.

“Ah, sorry,” he pulls away and it leaves him feeling unpleasantly cold. “That was weird.”

Itadoru gives him a look full of understanding. He taps his chest in a rhythmic pattern, reminiscent of a heartbeat, “I’m alive.”

“Yep. You’re alive.”

Itadori awkwardly fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, biting his lip for a second, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, “for, y’know, not telling you guys I was alive. I didn't mean to scare you. You and Nobara are keeping an eye on me and are checking that I’m alive so I’m sorry you feel like you have to do that.”

“You talk as if it were your fault, Sukuna murdered you Itadori. I’m sorry that you had to go through that.”

“Yeah, dying is not fun. I would not recommend it.”

“I fully believe that.” A pause. Then, “I, erm, I’m glad you’re back. However it happened, I’m glad you’re still alive.”

“Yeah,” Though the smile Itadori gives feels strained, pulled a little too tight. “It’s been hectic recently.”

Itadori, once again, doesn’t elaborate. Megumi is sure that if he wants to, he will. It’s just a matter of taking time. Instead, he says, “I fully believe that too. You talk as if a lot has happened recently so can I ask, you didn't come back to life last week, did you?”

“Oh. No. No, I didn’t.”

Ah. That makes sense. Something uncomfortable and unpleasant swells deep inside of Megumi. “That’s why you were sorry.”

“Yep.” Itadori confirms, “I don't know how long it’s been exactly but I feel bad for not telling you. It’s just that Gojo had given me strict orders that I could no longer contact anyone I knew. Not until a plan was put in place regarding how I was going to return.”

Now those ugly feelings were directed towards Gojo. He recalls the comfort he had received from him and bitterly thinks that, back then, Satoru had potentially known that Itadori was alive. He could have known and had refused to say anything.

Megumi swallows thickly.

“You okay?” Itadori asks again, “I know it was a dick move and I really am sorry-”

“I forgive you, wholeheartedly,” He interrupts and it’s the truth. He doesn't hold anything against Itadori. He could never bring himself to be angry towards him. His heart has slowed down to a manageable pace and confessing to Itadori is a passing thought as his mind zeroes in on Gojo. “I apologise for waking you, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“Okay, but there’s no need to apologise.” Itadori smiles at him, this time it feels more genuine, “Sleep well, Fushiguro.”

“You too.” He knows full well that he’s not going back to sleep. Not when the fear of being thrown into a sadistic nightmare is so prevalent. Additionally, it would be hard to fall asleep with the way his thoughts are racing. Especially with the uncomfortable frustration bubbling up inside of him right now.

—

“We need to talk.” It was not a request, but rather a demand as Megumi shuts the door to Satoru’s office behind him. After the whirlwind of what was the exchange event he hasn’t had any time to stop and talk with Gojo and there has been one concerning issue on his mind that they desperately need to discuss.

Satoru must sense the urgency because he doesn’t offer up one of his witty remarks, instead, he puts his pen down and slides away the paper he was scribbling on, “What can I do for you Megumi?”

“Itadori is alive.”

“Yes, isn’t that wonderful!” For a moment the seriousness is wiped off his face as he grins, “Honestly, quite the miracle if you ask me–”

“Stop it.” Megumi butts in and for once, surprisingly, Gojo smacks his lips shut. “How long has he been alive for?”

Gojo sighs. It's a sign of a parent having to explain a difficult topic to their child. Megumi grinds his teeth together as he tries to take in a steadying breath. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes.” He spits out.

“Three months.”

For a moment, everything stops. Everything is put on pause as Megumi gathers himself because Itadori had been alive for three whole months and no one had said anything? Not even a quick, passing comment just so he and Kugisaki knew. So they didn't have to wallow in self-pity and choke on grief every passing moment. 

