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When Megumi opens his eyes, the first thing he thinks is: I'm supposed to be dead.
For a good handful of seconds, that's the only thing he can think. He stares up at the ceiling and lets the world return to him in pieces. He's lying in a bed—his own bed, in the student dorms. He's dressed in casual home clothes. He's not bleeding to death, and his blinds have been half-drawn, and the world hasn't ended because there's still sunlight streaming in through the window and he can hear birds chirping outside.
Slowly, Megumi props himself up on his elbows and looks around. Nothing is out of place; his room looks like it always does. His phone is lying on his nightstand, the screen dark and dead. He lifts the blanket to look at himself, just in case he's gotten so severely injured that his brain has shut down and he just isn't feeling the pain anymore, but...he's completely fine. No blood, no wounds, no pain when he tries to breathe. He feels for his back and finds that that's fine, too.
...Was it a dream?
There's no way, right? Megumi's never been the type to have vivid dreams, and he's certainly never had a dream as detailed as that. And it had felt so real, too. He'd gotten stabbed. He'd been slashed across the back. He'd felt his muscles tear, had felt the pain every time he took a breath and his chest expanded. Megumi doesn't think his brain is capable of imagining all that stuff to such a high degree, but—
But if it was real, then how is he alive?
He'd summoned Mahoraga. No, he'll call it what it is—he killed himself. He'd crawled to the middle of that pedestrian crossing outside Shibuya 109, and he'd pulled himself up and knelt on the concrete and felt the grit of it on his knees through the fabric of his uniform pants, and he'd assessed his situation and come to the logical conclusion that he was better off dead. It was a practical decision, nothing more and nothing less. He was already injured. He was going to die regardless. There were no civilians around, only that blond asshole with the sword. He had nothing to lose by summoning Mahoraga, so—he'd finally done it.
He swears he remembers being struck in the back of his head with enough force to make his vision white out. A thunderclap impact, a blinding burst of pain, and then nothing. That's what he remembers. That's how he should have died. And yet—he lifts a hand to the back of his head and touches nothing but his own hair. There isn't even a scar, or at the very least there's no scar that he can feel. It's like the summoning ritual never happened at all.
And it's strange, really, because the next thought that flashes in his mind is damn it.
It's not like he'd wanted to die. Not really. He's never wanted to die so much as he didn't mind it. But he can't deny that, when he raised his hands with full conviction to start the ritual, there had been a sense of relief. The lifting of a constant pressure, almost, because he could finally stop waiting for a good-enough reason to use it. This is it, he'd thought, and beneath it all there'd been a kind of cruel satisfaction, too, because he'd managed to prove Gojo wrong. Gojo was so convinced that Megumi could be more than what he was, and Megumi was so convinced of the opposite, and in the end Megumi had won and he had felt just a tiny bit smug about it. A mental I told you so, spoken to a man who wasn't around to hear it.
Speaking of which...
If what happened in Shibuya was real, and Megumi's pretty sure it was, then—did they get Gojo back? They must have. There's no other way for Megumi to be alive right now, not unless Okkotsu or Tsukumo magically showed up and somehow managed to fight Mahoraga off. He throws off the rest of the blanket and stands—the motion makes his head spin a little, but he's otherwise fine—and hurries out of his room, shoving on a pair of shoes as he goes.
The hallway offers as many answers as his room did, which is to say none. It's completely deserted, sunlight streaming in through the windows and illuminating floating motes of dust. Megumi knocks on Itadori's door and then shoves it open just to find it empty. The common room and kitchen, too, are empty. There are no notes anywhere, nothing hastily scribbled on a torn-out notebook page or a post-it note stuck to the fridge to let Megumi know where everyone's gone. Like, yeah, there's only six students actively living in the dorms right now, but there's usually at least some sign of life. If the others were goofing off somewhere else in the building, Megumi would be able to hear them. If they'd all gone somewhere, like training or shopping, they would've either woken him up or left a note. The silence, as peaceful as it is, raises the hairs on the back of Megumi's neck. He can't shake the feeling that something is horribly, terribly wrong.
