Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Megumi gave Itadori a spare key to his room a week ago, this was not what he expected. He thought that maybe Itadori would stay way too late hanging out sometimes and need to let himself out in the early hours of the next morning. Or maybe, since Megumi had somehow become a shoulder to cry on, Itadori would need some comfort. Which would be fine, too. Or, if Megumi’s shoulder was busy, Itadori could play the old PS3 until Megumi’s shoulder returned for the whole crying business. Stuff like that.

What he hadn’t anticipated was today’s little stunt.

It took everything Megumi had to drag his exhausted approximation of a body up the tortuous flights of stairs and to their hallway. Then he had to run on pure spite just to get to his front door in order to even get inside his own room. He wouldn’t even let himself think about what he would do when he got inside. Probably pass out. Even though he was covered in mud and sweat and completely dehydrated, Megumi didn’t know if he’d make it to the bed let alone have the energy to take care of himself.

Except something was moving around in his room. He could hear it through the door. If it was anything dangerous, Megumi immediately resigned himself to death. 

There was a loud thunk.

“Augh!”

A thump as it fell to the ground.

Yuuji. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or more tired.

Probably here to play whatever game he was into these days. Megumi couldn’t keep track.

He turned the squeaky knob and let himself in, using up precious reserves of his remaining energy to stay upright.

“Oh, Fushiguro?” A blush of pink hair mushed against clean hardwood as the intruder looked over from where he was sprawled out on the floor. Clearly not as worn out as Megumi felt. 

Megumi grunted in response and tripped into his own room, clumsily shutting the door before fiddling with the lock.

“What happened?!” The overflowing concern in Itadori’s voice struck something deep inside Megumi’s chest. 

Just like always. 

“You look like shit!”

Megumi rolled his eyes, expending the last of his strength to slump against the door. “Thanks.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“No.”

How the hell am I going to get across the room to my bed now?

Megumi thought maybe he would just fall asleep right here, mashed up against his own front door.

“Oh.”

A vague shuffling was the only warning he got before Itadori’s face swam into view, mashing his own cheek against the door, too. Enough to meet Megumi’s eyes.

“How can I help?”

Megumi’s heart squeezed painfully. He shrugged, bursting into a short coughing fit, which racked his entire body.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I already got patched up.” His voice was hoarse and it almost hurt to talk. He should probably lay off it so nothing broke. He wasn’t even a curse speech user like Inumaki. He shouldn’t have to be worried about hurting his voice. But all the yelling to his fellow sorcerers during the mission… plus all the screams forced out of him when a curse resembling some horrific Edward Scissorhands had got a hold of him…

Megumi didn’t consider himself fragile.

But these curses had been something else. Multiplying out of nowhere like that… 

“No offense, but you don’t look very patched.”

Megumi grunted. It hurt. He didn’t feel very patched, either.

“Well, do you want a bath? You look pretty grimy, dude.”

“Just… sleep.” His voice cracked.

“Oh, really?”

Megumi nodded slightly, closing his eyes. Everything was floating away and he could feel himself already half-gone. Suddenly the floor looked very comfortable. Beds are overrated anyway… 

Strong hands circled his shoulders and Megumi tensed reflexively.

He was about to fight when his addled brain realized it had to be Itadori, he was the only other one here. He opened his eyes to confirm.

“Relax, dude. You said you need sleep, right? Do it, then.” Itadori’s heat radiated into him, hands warming exhausted shoulders and sliding him gently away from the entrance to the room, finally freeing his face from the door.

Megumi nodded numbly. But he didn’t sleep, his eyes wouldn’t close. All he could do was watch, a little dumbfounded as stable arms lifted him.

But he wasn’t about to leave his care up to Itadori. No one knew what he needed, he was sure of that. Hell, Megumi didn’t even know what he needed. So how could anyone else?

Still… Megumi let Itadori carry him. It seemed pretty okay. Secure. Warm.

Silence wrapped around the two like a weighted blanket as Itadori approached the bed with Megumi trembling slightly in his arms.

The desire to nuzzle into Itadori’s neck was strange and weird and Megumi didn’t like it. He didn’t like feeling like this. The only one he could count on was himself, he knew that. Had learned it over and over again.

Itadori placed him gently onto his bed and Megumi’s eyes finally closed. The mattress was hard and the pillow was too soft and Megumi always had trouble sleeping here, but today it didn’t matter.

