Archive of Our Own ^beta

“It’s a tradition,” Megumi says, his eyes narrowed and brimmed with thin creases in the corners as he looks at him. There's a dark hue to his blue eyes, shading off the side under his eyelashes, fallen half-way closed as if he can barely even keep his eyes open to continue the rest of his sentence. His mouth parts again, leaving out a small crack of sound before he shuts it closed, and Itadori sees the way his tongue pokes the inner pad of his cheek while he averts his sight a little bit further from his own. His eyebrows pinch and frown even more intensively, and Itadori wonders whether the reason for his discomfort is really his lack of restfulness through the day, or something hidden—like a bothering wound he’s gained during their training or the very purpose of their current conversation.  

A conversation which is not even two-sided. His back is to the wall, caged between it and Megumi’s chest; but looking at the conflicting lines in his face, it feels like it’s the other way around—Megumi pressed against the cold drywall and Itadori’s head looming over him with an unfinished explanation lingering on his tongue.  

He waits, starting to blink more persistently as he keeps his eyes locked on the strained line of Megumi’s frown. And then, he swallows and sighs through barely separated lips. His eyes shift to his again, and Megumi looks like he wants nothing more than to just drop the subject and cradle into the warmth of his blankets waiting for him behind the door to their right. 

“Gojo-sensei wanted me to tell you about it. He plans to take us all to his cabin the next week to spend the Christmas together. That's if you don’t have anyone else whom you’d like to spend the holidays with.” Megumi says, looking at him with a sigh that makes it clear that his agonizing explanation is finally over.  

Itadori feels a frown of his own deepening on his forehead, his head tilting to the side. He has more questions now than he did the moment after Megumi deliberately placed himself in front of him to block any access to an escape route—even though considering the way he kept looking towards his bedroom door gave the impression that his stance was more of a method to keep himself from running away, not the other way around.  

“Oh...” Itadori breathes, his eyes blinking, throat bobbing as he swallows uncertainly. “Is this the reason why we’ve stopped in the middle of the hallway?”  

“Yes,” Megumi nods, “he told me to tell you today after classes. Whether you are against his idea or not, he’ll be expecting to hear from you any time tomorrow.” he says, his voice drifting off along with his words until by the end of the sentence they’re all morphed into throaty groans.  

“It’s not about that, I have nothing against it!” Itadori says quickly, his head shaking from side to side with a grin frozen on his lips, not sure if he should keep it up or drop it when he looks back at him. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting—this.”  

Truth is, Itadori hadn’t been expecting anything out of their current encounter. He's too tired to think, his muscles dragging his limbs down and the cold still swirling over the expanse of his uncovered skin, clenching its icy claws around the pump of his veins to switch his body temperature to low digits. And Itadori likes the winter; he likes the snow pilling up over the ground, the dark blue undertones that the sky undertakes as clouds filled with snowflakes hover over the city. He likes the atmosphere of winter in itself; but the way in which the cold always seems to seep under his skin and make him numb enough to wish he could drop down in the middle of their combat training is not an aspect he enjoys related to the ongoing season.  

Making sense of something unexpected, especially after the said strenuous combat training, is another thing Itadori isn’t too keen on trying at the moment. All he wants is to shut the door to his bedroom and slump into a long and dreamless sleep until 8am in the morning when he’ll have to wake up for his first classes of the day. It's the same thing Megumi wants too, judging from his expression. Even though irritation is clearly visible in his eyes as well, latched with the tired lines across his face—though it being directed to him, Gojo or somebody else is not clear enough to distinguish, even without his temporary drowsiness.  

Megumi huffs, his lips slightly quirking up into a barely-formed and sloppy grin. “Sure, but. Talk to him about the details tomorrow, if you decide you want to come too. I'm going to bed.” he says, his head lifting from the proximity in which it hung over his own, and Itadori felt only a wisp of cooling air gushed from his throat as Megumi pushed himself away. The moment he stepped back, Itadori could feel the chill of the air caged in the hallway washing over him with no barrier, and he shivered slightly before he too started to move, turning the other way towards his bedroom on the left.  

The sound of Megumi’s door shutting closed came seconds before his own. As soon as he stepped inside, Itadori let out a long and guttural sigh, tracing the whole distance to his bed with dragging feet and eyelashes gradually dropping lower and heavier.  

Before he falls asleep, he hears Megumi’s voice again, whispering the same way it did a few minutes before. “It’s a tradition” Megumi says in his dream too, and Itadori almost feels his heart skipping again within his chest as he watches him leaning down, his cooled breath warming the frozen sides of his pale cheeks.  

And that’s another fact why winter is complicated. Because it’s then when he realizes that Megumi’s cold breath spills warmth on his skin, and it makes the whole logic of raising and lowering his own body temperature all the more confusing.  

Maybe Sukuna is at fault. That's, at least, one of the most reasonable conclusions he could think of.  

❅

When he wakes the next day, Itadori can finally layer out his questions in order and actively ponder over them, without fearing he’ll fall asleep trying.  

The first thing that nudges him as being odd is Megumi’s use of the word ‘tradition’. He's spent more than a year within this academical institution—albeit not being the safest or most ethically-aware school he could’ve chosen, given the option of selection—but he doesn’t remember hearing anything about traditions rooted within its legacy. That excluding their curse-exorcising missions or the contests between the students, because they’re not exactly  traditions, but most likely well-thought-out plans with a frail possibility of actually working out in the way that said plan has it to be anticipated. It seems like the only tradition craved within the Jujutsu High is to give mental instability to every future sorcerer and poor, curse-fighter soul.  

But that’s something Itadori has figured out ever since the night he thickly swallowed Sukuna’s finger down his throat; and it’s something Megumi has known for far longer, ever since his fresh years of adolescence started to cower over his childhood innocence—and so Itadori knows that the ‘tradition’ he’s brough up the other day has nothing to do with anything he knows of so far.  

Another thing which bothers him is Gojo Satoru. Though there are a lot of things he doesn’t quite yet understand about him, and the possibility of shading light over those several secrets is dim enough to make him lose the confidence of figuring him out the way he’s usually been able to read other people by their hearts layered out on their sleeves. The thing is that Gojo Satoru doesn’t wear his heartstrings around his wrist, and neither does Megumi—which doubles the doom of incapacity in order to draw out the rough sketch of whatever imagery Megumi had in mind yesterday, painting it out in his thoughts with a revolted look in his eyes.  

And still, Itadori has the peace of mind to believe that Megumi wouldn’t have suggested the trip to Gojo’s cabin in the first place, unless he knew for certain that it’s not something he’ll be regretting after. He knows him, even though they haven’t had that many years to figure themselves out fully, to analyze every crook and cranny of each other’s minds and emotions; but Itadori knows that Megumi is a practical and honest person, and that certain circumstances tend to leave him unbiased. It's a valuable asset during their missions, but it makes it easier to predict his choices too—which is why he’s baffled by the fact that Megumi, out of all the others, is the first in line to go on this trip led by none other than the teacher whom he visually dislikes.  

He's on his way to class, his eyes narrowed deep in thought as he looks ahead and counts down the hours until he’ll be able to look around for Gojo, when the sudden click of a tongue catches his attention. His feet skid over the floor, hand raising to his cheek to feel reflexively for the slippery pad of a tongue poking through his skin, and when he confirms that Sukuna’s mouth hasn’t taken shape under his fingertips, Itadori turns his head over his shoulder.  

It's there, two classrooms away from where he’s currently standing, where he can see Gojo’s head poking through the gap of the doorway. His hair is cutting white lines over the side of his black blindfold, his lips stretched into a knowing grin as his finger motions him to walk in his direction, and Itadori changes the course of his path almost instantly, without thinking too much over it. His teacher will probably tease him again for skipping class and Megumi will surely lecture him for another five to ten minutes before giving him today’s lecture, but at least he now has a solid excuse instead of his usual “I slept through my alarm.”  

That’s, of course, in case Gojo Satoru is considered as a solid excuse in the eyes of the other teachers.  

“Yuuji,” Gojo says as soon as he steps aside to give him enough space to slither his way into the empty classroom. The back of his arm pushes on the door to close it behind them, and Gojo leans against its frame as soon as the lock clicks, bringing his arms crossed over his chest as he faces him, his grin still plastered and stubborn on his lips. “I suppose Megumi has told you of my plan.” 

“He did,” Itadori says, and he can’t help but let out an unintentional crack of excitement through his voice as he shifts his weight on his feet. “Though he spared me of the details.” 

“I figured he would. But that’s why I told him I'll be looking for you today—I hope you don’t mind me stealing you away from your history class.” 

Itadori huffs. He backs away until he reaches the first desk, then pulls the chair out to sit in, crossing his legs as he settles into it. “I would be lying if I told you I do. It’s not such a bad class, really, but the fact that Sukuna is mentioned and I’ll have to study his life makes me want to shove my notebook into the snow until the words melt away. It's enough that I have to live with him inside my brain and taste every one of his ugly fingers.” 

Gojo nods, his hum caged behind closed lips, making it sound like a muffled and hidden laugh. “I figured you’d say that, too. It gives me great pride to see that I know my students so well.” 

“Technically, you only have three. Two of whom you’ve already spend a lot of time training and more than enough time bonding with, though Megumi insists on reminding me it has always been you who initiated the small talk and wanted to get under our skin— in his words, not mine. And I don’t plan to go against his statement, though in my own case I admit I was slightly more eager to engage in your conversations than he ever was.”  

Gojo grins, one side of his mouth quirking upwards so sharply it cuts over his cheek and deepens a small dimple into the middle of it. His lips glisten with a pink and soft glow, and before he starts talking, his tongue swipes over the bottom one in a single and quick press. “And that’s one of the reasons why you’ve gained the right to be part of my winter holiday.” he says, and even though the blindfold hides away his expression, Itadori somehow knows that he had winked soon after saying that. Then, Gojo shifts to push his shoulders straighter on the door, his grin lowering a little more lopsided. He clears his throat and says, “I think you want me to explain it a bit clearer to you, knowing that Megumi left you in a little foggy bubble of confusion.” 

Itadori feels the ends of his lips tugging slightly, raising into a tiny smile. He nods, enough to let the other know he can continue, and then rests back in his chair to be more comfortable as Gojo starts talking again.  

“At first, I only used to take Megumi with me, even before he enrolled in Jujutsu High. I raised him, so I couldn’t leave him alone on Christmas whilst I was celebrating the holidays somewhere else. Sure, he didn’t like the idea at first, but it has grown on him, I think. He was the one who asked me yesterday if this year we could all go together.” 

“Really?” Itadori asks, his eyebrows pinching lower and eyes blinking against his temporary surprise. “He didn’t look like he wanted to be a part of your plan when he told me about it.” he chuckles, the image of Megumi’s narrowed and pained expression flashing over his memory. 

Gojo waves a hand in the air, his head cocking to the side. “I said he asked, but I did not say he suggested  it. But I'm sure he’ll get over it quite soon; he always throws his worries aside when he’s up there on the mountain.” 

His smile slips from his lips, frozen into a thin and stiff line. His eyebrows arch up over his forehead, and something inside his chest snaps against his ribcage with unease. “On the mountain?” he asks, voice slightly trembling into uncertain tones.  

Gojo purses his lips in the way he does when he frowns. “Megumi hasn’t told you? My cabin is located in the depth of the woods.”  

There are a few silent seconds passing by them in which they don’t utter a word. Itadori keeps his gaze on him with clear hesitancy brimmed in his eyes, and Gojo possibly looks back at him, his mouth too preoccupied to stay into a scowl to show any beginnings of a teasing smile.  

Eventually, It’s Itadori who speaks first, saying a simple “No, he did not.” 

Then Gojo scoffs, and Itadori sees a smile curving up as he shakes his head. “He probably wanted to keep it a secret from you.” he huffs a laugh, his fingers trimming rhythmically over the side of his forearm. “Too bad I ruined it now.” 

Itadori doesn’t share the same sentiment, though he thinks he can read into the meaning of it. His head shakes sympathetically, then he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “You pulled the same surprise on him the first time, didn’t you?”  

Gojo lifts his head enough so that the side of his face is visible under ruffled locks of hair falling down over his skin. His grin is sharp and thin, and enough to set an answer by itself. “He loved it nonetheless. After the first week of accommodation.” 