For a second, he wonders if he's fallen into another dimension. A curse's Domain, maybe. But that doesn't explain why he's still here, why he's alive and breathing, because the fact of the matter is that Megumi's last clear memory is of his own death. He'd summoned Mahoraga. He knows that he'd summoned it, and as far as he knows, there is nothing—neither human nor curse—in all of history that's ever been able to beat it without going down with it in the process.
So what the hell happened after he summoned it? Who saved him? Who brought him here? Where is everyone?
He heads out of the dorms. The school grounds, similarly, are empty. It's not unusual, since the school grounds are ridiculously large compared to how many people are actually employed here, but right now it's just making Megumi feel even more uneasy. The sun is shining, the trees are swaying in the autumn breeze, and Megumi is a dead man walking in a seemingly-abandoned school. He doesn't know where to head first—the training grounds? The classrooms? Yaga's office? Gojo's office? Or—no, he should go to the infirmary. Ieiri practically lives there, and if there's anyone who'd be left out of the action if everyone else went to fight, it would be her. Megumi spins on his heel so he can start heading in that direction—
"Fushiguro-kun! You're awake!"
Megumi freezes.
That voice—no way. But—
He turns around, and his suspicions are confirmed: Okkotsu Yuuta is hurrying towards him.
Megumi gapes at him. Okkotsu looks like he's grown taller since Megumi last saw him, his shoulders broader and his hair falling in a slightly floppier fashion over his forehead, but that's not the important part. The important part is that Okkotsu is here, in Tokyo, when he was meant to be in Kenya for the foreseeable future. Megumi's mind is already racing through a million possibilities: something is wrong, his brain keeps whispering. Okkotsu is a Special Grade; he wouldn't be called back to Japan unless the higher-ups or Gojo saw fit for him to do so. And for them to think Okkotsu needed to be called back, that must mean...
"Okkotsu-senpai," Megumi manages to croak out as Okkotsu reaches him. His body automatically dips into a shallow bow. "You—you're here?"
Up close, he can see that Okkotsu looks...tired. And not just in the usual sleep-deprived way that he has all the time—he looks frazzled, perpetually out of breath. That whispering voice in Megumi's head grows louder. If Okkotsu—Special Grade sorcerer Okkotsu Yuuta—is tired, then what the hell has he been doing?
Okkotsu gives him a lopsided smile. "It's good to see you again," he says. "I'm glad you're okay. Do you have any leftover injuries? Anything you need to go to Ieiri-san for?"
Leftover injuries. That confirms Megumi's thoughts: Shibuya did happen, and he was injured, and now he's not. "No, I'm fine," he says numbly. "But—Okkotsu-senpai, where is everyone? What happened? Gojo-sensei—"
Okkotsu's face falls the moment Gojo's name comes out of Megumi's mouth. That alone is enough for Megumi's voice to die a pitiful death, curling up somewhere at the base of his throat like a wounded animal. Oh, he thinks, and then nothing else. The concept of Gojo being gone is so impossible that he doesn't think he can truly wrap his mind around it yet. The strongest man in the world, that unstoppable, immovable presence, just—gone.
Oh.
So Megumi's assumption was wrong: Gojo wasn't the one who killed Mahoraga, because he's still sealed. Then—does that mean Okkotsu...?
"Fushiguro-kun," Okkotsu says carefully. "It's the second of November right now. Do you know what happened in Shibuya?"
Megumi shakes his head. Okkotsu's face tightens, and he reaches out to grip Megumi's shoulder just a little bit too hard.
"I think it's better if we go to Ieiri-san," he says, and Megumi wisely does not argue.
"And you don't remember anything after you summoned Mahoraga?"
Megumi stares at the tile of the infirmary floor and swallows. "No," he says. His voice comes out dry. "Nothing at all."
Ieiri nods, withdrawing from him so she can write something down on her clipboard. Megumi's ears are ringing. He can't feel his fingers or toes. He feels like he has tunnel vision; he can see the others moving around in his periphery, but he can't fully register what's happening.
