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It was days like these that Toji Fushiguro wished he was dead.
Well, not really, but let’s take a moment to consider the obviously outweighing benefits of the bittersweet end of mortality.
No kids. Who wanted to take care of a six-year-old kid? Especially one he detested more than himself? Not Toji. Kids were weak. They couldn’t take care of themselves. They were dumb and annoying and loud and messy. What was even the point of bringing such a wretched creature into this already wretched world?
No family. No Zen’ins. God, he hated the Zen’ins. More than himself, more than his kid. They were bastards born from bastards. Awful people, really. Toji would know; he’d perfected the craft of awfulness. They kept pestering him about this and that and ‘Give us Megumi or we kill you’ or whatever. So fucking frustrating.
No responsibility. No work. No money. No bills to pay, people to kill, kids to take to school. Did he tone down on his assassinating side hustle just for him to do housework ? Murdering people for money was more fun. He made hella bank. He could be making hella bank. It was days like these that he considered just leaving Megumi alone and throwing himself into the nearest woman’s chest.
I guess that was a downside. No women. No boobs.
Whatever. Back to the upsides.
No worrying. Toji Fushiguro had never known worry . He didn’t need to. After his wife’s death, he kinda just assumed he had nothing left to kill for. He didn’t need to stay up at night with a knife under his pillow. He didn’t need to get padlocks for their bedroom door to keep out spirits and humans alike when he was away.
That too!
No cursed spirits. Those damned things.
It was painfully obvious that death was just the way to go.
Especially for Toji Fushiguro, whose heart might just take him out before he got a chance to do the deed himself.
His pulse was loud, deafening. It was beating harder than he’d ever felt. It was borderline painful. His chest was aching, his knees were shaking. Toji Fushiguro was shaking.
And why, you may ask?
Because of a little brat cursed with the name Megumi Fushiguro.
No, no, this was ironic. It was funny. It was karma, is what it was. Because Toji was half-joking when he named Megumi. He didn’t even mean it. Megumi’s mother took him seriously, as she always had. She loved the name in fact.
Megumi! Like a blessing. I love that, Toji. He’s a blessing to us. To our lives.
He had tried to stop her and explain that he was only kidding. That Megumi was a name for pussies, and he didn’t want his son to grow up to be a pussy. That it was literally a known girl’s name and that the kid will be bullied relentlessly for the rest of his life.
But she hadn’t listened. Like she always had.
Megumi. Megumi!
Why’d he have to love a stupid girl like her?
And why’d he start to love this stupid boy in front of him?
Megumi was ironic.
The kid was anything but a blessing.
He was a curse.
And he was shaking and screaming in Toji’s arms.
“Dad! Dad,” He cried, grabbing onto the hem of Toji’s shirt with his little fists. Toji never really paid attention to that: how small Megumi was. He guessed that was how all six-year-olds should be. But his son wasn’t some booger-picking first grader. He wasn’t just any six-year-old.
Toji had to pay attention to Megumi’s short fingers, pulling on one of his favorite shirts, because they were covered in blood. More blood than there should be on a six-year-old’s tiny hands.
That day, Toji had come home from grocery shopping and immediately knew something was wrong.
Recently, he’d been doing a few odd jobs. A supposed leaky pipe here, a haunted school bathroom there. He’d been making money, but not enough to call himself successful.
But today was different. It was a Saturday, and Saturdays were for Megumi. He didn’t work if he could help it.
It was the early hours of the morning when he woke up to do the shopping for the week.
Megumi was a late riser. Toji learned this, as he continued to learn new things about his son. Megumi wouldn’t be awake until at least eleven.
So Toji had the streets to himself, as no other sane person would be awake at seven in the morning.
He strode past the mini-mart he had frequented for a bag of seeds or a magazine to pass the time. Here, he saw the owner Miko, a hunched old woman with a heart of gold. The poor lady was trying to bring in the boxes of stock for the day, struggling, of course. Toji considered doing what he always did: the opposite of what a decent human being would do.
But this day was different. The morning air was crisp, the aftertaste of ginger from last night’s dinner stuck on his tongue, and the memories of the last time he’d been a poor excuse of a human were still fresh on his mind.