“Is it really that bad?” Itadori asks, his eyes narrowing as he looks back at him. He doesn’t want to back away from the opportunity of spending the Christmas with everyone else—he doesn’t have anyone to spend it with otherwise anyway, and staying alone in his dorm while people eat together with their families or walk around the illuminated and snowy-pathed streets under the sway of carols is a too grim scenario to even think about as being a possibility. If he thinks about it, he hasn’t experienced the feeling of a real family dinner during Christmas in forever, if he were to exclude the few take-out packages that he’s brought with him along his visits to his grandpa’s hospital room. But take-out fried turkey and apple pie are not the same as home-made goods, and dinner into a hospital room can’t even compare to dinner into a cozy winter cabin. However, if the circumstances are dire, as he came to anticipate from the few back-and-forth remarks, he’d probably have to consider the idea more carefully.  

But— “No, of course not.” Gojo says, and his voice is light and stern enough to make it sound like he carries no sarcastic undertones. “Megumi was just a whiny kid in his youth, even though it might sound surprising to hear. It’s a large and spacious cabin built on a safe land within the forest—there are no bears or wolves to worry about. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you could spot a deer or two. And there’s a lovely town right at the base of the mountain, only about a half an hour drive away. We'll go there on the Christmas days; Nanami will join us too, though not to the cabin. He always visits the town on Christmas, says he likes the aesthetic but the truth of the fact is, obviously, that he wants to see me.” 

Itadori frowns, one eyebrow raising. “See all of us, you mean.” he says, and Gojo stills, his lips parted around the words he’s meant to say before that died on his tongue instead as soon as he intervened. 

He smiles, though it’s visibly strained. “Yes. But it’s me who he looks for first.” 

“Probably because he wants to make sure you’re actually looking out for your students and not messing around on your own. 

Gojo's frown is stern across his mouth, and his fingers turn a tint whiter as he presses them into the sides of his forearms, hard enough to bite at the skin under the sleeves. His head raises a little higher, and as he talks, Itadori nearly bites his tongue from preventing to point out that he still looks like a whiny child, while Megumi had managed to overcome his own phase long ago. 

“I do take care of you.” 

“My experiences throughout our several missions say otherwise.” He grins, the tug stretching over his cheek in teasing flair, watching as Gojo’s fingers flex over his arms and nostrils flare slightly against the suppressed impulse to groan. He shifts in his chair to set both his legs on the floor, then his nails gently scrap the backside of his ear before he looks back up again and drops his joking tilt. “Does Kugisaki know?” 

The other’s shoulders seem to ease up at the change of subject, humming low from the back of his throat. “I’m assuming Megumi is going to tell her sometime today. I'm sure she’ll be elated.” 

“A cabin in the middle of the woods and far away from the city life? Are you sure you know us as well as you say you do?” Itadori asks, though his grin doesn’t slip from his lips, and when he leans forwards is to hush his words low enough not to let the chuckle in his throat spill from his tongue.  

Gojo turns slightly around to grab the doorknob, and when he smiles at him, his white teeth show from underside the curve of his lip. “It doesn’t sound appealing to you at all?” 

Itadori sits back to actually think about his answer; about all the reasons that would make up an affirmative reply. He thinks about the winter and the mountains, of how beautiful snow looks on their peaks and stones and how trees weight down the heavy snow on their leaves and branches. He thinks about Christmas and the idea of spending it with them—with Megumi and Nobara whom, in the last year they’ve been knowing each other, became so close and dear to him that calling them family isn’t even a stretch anymore; and Gojo too, who even though has his flaws, Itadori can’t bring himself not to like and admire. He thinks about a holiday with all of them together, into a place far away and quiet, where snowflakes fall from the sky between the crowns of the trees and Christmas carols can be sung as loud as they want to, without having neighbors to bother.  

He's been intrigued ever since Megumi pulled him aside the other day, his words dragging out hushed and low from his throat. “It’s a tradition,” he’d said, and now that the tradition itself has a meaning to it—the trip he and Gojo are accustomed to make in every winter holiday—Itadori wants nothing more than to integrate in their routine as well and experience it first-hand.  

And so, when he decides to answer, he says “It sounds amazing, actually.” and he lets Gojo’s laughter fill the empty classroom for the few short seconds before he pulls the door open to step outside, his feet already trotting on the hallway by the time Itadori steps out himself.  

There’s not much of his class left, and Itadori resigns himself to sneak into the cafeteria for a quick snack before their training lessons begin. As his coffee is brewing, he hears the grumble Sukuna makes as he wakes up. Hearing him talk directly is better than hearing someone else recounting his life though, because at least like this, he’s going to be spared of Sukuna’s bickering when he insists on telling him how the events actually occurred—which, Itadori is firmly convinced, are all lies.  

❅

“Having a headache again?”  

Itadori vaguely looks up at Megumi after he hears him, his frown ghosting over his forehead as he lifts his gaze from the hold he has around the bandage. Megumi is already looking at him, his own eyes narrowed slightly as he looks him over, one of his eyebrows quirked up as he waits for his answer. His wrists, unlike his own, are already stripped white with the protective bandage aids, nipping at his skin as he works his hands over the cap of his water bottle.  

He shakes his head and huffs down at his hands. “No, he doesn’t seem too eager to talk to me today. I just can’t rip off this bandage.” he says, tugging on the tight strap to demonstrate, his wrist squeezing under the bandages already stuck around his skin.  

Megumi turns fully to him, his hand hovering over the pads of his fingers. “Can I?” he asks, and Itadori lets out a defeated and long sigh before he releases his hold around the bandage and offers it to him instead. Megumi grabs it by the edge near the bandage roll, his eyebrows pinching slightly when he feels the glue licking at his fingertips. He tilts his head and leans down so quickly Itadori can’t even seem to make sense of his actions, and then when he feels his cold breath hitting the inner side of his wrist in a short exhale, he feels his shoulders tensing and his throat closing as a shiver runs down over his spine. 

He pulls the bandage with his teeth, ripping it off in one firm snip, and when he unclenches his teeth around it, his bottom lip is so close to the side of his palm that he can almost feel it ghosting heat over his skin. The contact doesn’t follow, though the sudden lump in his throat makes it seem like it did. 

Megumi tapes the end to the rest of it, and when he looks up at him again, he struggles to swallow the lump down on his dry throat, putting on a shaky grin in an attempt to hide any hint of uneasiness or dizziness that might be showing on his face. He brings his arm to his chest and clutches his other hand around it, rotating his wrist as if he tries to loosen up the strain exerted by the freshly wrapped up bandages.  

“Thanks,” he says, and even though it sounds more like a mumble, he doesn’t try to mask it away as he cocks his head to the side and lets his hand fall over the handle of his spear.  

“It’s nothing. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Megumi says, rather nonchalantly, and then turns back to his backpack, sliding the water bottle in its place before he gets up and hunches over the crate to choose a weapon of his own.  

His leg is slightly bouncing up and down as he sits on the bench, his thumb and index finger picking at the loose end of his bandage that managed to detach itself from its glue. His throat is still dry, his ribs still tightened absently around his lungs, but the silence is harder to bear—and so he leans after Megumi and fixes his tone in such a way so it would sound taunting.  

“By the way, you’ve failed to mention where exactly Gojo’s cabin is located.” 

Megumi stills, his hands bracing stiff around the handle of a thin sword, though the moment of motionlessness is quickly overcome as he pushes himself back onto the bench next to him. “Did I?” he asks, letting out a short wisp of a breath through his lips. 

“Yes,” he says, “though I can’t understand why. Having to live in the mountains for a few good weeks is not anyone’s first thought that comes to mind when you say that the cabin is owned by Gojo Satoru.”  

Megumi rolls his eyes, setting the sword in his lap before he turns to look at him. “Would you have agreed to go there if you knew that from the start?” he asks, his expression impassive, with no particular hint of an emotion showing.  

It's unexpected, his question. It leaves him startled for a few short seconds, but it takes him just as long to figure out the answer.  

“Yes,” he says, so certain he feels his grin tugging wider. “I’d go anywhere if it means I could be with you all. And from what Gojo-sensei has told me, I believe the cabin is quite extravagant.” 

When Megumi scoffs, his eyelashes flutter over his cheeks, fleeting like the flapping of butterfly wings. There's a soft grin forming on the edge of his lips, and Itadori watches it stretching. “We’re talking about Gojo. What were you expecting?”  

He peaks up at him from under the curve of his eyelashes, one side of his face lifted into a thin and cutting grin. “See?” he says. “Nothing would have changed.” 

He's about to say something when the sound of a shout makes him look over his shoulder, squinting his eyes at the person running towards them. Her hair swings over the sides of her face and shoulders, nipping at her skin as she moves against the blow of the cold wind. One gloved hand is raised above her head, moving it almost as if she tries to wave at them, though the needles poking out in between her fingers make the welcoming impression more threatening.  

Nobara halts the moment she reaches their bench, her hand gripping the side of her knee as he puffs air from her lungs to regain her regular breathing. She isn’t wearing a jacket over her uniform, and the cold bites into her skin, turning it slightly purple on the bridges of her cheekbones. When she looks at them, her eyes turn up into crescent shapes, the amber of her irises glinting with visible excitement.  

“Gojo has just confirmed it to me.” she tells them, her smile widening over her cheeks, straightening her back as she pushes herself from her hunching position. Next to him, Megumi shifts, humming low in his throat. “I thought you were bluffing. He really does have a cabin.” 

“I told you I wasn’t joking.” Megumi says, plucking out his roll of bandages from the backpack to give to her. Nobara grabs around its sides, her fingers tapping quickly over the roll as she keeps talking, maintaining her tone light and giddy.  

“And he’ll take us all there for Christmas.” she says, looking over Itadori’s shoulder at Megumi with her eyes widely opened and impatient.  

“Yes, he will.” he sighs. 

Nobara turns, her hand bracing on the curve of Itadori’s shoulder. “You will help me with my shopping list. I asked him what is the nearest city and apparently it holds one of the largest Christmas fairs in the whole Japan. Can you imagine all the things I could find in there? It's a gold mine! I'll only be walking through the city for two weeks straight.” she laughs, her fingers tightening so stiff around his shoulder that he can feel the individual imprints of her fingertips over his skin. 

He tilts his head, bringing his hand up to pat the back of her palm. When he meets her raptured gaze, he nearly gulps down all of his words; though he’s not as cruel as Gojo and, quite surprisingly, Megumi, so he still has the intention of warning her of the actual circumstances. “You might want to reconsider your plans, Kugisaki.”  

It's a reason for caution, a suggestion he couldn’t help but spell out, especially whilst having the vivid image of her distraught face when she’ll realize the cabin is nearer to the wildlife of the mountains rather than the life of the city.  

Nobara's fingers freeze, her other hand clenching tightly around the bandages. She looks at him and narrows her eyes, her lids cutting a thin line over her expression as she locks her gaze on his. And then she grins, her lips lifting so easily it feels like he’s unlocked a caged memory within her thoughts.  

“You’re right. Maybe Maki would like to come too. It'll be more fun shopping with her than with you, either way.” She squeezes his shoulder a last time, then drops her hand and tugs on the end of the bandage, sticking it to the side of her forearm and working her way up to the wrist. He can hear her slightly giggling from the depths of her throat, her lips stretched and frozen in a warm smile, eyes still drawn into half-moons.  

Megumi leans against him until their thighs are touching. His head dips over his own and his lips nearly press over his ear as he whispers steadily. “Do you think something will change if we tell her?” 

Itadori purses his lips, leaning back into the bench. His fingers trim over his thigh as he looks at her from the corner of his eyes, slightly feeling a smirk curving across his face. “Yes. I think it would change dramatically, unfortunately.” 

“Should we let her know, then?”  

He licks his lips and lolls his head to the side. Megumi blinks at him, his mouth kept into a thin and straight line, but the flicker in his eyes is taunting. Itadori manages to read into them more than he could pick up from the impassive tone of his question. “Probably not,” he whispers. “It’ll be a nice surprise for her, I think.” 

And all things considered, maybe he, too, has been influenced by the cruelty of Gojo’s insensibility.  

❅

When Sukuna makes his appearance, the annoyance of the fact is joined by headaches.  

They were mild at first, barely noticeable, with only a dull ringing in the back of his ears signalizing the first tingling of restlessness the curse manages to emit through his thoughts and veins. He doesn’t even remember experiencing the headaches before—the first two fingers that he’d swallowed were raw and disgusting, getting stuck on their way down his throat the same way the latest ones do; but at least after having gulped them within his stomach, the sickness was the only thing left to bother him. Now, after every finger, his head throbs so much it almost feels like it’ll split in two during the short few seconds of eating them. And then there’s stillness, the calm and usual flow of his thoughts swirling in his head—until Sukuna decides to break that silence too.  