He was so done with being awake.

“I thought you might’ve had a tough time today.”

“Hm?” His voice scratched his throat on the way out.

Itadori’s voice ventured further away, padding footfalls grew more distant. “Gojo told me what you were up against. Pretty intense, huh?”

Is that why you came over?

Footsteps approached the bed. “Wish I could’ve been with you.”

But you were busy with your own mission, idiot. “It’s fine.”

The bed dipped and Itadori was close now, right above him, “Anyway…”

Something warm and wet pressed lightly onto Megumi’s forehead. A pleasant shiver wracked down his spine. His tired eyes shot open.

Itadori redipped a damp washcloth into a basin before ringing it out and turning back towards him.

He stopped when they locked eyes.

The intruder’s cheeks dusted a light pink. “For the dirt… and, um, the blood.”

Megumi took it in. He tried not to get too attached to this person. Yet again, it was a losing battle.

He somehow mumbled out a “thanks” and Itadori went back to work, gently scooping Megumi’s bangs off his forehead and pinning them back with his warm hand.

The cloth dragged softly over his face. And this was so, so, so nice. Finally, he couldn’t stop his eyes from sliding closed.

“You okay, Fushiguro?”

This much care would have hurt him if he wasn’t so tired. It would have burned like an iron poker in his gut. But the cloth dragged carefully over his cheek and he turned his head naturally so that Itadori didn’t have to reach so far.

The hand in his hair started moving. Petting reassuringly.

Megumi didn’t have time to unpack the way his stomach butterflied. He was already falling into the deep abyss of sleep.

***

Yuuji didn’t know exactly why he was doing this. Sure, he wanted to. It was second-nature to care this much about his close friends, but…

He worked his way slowly down Fushiguro’s jawline. Maybe feeling the curve of it a little too much to be only platonic.

He dipped the rag back into the basin. The water was only lukewarm now, cloudy with bits of mud.

Yuuji sighed, gratefully using this excuse to go to the attached bathroom to rinse out the basin and also to hopefully stop thinking about all of this.

He stubbed his toe on the small table and tried not to give into the yell bubbling in his throat. It came out in a whispered scream instead, “Damn it, damn it, damn it!! Again?!”

To his relief, the soft, sleeping breaths stayed constant. He rounded on the table with a vendetta. “You’re on thin ice, buddy.”

It didn’t respond, but Yuuji was fairly sure it had learned its lesson.

Good thing he wasn’t thinking about Fushiguro anymore.

Crap.

Yuuji limped to the tile of the bathroom, walking past the full bath he had drawn a half-hour ago, hoping to still have the water warm for when his friend would need it.

Okay, so things hadn’t gone exactly to plan.

Not like he wanted to watch Fushifuro bathe, of course. Not that he was opposed to that.

Yuuji shook his head.

What? No. No, that’s-- Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

No, the plan was to play video games while Fushiguro was in here relaxing. But… it kinda sucked to see a full bath go to waste like that.

Yuuji hobbled to the sink and was able to give the bowl a rinse. He watched the murky water drain away. There was far too much blood in that water. It kinda scared him how much of it was no longer inside Fushiguro’s body. Who knew what kind of wounds he was hiding underneath his clothes.

But Yuuji was still relatively new to this whole sorcerer thing, so he probably shouldn’t worry. Just trust that Fushijuro needed sleep. Yeah, he said he got patched up, after all. Just trust him.

The bowl was overflowing and he quickly turned the water off. So much for not thinking about him.

Yuuji eyed the full bath and different arrays of soap-like products he’d borrowed from Kugisaki. She’d been as worried as him, albeit just a bit busier right now. She hadn’t explicitly said she was worried, but Yuuji didn’t usually need to be told things like that.

Neither of them had known exactly what supplies would be needed, so she shoved a bunch of random skincare into his bag along with what looked like five different shampoos.

Yuuji didn’t understand it, but he had brought them anyway. For her sake.

Well, it looks like this is just a water-wasting day, then.

He popped the plug out with a soft bloop and watched a little sadly as all of his preparation drained away. It was cold now, anyway.

His eyes caught one of the products he’d carefully lined up beside the tub about an hour ago.

It appeared to be some type of thing for the face. But in this new line of Jujutsu work, Yuuji had learned that not everything was what it seemed.

He reminded himself that this wasn’t a curse, just skincare. So, probably not actively trying to throw him for a loop.