Even if he hadn't run into Okkotsu, his decision to go find Ieiri would've been the correct one, because it turns out that the infirmary is the answer to all of Megumi's questions. No one is in the dorms because everyone is here, and everyone is here because everyone almost died. When Megumi first slid open the door, he'd been frozen to the spot for a good ten seconds before Okkotsu's gentle urging managed to get him to snap out of it.
Maki is the most badly injured, but she is also, at the very least, awake. She's covered from head to waist in bright red burn scars, and Megumi has no idea how she's still alive. She's still lying down in her cot—Ieiri said that she shouldn't be moving yet—but she twitches her head when Okkotsu sits by her bedside to murmur things to her, and she's able to mumble quiet responses back. That automatically makes her better off than Inumaki, who's completely unconscious in another cot on the other side of the room. He's lost an entire arm, and his skin is pale and papery. Panda is sitting quietly by his side, though he'd lifted his head to greet Megumi when he came in. Ijichi is here too, sleeping off Ieiri's Reverse Cursed Technique in a cot in the corner. Ieiri is, of course, monitoring her patients, and Itadori and Kugisaki are...
I'm sorry, Ieiri had said when Megumi asked about them, and that's all he really needed to know. Kugisaki—
Ieiri hadn't said it outright, but Megumi had been able to read it on her face.
...He'll think about Kugisaki later.
Itadori, on the other hand, is fine. Hypothetically. Theoretically. Ieiri had said he was mostly fine the last time she saw him, it was just that he'd run away. And when Megumi had asked why the idiot would run away, Ieiri had grimaced and told him to sit down, and then she'd pulled up the news on her phone and handed it to him and filled in the gaps that the non-sorcerers didn't know about. Megumi is still holding the phone in his useless hand. The screen is dark, but that means nothing. The image of the crater where Shibuya used to be is now burned into his eyelids.
Sukuna.
Not Gojo, not Okkotsu—Sukuna. Sukuna was the one who fought Mahoraga to save him, and Sukuna was the one who healed him and brought him back, and Sukuna was the one who killed thousands of people, and Sukuna is the reason why Itadori's gone. Of course. Of fucking course, because the more Megumi thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Itadori is the type to take on the guilt of all those deaths, and he's also the type to let that guilt destroy him. He's wrong, obviously, because it's no one's fault but Megumi's—Megumi's fault for choosing to save Itadori, Megumi's fault for summoning Mahoraga when he fucking knew that Sukuna was running loose in Shibuya, Megumi's fault for somehow piquing Sukuna's interest enough to make the man decide to save him. The blame falls squarely on Megumi's shoulders, but Itadori won't listen even if Megumi tells it to his face. And Megumi does need to tell it to his face, because Itadori's going to get himself killed if he keeps running around the ruins of Tokyo doing god knows what.
"Where was Itadori last seen?" Megumi says now, his voice cutting abruptly through the infirmary. Ieiri looks up from her notes, her brow furrowed. "I—I'll go find him. I'm not injured, and I know him best. I'll bring him back to the school, and we can make a plan, and—"
"Fushiguro-kun," Ieiri interrupts. Her voice is far too gentle, a carefully manufactured calm, and Megumi's heart sinks. "There's...quite a bit more that you should know, actually. Itadori-kun—" She pauses for a moment, then clears her throat. "His execution order is no longer suspended."
The silence that follows feels like it lasts forever. Megumi's mouth goes dry; he can feel his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Of course, he thinks numbly. Gojo was the only thing keeping Itadori's execution at bay, and now Gojo is gone, so—so—
"But Gojo's sealed," Megumi says stupidly. It's the only thing he can think to say, the only rebuttal he can come up with, even though it doesn't matter what he says because it's not like anyone in this room can change the order. But in his panic, his animal instinct to save Itadori, he's started rambling and he can't stop. "He—he was supposed to do it. He's the only one who can. What if Sukuna fights back? There's no—they can't. Who would they even get to do it?"
Ieiri's eyes flicker over Megumi's shoulder. And Megumi remembers, all too suddenly, that there is a Special Grade in this room.
He turns around slowly. Okkotsu's already looking at him, his dark eyes resigned and his mouth pulled taut, and Megumi already knows without anyone having to tell him. They stare at each other for a moment, him and Okkotsu, and then Megumi thinks: can I take him?