The pain is gradual. He remembers Gojo mentioning the possibility to experiencing some sort of side-effects after eating his fingers, though the nature of them was unknown. He figured all out within the last few months however—the weird cravings he has when he’s hungry because apparently Sukuna took a liking to ice cream (and demands it even when it’s below zero and his throat is icy), the intrusive thoughts that either make him roll his eyes or groan in disgust, and the headaches, which compared to the others are the worst side-effect imaginable.  

Aside, of course, for the insistence when Sukuna manages to take over his whole body. It's scary and unpredictable, and the mere thought of losing control during another mission again, when he won’t be able to stop Sukuna from hurting Megumi or Nobara or anyone else in his way, is enough to frighten him to his core.  

Thankfully however, he can control him. And Sukuna hasn’t attempted to take over him for a few good months now. What he can’t control though is the frequency and intensity of his headaches.  

They start painfully every time, dripping tension over his nerves and sinking, like steeled claws, within his brain. His vision fogs up temporarily until Sukuna utters his first few words; and after that, his conscience is doomed to listen to whatever rambling the other plans on using in order to talk his ear off. And there’s nothing he can do other than let it happen, sustain the pain in his brain and bear with it until Sukuna’s voice replaces it with a similar level of irritation.  

Having the headaches on a normal day isn’t a reason for concern. If it happens during his classes or training, the professors know to give him space; Nobara knows it helps if she brings him a bottle of cold water, and Megumi knows how to press his fingertips lightly over the side of his forehead to ease the pain faster. On the grounds of their school, having them is always safe. 

Having the headaches on a mission, however—that's a whole different story.  

Itadori is taking a curb when he feels the pain stabbing across his head. It's so blinding and sudden that he nearly trips over his feet, and his hand shoots up to press against the wall as he leans into it. This side of the building is already shadowed by darkness, and so when he looks up and sees nothing, Itadori doesn’t stress too much over it. He pins his head on the cold surface instead to squint into the dark, trying to see whether he could spot the shapes of a curse moving about. His fingers tighten around the handle of his blade, and his teeth grit against each other while he’s waiting nervously for the throbbing to cease.  

“You’ve been feeling excited lately,” it’s the first thing Sukuna says to him, his words thudding loudly in the echoes of his mind. He can hear the mocking laugh latched with the observation, and if only his eyes wouldn’t twitch uncomfortably at the moment, he would’ve rolled them with a groan—even though Sukuna won’t be able to witness his display of irritation.  

There's another way to show it clearly to him however, so Itadori puts that to use instead. He straightens his back, his legs still trembling slightly as he tries to replace all of his weight on them, and then says: “Are you, perhaps, jealous that you don’t have anything to be excited about up there?”  

It’s this that he’s learnt about Sukuna in the months living with him inside his conscience: he doesn’t take criticism well. Which is, he’d say, pretty ironic.  

He hears Sukuna huffing through his groan, and Itadori can vividly imagine him tapping his nails on his make-shift throne in annoyance, his still-pained line of his smile tugging a little in victory.  

Sukuna clicks his tongue, and before he starts talking again, something pulls within his head, felt like a sharp blow to his forehead from within his skull; inside-out. “Why would I be excited about a fucking cabin? Don’t you have better things, like—money, women, alcohol?” 

“I would never risk it getting drunk while you’re inside my head.” Itadori huffs, swiping the back of his palm uselessly over his forehead to wipe away the lingering strain sprung up in between his eyebrows. “Wait, you know about the cabin?” 

Sukuna sighs, harsh enough that it fills and surpasses his thoughts. “I live in your brain. Almost everything you hear, I can hear too.” 

Itadori hums, his hand lowering slowly from his head and pressing up against the wall again. His vision is still too hazy to discern the shapes of the shadows before him, and he keeps his eyes narrowed on what he thinks it’s a table in the corner of the room. “That’s unfortunate.” 

Sukuna laughs, the rumble of his laughter dropping to an unsteady rhythm of chuckles, powerful enough to reverberate on his throat as well. “That’s not what you should be concerned about. Your own thoughts and dreams are the real problem.” 

He feels heat raising into his face, his cheeks warming up with a soft shading of pink. He clears his throat, frowning impulsively. “I have no control over those.” 

“What a shame.” he says, letting out a humming sound that scratches over his nerves. “I could help you.” 

The beginning of a laugh bursts out from his chest, pushing his body slightly forward. “Please, no.” he wheezes out, his eyes squinting again as he looks over his shoulder from where a glint of light flickers far away. “Refrain yourself from trying to help me. Can you maybe fix my vision already? This is getting annoying.” 

“I believe you’ve just told me not to help you.” 

“With my dreams, not my eye sight!” 

“How annoying.” Sukuna groans.  

He clicks his tongue and leans his back against the wall, pressing his eyelids shut as he counts down the puffs of breath he lets out between his lips. Sukuna grumbles something further, the low tone of his voice ringing dully into his eardrums. From the other side of the room, Itadori briskly hears a noise, faint enough to be mistook for the blow of the wind against the windows in the hallway. It’s weak, like the scraping of blunt nails against the wood of the floor, and his eyebrows pinch as he looks to the side. He cranes his neck, trying to gaze into the corner where the table tilts dangerously on the side with its broken leg, but before he can attempt to blink his blurred vision away, Sukuna's voice snaps him out of his concentration.  

“I can’t do anything about it. Wait it out.” he says, wheezing out the tilt of slight satisfaction before he can even hear Itadori’s groan materializing into the tightness of his windpipe. He pushes himself off from the wall, and with the pad of his fingertips pressing in over the side of his forehead, he steps carefully back on his path into the hallway. 

“You are the annoying one, you know that? You have no right to—” he stops suddenly, his words getting sucked in on their way out as he feels a forceful whip of wind passing right across his cheek. His hand falls, cupping around the side of his face for protection, feeling a small cut widening under his fingers as the blood spills slowly from the wound. His eyelids press against one another intensely, feeling the uneasiness pooling within his chest while his heart skips and pounds over his stern. When he opens his eyes, the vision is slightly more healed than before—though it’s not nearly good enough to localize the source of the danger. All he can see are shadows, shifting and widening into a faded halo of light coming from the other end of the hallway, and Itadori can’t even tell whether the red and sharply-narrowed eye he’s seen in a flash before his gaze was real or not.  

His hand drops to his side where he curls his fingers around his knife. “Sukuna, now would be the right moment to quit your taunting.” 

“I told you. I can’t control your damn vision. It's better know.” Sukuna replies, quite quickly and sounding calm enough to leave no room for doubt that what he’s saying is actually the truth. And he’s right, his sight is slightly better now after he blinked his eyes opened. He knows it; after all, he and Sukuna are able to see the same things with the same accuracy and clarity of Itadori’s original vision. Which means that he can’t count on Sukuna guiding him through his momentarily clouded perspective, nor can he remain in one place now that a curse knows where he is and knows, too, that he’s in disadvantage.  

Itadori steps forward, his arm swinging backwards as he squints his eyes and prepares to cut the air before him into a long slash. And then he hears feet treading on the floor, approaching him rapidly, and Itadori stills his arm into the air as he tilts his head further back, trying to make out the silhouette he can see taking shape.  

It's quick and satisfying, the glint of a sword flickering as it comes down swiftly over the curse; and Itadori watches as the curse splits in two, finally visible as it turns towards him fully and expands itself to its true form before it could properly die. The smoke lifts towards the ceiling, some of it still lingering and streaming out of the edge of the blade, curling black clouds into the darkened corridor.  

Itadori lets his arm fall back down at the same time with Sukuna’s whistle, loud and clear and slightly distracting into the back of his mind, and when he blinks again to erase the last few blurring spots of the image in front of him, his eyes lock onto Megumi’s own. 

They're narrowed, almost looking as if he’s irritated with him. His eyebrows are pinched down dangerously, and Itadori can clearly see a deep crease over his forehead even with all the shadows shading the rest of the other’s face. His lips are parted and he puffs out air that spirals out into cold breaths, vaguely brushing against the skin over the back of his palm.  

Megumi straightens back on his feet, hooking his sword in the holster at his hip. “What are you doing?” he asks. Itadori blinks fleetingly, his tongue swiping over the inner ring of his teeth before swallowing, hard.  

His mouth fits into an easy smile, and as he puts his own weapon in its holster, he feels the tension spilling out of his system. “Sorry, I just had another headache. Sukuna wasn’t much of a help, as usual.” 

“I told you—”  

“Weren’t you supposed to check out the other wing?” he asks, cutting him off from finishing the sentence and meddle with the rest of his thoughts.  

Megumi shrugs, looking back over his shoulder where the last few remains of the curse turn quickly into dust. “I finished it. You weren’t out yet, so I came looking for you. Kugisaki is waiting in the car.” 

Itadori frowns, his head tilting to the side. “For how long was I standing here?” he asks. It's mostly directed to Sukuna—he knows, generally, how many minutes pass after every headache. For him, it all happens in a too agonizingly slow pace, and even if the moment might last only for two minutes, he’d feel the repercussions for nearly five more minutes on top of the others. It's harder when only one of them experiences the pain whilst the other’s struggle is just to try and cut ties deep enough in his thoughts and conscience to make his own voice heard.  

Sometimes, Itadori prefers Sukuna’s mouth sinking over patches of his skin in order to talk back to him or the others. At least then there’s no headache, though the shock of hearing his voice and not knowing where on his body it comes from is always unsettling.  

“I don’t know.” Megumi replies to him instead. His eyes scan over his face, looking him up and down shortly before his body turns slightly to the side, one foot directed towards the opening of the narrow hallway. “If you feel alright, we can go. It was only this curse in the whole building.” he says, their eyes flickering over the spot on the floor where a dark stain, like splashed paint, colors the wood into black.  

“We can go,” Itadori tells him, his vision lingering over the empty space. His feet start to move after hearing Megumi stepping down in front of him, and his hand reaches out impulsively, curling around the sleeve of his jacket. “Thank you.” he says, tugging down a little with a soft smile curving on the ends of his lips. Megumi doesn’t turn to look at him, but he nods, and his hand does a weird gesture, raising it abruptly towards him and touching the side of his finger over his wrist where the pulse beats warmly underneath; almost as if he tried to catch their fingers together but abandoned his impulse in the last second.  

When he pushes his hand into the pocket of his jacket, he feels his palm sweating, and his nails scrap over the thin lines in his skin.  

“Stop that.” Sukuna says suddenly, his voice tight and audibly annoyed as he grumbles.  

“Stop what?” he whispers, looking off to the side while keeping a relatively widened distance from Megumi, their footsteps echoing into the emptiness of the building.  

“Swooning over him like that. It's disgusting.” 

“What?!”  he says, not even realizing the way his tone has drifted into a shout. His face feels hot, the heat raising into his skin and spreading high over the tips of his ears—and it’s good for the darkness inside that makes this invisible to the naked eye.  

Megumi turns around nevertheless, blinking down at him with confusion latched in his gaze and an eyebrow raised. He looks him over once again, and even though Itadori knows he can’t see the blush— he can’t even see the color of Megumi’s eyes clearly from their distance—he still turns his head to the side with a cough, narrowing his eyebrows as he thinks back to Sukuna: “Shut up and go away.” 

Sukuna laughs, loud and thudding in his mind, and Itadori groans as he feels a natural headache starting to form. “Is true, though.” he says before eventually the buzzing of his voice lowers enough to be only a faint wheezing of sounds.  

Itadori quickens his pace, his breath leaving out of him in a strong and long sigh, and he doesn’t ponder over Sukuna’s insinuations. They're always one variation or another of teasing and empty words, either way. 

❅

The road trip to Gojo’s cabin lasts for over five hours.   

They're all sitting huddled in the backseat, the other passenger seat in the front being filled with half of Gojo’s luggage which he says he needs for the drive. The only things he’s taken out of it however were his sunglasses and an USB stick which is currently plugged into the radio, but he knows there’s no need for voicing this out, unless he’d like to give Gojo the opportunity to ramble about the contents of his bags and how you’re not allowed to stay in the front seat, you’re still too young.   

Which Itadori would disagree, especially given the fact that he’s the one sending them to deadly missions alone every few months—but that’s the curse of being a Jujutsu High student, and Itadori will take it as it is, no complains or whining attached.  