Well, it said the words “face” and “clean” and “luxury” on it. He slipped it into his pocket before washing the cloth and returning to the main room, basin in hand, ready for round two of Care For Fushiguro So Well That He Sleeps Happily For Years.

Yuuji carefully avoided the devil table this time and stopped in front of the bed. Instead of finding a new place to sit without disturbing Megumi, he just gazed down at the sleeping beauty in it. Feelings that were 100% not-straight took hold of his insides. His stomach responded with twisting up into knots until he felt like he would vomit.

He knew why, but that didn’t make the feeling go away.

Flashes of a blushing boy who got embarrassed when his mother invited Yuuji over for dinner. Feelings seemed so easy. So natural.

Bile rose in his throat as the unwanted image of that same boy’s tears streaming down his face while Yuuji stood, helpless as that boy was ripped away from him.

Anyway, feelings didn't seem easy anymore. Now Yuuji understood how easily someone could disappear. He would just have to deal with it. Push through it.

Yuuji eased onto his previous spot on the bed and wrung out the cloth just enough so that water wouldn’t drip and ruin the pillow.

He tried to force suddenly-clumsy hands into an approximation of calm. Waking Fushiguro up would be counterproductive to the entire operation.

He smudged the cloth over a particularly troublesome bit of dirt plastered just beneath a pale bottom lip.

Fushiguro’s brows furrowed and he mumbled something sleepy and unintelligible.

Yuuji hesitated. It was a little wrong, right? He felt a tad uncomfortable touching someone like this while they slept.

But he glanced at the blood and dirt still caked on the sleeping man’s neck.

Those same excited, flustered feelings rose up in his stomach.

Yuuji felt sick.

Yeah, this is too much for me.

He sighed, hurriedly finishing up, and making sure to stop just above the torn dark fabric of Fushiguro’s sorcerer uniform.

He can take care of the rest when he wakes up and takes a bath, right?

…Right?

It hit Yuuji that he wasn’t so sure Fushiguro would do anything to help himself after waking up. His heart twisted painfully, looking down at the torn parts in Fushiguro’s uniform where dried blood was still caked. His eyes dragged up to his face, which was only marginally clean. Yuuji wanted to do more for him.

So he slipped the “face-clean-luxury” thing from his pocket and began reading the instructions.

***

How long had he been asleep? Megumi swore he’d only closed his eyes for maybe fifteen minutes.

But it must have been longer because the light afternoon mist was gone. Replaced by heavy golden rays shooting through his window and making patterns on the floor. What’s more, Itadori was gone.

His heart sank at that revelation. Which was stupid and sounded dangerously close to a weakness.

Even so much as flexing his worn-down muscles made his stomach catch fire. Okay, so sitting up was a no-go. A bad mix of exhaustion and lacerated skin barring him from moving properly. 

Disappointing.

Megumi settled for simply looking around the room instead. It hurt far less.

He noticed with a start that Itadori wasn’t gone after all. The PS3 was flashing an unknown game. It hit him that his intruder looked completely at-home grumbling softly at the screen and hanging his head to the side to stretch the kinks out of his neck. A honey-sweet warmth seeped through Megumi. It would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t too tired to care.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he had to stop looking at Itadori. Somehow stop this dangerous attachment from growing. He’d already lost him once and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. That’s something an idiot would do.

Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

It had been foolish to get attached in the first place, considering his life at Jujutsu Tech. But there was something about the way Itadori came bursting into Megumi’s world, a shower of broken glass raining down around him. He looked so natural, almost like he belonged there. In the world of curses. This world they were in right now. My world.

Megumi ripped his attention away from strawberry hair, breathing like a maniac. His eyes found the small table instead and buried his focus there. It had been moved close to the bed and filled with convenience-store snacks, along with the basin of water and cloth from before.

When he had skimmed some packaged sandwich’s nutrition label five times without retaining any of its info, Megumi decided to give up on trying so hard and move onto something else. After taking a few deep breaths, that is.

The breaths hurt. This really sucks. 

He tried focusing on something else. Not Itadori. You’ve done plenty of thinking about him.

A strange face cleanser he’d never seen was amongst the crew on his small table, too.

Megumi brushed over his fresh, clean forehead experimentally. Had Itadori done that for him? Cared for him like that?

Heat pooled in his cheeks and an achingly familiar butterfly feeling stirred his chest and stomach.