The last time Toji had acted like trash was when he had taken Megumi on a walk throughout the local outdoor mall. Riding on his father’s shoulders, Megumi had swung his legs and half-heartedly pointed toward any shop window that caught his eye. He would say something offhanded like, ‘That’s the show Daiki was talking about’ or ‘Dragons are cool’. Toji was grateful that he never had to indulge him (kids went crazy with their parents’ money), but he’d always keep track of the specific type of toy or clothing item that Megumi pointed at.
When they had enough money for stupid shit like a police station you had to assemble yourself with small little pieces, he’d get it for his son.
Megumi wasn’t a very outgoing person. He was indifferent to most everything. He didn’t watch TV shows. He didn’t have games or play with toys. Toji had tried to bring home random five yen plastic toys from the market, but Megumi had always refused them. Such things never interested him. He’d often talk about the stuff his friends at school liked, but if Toji ever asked him if he wanted to watch that show or play that game, Megumi had always made that face.
The face of complete and utter disgust at the mere concept of liking something.
Toji couldn’t even complain. Megumi had gotten it from him.
At that point, he was so desperate for Megumi to get something that if the kid had asked for his own car, he would’ve gotten it. Toji didn’t even have a car.
Then, Megumi sat up straighter on Toji’s shoulders and leaned a bit forward. Toji followed his gaze to a little girl holding onto the leash of a dog. It was one ugly-looking dog. Its eyes were too far apart, and its fur was cut too short and its tail dragged behind it like a used mop.
But Megumi liked it. Toji could tell. A bell was ringing in Toji’s mind, alerting him to the new discovery.
Now that he thought about it, Megumi liked animals, and they liked him. Stray cats followed him, birds would land on his shoulders, squirrels would eat out of the palm of his hand. Toji, on the other hand, scared them off just by being within a mile radius of them. Of course, he’d notice it.
But Megumi liked this dog.
Him and Toji walked by the little girl and her family, and Megumi’s gaze never left them. It was to a point where Megumi was craning his neck to look back at the dog.
Toji reached a bench positioned between two stores and picked Megumi off his shoulders. Holding onto the kid’s armpits, he lowered him onto the bench with ease and sighed, “Alright, I gotta piss.”
“Ew, Dad. TMI.”
Toji ruffled Megumi’s hair, “You kids and your slang. Making me feel old.”
“That’s ‘cause you are.”
“Shut it. I’ll be right back.”
You might have guessed it already, but Toji had no intention of using the restroom.
No, he looped around, out of Megumi’s sight and walked back the way they came, sauntering over to where they’d seen the little girl. What luck did Toji have? The dog was alone, tied to a lamppost outside of a shop, as it obviously didn’t allow animals inside.
He untied the dog, grabbed its leash and huffed, “Move it, ugly.”
Stupidly, like Toji thought any dog would, it began following him.
“Man’s best friend, huh? Most loyal animal, my ass. You’d follow anyone that gives you the slightest bit of attention. Whoever gives you money. Or, well, treats, or whatever bullshit you weirdos eat. Kinda like me, I guess. Eat, sleep, pay, fuck, repeat.”
Toji was quite proud of himself. Megumi was gonna love it.
Spoiler alert: Megumi did not love it.
His son was horrified.
“Dad? What’s this?” Megumi asked apprehensively, looking from Toji, then back down to the dog.
“What do you mean? It’s the dog you liked.”
“What?!”
“The dog you were looking at earlier.”
“The one with the girl?”
“Yeah.”
“YOU STOLE THE DOG?!”
“I didn’t steal. Just...borrowed for an extended period. Like a pen!”
Megumi’s eyes were filled with so much distaste, Toji found he was about to physically recoil. His son had a look on his face that he’d never seen before. A harmful mixture of disappointment, pain, fear, and anger; a concoction that was straight poison to Toji’s mental and physical stability.
“This isn’t a pen! It’s a dog! Someone else’s dog! I didn’t want it! I was looking at it because I thought it was weird looking!” Megumi screeched, snatching the leash out of his father’s hand.
Toji’s mouth pulled into a sneer. So he got it wrong, big whoop. It wasn’t a huge deal.
But it was. Megumi looked up at his father in bewilderment. He didn’t say anything more but Toji could hear it loud and clear.
