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Yuuji clicked on his cart. Total: 17,000 yen. That was more than half what he had in his bank account, and he had only picked out three items from his list: a dress, tights, and a faux-leather jacket. He still had shoes and a bag to buy, and women’s shoes were expensive, right?
Whatever. It wasn’t like he needed the money. He doubled-checked the sizes—he’d be killed if he bought the wrong ones—typed in his card number and hit order.
The computer took a long time to refresh. The wifi sucked down here, in the basement of a random building at Jujutsu High. He’d only had a few minutes to grab things from his room before they hid themselves away to prepare for the culling game. He missed his bed and his Jennifer Lawrence poster. Finally, the site refreshed, his phone pinging with an email notification that said his order was complete.
Now for the accessories.
The door slid open and closed behind Yuuji, and he became aware of someone else in the room, though they didn’t make a sound. He didn’t bother turning around; he knew who it was, could sense his energy as he padded across the floor and sat down at Yuuji’s side.
“That’s going to look terrible on you,” Megumi said, gesturing at the screen. Yuuji had been looking at a bold, orange statement bag.
“It’s for Kugisaki. I’m buying her a new outfit for when she gets back.” He could feel Megumi frowning. “I know it’s stupid. Like, we have better things to do. But it’ll make her happy, right? If I manage to buy good stuff, that is.”
Megumi was quiet. “Don’t get that one. She doesn’t like orange.”
“Huh? How do you know?”
“Because she told me.”
“When?”
“When you were dead. Here, let me do it.”
Together, they picked out a pair of black combat boots and a burgundy bag to accompany the green-and-white polka dot dress Yuuji had chosen earlier. Megumi mumbled something about complementary colours that Yuuji didn’t quite get. The total came to 14,000 yen.
“How are you paying for this?” Megumi asked.
“With my card.”
He shook his head. “Use this.” He grabbed his backpack, pulling out his wallet, then a credit card. Yuuji took it from him. The name said Gojou Satoru.
“It’s just because he’s my guardian, or whatever,” Megumi said. “It’s my money.”
Yuuji flipped the card over his knuckles. It was silver, made of thick plastic. “I didn’t realize you were a princeling, Megumi-kun.”
“Shut up.”
Yuuji paid for the bag and shoes and closed his laptop. “It’s weird, still being able to buy stuff with so much of Tokyo gone. All the website said was that shipping to Shibuya was temporarily suspended.”
“It’s not like they know what’s going on.”
“True. Nothing stops the flow of money, huh?” Yuuji grimaced as he said it. It reminded him of Nanamin.
“I guess.” Megumi moved over, onto his own futon, wincing as he went. A spot of red darkened the back of his white shirt.
“Hey, Fushiguro, you’re bleeding!”
He pulled at his collar. “It’s the stitches.” Compared to the rest of them, Megumi had made it out of Shibuya in good condition. It was on the way back to Jujutsu High that he’d gotten hurt, when a first-grade curse tried to chop them all in half on a whim.
“Are they supposed to do that? We could call Shoko-san—”
“It’s fine. I’ll go see her tomorrow. Can you help me change the bandage? There’s more in my bag.”
“Uh, sure.” Yuuji rifled around for gauze and tape while Megumi slipped his shirt over his head and tore off the old bandage. There was some blood around the bottom of the wound, and it looked red and angry, but—
But it was nothing compared to the rest of his back.
Yuuji sucked in a breath. “Are those from—”
“Yes. Don’t be weird about it.”
Yuuji wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do that. Megumi’s back was covered in black and green bruises from his fight with Mahoraga. Yuuji could actually see the lines from the wall he’d been thrown into. He ran his finger over one of them, tracing the outline of the brick.
“You’re being weird about it,” Megumi said quietly.
“Sorry.” Yuuji let his hand fall away and picked up the antiseptic. “And sorry if this hurts.”
He cleaned and redressed the wound, trying to avoid the bruises as he taped the new bandage over it. He wanted to say something—he had been there, after all, though he was under Sukuna’s spell—but Megumi pulled his shirt over his head and reached for the lamp. “We should go to sleep,” he said.
“You sure you want to sleep here?” Yuuji tried to keep his voice light, as though he hadn’t asked the same question the last three nights.
“Okkotsu-senpai and Inumaki-senpai are next door. Nothing’s going to happen.” Megumi clicked the lamp off, ending the conversation.
Yuuji didn’t really believe that. If Sukuna wanted to hurt Megumi, or take him away somewhere, he’d be capable of doing it quietly, or of taking out both Inumaki and Okkotsu. Had Sukuna not been conspicuously absent in the days since the battle, Yuuji would have argued harder for Megumi to leave him alone, would have made him go. Or so he told himself. He lay down on his futon, listening to the soft sounds of Megumi breathing beside him.
Without Sukuna around to distract him, Yuuji’s mind filled with other people: Kugisaki, Nanamin, Gojou-sensei. Inumaki, Mechamaru, Maki. All of them, trapped or maimed or dead. All their lives destroyed, because of him, because he couldn’t—
He didn’t realize he was crying until one of Megumi’s long fingers swiped across his cheek. ‘You better not be thinking some stupid stuff like, ‘Everything that happened is my fault’ or something.”
Yuuji tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. “Why would I be thinking that?”
“Because you’re an idiot.” Megumi’s fingers moved across his face, sliding over his scars, above his right eye and at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t stop until Yuuji stopped crying.
“Now who’s being weird about it,” Yuuji whispered.
Megumi rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep, Itadori.”
He started to roll away, but Yuuji caught him by the sleeve. He interlaced their fingers, holding his breath. Megumi relaxed, letting their hands fall to the floor, his thumb sliding across Yuuji’s palm.
“Goodnight, Fushiguro,” Yuuji said to the darkness.