In a true one-on-one fight, the answer is obviously no, but—Sukuna, Megumi thinks. It was him who fought Mahoraga, not Gojo or Okkotsu or Tsukumo or anyone else. That means that Okkotsu could still, technically speaking, be brought down by Mahoraga in a fight. Yes, his cursed technique is uniquely suited to fighting it, but if it comes down to it then Megumi could at least use the summoning ritual to try and buy Itadori time to escape. If he comes up with a plan for Itadori—if he manages to find him before Okkotsu can—if he sneaks out tonight, without letting anyone know, and he tracks down Itadori and convinces him to go to a safe place and stay there—if he—
"It's okay, Fushiguro-kun," Okkotsu says softly. He raises his hands, as if to surrender. "I'm not actually going to hurt him."
Megumi's knee-jerk instinct is to say that Okkotsu's lying. He doesn't know Itadori. He has no attachment to him. And with Okkotsu's loyalty to Gojo, the higher-ups definitely would've had him make a Binding Vow to ensure he actually followed their orders. It's nothing personal, nothing against Okkotsu himself. It's just that Megumi cannot trust him with Itadori's safety. At this point, he can't trust anyone but himself with Itadori's safety, but—
But Okkotsu wouldn't lie.
Even though Megumi knows he shouldn't be staking Itadori's life on his judgment of Okkotsu's character, he also just...knows Okkotsu. He's the same kind of person as Itadori: the kind who truly values other peoples' lives, no matter who they are. He wouldn't lie to Megumi, not even if it would make his job easier. If he was truly going to hunt Itadori down, he'd give Megumi a fair chance to save him first. That's just the type of person he is.
So Megumi slowly exhales, forcing himself to unclench his fists. He hadn't even realised they were clenched, but as he relaxes them he can feel his palms stinging where he dug his nails into them. "You're not executing him?" he rasps out, and Okkotsu shakes his head.
"Gojo-sensei already asked me to take care of it," he says, which is news to Megumi. "I made a Binding Vow with the higher-ups to kill Itadori-kun, but I'll find a loophole somehow. If it comes down to it, I'll just have to heal him right after I injure him."
The thought of it makes Megumi's chest hurt. Wasn't one false death already enough? What if it doesn't work? Megumi knows that Okkotsu can output positive energy, knows that he could absolutely bring back someone as hardy as Itadori—it's happened before, after all—but what if? What would Megumi do then? Gojo is gone. Kugisaki is dead. If he loses Itadori too, then—
"And, Fushiguro-kun," Ieiri says, startling Megumi out of his thoughts. He turns back to her, and there's a new expression on her face this time—not the pity she was wearing when she told him about Itadori and Kugisaki, but something more complicated that Megumi can't parse. "There's one more thing. I probably should've told you earlier, but..."
She scribbles something on the corner of her page, then rips it off and holds it out towards him. "Tokyo isn't safe for civilians right now, so we moved her to a safe house in Saitama," she says, as Megumi takes the paper. "I already examined her, and she's fine. Nitta is looking after her, and we have Grade Two sorcerers guarding the house. If you want to go see her, I would advise you to do it soon, because she's...okay, so there's more I should've told you..."
She keeps talking, but her voice fades into a staticky buzz in Megumi's ears as he stares at the piece of paper. His vision is starting to blur with tears, so it's getting hard to read, but it's an address, a phone number, and—most importantly—a name. More specifically, it's a name that makes all other thoughts fly straight out of Megumi's head. For a few incredible seconds, all of his worries about Itadori evaporate, because—because—
Tsumiki is awake.
Tsumiki's safe house is disguised as an event centre. The cover story is that it's used for religious purposes, just like how Jujutsu Tech is a 'religious school', and when Megumi steps past the gate with trembling hands, he can feel the soft gossamer sensation of passing through a barrier. It's nothing fancy—the assistant managers must have put it up—but it's better than nothing. It makes Megumi feel better, at least, to know that his sister is protected by more than just a few bodyguards. He makes it to the front door, lifts his hand to knock, then—hesitates.