“And, and,” He doesn’t want to lash out towards Satoru. There is most probably a reasonable explanation as to why Itadori’s status was kept undercover for so long. But Megumi can’t help it, his blood piping hot in his veins. As he rapidly blinks away any of the pathetic emotions brimming in his eyes. “And you knew? You knew that he was alive the whole time?”

The pause already gave Megumi the answer. “Yes.”

“And,” Megumi really didn’t want to ask the question but the pressure in his chest was about to burst and he couldn’t seem to tell the simmering thoughts to quiet down, “When we were sat in the kitchen and you cooked me ramen–  after I cried and yelled in front of you. When that happened, was Itadori alive and did you know?”

“Megumi–”

“Was he alive?”

When sitting alone in his office by himself, Satoru doesn't usually wear his blindfolds. Megumi has a direct view of his eyes and he can see the guilty glint. He already knows the answer and he despises what Gojo is about to say.

“Yes, he was.”

“You, you–” Megumi seethes, storming forward towards the desk. Gojo doesn't move. Doesn’t even flinch. “You knew? You watched me go through all that shit and you knew. The whole fucking time?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. Then let's go. Then runs a hand through his hair. Then looks up towards the ceiling because he isn’t about to fucking cry in front of Gojo like some weakling. Then he looks back down. Then squeezes his hands into tight fists so harshly that he feels it draw blood. “I trusted you. I was open to you and you just lied? Like that? Lied to my fucking face and made me suffer and think I had lost him? That Itadori was fucking dead?”

“Megumi, I understand–”

When he swings an enclosed fist, it doesn’t hit Infinity. Instead, it directly meets Satoru’s cheek, his head snapping to the side, skin red.

Megumi blinks.

Satoru stands, the chair scraping against the wooden flooring. Megumi can’t move, can’t breathe because he hadn’t meant to lash out like that– hadn’t meant to hurt Gojo but it frustrates him. Angers him. Makes all those unwanted, muddled emotions bubble up inside of him that he would rather not face. Itadori had been alive and Megumi had mourned for him. Had mourned for the loss of a friend. For the loss of what could’ve happened between them. He had mourned the loss of an opportunity, a chance of a connection Megumi had never managed with anyone before.

It stung. It had stung much worse than any scratch or cut or broken bone he'd ever had to face.

Megumi blinks.

Then he’s engulfed in an embrace and Infinity flickers on around both of them. Despite the anger and the overflowing hate in his heart right now, he cannot stop himself from wrapping his arms around Satoru and twisting his hands into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“I’m sorry Megs, I really, truly am,” He speaks into his hair and somehow manages to pull the kid in closer. “I wanted to tell you but we knew that to keep Yuji safe we had to keep his status as dead. The higher-ups would have been on our asses in an instant and I needed to help train Yuji just a little bit more.”

“I get that– I get it,” He croaks out. Inhale. Exhale. “I get why you had to do it but I still hate that you did it.”

“And that’s understandable.”

“It was a real asshole move, you know?” He muffles into the fabric, ignoring the damp spots forming on Satoru’s t-shirt.

“I know, and I really am sorry that I had to keep this from you. And Kugisaki too.“

Within the embrace, it makes him feel like a kid again. Like Satoru is protecting him from the monsters hiding under his bed. It makes him want to open up his heart and tell the man who raised him all of his secrets, much to his dismay. Only Satoru could get him to think like that as he stands here in such a state.

“I can’t lose him again,” Megumi confesses. He’s not directly admitting what feelings are swirling inside of him currently but Gojo has known him for a long time. Too long, some might say. He can pick up what Megumi’s putting down.

“You won't lose him again,” Satoru sounds adamant that it's the truth. Megumi is inclined to believe him. “You know what you need to do to make sure you don’t lose him again?”

“What?”

“You tell him, Megs. Tell him that you can’t lose him again. And then you hold onto him and refuse to let go.”

—

With the revelation that their current mission overlaps with his old high school and the state his sister is in, there had been no time to pull Itadori aside and speak to him alone. Though he cannot deny that both Itadori and Kugisaki have been staying close to him as soon as they found out what had happened to his sister and how this current mission was probably bringing up a lot of memories for him.