How could you?!
If Megumi thought this was bad, Toji didn’t want him to find out the things he used to do for a quick buck.
Ever since that day, Toji became irked by the idea of resorting to his old, ‘I care only about myself’ ways. He found that he didn’t want Megumi to look at him like that again. It did something weird to his stomach. He couldn’t explain it, and it annoyed the fuck out of him, but he just really didn’t want to...disappoint (was that the word?) his son.
So when he saw a haggard old lady, carrying boxes weighing more than her, he did what a decent human being would do.
“Need help with those?” Toji tried for a smile, though it came out as more of a grimace. He’d never been good at pleasantries. Smiling, laughing, hugs. They didn’t come naturally, and when they did, it was always to taunt someone.
The woman looked up, her eyes brightening when she saw the ripped, obviously-can-carry-these-heavy-boxes Toji.
“Oh, young man! Aren’t you one of our regulars?” She croaked out, giving up on the box she had been dragging. She walked over (walked used loosely) to reach up to Toji. Confused, he bent down and she grabbed at his right cheek, where his scar was, and pulled.
“Ow, granny. You tryna take my face off?” He complained but didn’t move away, allowing her to squeeze at his cheeks a little more.
“You are handsome. With a face like this, why don’t you have a ring on that finger, boy?”
Toji didn’t know how to answer that. He blinked once before standing straight, “Never really thought to. Now, do you want help, or not?”
God, old people were annoying.
He had spent close to an hour helping her load the boxes into the storage room in the back of the store. When he was done, she had allowed him to take a pick at the groceries he needed, gave him a handful of most likely expired candy and sent him on his way.
From here, Toji walked aimlessly for a bit, passing the apartment building a few times. He didn’t really want to go back yet. He wasn’t sure why but he just wanted a little time to himself.
The third time he passed the apartment building, he halted at the entrance. Something was tingling at his heightened senses.
A putrid smell, a foul taste, a faint aura, a buzzing at his fingertips.
A repeated phrase and a child’s scream.
Toji dropped whatever bags he was holding in his hands and rushed through the revolving doors. He punched in his code with such force, he almost broke the system. When the door began to automatically open, Toji pushed past it before it could even fully extend. He dashed for the stairs, took them two at a time, until he reached the fourth floor door.
417. 417. 417.
Fuck, why did he pick such a stupid number? So far away from the elevators and the stairs.
He sprinted to the door and didn’t bother with the key. He pushed so hard against it that it came off its hinges. He tossed it aside and stood face to face with his fall from grace.
Megumi Fushiguro.
His supposed ‘blessing’.
Megumi was covered in blood. There was no other way to explain it. A good chunk of his sleep shirt was gone, leaving the rest hanging off of him in a tattered mess. His chest was adorned with cuts, of various lengths and depths. So were his arms. And his legs. And his face.
Most weren’t serious but there were one or two sprinkled around that were cause for concern.
Toji would know.
He’d done this to people before.
And now it was done to his son.
It was silent, save for the rapid beating of Toji’s heart.
Megumi was on the floor, holding onto a kitchen knife, his eyes spilling tears like a never-ending waterfall. When Toji had quite literally ripped through the door, he’d looked up with an expression that hurt Toji more than any wound had.
His kid was scared. Toji could see it in his eyes.
For a moment, Toji and Megumi were frozen in time. Just simply looking at each other.
Then it unfroze, and the knife clattered to the floor and Toji opened his arms and Megumi slipped a little as he tried to get up and now he was screaming and bawling like a baby.
It goes against everything Toji had ever taught him. Never cry. Never whine.
But shit. Toji would have given anything to hear those cries again if it meant that Megumi was alive.
Megumi rushed at him when he regained his footing, grasping onto Toji’s shirt with such strength that Toji would have been proud if he wasn’t on the verge of seeing red.
“Dad! Dad.”
Toji could do nothing but lift Megumi into his arms, holding his son tight against his chest. Through his shirt, he could feel the rapid beating of the young one’s heart and the shaking that hadn’t subsided. He closed his eyes, placing his palm on the back of Megumi’s head.
Toji couldn’t speak.