It'll be the first time he's seen her awake in a year and a half.
What does he say to her? He'd pressed Ieiri for more details once he stopped crying, so he knows now that Tsumiki's part of the Culling Game, and she's—well. She's a sorcerer, which terrifies Megumi in a way that nothing else ever has, and all he knows is that he cannot, under any circumstances, let her get more involved than she already is. He has no doubt that she'll offer to help. When they were kids—right after Gojo took them in—she'd used to go quiet whenever sorcery was brought up, and Megumi had never asked her about it, but every now and again he wonders if she'd ever felt out of place because of it. Now that she's a sorcerer too, she'll probably demand to know everything, and Megumi just—he can't. He can't. If she ever went out into the field as a sorcerer, he thinks his heart would give out from stress. He has to make it clear from the beginning that all she has to do is wait for him to handle things. All she has to do is stay safe.
He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and knocks.
A woman that he vaguely recognises opens the door. Another assistant manager, one of Nitta's seniors; she must recognise him, because she ushers him in with a 'this way, Fushiguro-kun'. She leads him into the lobby and directs him to sit, then tells him she'll go get Nitta right away. Megumi sits, leaning forward over his knees and clasping his hands together so that he won't pick at his uniform pants. The windows are big, he notes absently. They let in a lot of natural light. It's nice. Tsumiki probably likes it here, right? She'll agree to stay here, right?
Somewhere down the hall, a door opens and closes. Wheels squeak against the tiled floor. Megumi's heart skips a beat, and he digs his thumbnail into the side of another one of his fingers in an attempt to get his thoughts in order. The wheels come closer, accompanied by the familiar clicking of an assistant manager's work shoes, and—
"Megumi."
It takes everything in him to not break down crying.
He sucks in a breath and reminds himself: he has to stay calm. He can't let her see how big of a deal this is, can't let her know how badly everything's gone to shit. He squeezes his hands together one last time, wills himself to be normal, and looks up.
"Hey," he says, completely composed. Tsumiki gives him a tentative smile, and god—it's been so long since he last saw her face actually move. She's paler than she used to be, and her hair hangs a bit differently now after over a year spent lying in a hospital bed. Megumi tries to drink in the sight of her without making it obvious. All he wants to do is throw himself at her feet and beg for her forgiveness for being the shittiest little brother in the world, but they don't have the time for any of that now. His priority is making sure she gets out safely.
"How long has it been?" she asks. "It doesn't feel that long to me."
Forever, Megumi thinks. "About a year and seven months," he says, which makes Tsumiki let out a surprised little laugh.
"Ah, so that's why it's hard to walk," she murmurs. Megumi's eyes flicker down to her wheelchair, an unavoidable reminder of all the time she spent asleep.
"Did you hear about the Culling Game?" he says curtly. He's expecting her to scold him for his rudeness—not even a hug or a proper hello, Megumi, really?—but instead she just nods, worrying her lip. She casts her eyes down towards her lap, fiddling with her hands.
"Yes, and about Gojo-san," she says quietly. Megumi's heart twists. Tsumiki doesn't know Gojo as the strongest, but she, too, must be feeling that loss of a protective presence that they had, up until now, taken for granted. "I always knew you two had a dangerous job, but..."
Her voice trails off, and Megumi can't help but be reminded of all the times she tried to prod him about sorcery back in middle school and he'd brushed her off. "Seriously, don't worry about it," he tells her, schooling his face. "My friends and I will handle it, so you might as well go back to sleep."
Her head jerks up in surprise. She stares at him for a moment, and Megumi waits for the inevitable frown and that's not a very nice thing to say, Megumi, except—
It never comes. Tsumiki's eyes narrow slightly, and she lets out a little huff of a laugh that almost sounds disbelieving. She lifts a hand to her mouth, tilting her head slightly as she looks at Megumi with an expression he's not sure he recognises.
"You haven't changed," she says, one corner of her mouth pulling up slightly. "You're still as stubborn as always."
Megumi blinks. That's it? No arguing, no I can help? "I'm serious," he says, just in case she thinks he's joking for some reason. "I'll figure out a way to get you out of the Game, so all you have to do is wait around. Don't leave this safe house unless me or one of my friends tells you to, okay? Nitta-san knows who to trust."
