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a white room. white walls, white tile floor, white bed sheets under which he laid. all of it was so condescending to the neverending darkness megumi plummeted through for two straight months. his body falling farther into his own shadow and bearing witness to his worst nightmares committed by his own two hands. he wanted to cackle in the face of its irony, but he found his vocal cords dysfunctional. not that he had much use for them anyways.
or: megumi wakes up after shinjuku and reads a letter from gojo.