He didn’t know what it was. Anger? Shock? Fear? Despair? Maybe all four? He didn’t feel that speaking was the right thing to do right now. He was afraid of the things he might say and the things he might do if he didn’t just hold Megumi right now.
Toji was this close to snapping again.
To reverting back to whatever monster he used to be.
If anything, hugging Megumi was not only comforting but grounding. He might just up and leave if he let go of Megumi. He might become an unrecognizable machine, deadset on his goal, anger the only emotion he was capable of feeling.
And he didn’t want Megumi to see that. Toji couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t lash out at him, the one he was trying to protect, the one he was angry for.
Don’t get him wrong. The anger wasn’t directed at his son, of course.
It was directed at whatever creature had the gall to mess with what was his.
He would hunt it down to the depths of hell, like a wild animal. The Zen’ins had always compared him to a wild boar or a jaguar. They weren’t that far off, as much as Toji hated agreeing with them.
He’d hunt it and make it die the most painful death.
How dare they. How. Dare. They.
Megumi, who was never outspoken. Who never cried. Who never complained. Who never admitted when he was in pain or when he was upset. Who was the tamest, kindest, and softest being Toji had ever known besides his late wife.
They did this to his Megumi.
They reduced him to this mess. And now, Toji was expected to clean up after it.
It was days like these that Toji wish he were dead.
Because this?
This made him mad.
It filled him with such rage that he was doing everything in his power to hold back.
And he would rather be dead than become the monster that he feared.
“Dad, thank God, Dad, I---”
“Who did this to you?” Toji murmured under his breath, right into Megumi’s ear.
He felt a shiver run down his son’s back. Megumi hiccuped, choking on another sob, “It was---I don’t know! It was big and grey and it had knives, Dad, it had KNIVES sticking out of it and it kept saying if I wanted some lamb---Oh, you probably think I’m crazy---” He coughed before sobbing again, fisting his father’s shirt in his small hands, twisting the fabric in his little fingers.
Toji sighed, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them, “No, you’re not...That was a curse.”
This was the price Toji had to pay. It was his fault. It really was all his fault.
When he’d up and left the Zen’in clan, vowing to never give them Megumi, he’d intended to leave behind the world of jujutsu sorcery for good. At least, not let Megumi anywhere near it. He had taught Megumi basic defense tactics, but he’d never taught him about how to cultivate his cursed energy or his apparently inherited technique.
Granted, Toji would have been no help in that department. He couldn’t even use cursed energy. But even if he could, he was doing everything in his power to spite the Zen’ins.
They want Megumi to inherit and develop his technique? Toji wasn’t even going to tell him he had one. They want Toji to continue assassinating, but for them? He was going to give up assassinations altogether.
And look where all that spite that got him.
“A what?” Megumi whispered as if they were sharing a secret.
“Sh. It doesn’t matter right now,” Toji comforted, kneeling and setting Megumi down in front of him.
Toji held him at arm’s length, examining his son before swearing under his breath, “Alright. Just stay right here. I need to get the first aid kit.”
Megumi shuffled his feet for a moment before nodding, wiping his eyes quickly. Toji’s mouth fell into a frown and he grabbed Megumi’s cheeks in one hand, “Forget what I told you. You must’ve been scared, right?”
Megumi hesitated, then nodded again, fresh tears filling his eyes. Toji moved his thumb to flick a tear away, rubbing his son’s cheek, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you here.”
Never in his life had Toji Fushiguro apologized for something. Never had he ever felt the need to be sorry about anything he’d done or said. What a preposterous notion that was.
But kneeling here, in front of this being, this human, that he was supposed to protect. That he realized he cherished a lot more than he had thought.
It hit him.
This is my son.
Parenthood was not something Toji was skilled at. In fact, it wasn’t even a possibility in his mind. Living and taking care of Megumi seemed so temporary. He couldn’t really explain what it was. It was almost like having a child for a roommate. But now…
This is my son.
My flesh and blood.
Mine.
And he’d taken it all for granted.
Just as he had his wife.
The two greatest blessings he’d been graced with.
He dropped his hand to Megumi’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze, “Never again. Hold me to that, okay?”
“Yeah…” Megumi mumbled, very much unsure what the hell his dad meant.