Though he can’t deny the discomfort to which they’re all submitted. He and Nobara are sitting at the sides of the backseat, while Megumi is cramped up between them, his legs pulled towards him as he hunches slightly, in order to give more room for their shoulders to lean on the seat rest. Their legs are brushing together. Every breath Megumi takes is felt on Itadori’s own skin involuntarily, and even though he tries to mask it away by looking outside the window or reading several reddit posts on his phone, he can’t make himself  not  acknowledge it. The interior of the car is warmed up, and the proximity between all three of them makes the atmosphere in the back of the car almost burning through the few empty spaces. He thinks that if Megumi were to accidently brush over his palm, he’ll feel the unexpected and accentuated heat curling under his hand, and so Itadori bawls his hand into a fist and hides it between his thighs for safety. 

Still, there’s a circumstance to be thankful about, namely the fact that he is pressed up against the door as well—because the cold seeps through, even with the air conditioning going and spilling warmth inside. The cold freezes up against the window, and Itadori feels it bite when he tilts his head towards it and follows the blows of wild wind with his eyes. And another source of distraction which elevates his sense of congestion comes from Nobara; though she quickly ends up sending waves of uneasiness down his spine instead.  

She’s leaning over Megumi’s shoulder in order to talk to him ever since the key was set into the ignition. She shows him pictures of the city from the previous Christmas fairs, from the shops surrounding it and the many tourist attractions waiting for them beyond the square itself where the fair is going to take place. Itadori watches everything almost from the corners of his eyes, humming whenever Nobara swipes through her folder, and slightly wanders whether now it’s too late to tell her that the city is actually half a mountain down from where they’ll be standing. Though he doesn’t ponder too much over the reality of it—because if he would, it’ll sound wrong and distressing to his own mind—and instead, Itadori focuses solely on the passing scenery. 

It's snowing slowly, the sky covered whole under a layer of gray and deep blue. The snowflakes hit the outer side of the glass, dragging down on its surface with thin traces of iced liquid. He looks through the cracks drawn into the window, and the images shift quickly, transiting from the busy streets of Tokyo to the hovering idleness as they drive closer and closer to the countryside. They pass through the few villages on the way, and Itadori watches as the people stand in their gardens and look onto the road, their hands fisted into the hems of their wool jackets and pulling them high over their frozen skin.  

The snow piles up on the ground, and Itadori isn’t really convinced that he wants to know how high it has risen on the mountain so far.  

Their trip is pleasant and verging on exciting, Gojo’s carols mixed with his usual taste of booming music filling up the car and their ears—and it’s fun, until Nobara realizes where they’re heading to. 

“Why are you going on this road? The city is in the other way.” she says, and her voice drops slightly into a suspicious tone, her body leaning over the passenger seat as she looks at Gojo’s profile.  

And Itadori can’t see him, can only stare at his hair as it flops slightly to the side when he shakes his head; but he somehow knows there’s a wide grin into shaping on the edges of his lips. “Well, my dear Kugisaki,” he starts, then tips his head back to look over his shoulder. His eye can be seen from under the rim of his sunglasses, and he leans far enough to catch everyone’s gaze. His upper lip drags until his teeth are visible under his smile. “We are not going to stay in the city.”  

Nobara frowns, then sits back into her seat. Her eyes flicker over to the windshield where the line of mountains can be seen, and her gaze suddenly shifts and darkens into something akin to dangerous. She puts her hand against the front seat and leans in again, whispering. “Where are we going to stay?” 

Gojo makes a light sound of a chuckle, then points his finger to the highest mountain. Itadori leans forward to look at it too—the peak is hidden, vanished into the fog lingering over the top, and the snow has painted the whole surface into white. It looks colossal and looming, with uneven stone walls near the peak and the forest widely spreading, leaving little to no spare portions.  

The road narrows as they drove on, guiding them towards the path slithering between rows of trees and shaded into darker colors a little further up as it veers into a curve. He stares at it with his lips parted as Nobara glares through the windshield with her eyebrows frowned low and breath fuming through the trembling line of her snarl; Megumi however doesn’t bother to lean towards it. His back is rested on the seat and his eyes follow the road with a slight up-turn of his eyelids. Itadori blinks as looks at him with a sided glance, and he quickly notices a soft glimmer flickering across his eyes and settling contently.  

There's a frozen, soft smile on his lips, and he thinks that even though Megumi wants to hide it, he can’t fully mask away his excitement, however hard he might try to. It's written on his face, on the slight tint of pink coloring his cheeks and on the slow tapping rhythm of his fingers over his knees. Itadori is too focused on sneaking a glance at his spellbound expression, the way his glimmer flickers more the closer they get to the path leading into the mountain, the way he seems to sink into the seat as if he feels pleased watching it happen, when Nobara’s loud voice startles him out of his trance.  

“You liars.” she groans, her back slamming into the seat again.  

Gojo turns, his eyebrows dramatically raised into sharp arches. “Who’s lying?” 

“You. All of you. I went into this thinking I'll have a blast in the city, and you’re telling me I'm going to wake up with a bear outside my window instead?” 

“No one has told you that we’re going to stay in the city. You've just assumed we will.” Megumi says, tilting his head slightly to look at her. There's a guilty tilt in his tone, his eyes sliding away from Nobara’s sharp gaze. At least he has the courage to say something to her; Itadori is not so brave, especially while they’re trapped onto such a tightly crowded seat, with their limbs at close range and nowhere to run to.  

“You knew about this too; you’ve said you’ve been there before.” she tells him, to which Megumi nods curtly, pressing slightly further into Itadori’s space to widen the small distance between him and her. Nobara’s eyes avert over his shoulder, and Itadori feels his throat closing in around his breath. “And you. Did you know too? I swear if you did—” 

“It’s not that bad.” Megumi cuts her off, his body leaning up to the side, almost blocking her whole sight upon him. “Trust me, I've been there every winter for about seven years now. You'll like it eventually, and it’s not as cut out from reality or technology as it might seem to be. Just think about who owns the place.”  

Nobara is still wearing her frown, though now her snarl is slightly smoothened out into a half-pout. Her eyes flicker to Gojo, then to the path through the forest on which they’re driving on, and then back to them again. A root bumps the tires and makes the car shake momentarily, knocking them against each other, their hands reaching out to catch themselves from falling over towards the front seats.  

Nobara sighs as she straightens back again, her hand running over the locks of her hair that have slipped over her forehead. “I even asked Maki to come by so we could see the fair together.” she mutters, the irritation latched with a hint of sadness that runs over her tongue.  

“We will go to the fair, Nobara.” Gojo says firmly, his hand tightening around the steering wheel as he avoids another root on the path. “And she’ll come for the New Year’s Eve dinner, just like everyone else will. I let them know in advance, but only us will be sleeping in the cabin.” he says. His head tilts, raising higher as if to show a sparkle of confidence in his answer. “And don’t despair. You have my word that it’ll feel like a ten golden-stars hotel, with meals included.” he grins, shifting in his seat before he steps on the acceleration. 

“Well,” Nobara says, dragging the letters into a long sigh. “It’ll better be as you say.” 

She folds her arms over her chest and gazes out the window, her lips softened into a neutral line. Itadori sighs in a scattered breath, his shoulders slumping as he pushes back into his seat. When he looks up again later, he sees the cabin through the trunks of trees, standing high on the hill, the woodened roof stained white with the multiple layers of snow on top. 

It's huge; Itadori counts three floors, each having wide windows from top to bottom, each giving access to several balconies facing the line of the other mountains, their railings round and thick. A lantern is lit at the entrance, hanging off from the lower roof of the first floor, the wind swinging it slowly to the sides. He feels Megumi shifting, pressing up against him more to get a better view of the cabin as Gojo veers away from the path and climbs a slightly bumpy patch of ground that leads towards the front door.  

He parks the car near the fling of stairs leading to the covered terrace of the cabin, and Itadori leans back to gaze at the house, his neck craning to find the top of its roof, the height of it looming and shading over his face. “That’s... a big cabin.” he says, feeling the vague crack of laughter that tries to set free from his throat.  

“Wait until you see the inside of it!” Gojo teases, his finger dragging his sunglasses down on his nose to make his wink visible, and then turns back to open his door, letting the cold flood inside.  

And truth is that when he sees what’s inside, and Gojo leans against the largest couch to look at them, arms crossed and grin sharply in place to ask “You like it?”, Itadori is so breathless he can’t even attempt to utter a sound of confirmation. The walls are made out of strong and dark wood, casted into undertones of warm amber coming from the flames flickering around, trapped into artificial torches that hang under the ceiling. The living room is spacious and wide, joined with the kitchen area, the counter that separates the both of the rooms being large enough to take up more than half the length of it. The couches and armchairs have white and black blankets over them, and Itadori sees the deep tint Gojo’s hip sunk into the backrest of the couch, already feeling on his own skin the comfort and softness they would provide once he slumps into one of them.  

There's too much to note at first glance, and he thinks he might need up to half an hour only to make sure he doesn’t miss something from just this portion of Gojo’s cabin. What he immediately observes though, without having to seize the whole room with his eyes in detail, are the large windows facing the forest, the peaks of the other mountains raising over the crowns of the trees, still hoovered by clouds and fog but large and closely enough to seem like they might be in walking distance from where they are. There's the staircase, too, also made out of wood with sturdy railings on each side. The path splits at the top where the bedrooms are, and Itadori can only see a painting of a wolf on the wall, halfway cut by the curve of the railing as it swerves to the left.  

“Who lit up the torches?” Nobara asks. Her tone of voice is light, breathless, almost as if she tries to diminish her tone; and Itadori knows this habit of hers, knows that whenever she tries to quiet down her voice, she’s actively trying to grasp as much information and insight from the very thing that interests her. He knows she’d probably already seen more than Itadori’s awestruck sight could have registered at the moment; and when he follows her gaze, he confirms his suspicions—because how  couldn’t he see the whole right wing of the room, with a large bookshelf spread out on the wall from the floor to the ceiling, and cozy armchairs pulled towards the window that opens the view towards the darkening forest? 

“Gertude,” Gojo says, his hands falling to clasp around the couch as he rolls his shoulders. “She cleaned up the place and left after I texted her this afternoon that we’re coming.” 

“Gertude moved to Germany last year, don’t you remember?” Megumi says, sighing as he walks towards the kitchen and switches on the coffee machine, letting it brew in silence as he looks in their direction with slightly glazed over eyes.  

Itadori turns from looking at him to looking back at Gojo, seeing the faint crease that formed between his eyebrows and the deepened lines of his mouth as it curves into a pout. He blinks, his eyelashes visibly dragging over the inner side of his glasses. “Right, of course I remember. I was testing to see if you do.” he answers, his grin cocking to the side. Megumi huffs, his back turning to them when he hears the ding that the machine gives. Gojo clears his throat, his index finger tapping over the couch. “Who did I talk to today?” 

Megumi sighs, pressing his fingertips over one of the suspended cupboards to make the drawer lift up, grabbing one of the many mugs layered on display. “Annie,” he says, drawing the letters of the girl’s name almost as if trying to spell it out for Gojo to incorporate them in his brain. 

“Yes! Annie, obviously. I knew that too.” he laughs, his head tilting to the side as he watches his finger running over the black blanket, looking like he’s tracing an invisible line of dust off the couch.  

By the time he looks back at them, Itadori has already started to sink into the atmosphere of the cabin. His hands and cheeks are gradually warming up and chasing away the cold settled underneath his skin. His eyelids slightly hover over his eyes, pursuing the relief and anticipation of a comfortable and long-lasting sleep.  

He smiles when their eyes meet, and then fixes back his sunglasses to hide away his eyes, pushing himself away from the couch. “Should I show you to your rooms, now? Megumi, come here too, I've made new arrangements for this year.” he says, beckoning his hand in Megumi’s direction as he turns on his heels and walks around the armchair, his fingers calling the other over with sharp and firms flicks.  

Itadori hears Megumi’s guttural groan that he lets out before he sets the coffee machine on stand-by and follows them over to the stairs. Gojo taps his nails over the wood of the railing, his voice ringing clear and eager. Their footsteps trod over the steps, and it pulls out the cracking of wood that strains under the weight of their feet.  

“Now, Megumi knows that I have only three bedrooms,” he starts, his voice hushed and breath faintly skipping over the words with every step he takes. He drags his feet on the wood when he reaches the second floor, then tilts his head to the left with a grin as he fists his hands into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders rolling back while he looks at them. “I’ve told Annie to prepare all of them as such: I will be standing in my bedroom, obviously; Nobara will have the bedroom to the right,” he says as he points towards the only door on the other side. When he turns his head, his sunglasses slip over his nose, and his eyes settle on Megumi’s own over his shoulder. “Megumi, would you be kind enough to show Yuuji the room you two will be sleeping in? You know which one it is, I hope.” he says, lips curving into a teasing and cutting smile.  