Stop.

But it didn’t last; a painful coughing fit racked his body. Everything hurt once again. Finally, a good distraction from his feelings.

“Fushiguro!”

Itadori’s head hung upside-down off the back of the couch, hair flaring out into a poor imitation of a pink samoyed. No, he’s more like a golden retriever. No, that’s not right, either… 

He caught Itadori’s deep brown eyes and it didn’t matter what kind of dog he was like anymore. He was a human. A real, live person in Megumi’s room. And for some reason, Megumi was okay with it, which was a feat. To his credit, Itadori didn’t get up from the couch, he just let Megumi have his space. Which was… very observant of him. To know Megumi didn’t want someone hovering over him right now. How does he know that?

The only problem was that he wouldn’t stop looking at Megumi with those big brown eyes. Which was overwhelming. 

“You look like a dandelion.”

“Wha– Oh, my hair, huh?” He laughed easily. “Yeah, I’m thinking of making this my new look: sticky-uppy.”

“Sticky… uppy.” God, you’re so weird. He couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips.

“Anti-gravity, ya know?” He beamed, still upside-down.

Megumi didn’t think it would be worth explaining that it wasn’t anti-gravity, it was, in fact, gravity that was pulling his hair up. But God, that grin disarmed him and stopped his mouth from moving. Well, that and the fact that everything hurt. He looked into the bright smiling eyes of this blessing of a person and decided that no, it wasn’t worth it.

“How’re you doing, buddy?”

Megumi cleared his throat. Which turned out to be a mistake. The scratchiness blossomed into a full-on throbbing ache.

‘Patched up’ my ass, Gojo.

Still, he pushed on.

“I, uh. Good.” Ugh, his voice even sounded swollen. If he could, he would exorcise that curse all over again.

“Yeah?” Itadori ran his eyes over Megumi’s frame, pretty brown eyes crinkled with what Megumi recognized as worry.

He made an effort to slip back into his usual apathy, swallowing around his trembling, achy throat. It was harder to not care right now, with his body at the edge of its patience. He didn’t fully understand it. “Yeah.”

A stretching silence.

It should have felt good. Megumi didn’t have a problem with silence. In fact, he was usually comfortable in it.

But this silence was unnervingly different.

He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what about it unsettled him.

However, he was certain it had to do with Itadori looking like something unsaid was burning a hole in his tongue. Something he wanted to say but was avoiding.

Kind of like Megumi avoiding certain things, too. But we won’t talk about that. No, we won’t talk about it ever, if I’m lucky.

“Spit it out.” It came out weaker than Megumi had hoped for.

“Huh?”

There he goes again, smiling to hide something.

Megumi didn’t feel like prying. He never did feel like it, really. He didn’t consider himself The Prying Type. Whatever people told him, he knew; whatever people didn’t tell him, he didn’t know. Simple as that.

But something about Itadori tricked him into wanting to know more. No matter how much he knew about this pink-haired puppy, it was never enough. He always wanted more.

It was selfish.

Megumi let his head fall back against the pillow and shut his eyes. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

More silence.

Megumi almost nodded off again, barely registering footsteps coming closer.

“Thanks, Fushiguro.”

“For what?” He mumbled. Considering that he’d just offered Itadori an out to not talk, he probably shouldn’t be pushing his luck like this.

“For giving me the spare key.”

Megumi’s brain cleared itself of the sleepy fog creeping in around the edges. He looked up at a now-much-closer Itadori, who was sitting on the other side of the table from him and leaning his chin on his hand.

“I like being here.”

Brown eyes fell onto the snack table and Megumi followed them.

“I wanted to cook you something, but they wouldn’t let me use the kitchen on such short notice. I told them it was important but… Gaahhh! They wouldn’t take that. So…” He gestured meekly to the junk food.

Megumi considered it, heart growing warm at the idea of Itadori trying to cook for him. “From the corner store?”

“We missed dinner.”

“I see.”

Shit, how long was I out?

Itadori’s fingers scooped up a bag of chips and popped it open. Megumi went to reach for his own but was stopped with a hand covering his. He looked on in wonder as the intruder once again took the utmost care in placing Megumi’s hand back on his bed.

“Hungry?”

Megumi nodded carefully, trying to find some way to justify keeping their hands together a bit longer.

Itadori began surveying the pile with a deep concentration. “I’m gonna guess that you’re a savory person.”