He looks up to Nitta, trying to convey his gratefulness to her with his eyes alone. Nitta gives him a brisk nod, and in the wheelchair, Tsumiki sighs.
"I guess that's not too bad," she says. "I'm still pretty tired anyway, so maybe I really will sleep." She smiles, the motion looking a little odd for some reason—maybe her facial muscles are out of shape, too. "You don't have to worry about me either, Megumi."
Megumi has to fight the urge to drop his head in relief. At least—at the very least—of all the things that have gone wrong, this has gone right. Tsumiki will stay somewhere safe until he figures out a way to save her. That just leaves the issues of Gojo and Itadori and the Culling Game, all of which are varying degrees of solvable. Megumi pushes himself upright; now that he's spoken to Tsumiki and seen her with his own eyes, he can rest easy.
"Nitta-san, call me if anything happens," he says. "Or Ieiri-san if I don't pick up, because she'll be at the school. I—" He pauses, not quite sure how to continue the sentence. He just—he has so many thoughts swirling around his head right now, so many problems to juggle, and he doesn't know where to start. "I'll be out."
Nitta seems to get what he means. "We'll be fine here, Fushiguro-kun," she says, and Megumi swallows and gives her a short bow. He looks at Tsumiki one last time and tells himself—the next time he sees her, she'll be free.
"See you," he says. Nee-san sticks in his throat, an honorific he's never used and never planned to until his only sister fell into a coma with no end in sight, but he can't manage to get it out. Tsumiki folds her hands in her lap, prim and proper.
"See you," she echoes, and smiles that strange smile. "Stay safe, okay?"
Megumi stops by his and Tsumiki's old apartment before he leaves Saitama. He should probably clean it up now that she's awake—god, she's awake—but he can do that after he gets her out of the Culling Game, because she'll be staying in the safe house until then anyway. He ransacks his childhood bedroom for clothes instead, taking anything he thinks he could reasonably use as either clothing or bedding or, in a pinch, bandages. He'll need to be prepared if he wants to track down Itadori, because he has no idea how long it will take.
Okkotsu had said he was going to leave tomorrow to look for Itadori. If Megumi can convince him...
After he throws an armful of clothes into his shadow, Megumi returns to the school and tears through Itadori's room for good measure. The idiot didn't even stop by the school before he ran away, which means that he's probably still running around in his dirty, ragged school uniform. Not even a jacket, Megumi thinks, some unnameable tight anger rising in his throat as he rips one of Itadori's coats off its hanger and shoves it into his shadow. It's almost winter and he didn't even take a jacket. Of all the stupid, idiotic, ignorant—
After that, it's the medicine cabinets. Painkillers, flu and cough medicine, electrolyte packets, alcohol wipes, two packs of bandaids and a roll of gauze for good measure. He takes a lighter, too, and a good few bottles of water. Some dry snacks—muesli and protein bars and stuff, the kind of thing that hikers eat. A pack of Chocorooms, just because he thinks Itadori would probably appreciate a small pick-me-up after being on the run. Depending on where he is when Megumi finds him, they can raid a few convenience stores too, but Megumi still wants to be prepared.
Then all that's left is to convince Okkotsu.
Megumi finds him in one of the indoor dojos, going through sword forms. Megumi has to fight the urge to yank the sword out of his hands, since he knows exactly who that blade is going to be used on, but Okkotsu spots him first and sets the sword aside before Megumi loses his self-control.
"Fushiguro-kun," he says, mildly surprised. It's already late, and Okkotsu only turned on one light, so his face is cast in odd shadows. "Is everything okay?"
Megumi swallows. He would say he's swallowing his pride, but he has none left, not when it comes to people like Tsumiki and Itadori. He steps into the dojo and promptly folds himself into a bow so deep his hair nearly brushes the floor.
"Okkotsu-senpai," he says, his eyes fixed on the tatami sparring mats. "Please let me come with you tomorrow."
He'd expected Okkotsu to splutter in shock, but instead he's met with silence. Maybe, he thinks, his nape warming with embarrassment, he's been more obvious than he thought.