And it’s a great arrangement, Itadori thinks. If he is to sleep with Megumi, that wouldn’t feel so different from how they’re used to inside of their dorm: even though they don’t sleep in the same room, Itadori still stays over till midnight, sometimes longer, until he can get a glimpse of Megumi’s eyes shutting down mid-way in their conversation. They often wake up together, mostly due to the fact that Megumi wakes him up so he won’t miss their classes, which proves only half the time to be efficient; but in the last few months they’ve been living next to each other, seen each other the moment right before slipping into their own beds, nudged each other whenever one overslept during a week day. And either way, they get along pretty well, Itadori would say.  

It'll be fun, he thinks; though when he turns around to grin at Megumi, his lips freeze slightly on their way up. 

He doesn’t look as if he’s happy about it—or at the very least, he doesn’t look like he agrees with the idea of them sleeping in the same room. His eyebrows are drawn down into a frown and his cheeks are faintly painted into a soft pink that casts over the high tips of his cheekbones. There's a trembling line over his mouth, which he can’t decide whether to settle into a scowl or a pout.  

Eventually, when he opens his mouth, tight words come out with difficulty from his throat. “Why can’t he sleep with Kugisaki?” he asks, the question strangled by his tongue. His eyes switch in between the two in front of him, eyelashes fluttering, and he averts his eyes quickly when his gaze falls on his own. Itadori's mouth parts around a soft and offended sound, his eyebrows pinching, and next to him Nobara steps on the lower stair to lean into his space further, her groan spilling out even before the words could form.  

“Even though I like what I'm seeing so far, after today, I don’t want to be in the proximity of either of you to for the time being. Just so you know, I have brought my hammer.”  

Megumi pushes his head back away from her, his eyebrows raising over his forehead and lips held firmly shut. He looks up over Itadori’s head, and the sigh he lets out is so strong and long that the rise and fall of his chest is clearly visible. He keeps his eyes on Gojo, narrowing them as he sees something Itadori doesn’t bother to turn around and see for himself, but then he rolls his eyes, sliding them back to his with a resigned look flickering in his gaze.  

He takes a step up, and Itadori locks his gaze with him as he comes closer, the ends of his lips working to form a strained kind of smile. “Let’s go.” it’s all he says before he walks forward, and Itadori blinks with confusion into the vacant space in front of him, before he cocks his head with a huff and quickly follows.  

Theirs is the last room in the hall, the door standing opposite to another which leads to the joined balcony of the second floor. Itadori takes a moment to lean back and gaze out the window where the mountains are in full view, the forest spreading below and leaving the sky clear.  

“It’s so beautiful.” he tells him, his sight lingering on the darkened clouds filled with snowflakes that travel at high-speed towards the cabin. “When I found out the cabin is on a mountain, I thought the only thing I'll be seeing will be trees and white ground. Which is not particularly bad, but this is...” he lets the sentence unfinished, averting his eyes reluctantly away. “Do we have a similar view in our room too?” he asks, looking back at him. 

Megumi has his hand around the doorknob, already staring at him by the time Itadori turns around. When he catches his eyes, Megumi blinks his own away, dully clearing his throat, his fingers flexing around the curved line of the knob. “We’ll see the mountains on the other side.” he tells his, head hanged down. Itadori's eyebrows raise, his lips stretching in their grin, and before he can get to ask more about how  the other mountains look like, Megumi swings the door open.  

The notion of the view however flies out the window when he sees the interior of the room. And, maybe, now he understands the reason for Megumi’s reaction upon hearing they’ll be sharing it together. His cheeks warm up involuntarily, and he hides it away as he brushes the back of his hand over his face, wiping away an inexistant loose lock of hair from his eye.  

“There’s only one bed in here.” he says, his tone fraying away and softening in strength when he takes a few steps forward. The bed itself is large, with dark columns on each side sticking to the ceiling of the room. There's a big chest at the feet of it with a few books layered on the top. The windows widen from top to bottom, the left one being a glass door that opens to their personal balcony. His eyes skim over the rest of the room, over the armchairs, the desk against the wall and the chairs left outside; but then he returns to the bed side—their bed problem, as he decides to call it—and he feels his throat tightening and squeezing around his windpipe. 

“We can arrange something.” Megumi tells him, his head pinned against the door, looking inside. “We don’t have to sleep here together. I've fallen asleep on the couch downstairs a lot of times, I could—” 

“What are you talking about?” he stops him, his eyebrows frowning as he stares at the other’s profile. Megumi must’ve felt the burn of it, because he can see his shoulders cowering towards his ears, the edge of his lips straining into a thin line. Itadori sighs, then steps up until he’s standing next to him, his hand raising up to his shoulder. It's still strained and tensed, but he feels the slight stir of shiver it makes under his palm when Megumi feels it, his head tilting slightly to watch him from the corner of his eye. “You’re not going to sleep on the couch.” he tells him firmly. His smile drags over his lips, genuine and clear. “It’s not that bad. Don’t worry, I won’t roll over you in my sleep.” he laughs, his hand patting his shoulder blade.  

Megumi hums, his head tilting back again, hair covering his skin. Itadori squeezes his shoulder, then traces his fingers down on his arm before he decides to pull his hand away.  

“We should get our luggage and unpack before it gets too late. I don’t know about you, but all this cozy feeling has made it slightly impossible for me to keep my eyes open and mind focused.” 

Megumi hums again, pushing on the door to close it shut. His hand runs over his hair and flips it to the side, letting flocks of hair dripping over his eyelashes as he looks down at him. It's slow and almost hesitant, but a smile forms on his lips and his grin cuts sharp and taunting when he fixes him with his gaze. “Your mind is hardly ever focused.” he says.  

Itadori gasps, his eyebrows creasing as he looks at him walking away, and then his hand shoots up from his side, punching him lightly in the forearm which makes Megumi hush out a soft and clear chuckle.  

They finish unpacking everything after a few good hours, their clothes layered out in separate columns within their closet. They've chosen their sides of the room together—even though Itadori doesn’t think he’ll be able to exactly remember which one is his and even though he knows he won’t be able to keep out of Megumi’s own side; but Megumi has said this arrangement is more so that they won’t mix their stuff than actively keeping out from each other’s space. He's picked the right side, while Itadori has chosen the left, and he’s in the middle of settling his cologne bottles and charges in the drawer of his nightstand when Megumi comes back from their joined bathroom and asks how he’d like to organize their shower gels.  

“It doesn’t matter, right? I know which ones I've brought with me.” he says. He thinks about telling him that sharing them doesn’t seem like an inconvenience to him, though he keeps his mouth shut lest Megumi probably has another view on the subject. He knows how much he likes to have his own towel when they shower after their training practices, one he brings with him from his dorm and is careful not to throw in with everyone else’s, so in retrospect he believes Megumi would want possession over his own showering gels as well.  

They go down when Gojo comes by saying the dinner is ready. It's nearly 7 and the sky is already completely darkened by heavy and looming clouds, the line of the mountains invisible and blending into the night. Nobara passes by them on their way downstairs, her grin elevated and sharp as she looks at them over her shoulder. “How long do you think are you two going to survive sleeping together for the following two weeks?” she asks, her tone raising cheeky as she skims her gaze back and forth. Megumi sighs behind him, but Itadori grins, his feet skipping over the few last steps as he jumps on the carpet.  

“Honestly, I think us sleeping together would make this whole holiday ten times better. I'll get to know Fushiguro in earnest and straighten our friendship beyond us bonding on our missions. It'll be fun, you’ll see.” the last part he says to him, craning his head a little forward to catch his eye and stretch his smile over his cheeks. Megumi huffs as he looks to the side, and Nobara scoffs, her eyes rolling.  

“Your so-called ‘bonding’ looks more like clashing when you fight.” 

“We don’t fight.” 

“That’s wrong,” she says, echoed by Megumi as both look in his direction with different levels of smiling on their faces.  

But the thing is, Itadori firmly believes them staying together is going to push them slightly, if not distinctively, closer together. It's just the notion of living with someone, and the fact that within those days when you do, there’s not much that escapes your attention. You get to notice the little things, the habits the other has, the way they set their toothbrush when they’re done and the way in which they wake up the next morning. Even though Itadori is partially convinced Megumi wakes up grumpy in the first moments of the morning and keeps the same spirits for the rest of the day. But it’s one thing to be partially convinced and another to know for certain.  

Maybe Megumi wakes up with a lazy grin on his face. Maybe he likes to hug a pillow to his chest. He'll never know until he sees it with his own eyes—that, of course, if he wakes up before him.  

When they climb the stairs back to the second floor, the clock already shows 11pm. Itadori feels him limbs dragging more than before, his eyelids shutting closed as he focuses not to trip over the steps, but there’s a fuzzy feeling in his chest as well, swelling and spreading warmth inside. The cabin, he soon realizes, has an everlasting aroma of vanilla and cinnamon—so fitting for the Christmas time that’s closely approaching—and he can’t shed away the thought that maybe this is not reality after all. Maybe he’s still dreaming after his and Megumi’s abrupt conversation in the hallway between their rooms, not woken up by either his alarm or the repetitive knocking outside his door as Megumi tries to stir him awake before he rushes to their history class.  

“Rest well, everyone.” Gojo tells them, one foot already stepping into his own room as he looks out on both ends to catch their attention. “Tomorrow we’ll decorate the Christmas tree!” he grins, taking off his sunglasses to look them directly and shortly in their eyes. “Good night.” he says, and they all say it back until the hallway is filled with their combined voices followed by the locks of their doors as they pull them shut.  

Itadori turns on his hills, his hands fisted over his hips as he looks down at the bed.  

“I’ll be out in a moment,” Megumi tells him, his towel caged to his chest as he opens their bathroom door. Itadori nods even though the other can’t see, his eyebrows pinching as he looks at the size of it, then at the pillows that raise high over the surface. He tilts his head back, looking at the pillows sitting over the two armchairs by the large windows, and the idea clicks in his brain, stepping forth to bring them both over. 

By the time Megumi comes back, he’s already placed all the pillows he needed in the middle of the bed. He looks up through the few bangs hanging over his face at Megumi who narrows his eyes at the bridge he’s built on the mattress, his hair wet at the ends and tapping the tower lightly through.  

He blinks and looks up with a confused shake of his head. “What are you doing?”  

Itadori grins, though it momentarily feels a little hesitant and off, his fingertips tracing over the side of the last pillow slowly before he pulls away and straightens his back. “It’s a separation. I call it the safety line.” he says, watching as Megumi narrows his eyes more, gaze flickering down at the bed. “I know I said I won’t roll over you in my sleep, but I actually can’t swear on that. I've never slept with someone else in my bed so I don’t know how I could move and whether I might disturb you during the night. And—this helps, right? You didn’t want to sleep together because you thought we’ll swing our arms over each other, didn’t you? Well with this, our arms will hit only the pillows, not the other person. So? What do you think?” he asks, smile lifting his cheeks up as he looks at him. 

Megumi hums, bringing the tower over the side of his face as he fixes his gaze on the ‘safety line’. He’s still frowning, and something in the way in which he lets his mouth curve seems to indicate that he’s almost disappointed or sad. Maybe angry, or still a little bit embarrassed.  

Itadori feels an accentuated throb over his stern, his heart squeezing and pounding hard, sending blood pooling and ringing in his ears. He doesn’t know why he feels so on edge, or why the thought of Megumi actually being uncomfortable with the idea of them sleeping together makes him so nervous—but eventually the other sighs, his breath puffed out slowly and dragged from his throat, and when he looks back up, the edges of his lips are pulling into an amused grin. Itadori feels his tension leaving him partially through his lips in a short wisp of breath. 

“I think it is fine. As long as you don’t push all the pillows over my head.” he says, setting his tower down before he climbs on his side.  

Itadori huffs, the strain in his chest eased out completely as he smiles. “I would never.”  he promises, his hand making a cutting motion through the air to solidify his claim. Megumi looks up at him, his smile frozen on his lips and eyes drawn tight and low from tiredness, and he nods shortly before he pushes himself down. There's only the curve of his shoulder and the upper locks of his hair that Itadori can see, and somehow acknowledging that makes him slightly upset.  

By the time he comes out from his own shower, the other is already deep in his sleep, and Itadori might’ve put in a little too much effort in taking his own side of the bed without letting anything rustle out of place or making the sound of his feet and back dragging on the mattress heard.  