He wants to take Itadori’s hands in his own and confess under the secrecy of the stars. The moon as their only witness as he gets Itadori to promise to never die again. And if, hypothetically, he did happen to die and come back again, not to wait three whole fucking months before returning.

Though he can’t do any of that because he’s at the bridge his sister and her friends had run off to that fateful night. He’s beaten and bloodied, fighting a curse. Itadori and Kugisaki are off somewhere else handling their own situations too.

If either of them died he was going to fucking kill them.

He doesn’t even have the strength to go check on them once he's finally dealt with his curse, instead, tiredness takes over as he collapses backwards onto the floor. Closing his eyes for just a moment wouldn’t hurt. His head was pounding, there was an uncomfortable ache in his left ankle and he was sure there was a warm wetness spreading just above his hip. Though, just for a moment he should be able to close his eyes to gather up the strength to get up again in a couple of minutes.

“-guro? Fushiguro?”

He cracks his eyelids open, staring upwards to see two silhouettes looking down on him. It takes him a second to gather his bearings, sitting up. “Oh, you’re back. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Itadori beams, “I was so scared for a second there!”

“Yeah, asshole, next time maybe don’t have a nap after your big fight?” Kugisaki chastises, “We thought you'd died.”

Megumi winces slightly but doesn’t conceal the small smile tugging at his lips. “Can you two keep it down? My head hurts.”

Kugisaki confronts him about Sukuna’s finger, even though Megumi had been sure that he had hidden it fairly well. Then, after telling Itadori not to eat the finger and then Sukuna manifesting as a mouth in the palm of his hands and subsequently eating said finger, they finally head back.

It’s long past midnight by the time Ieiri is done with him. There's still a deep-seated ache that will probably wear off by the time he wakes up after a well-needed sleep, but apart from that he feels moderately fine.

He wished there had been a moment for him to pull Itadori away but he hadn’t been lucky. Instead, he trudges back to his room, rounding the corner and spotting Itadori standing in the corridor, hovering outside his bedroom door.

“Itadori?”

His friend turns to him, “Oh Fushiguro, looks like you healed up alright, that’s good.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Ah, Sukuna kind of heals me a little bit, so I was mostly okay to begin with.”

For a moment neither of them say anything.

“Was there something–”

“Hey, can I ask–”

“Oh, no, you go first,” Itadori insists.

“Well, I was just going to ask if you needed anything? I’m curious as to why you’re just standing out here in the hallway when your bedroom door is right there.”

“Actually, yeah, I wanted to talk with you.”

Megumi swallows slowly, then goes to open the door to his room, gesturing for Itadori to go inside, “Alright.”

“Do you mind,” Itadori stops himself and Megumi can sense an underlying nervousness that doesn't quell the panic clawing at the bottom of his stomach. “Do you mind if we go outside? It’s nice, not too warm, not too cold. Thought it would be neat.”

“Okay.”

He follows Itadori silently down the corridor and outside where they find a patch of grass to sit down on. He was correct, the weather was a pleasant middle ground, the air wasn’t humid and the breeze that passed through wasn't aggressively cold. Plus the sky was clear so he had full access to the stars above them. The moon a gentle glow amongst the dark slate.

It was, undoubtedly, beautiful.

Though he didn't seem to be focused on any of that, his eyes gently traced Itadori’s features as his friend stared up into the sky in awe. He can see the tiny specs of brilliant light reflected in his pupils. The scars under his eyes, his jawline, his cheeks, all dusted with moonlight. There is no noise. Megumi can hear the gentle breaths escaping past Itadori’s lips. Can make out the rise and fall of his chest, so subtle but undoubtedly there.

“You’re alive,” He comments, with no hesitation to state the obvious.