“This’ll never happen again. Not as long as I’m here.”
Megumi went silent, squeezing his hand into a fist, feeling the squelch of his own blood at the tips of his fingers. He winced, suddenly aware of just how much pain he was in.
In his father’s grasp, he had felt none of it. It had all melted away the minute Toji held him.
Suddenly very drained, Megumi pulled on the front of Toji’s shirt to bring him closer, then rested his head on his shoulder.
“You’re right. We should get you cleaned before I do anything to your wounds,” Toji thought out loud, gathering Megumi in his arms again.
His son fell against his chest, Toji’s arm tucked under his knees.
Megumi could get used to this. Toji had never held him like this before. They weren’t really affectionate with each other, save for the absentminded ruffling of each other’s hair or half-hearted punches. It wasn’t their thing. They weren’t big on touching.
But Megumi found that he didn’t mind it, really.
He breathed in and then out, shuddering as Toji began to walk. The latter pulled him closer, tightening his grip.
Toji didn’t need to. Both of the Fushiguros were very much aware of Toji’s strength. But Megumi was relieved by it all the same. His father’s presence was overwhelming at times but calming. It meant safety. It meant protection. It meant that he wouldn’t get hurt. It meant that he didn’t need to be scared anymore.
There were no more words shared between them.
Not when Toji bathed him and watched the copper water fall down the drain, not when he left Megumi wrapped in a towel as he went to fetch the first aid kit, not when Megumi followed him out the door quietly anyways, his small feet making no noise as he padded after his father, not when Toji turned around and noticed him, not when he gently clasped Megumi’s hand in his.
Not when Toji dressed and wrapped his wounds, not when he huffed and held up a needle and thread.
But when Megumi was being stitched up. When he was crying and screaming and shaking. Again.
That’s when the deafening silence was replaced by words that quieted their loud, beating hearts.
When Toji was apologizing again. With every pierce into the flushed skin, with every loop of the thread, with every tie of a knot. Toji apologized.
He’d done this plenty of times to himself before. He would rather opt for silence, for both the receiver and the giver, but with Megumi, he just couldn’t.
There was so much to apologize for that at a certain point, he was unsure if he was apologizing to Megumi or just to everyone that had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting him.
It was confession. It was repentance. It was acceptance.
He’d done so much wrong. Both the noun and the adjective.
And his greatest wrong, his greatest regret, his greatest mistake, was taking what he had for granted.
His greatest wrong was ever thinking he was worthy enough to raise Megumi.
His greatest regret was that he was too cursed to be a good father for something so blessed.
And his greatest mistake was choosing to keep his son, to selfishly steal away what his wife had gifted him.
Megumi was a blessing. A damned good one.
But Toji was too foul, too cursed, to be blessed with such a son.
“Sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that one must’ve hurt. My bad.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry.”
Megumi just sobbed. He cried. He would shut his dad up if he had the energy to. The repeated apologies were annoying. He wished his ears would just fall off.
It was the same for Toji.
It was days like these he wished he was dead.
Maybe then his blessing would finally be cherished.
Maybe then Megumi would find someone worthy enough to raise him. Worthy enough to be called ‘father’.
Worthy enough to be ‘Dad’.
Toji was no father. He was not allowed to be a Dad.
And he was from a place that blessings could not dwell or thrive. He was a kind of monster that could only destroy, not preserve.
“All done,” He muttered when he was finished.
Megumi leaned forward, collapsing into his father for the fourth time that day.
In the end, Megumi was the blessing and Toji was the blessed.
And as much as Toji believed he was unworthy of such a role, he couldn’t change what had already come to pass.
Because the blessing chose him. And it continued to choose him.
And that night, when Megumi followed Toji to his room. When he slept in Toji's bed, curled up into his father's chest, he chooses him again. When he wakes up in the middle of the night yelling at the curse that isn't there, at the monsters that don't exist anymore, it's Toji he chooses. It's Toji he hugs tightly, it's Toji that he whispers to, it's Toji that he asks to never leave his side.
It was Toji who he leaned against. It was Toji he cried to. It was Toji he relied on.
It was Toji who Megumi blessed.
So maybe Toji was half-joking when he named Megumi.
But he’d been spot on.
A blessing, indeed.