❅

“I don’t think I've seen any Christmas tree in here.” Itadori says, munching on his bite of pancake as he looks to the side and scans the living room as well as the reading area. It's a cold morning, and the tips of his fingertips freeze over the metal of the fork. Next to him Nobara is sitting on a stool, her face tipped down as she looks tiredly into her cup of coffee, the stream rising and curling around the ends of her hairline. She looks rested, though the hazy look in her eyes gives out her regret for waking up so early—even though so early means nearly 9am; but for the winter holiday, Itadori himself thinks this hour is still not late enough. 

It’s Megumi who woke him up, even though judging by the way he tip-toed on his way out of the bathroom, that wasn’t his intention. And Itadori is still sulking a bit over the fact that he didn’t get to see the way he looks when he wakes up, caught into the progress of blinking his sleep away; but truly, there’s no real surprise that Megumi beat him up to the waking game. Especially when the bed in which they are sleeping is so soft and warm Itadori nearly feels like he is sinking into its mattress every time he turns and twists across it.  

A distinctive thing that he did notice however is how wildly Megumi’s hair sticks in all directions—even more so than it is after his usual attempt to neat out his clumsy locks of hair from his forehead. 

He looks slightly to the left where Megumi is, his back turned to them as he pours his coffee into his mug. He tilts his head to the side and brings the mug closer, blowing out over the steam before he presses the edge of it to his lips and sips quickly. There's a look of content flashing over his eyes for a short second, and then Megumi turns to them and sets his mug on the table, sliding into an empty chair.  

“We don’t have a Christmas tree in the cabin, no one would bring one for us from the city. We'll have to get a tree ourselves.” he tells them, circling the liquid in his mug while he waits for it to cool down.  

“You mean,” Nobara starts, her head pushing back a bit to look at him, blinking quickly, the drowsiness steadily vanishing from her voice. “We’ll go to the city to buy one?” 

Megumi huffs, his head shaking. “No,” he sighs, and Itadori can’t quite determine whether is a reaction given by annoyance or by amusement. “We have to cut one from the forest.” 

They're silent for a while, staring at him as Megumi picks up his mug again and brings it up to his lips to test the heat of his coffee on his tongue. Itadori feels his jaw gradually unclenching as he swallows, and hears Nobara’s sharp inhale of breath, the whispered “I’m not about to do a logger’s job on my holiday.” setting over his eardrums as he nods along. 

Megumi pushes himself away from the table, folding his arms over his chest. He looks at them both, the ends of his lips raising into a minimal show of amusement. “It’s not us who’ll cut one. Gojo is already out to look for one by now I assume, he’ll come back by lunch time with it.” 

“By himself?” Itadori asks, his fork clinging on the plate as he lets it slip from his fingers.  

Megumi looks at him with one eyebrow raising; “I don’t think that’s a problem for him.” he says, and maybe he’s right. There’s no need to be concerned over the prospect of their professor breaking his spine while he’s wandering somewhere deep in the woods. After all, he’s seen Gojo floating in the air once, witnessed the effects of his inner power; and so possibly, dragging a tree would feel more like nudging a stick through the layers of the snow.  

He hears the stool next to him being pushed back, Nobara’s feet tapping quietly on the floor. “It’s certainly not a problem for me.” she says. She grabs her mug and phone from the table, turning on her heels as she waves the device over her head while she walks towards the stairs. “I’m going to call Maki. If you need anything from me, don’t come looking for me until it’s time to decorate the Christmas tree.” 

He looks after her until she’s out of sight, the sound of her door closing ringing with a dull thud. He scoffs as he looks back and picks the fork again, stabbing it through another piece of his pancake. The sound of his plate clinging against its metal breaks through the silence between them, overlapped at times by Megumi, sipping his coffee quietly. He clears his throat, his thumb sliding down and tapping hesitantly over the side of his index finger. There's an idle sound of beating coming from his chest, banging against his ribcage with hard and slow spasms, making blood curl stubbornly over to the sides of his neck. He looks up at him, and notices that Megumi is already gazing down at the way he fidgets with his fingers, his eyes absently staring as if he’s caught between the lines of dreaming and reality.  

“How’d you sleep last night?” he asks, his voice hushed and slightly diminished as he waits for him to break off from his trance and look up. He shapes an easy and small smile when their gazes lock, and Megumi keeps the contact for a few seconds before he looks away and blinks down at his mug instead. 

“It was alright.” he hums. His eyelids press together then, and Itadori watches as he inhales on his nose and lets his shoulders raise slightly to his ears. When he looks back, his bangs fall and drop over his eyes, his tongue swiping over his lips before he starts talking. “Just to clarify, I don’t have a problem sleeping with you. I don’t find it weird or uncomfortable. It just caught me by surprise that Gojo put us together in this way; he’d told me before that he thought you and Nobara sharing the double room would be a good idea. He never mentioned that he’s changed his mind. Or shown the inclination that he was joking from the beginning.” He stops abruptly, his finger tucking in a few falling locks of hair behind his ear. He blinks away and looks up at the fling of stairs, his lips pursing slightly as he mumbles through the last words, almost as if he’s talking to himself rather than to him. 

He keeps his gaze on his profile, and then nods after he hears all he had to say, humming low in his throat as he drags his last pancake absently around the plate. The sound makes the other turn his attention back on him, but it’s only when he’s certain that he’s looking at him—all his attention given to his movements—that he starts talking. “Okay,” he sighs, his smile stretching over his cheeks and eyes turning upwards into half-moon shapes as he grins at him. “That’s good to know, I was scared you might’ve not wanted to share a room with me because, you know—”  

He doesn’t quite know why, exactly. There's a whole bundle of feeling swirling in his own chest, unexplained and confusing, increasing in intensity ever since he’s set his eyes over their shared bed. During the night, he’s blamed the annoying ticking of his heartbeat on Sukuna trying to push his way through the cranes of his thoughts and hunt his mind, or on the unfamiliarity of the situation; but he hasn’t managed to figure out which of the two is really at fault. He rolls his shoulders and lets his lips fall in an involuntary grimace for a short moment. He knows what would be the rational reason, written into the testament of everyone else’s fears, displayed clearly in their gazes and through their words whenever the reminder of who Itadori is settles over their brains.  

“I inherit Sukuna now, and that—” 

“Sukuna has nothing to do with it.” Megumi says then, firmly, before he can even finish his thought, cutting in so suddenly that Itadori’s words are swallowed back into his throat and caged far away from his lips. “Itadori, I'm not afraid of you.” 

He blinks, his throat cracking as he feels his exhale breaking on its way up his cords. “I know, I know.” he utters, his voice soft and running lightly on his tongue. He lets out a short laugh and scratches the hair at the back of his head, pressing his lips together and feeling how the flush over his neck starts to spread and settle over his cheeks. “Thank you.” he whispers, looking up through his eyelashes. Megumi tilts his head slightly, and averts his eyes absently back to the mug in his hand. There's not much left in it anymore, but he acts like he still has liquid to swirl, waiting for it to cool down. “I'll still keep up the safety line though. Not for Sukuna, but just in case I do happen to roll over to your side.” he chuckles, eyes squinting in reflex, watching through his eyelashes as Megumi seems to crawl into himself, bringing his mug quickly up to cover the line of his mouth.  

He doesn’t see the immediate responsive look on the other’s face after he says it, but when he looks up, there’s a dusted pink over Megumi’s cheekbones, easily seeping back into his skin. He brings the back of his palm to his lips and coughs quietly, then he shifts in his chair and quickly changes the subject.  

“There’s one thing I have to do, too.” Megumi says, his eyes raising to his almost shyly. Itadori nods, leaning back to show that he’s paying attention to what he wants to say. Megumi licks his lips, his sigh silling out over the pad of his tongue. “I'll go out for a few hours to chop wood for the fireplace; that’s how we’ve always done it—I’d bring the wood for the fire, he the Christmas tree. It’ll take him at least three more hours to come back, so there’s not much you could do inside by yourself, supposing Nobara has already locked herself in the room to stay with Maki on the line. So, if you don’t have something you want to do and you want to, you can come with me.” 

Itadori blinks and lifts his eyebrows, tilting his head to look back into the living room at the wide fireplace that, he notices now, is unlit. There's a black opening carved at the base, empty and wide, and Itadori looks back at him to ask, “That’s a real fireplace? I thought it was the sort with artificial fire.” 

Megumi rolls his eyes. “It is real. He wants to keep his cabin rustic even though everything else besides the fireplace has a certain technological value to it.” His eyes flicker to his again, eyebrows slightly drawn down into a weak frown. “So you don’t want to?” 

Itadori laughs, shaking his head so quickly he feels his neck twisting. “I didn’t say that! Of course I'll go with you to chop wood, Fushiguro!” he grins, and Megumi huffs, his head tipping down with a little smile. 

They put on their coats and leave after half an hour. The cool air bites on their skin, but it’s not cold enough to make them shiver, and Itadori takes extra care to strap a scarf around Megumi’s throat as well before they go out, for in case if the temperature might drop, his lips would be safe from getting chipped. He easily forgets to put on extra clothes that would shield him from the cold, and while in the heart of Tokyo this wouldn’t substitute as too much of a problem, right here, in the depths of the mountain, the lack of a scarf or a hat is unexpectable. He doesn’t want to think too much over whether Megumi had remembered to wear those the years before, when Itadori wasn’t around to fold the scarf around his neck. He only steps ahead of him in the doorway with the red scarf in his hands, grinning at him through the gap raised and circling in between their faces, and laughs when Megumi rolls his eyes, tilting his head down to let him tuck his fingers under the hem of his jacket.  

They carry their axes in the backpack, slung over Itadori’s shoulder. He follows his lead as Megumi guides him through the entrance of the forest, his hair ruffling against the wind and curling its ends around the red material of his scarf. It's nearly tempting to touch, and Itadori rubs the pads of his index and thumb finger in his pocket to prevent himself from trying to reach out.  

After a while, he turns to look at the expanse of snow and wide tree trunks around them, slowing his pace as he scans the area. It's quiet for a late morning, the birds keeping silent in the trees. He thinks he sees a squirrel jumping from one branch to the other, but he only catches the littering of snow from above and a brown, fluffy tail quickly vanishing behind the spines of the leaves before he can make his eyes focus on the animal’s shape.  

He raises his head and pulls the edge of his scarf from his lips, watching the air fogging up before him as he lets out a whooshing breath. “Do you have a special place where you like to chop the wood from?” 

Megumi scoffs, his shoulders slightly shaking as he laughs quietly into his scarf. “I don’t like to chop the wood.” he says without turning around. His voice is muffled, but it’s still loud in his ears against the sinking silence of the forest around them. “It’s what I have to do in order not to freeze to death in that cabin.”  

“Well, even without heating, the cabin is still stunning.” 

Megumi hums, his hand branching himself on a tree trunk as he takes a turn and starts walking up the hill. Itadori follows, his feet dipping into the snow lightly as he keeps his eyes on his back and hands curled around the straps of his backpack to not let it fall. “Don’t say that to his face,” Megumi says after a while, his head turning, though not fully to watch him over his shoulder—just enough to gaze at the ground of snow at their right side, a frown easily noticeable on his forehead. “He’ll never let you make your own plans for Christmas for the following years of your life, and soon this is going to be your future. Caught into the loop of constantly coming back here.” 

“I wouldn’t mind it really.” Itadori laughs, his feet dragging through the snow as he tries to reach him. “Is that what happened to—”  

He gasps as he feels his shoe nearly slipping on a patch of ice. He feels his shoulder bumping into the side of a tree and the sharp itch of pain as he slightly scraps the edge of his cheek on a lower branch. There's the sound of a choked voice followed by the press of Megumi’s palm against his chest, pushing him further into the tree. His eyes snap open, startled as he sees the other stepping in closer, his eyes surveying over him then to the side, so wide and alert he starts to feel his own heartbeat picking up the speed in the cage of his chest.  

He starts looking to the side as well, his eyes squinting at the forest as he tries to make out shadows or movement that might show up behind the snow. “Is there a curse in here?” he asks, his voice hushing low, pressing his gloved fingers against the tree to prepare himself for starting on a sprint. However, when Megumi looks back at him, his eyes are squinting, turning to look into the forest as well with half an interest in his gaze. 

His fingers are still curled around the hem of Itadori’s jacket, fisted firmly around and lightly pressing the ends of his knuckles to his jaw. “No. Careful.” he says, then tilts his head to the right. 

Itadori blinks, his back resting relieved on the tree, though he quickly feels his muscles straining and his heart lurching to his throat when he finally looks where Megumi has his gaze pointed over. To their right, there’s a deep and abrupt cliff, the roots of the tree he’s leaning against curling and dangling over the sharp edges of rocks bereft of snow. He angles his head slightly more, though fearful, to look down, seeing the crowns of the forest below, their ends formed into sharp tips of green and spined blades. There’s a long way down, and Itadori feels his head pounding as he snaps it away and lets out a quick and shattered breath through his lips.  