"Fushiguro-kun," Okkotsu finally says quietly. "I'm sorry, but you know I can't do that."
"Please," Megumi says. "I—I won't interfere. I'll watch from the side. He won't even know I'm there until after it's done. I just—Okkotsu-senpai, please—"
His voice breaks. What he means—or, rather, what he can't bring himself to say—is that, if Okkotsu's fake-out doesn't work and something goes wrong and Itadori dies, Megumi doesn't know if he'll be able to survive it. For Tsumiki's sake, maybe, but if Megumi wasn't there when it happened—if he couldn't even see Itadori's face or hear his last words—
He's already seen Itadori die once. If it has to happen twice, then Megumi would rather be there than not, so that at the very least Itadori has someone by his side.
"I need the higher-ups to believe that I'm actually killing him," Okkotsu says. There's a hint of his stern senior voice coming through, a well-intended authority that reminds Megumi, inexplicably, of Tsumiki. "You're Itadori's best friend, Fushiguro-kun. There are already rumours that you're going to look for him. If you're anywhere near me when it happens, it'll look suspicious."
"But—"
"Fushiguro," Okkotsu says, firmly but gently, and Megumi knows that he cannot change his mind. Still, though, because his need to see Itadori outweighs all rational thought, he bends his knees and begins to fold into dogeza, and Okkotsu makes a choked sound and rushes to grab his elbows.
"Oh—we don't have to do that," Okkotsu says frantically, yanking Megumi up by the forearms. "You—do you really want to see him that badly?"
Megumi swallows, looking somewhere over Okkotsu's shoulder. He can't bring himself to answer, but his silence and his willingness to bow must be answer enough, because Okkotsu makes a frustrated little sound and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Okay," he mutters, clearly thinking. "Okay. Okay, Fushiguro-kun—I think we can compromise."
Nue drops down noiselessly at Megumi's side. It's the fifth time it's returned from patrol.
"Anything?" Megumi asks. It shakes its head, as he knew it would. He hugs his knees tighter to his chest, resting his chin on his folded arms as he looks out over the remains of Tokyo.
This is the compromise Okkotsu had given him: Itadori was suspected to be in Shibuya, so Megumi could come to the very edge of the ward and wait. As long as neither he nor his shikigami crossed the line into Shibuya, it would be relatively unlikely that anyone would think he and Okkotsu were working together, and Okkotsu promised to contact him once the deed was done. Nue has been circling Shibuya all night, and yet it's still seen no sign of Itadori or Okkotsu, aside from a burst of Okkotsu's cursed energy that even Megumi had felt the shockwaves of. Of course, he's also seen buildings tumbling left and right, but that can be attributed to the curses that are now roaming free in the city. Those have been what's keeping Nue occupied, mostly. Megumi himself, sitting on the roof of an abandoned apartment building, has had to fight off a few.
He lets Nue rest for a moment, its feathers a familiar softness. Another few minutes, and then he'll send it out again to look for any clues. Or—
His phone buzzes in his pocket.
Megumi pulls it out so quickly he almost drops it. His fingers are stiff from cold, and he frantically swipes open the screen to read a series of new messages that have popped up.
Okkotsu Yuuta: he's fine
Okkotsu Yuuta: he's sleeping now. you can come over
Okkotsu Yuuta: [location pin]
Megumi lets his head fall forward in relief the moment he reads the first message, his forehead thunking against his forearm. He simply lets himself breathe for a moment, the relief so all-consuming he can feel a tightness building up behind his eyes.
He won't cry. He will not cry. He is, however, coming very close to it.
He recalls Nue and gets to his feet. The location Okkotsu sent him is a decent way away on foot, and he'll probably have to fight through a couple curses on the way. He should leave now to make sure he's there when Itadori wakes up. He scrubs his hands over his face, runs them through his hair to try and look a little bit less like he's stayed up all night waiting for news. He reaches into his shadow and pulls out the extra jacket that he'd brought with him, just in case the idiot's cold.
Tsumiki is alive, he reminds himself. Itadori is alive. For now, that's all he needs.