Chapter Text
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“It’s just…” he sighed. He’d never explained it to anyone before—never tried to describe it out loud. Closing his eyes, he focused on the hurt. Tried to understand where it was coming from, what it reminded him of.
“It’s like…a hole in my chest. Empty and,” he paused. Being honest with his feelings was never a strong suit. “Aching.” Faintly, Megumi could hear an intake of air to his right. He was glad his eyes were still closed so he did not have to watch Itadori’s face fall. Suddenly, another wave hit him, painful and nauseating and it nearly knocked him to his knees.
“It’s like an empty hole but also a deep, black body of water with no shore in any direction,” he found himself spilling. He clutched at his chest like a child—a stupid fucking child, as if the action would ease any of the pain. Megumi clenched his fist, willing the wave to retreat and let him land back on his feet, but before he could imbed crescent moons into his palms, warm solid hands closed around his wrist. He opened his eyes to Itadori’s face too close to his, eyes too wide, and face too kind. Slowly, he lowered them both to the floor, still holding Megumi’s wrists. With all the gentleness that was so unexpected but so characteristic of him, Itadori unfolded Fushiguro’s hands and began massaging his palms.
“How long have you been feeling that?” Itadori asked softly, never pausing in his delicate ministrations.
“Since I was a kid,” Fushiguro answered simply. He did not have to pause to think; the feeling was as familiar as socks on his feet.
Itadori’s brows knit together, finally looking up at Fushiguro. Instantly, he wished he hadn’t had said anything at all, wished he hadn’t indulged in a moment of honesty, wished he hadn’t dragged other people into a mess where they did not belong. He could feel his carefully controlled facade beginning to crack and he wanted to run far away, but his legs were made of lead.
“No child should know that kind of loneliness, Megumi.”