“Jesus, Megumi. Give me a warning next time.” he breathes out, one hand coming up to catch around the other’s wrist and slide carefully to the safer side, pulling him after. Megumi flicks his eyes back to him, something flashing bright and rapid in his gaze, then as if he finally feels the material in his hand, he lets the jacket go, his arm quickly pushed over to his back. Without the weight of his hand over him, Itadori takes a few long and quick steps to the side, his hand reaching out to tug Megumi on as well, their feet nearly forming lines instead of holes into the snow. “Why didn’t you say anything about a cliff  being on the way?” 

“I thought you’d see that! Should’ve expected you to walk with your head in the clouds.” he says, almost snappy, though he makes sure he checks Itadori once again while talking, then measures the distance between them and the cliff before he lets out a sigh that eases out the tension rising in his shoulders. “One of these days I'll start thinking you have a fascination with danger.” 

Itadori wheezes out his breath as he sees him turning around. Snow has fallen over his head while they’ve been standing, and it’s now scattering over his scarf as he brings his hand up to ruffle through his messy locks of hair. “Not seeing a cliff and knowing there is one that I'd endeavor to try and fall from are two different things. And don’t compare this to me eating his fingers.” 

“I didn’t say anything about Sukuna’s fingers.” 

“No, but you were hinting at it.” 

Megumi sighs, his shoulders sinking lower even more. He turns slightly around and makes Itadori stop in his tracks, his head pushing back to look at him as he hooks his finger around the strap of the backpack and pulls it off from his shoulder. There's not enough time to react before Megumi’s already zipping it open, grabbing on the handle of one of the two axes to take it out. “We’ll do it here,” he mutters, huffing as he straightens back up again. The scarf slips from his shoulder, leaving a good part of his throat bare, and Itadori can clearly see the way he swallows.  

“Isn’t this tree too big?” he says as he looks up, his tongue slipping over his lips and dull noise ringing in his ears. A budging sensation starts to spread through, seeping uneasiness in his thoughts as he feels his fingers absently picking at the sleeve of his glove. “We can go where you wanted to, I promise I'll be more careful.” 

Megumi turns around, his arms angling down from their arch towards the edge of the tree. They look at each other shortly before Megumi’s lips start to shape into a small smile. “I told you I don’t have a specific place I go to. It's whatever, the sooner we get this done, the better. I think you especially would like to go back now.”  

Itadori feels his tongue clicking as he rolls his eyes, his eyelids pressing tightly together as he runs his fingers over the back of his head where he feels the spasms of a dull headache forming. “I didn’t get scared. It takes more than that to scare me.” he says, his head tilting further back and lips pulling as he smiles widely. 

“Bullshit.” he hears, and then his eyes snap open, the caged air in his ribcage all rushing out in a quick release as he brings his hand down over his heart and turns around startled. There's no one behind him however, just the edge of the cliff, now a few good meters away from where they’re standing, and it takes him a little too much embarrassing time to realize the voice it’s coming from his own thoughts. 

Megumi tilts his head, his eyebrows frowning. “Something happened?”  

Itadori opens his mouth, then sets it shut back again. His head starts oozing, Sukuna’s laugh cracking over his skin as if it gets passed through all the nerves of his system, rough and raw, clawing its way down to his throat. He groans, shaking his head and making the best he can so that this motion could at least decrease the volume of his voice in his right ear.  

He looks back up again, meeting Megumi’s steady and unmoved gaze. His muscle strains as he brings his arm up, and he watches as Megumi’s frown draws visibly on his face. He reaches his hand up, two fingers arching closer, moving out of the way a few bangs from his forehead before he brushes the tips of his fingers against his skin. It's warm, his gloves pulsing inwards more heat around his knuckles, and he looks at Megumi’s eye under his hand as it blinks, the glazed over look vanishing completely, replaced soon by a hazy glow as he blinks down at him hesitantly.  

Itadori smiles, his lips parting to let a low chuckle warm its way through. “He’s in my head again, that’s all.” he says, his fingers lingering over the other’s forehead for another few seconds.  

Sukuna huffs, his laughter ceasing out. The back of his head is pounding repeatedly, as if he’s thumping the heel of his foot over his skull. “Stop feeling so on edge, it makes me angry.” 

“Yeah, I can hear it makes you angry.” he whispers, his eyes averting as he looks to the side, arms bracing across his chest. “You couldn’t find a better time to bother me?” 

“I thought I might try making you jump off and see what would happen.” Sukuna says. His voice drifts then, from one ear to the other, and Itadori closes his eyes in frustration as he listens to his words coming in only from the left. “Why, are you two having a moment?” 

His eyes crack open, fingers curling and dragging dully over his jacket. “What moment?” 

Sukuna clicks his tongue, his voice shifting again back to both of his ears. “I’ll just ask Megumi—” 

He slaps his palm over his cheek before Sukuna can finish his sentence, trapping the place where he usually shapes out his teeth through his skin. His heart beats against his stern rapidly, and it’s not only after he hears him sighing, saying “What a wimp,” that he manages to let the uneasiness flee from the strain of his shoulders.  

He's still holding his hand over his cheek when he turns back and sees Megumi looking back at him, his lips stubbornly trembling from letting out his laughter. His eyes are shaped slightly upward, and the crystal-blue shades blink at him through his eyelashes.  

There's something breathtaking, almost, about the way he looks, standing like that in the middle of white vastness and having his hair tangled up by wisps of cold and biting air. Itadori looks at him and forgets to let his hand fall down; and under his palm, he feels the heat of his blood spreading, wide and deep, over his cheek. 

❅

“You know what I don’t understand?” Nobara asks, her head tilting over the rest of the couch to snip a glance up as she rolls her head back. She still has a piece of cookie in between her teeth, holding onto it firmly and grinning as she talks, her words slightly dragged out through her lips. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, hours away from civilization, and none of us has the inclination or necessary skill to cook something that would feed all of us. So then explain to me why there are fresh home-made dishes waiting for me on the table every day.” she says, pointing her hand towards the kitchen area. She leans further back and averts her eyes to where she is pointing at, blinking as she squints her eyes to see better, even though Itadori doesn’t know how much she’s able to make out looking at the table upside down.  

It's early into the night and he’s trying to relax, letting the food settle in his stomach as he sinks into the armchair closest to the lit fireplace. The wood crackles next to him, and the sound is so refreshing that it almost lolls him to sleep—almost because there are distractions, on each side. There's Nobara, talkative as always, her feet pressing into the edge of his armchair as she uses it as additional support while she tries to slither her back higher against the couch to reach the plate of cookies on the opposite table. Even though both he and Megumi had made several observations as to how taking the plate away and setting it on the couch would’ve made it all easier. Nobara doesn’t do  easier  though, even if it would require contorting to get what she wants; or maybe she’s just lazy, or unbothered, at the moment to move herself on her feet. On his right, Megumi adds the finishing touches to the Christmas tree. 

It's a big one, though Itadori hadn’t expected anything different. It nearly reaches the top of the ceiling, and its branches are spread wide and sturdy, ending in fresh green and sharp spikes. Globes are hanging from them in blue and red colors, silver tinsel wrapping and fitting around the branches in a circular motion. They've all worked on it, though Itadori is willing to admit that the greatest part of the work had been assigned to Megumi out of everyone else—not because they were slacking, but because he was too quick for the others to match his pace. His hands worked fast and with certainty over the tree, not fearing to let the ends of the spikes stab the tips of his fingers, and by the end of their joined activity Itadori eventually resulted in giving out his last few globes to Megumi, watching closely by as he circled the tree to find an empty branch.  

“He’s always like this when it comes to Christmas trees,” Gojo had whispered to him when Megumi took out the star from its box, his smile frozen and wide on his lips as he looked down at it while cleaning off invisible specks of dust from its corners. “Looks like it’s his first time decorating one every winter.” he laughs, breaking a cookie in two and giving out the larger piece to him.  

Itadori hummed then, his finger tapping over a chocolate chip as he grinned, his eyes following the other’s movements as he passed the star to Nobara’s hands, guiding her carefully, hovering his own fingers over her knuckles to reach the tip of the tree.  

There are only minimal sounds coming from his side now however, just the occasional sighing when Megumi doesn’t like how something looks or the groaning he breathes under his breath whenever he hears Nobara struggling to pick another treat from the plate.  

A drawer comes shut with a thudding noise from the kitchen, and Nobara jerks up, her teeth breaking into the piece of cookie and letting herself slip all the way back on the couch to turn around normally. Itadori blinks the small narrowing of his eyes wider as he sees Gojo coming towards them from the kitchen with a tray in his hands, his eyes glowing, with nothing to put as a barrier over them.  

He extends his arm towards Nobara as he reaches her side, letting her pick one of the four mugs from the tray as he speaks. “I went down to pick it up earlier when it was all done. You see, I have a chef—” 

“He’s not your chef,” he hears Megumi mumbling, plucking out a smaller globe from the box littered on the floor. 

“Who is willing to cook for us every Christmas. Of course, I always invite him to stay with us over dinner at least on the Christmas Eve, but he usually chooses his family over the cabin.” he darts around from Nobara and comes to where he’s standing, his lips edging on a sharper grin as he offers Itadori the tray, pointing at each of the three remaining mugs. “Hot chocolate with whipped cream, caramel and cinnamon.” he says, tilting his head proudly.  

Megumi pulls himself closer, nearly leaning over Gojo’s shoulder as he looks down at the drinks and wrinkles his nose as he sniffs. “Made by you? Why haven’t you done this before?” 

“Because you were making your own. Though yours is not better than mine, I assure you.” 

“I think we can make a vote out of this. Right, Fushiguro?” Nobara says, looking up from the lip of her mug with a cunning grin on her face. There's whipped cream in the corner of her mouth, though she makes no attempt to clean it off. 

Megumi rolls his eyes, then grabs one of the mugs by the handle and steps back in front of the last boxes. “Tomorrow.” he says.  

Itadori huffs out a laugh then takes the one closest to his reaching hand. He licks over his dry lips in anticipation, but before he can get to sip the first taste of the hot chocolate, his thoughts rush back in and travel down on his tongue. “How came that this person is willingly cooking for us? Are you paying him for this?” 

Gojo shakes his head and rests the tray next to the fireplace. He sits down in the armchair to his left, then crosses his legs together as he blows into the rising steam of the hot drink. “He never accepted my money. I think it’s a sort of gratitude from him to us, though by now there shouldn’t be any string of obligation left to link us together. But we get free  and good meals every year—so there’s no need for complaining.” he grins, eyes flickering to his as he brings the mug up to sip from his drink.  

Itadori cranes his neck to the side, his eyebrows frowning low and confused. He opens his mouth to ask again, though before he can get the chance to do that, Megumi sighs behind him, his footsteps tattering on the floor as he comes in their circle. He sits down next to Nobara, cradling his mug in his hands and narrowing his eyes as he flicks his gaze over Gojo’s. “You’re older than all of us yet you have no idea how to explain something.” he says, his voice hushed and slow. He gulps a few sips of his hot chocolate before he turns his attention to Itadori and leans further back to rest on the pillows behind him. “Shiroki was one of the first people I've came in contact with during my first missions while under his supervision. We've came here to save him and his wife from a curse haunting their old home. After we took them out of the house, he stopped us, saying they have two little kids locked in their room on the upper floor where the curse was currently hiding. He pleaded us to save them. I think he might’ve known there was something dangerous lurking in that corridor—he told us much later that he’s always believed in the supernatural, and that he felt it in his bones when something would shift in the air or when he was being watched.” he stops to nip his lips over the whipped cream that threatens to trail down on the side of the mug, wiping away the white from his skin with his knuckle. “We’ve managed to bring their daughters back unharmed. Later on, we’ve accidently met with him during the Christmas fair. He told us he knew that we’ve saved his and his family’s lives that night, then asked whether he could ever do something to repay us. Gojo-sensei joked saying we have no food in our cabin for Christmas, but he latched onto that and promised to cook us a proper festive meal. We accepted then because he didn’t seem like he’d leave room for negotiating, but in the years that followed, he kept on cooking for us, without asking for anything in return. Honestly, I think he’s bribing him at this point with something, otherwise I don’t see why he’d bother to put up with this ordeal every year.”  