Megumi nodded again. “I hate sweets.”

“Knew it.” Itadori’s face broke into a comfortable smile while he dug into the pile again. He pulled out another bag of chip-type things and popped it open as well before handing them over.

Megumi took the bag, thinking. He tried to snack lightly and found that the nap had done him some good after all. Simple movements didn’t put him into a coughing fit. Which was an improvement.

He tried to lift a chip to his face but soon realized that he did not, in fact, want to choke.

“Hey, um.”

Itadori perked up, turning his full attention to Megumi. It was sweet how he could focus on a singular person like that. With his whole soul. Like Megumi was the most important thing on the planet.

That familiar dangerous warmth started pooling in Megumi’s chest again. “Can… you help me sit up so I can eat this?”

Itadori’s eyes trailed down Megumi’s body, thinking.

Thinking a little too hard, if you ask me. His face heated up, setting the chips down and holding his hands up weakly so that the other could get a good grip around his middle. “Just help me.”

Itadori’s eye-fog cleared, jumping into action and enthusiastically wrapping his arms around Megumi’s ribs and hoisting.

Good news: normally, that would have worked.

Bad news: Itadori was jabbing into a wound.

He slapped the helping hands away, breathing hard. “Bad plan.”

“I’m sorry!”

“You didn’t know.” Megumi assured. “Just… try again.”

“But I don’t wanna hurt—”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No.”

Megumi looked up into deeply caring eyes. He had to fight against an odd urge to push his lips against the other’s.

“Show me?”

Megumi was about to complain that he wasn’t making sense until Itadori pressed his hands into Megumi’s.

Oh. That actually is a better plan.

He allowed himself to gently grasp Itadori’s calloused hands and guide them to his own waist.

It was careful and slow this time, but the effect was immediate. It shot spears of warm, crackling electricity through his blood.

Megumi placed Itadori’s palms on his own waist, gently gripping onto his wrists to maintain a steady control.

“Okay, try a little tighter.”

The pressure increased as Itadori tried to gently lift him.

A forgotten bruise flared up and Megumi had to tap frantically at the other’s wrist. “Gnn! Okay, stop!”

“Sorr--”

“It’s okay, just, let me…” He placed his hand over Itadori’s and coaxed it upwards, to slide gently off the bruise and up to his ribs instead of his waist. He let out a relieved breath when it worked and the injury was left alone.

“Is here okay?” The words echoed directly into Megumi’s ear and it sent a shiver up his spine.

“Yeah, try again.” His hands stayed on Itadori’s wrists to ground himself. “Gently, okay? We might have to readjust agai--”

Megumi felt strong hands supporting and easing his body up. But it was slow this time. Delicate, even.

Itadori being delicate was no small thing, considering how Megumi regularly watched the guy punch things so hard they disintegrated.

Megumi was no stranger to being manhandled, getting beaten to a pulp, etc. He couldn’t remember when people stopped treating him gently and started treating him like a punching bag. Okay, so maybe some of those times Megumi had started it. Other times, getting beat on was just part of the job.

But…

The feeling of being lifted ever-so-softly by someone who could have easily reduced Megumi to a pile of dust was… a nice change of pace.

“Am I hurting you?”

Don’t cry. “No.”

“That’s a relief. Tell me when it’s a good position.”

Don’t cry. “Okay.”

Megumi allowed himself to be set up against his headboard, a protective layer of pillows keeping the shredded skin of his back from touching the slats.

It didn’t feel good, but it was a helluva lot better than when he’d gotten home.

“You okay?”

He tried to reach up and rub at a crick in his neck when he realized it might not be a good idea to touch the bandages. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Well, you keep grunting and breathing like you just ran a marathon.”

“Just… adjusting.”

Itadori nodded, then reached to give Megumi his chips back, but retracted them at the last minute. “Okay. Say ‘ah.’”

“Idiot, I can still feed myself.”

A little giggle from Itadori as he relinquished the chips to Megumi.

He considered the bag. “How’d you know?”

“About what?” His eyes followed Megumi’s. “Oh, about the savory thing? Just lucky, I guess.”

“Hm.” He finally took a moment to eat, carefully avoiding the scratches in his lips.

Itadori happily munched through his own chip bag at the foot of Megumi’s bed.

Man’s best friend. He laughed silently to himself.

“What is it?”

“Hm?”

“You’re smiling.”

“It’s nothing.”