Itadori smiles, it’s warm and inviting and doused with a deep understanding. “I’m alive.”

“What did you– what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I guess it sort of connects to the fact that I’m alive,” He starts. “It’s just, life is so unpredictable. One moment you’re alive and well and then the next moment a curse that inhabits your own body has torn out your heart and you’re dying in the pouring rain.”

“I wouldn't say that’s a common occurrence though.”

Itadori laughs lightly, “No it isn't. But before all of this, I was so certain with myself and what I wanted to do during my lifetime. Then I’m thrown into a completely different world and shown how unpredictable life can be.”

Megumi hasn’t torn his gaze away from Itadori. “What are you getting at?”

Itadori finally turns to meet him. “I’m not entirely sure. Just that when you die, your mind tells you about all your regrets. Shows you everything you did wrong and tells you about all the possible things that could've happened but didn't.”

For a pessimistic kid, Megumi has never been this hopeful. He wanted to reach out then and there and run his slender fingers through Itadori’s hair, promising him that it was going to be alright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It just got me thinking about a few things.”

“Such as?”

Itadori hesitates. He takes a moment to shuffle in closer, then a little bit more when Megumi doesn't tell him to stop or turn away. 

“Tell me, Fushiguro, what do you want to achieve before you die?”

“Megumi is fine.”

“Pardon?”

“Megumi,” He reiterates, “I think we’re long past formalities now, don’t you think?”

Itadori relaxes further, “alright. Only if you call me Yuji. So, Megumi, what do you want to achieve before you die?”

“That’s a big question. Though I suppose, recently, there has been a lot of things happening which has helped me form an answer regarding your ask.” Yuji is watching intently so Megumi continues, “I want to protect the ones I care about. I want to do good and save people. So the people I love can live long, happy lives.  And,” He pauses momentarily but Yuji is still looking at him with encouraging eyes so he adds, “and I want to live a long life too.”

“I like that answer.”

“How about you?”

Yuji cocks his head for a moment, lost in thought. Then he finally answers, “I still want to give others the proper deaths they deserve. Though I want to save people, I want to see the good in people too.”

“And you want to live a long life?”

“What?”

“You never have dreams regarding yourself, you only ever think of others,” He pointed out, “ why not be a little selfish this time and say that you want to live a long life?”

“Well, I don’t know if–”

“Hey, if I were to ask something of you regarding my own ambitions before I die, would you listen to me and try your best to follow up on that ask?”

“Of course.” There is no hesitance. Yuji answered back with a strong, steady tone.

Megumi swallows slowly around the lump in his throat. He’s pretty sure it’s his heart getting in the way. “Well I said I want the people I love to live long, happy lives.”

“...Yeah?”

“So live a long life for me. If you can’t do it for yourself then do it for me.”

“I–”

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. He holds out his hand, ignoring the way his digits twitch ever-so-slightly. “Can we do it for each other? I’ll live a long life for you and you can live a long life for me, yeah?”

Yuji glances down at Megumi’s outstretched palm, then back up to his face. “Yeah,” he says quietly, grabbing onto Megumi’s hand and suddenly yanking the boy forward into a tight embrace. “Yeah.” He repeats, stronger, as he nuzzles into the crook of Megumi’s neck, “I like the sound of that.”

Megumi wraps his arms around Yuji’s back, holding the boy close. He can feel his own heartbeat slowing down, no longer rapidly rattling around in his chest. And he can feel Yuji’s too, steady and repetitive and a vital sign of life.

If there's the tiniest tremble to Megumi’s shoulder, Yuji doesn't mention anything. And if there’s a dampness on the collar of Megumi’s t-shirt, as Yuji sniffles weakly, Megumi doesn't mention anything either.

“I think we can do it.” Megumi whispers so only Yuji can hear him. Not even the stars that are high above them or the watching moon can listen in on this part of the conversation. “Together.”

He feels Yuji smirk against his exposed skin. “Together. Let’s live a long life.”