“That’s rude to say, he feeds you too every year, Megumi.” Gojo says quickly, before either of them can get to voice out any following thoughts. “He’s a good man, that’s all.” 

“And a good cook,” Nobara suffices then, rolling another piece of cookie on her knuckles as if displaying it to their view before she flicks her thumb over the edge and flips it in the air to catch it back into her mouth.  

Itadori nods absently, his fingers pressing in over the mug as he leans down. His elbows are pressed on his knees as he looks at him, and Megumi turns his gaze on his as he lifts his drink to his lips. There's a grin playing on his face, bright and excited, and Megumi raises one of his eyebrows as he sips and waits for him to talk.  

“You’ve never told me about your first missions.” he gushes out, his lips dragging even more as he smiles. Megumi licks his lips when he retreats the mug in his lap, his head cocking to the side. The silver glow from the Christmas tree lights flickers over his eyes, and it looks almost like he has stars caged inside and brimming over his expression.  

“They’re not really interesting. Definitely not as deadly as we have them now that we're working with Sukuna’s vessel.” 

Itadori pulls back, his lips falling down into a tight line. His eyebrows twitch from their arch and pinch down heavily over his forehead, feeling the dip of creases digging across his skin, the muscles in his cheeks tightening as he clenches his jaw. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t refer to me like that, Fushiguro.” 

Megumi clamps his lips shut, and his eyes blink down quickly as he nods slightly, swirling the drink in his mug slowly with a ghost of a frown in the middle of his forehead. And it’s not that Itadori feels self-cautious whenever he hears someone calling him using that tag over his name—he's heard it before, multiple times. It's the reason why so many resent the thought of having him around, walking free with a ticking bomb trapped in his flesh that might count down to zero at any time. He understands the fear and the repulsion, and he’s never been bothered—not severely at least—by the use of that nickname.  

However, there’s something different whenever he thinks about Megumi saying it. Not that it itches over his thoughts or brings an overpour of bitterness on his tongue, because it doesn’t. The problem is that whatever Megumi might feel when he says it, either it being fear, disgust or worry, Itadori doesn’t want to envision them as being his actual emotions. He knows, still, that the persons in this room are the only ones he could trust, the only ones that could, at their own peril, put their own trust in him, without fearing or overthinking. Yet he could never shed away the thought that maybe he’s just lying to himself. Maybe deep down, they’re all still scared of him, placing Sukuna’s existence above all else. 

After all, sometimes it’s not so hard to see himself as only a curse’s vessel.  

A long note dings besides him, and Itadori lifts his head back up, brushing away the frown that unbeknownst to him had deepened more over his forehead. Gojo sets his phone on the coffee table in the center, playing a long playlist of Christmas carols, background jingle bells ringing dully along the rhythm of the music. He pushes back into his armchair and folds his arms across his chest. “That’s a great idea for a Christmas evening conversation, Yuuji.” he grins, his eyes flickering to his with his smile tugging over his cheek. “Go sit with the others on the couch, I’ll take it from here. I may not explain the best, as  someone  suggests I don’t, but when it’s about Megumi’s early blossoming into this blood-curling career, I can assure you, I don’t leave out a single thing.” 

Megumi scoffs, his head lining back up from its hanging position to cut his gaze to his. Itadori catches its little flicker of light before he pushes himself up and quickly skims the way towards his side. “You’re just going to talk about yourself accompanying me through every mission.” he says. His head slightly tilts to where he has sat down, blinking at him quickly then leaning his back against the pillows. Itadori spares a quick glance to his side before he decides to push himself back as well, a frozen smile warming on his face as he curls his legs underneath him and makes himself comfortable.  

Gojo winks, his chest heaving as he laughs. “Not only that, but I'll say everything about our old training days. Your friends need to know, after all.” 

“I’m sure they don’t.” 

“Don’t listen to him.” Nobara says, her both hands cupping around her mug and lifting it to her lips as she chuckles against its edge.  

Megumi scoffs and tilts his head. It's closer, almost touching the crown of his own head, and Itadori looks up at the line of Megumi’s jawline for a second before he cranes his neck and bumps their heads together. He doesn’t know whether the sound coming from Megumi had been a squeak or a groan, but he pushes the deliberation of that away as he sinks further down into the couch. Their shoulders are touching, and Megumi doesn’t seem to try and scoot away, not even after Itadori tilts his head back again and turns up to look at him.  

His eyes blink fleetingly, the silver lights still caught and glimmering deep inside. He sees the bobbing of his throat as he shallows, and then Megumi parts his lips, almost self-guessing himself, with his eyebrows slowly arching into a confused or conflicted frown. Gojo's voice drifts over them, hushing low and soothingly into the background, but he can’t decern any words just yet, his focus shifted onto the almost fearful edge of light that sneaks into Megumi’s eyes. In the end, he starts talking in a quiet voice, leaning his head forward to skim his breath over his ear; “Sorry about earlier. It slipped through. I won't call you like that again.” he says.  

Itadori blinks quickly, his own mouth parting, though all the words and even sounds are pushed momentarily back as he thinks of what to say. It must be only a few seconds, though the incapacity to think of a proper answer bothers him so much that he starts feeling a blush creeping over his cheeks. Megumi sees it, he must have, and Itadori watches helplessly as a perplexed grin starts to lift on the other’s lips.  

“I don’t even recall what you’ve called me.” he says, unintelligently, and Megumi scoffs, his lips widening into a full smile as he breathes out a silent laugh and closes his eyes shut. Itadori wheezes out, his shoulders easing back from their unusual strain, then he uses the small distraction to press his side even closer to his own.  

Their breath tastes and smells of cinnamon after a few hours, as they’re constantly switching from Gojo’s to Megumi’s and once to Itadori’s own recipes of hot chocolate, all the while Gojo layers out the events of each of Megumi’s previous missions. His retelling is not always coherent, slipping in additional information that’s not necessarily needed or coming back on a subject after remembering an essential fact. Later on, his stories drift away, further back into the past as he starts talking about his own first missions—and they’re all listening in carefully, gripped by every word their teacher utters out through his teeth. The cabin is warm and bathed into Christmas lights, the carols rolling endlessly in the background to join the crackling of the wood.  

By the time they go back to bed, Itadori feels so much enveloped into the comfort that he nearly plunges himself to sleep. He only stirs awake when Megumi climbs into the bed with him, the mattress tilting on his side and tipping the pillows slightly from his face. He blinks the fogginess from his eyes away as he adjusts to the current darkness of their room, his eyes averting towards the window to catch the glimmer of the stars in his own vision. Megumi's face is lightened when he looks to his side, the corner of his cheek illuminated by the soft moonlight. He watches as he gently closes his eyelashes, their curve brushing over his skin, and then he sneaks a hand under the pillows, turning his body closer to the line to hush his words in a quiet voice.  

“I wanted to thank you.” he says. Megumi opens his eyes and looks sideways at him, his eyebrows lifted and his mouth set into a tired line. He waits for what Itadori is about to say next, calmly, and Itadori fists his hand around the pillowcase. “I’ve never had a more beautiful Christmas before.” he laughs, his eyes focused over a dot on the spotted pillow at his eye level.  

Megumi shifts, he feels the bed moving. His sigh is loud in the silence of the room, and Itadori drifts his gaze back to his as he begins talking. “It’s not Christmas yet, though. Tomorrow is.”  

He can’t see his mouth, and from the light tone of his voice, he can’t be sure whether he’s smiling or the edges of his lips have dropped into a scowl. Only his eyes are visible, though Itadori has learned, during all of the past few months, how to properly read the flickering glow of his expressions. It's always there—in the depth of his eye sockets, written clearly into the strident of his blue—that Itadori finds the answers he can’t otherwise get from Megumi’s tone of voice or choice of words. It's simple, he thinks, as he looks at him and notices the way the other blinks slowly to preserve the sight his face in the darkness, how the creases under his eyes reflect the sympathy in his heart.  

Itadori rolls his eyes and pushes one of his shoulders up as best as he can. “Well, then. The best holiday  I've ever had. The best days I've ever experienced—” 

“Maybe you’re going too far with this.” 

“With you.” he stops, hearing as Megumi clamps his mouth shut and lets his eyes slightly widening. It's a rather long pause before he finishes his thought, but the sparkle in Megumi’s eyes is worth it. And maybe it means something more, the tug of his heartstrings wishing to spell out a secret of their own as they churn inside his chest, but the sudden sensation runs dry after he swallows. “And everyone else.” 

They don’t look away for a while, even though it’s difficult to keep the eye contact, their bodies slumping back down into the softness of the mattress and pulling the height of the safety line above their noses. Eventually Megumi sighs, dropping fully on his back so that the only thing Itadori can see are the edges of his hair. “At least you’re having fun with Gojo constantly over our heads.” 

He swallows dry, letting a strained chuckle pass over his lips. “Comes from experience, I guess. Though even if you act like it, I know you don’t fully hate spending time with him.” 

“Think whatever you want.” Megumi breathes, clearing his throat as he turns on his side and pulls his blanket over. Itadori is in the process of cuddling up into the warmth of his own when he hears him, faintly, almost on the brisk of heavy sleeping, saying: “Merry Christmas.”  

His chest swells with a wave of warmth, and his lips stretch impossibly wide over his cheeks, feeling a sort of giddiness curling under his skin. “Merry Christmas, Fushiguro.” he says back, not completely certain the other was still in a state of comprehension to understand his words.  

He’s deep into one of his dreams of the night when he suddenly wakes up, startled by something he can’t discern at first glance. It licks at his hand, passing over his skin like a slow blow of wind or the wrap of a cold blanket over his bare wrist. His eyes scan the room, squinting against the shapes of the furniture around them, lingering on their edges, and after he confirms that there’s nothing lurking in the corners, he slumps back on his pillow. His eyes start to close again, pulling his knees towards his chest, but when he tries to bring his hand closer too, something clings onto it, curled and gripping around his palm.  

He huffs, blinking hard to see into the darkness in front of him, and when he squeezes his hand, he feels the bony ends of knuckles against his fingertips. He squeezes once again, just to be sure he’s still awake, and when he feels the tiniest press over the back of his palm in response, he lets out a soft breath, his cheeks heating up. He snuggles his face into his pillow, waits for the heat to cool down, and pulls Megumi’s hand further down towards him.  

It might be uncomfortable for the other, having his arm slung over the mountain of pillows and clutching onto Itadori’s hand into an awkward angle. But he holds lightly onto him, so that it’ll be easier for Megumi to break free and turn on his other side. His thumb traces down on Megumi’s knuckles, gently and only ghosting over his skin, not willing to wake him up.  

The thought of letting his hand go doesn’t cross his mind, and he falls back asleep with a tiny grin on his face, feeling the bridge between two of Megumi’s knuckles as he lets his thumb slip on his skin.  

The moment he wakes up, their hands are still interlocked. Itadori comes to without the remembrance of folding their hands together during the night, and when the first snips of sunlight rain down over his cheek to stir him from his sleep, the sensation of the other’s fingers curled around his wrist is intensely and violently startling.  

He snaps his eyes open, prying his fingers away from Megumi’s hand without thinking too much over it, his chest squeezing tight as he pushes himself into a sitting position and flickers his eyes over the line of the pillows. They settle back on Megumi’s hand, his fingers curling in reflex as they lose their grip on his, tracing over the pillowcase and flicking his fingertips around it to snatch at its corner. There's a grunting sound coming from the other side of the safety line, muffled as Megumi’s lips press against the pillows, and Itadori swallows down his momentary fear, feeling as his heartbeat decreases its speed against his stern. He puts the back of his palm down on the mattress, lifting himself up a bit more to sneak a glance over the line. 

Megumi's hair is a mess, his bangs falling and tangling over his forehead and cheekbones. He's breathing out softly, lips parted and painted into a faded and light pink. There's a tiny frown in the middle of his forehead, faintly creased, as if he’s dreaming something he doesn’t enjoy but it’s too deeply rooted in his dream that he can’t pull himself out of it. Or maybe that’s how he always looks when he sleeps, his eyebrows pinching together into a show of a frown even when he’s having the nicest of dreams.  

His head tilts, watching quietly as Megumi’s chest rises with every breath. The bangs over his nose are ruffled by the winds of his breath, nudging them away to let the curve of his eyelashes be more evident, sniping through the fall of his hairlines. Itadori licks his lips, the churning is his chest dulling down to nothing and heart pounding into a calm rhythm. His hand raises hesitantly upwards and reaches out for the other’s cheek. His fingertip barely brushes his skin, combing through his bangs and pulling them aside from his face to reveal it fully, then lets it hovering above as he blinks down at him, so close he can feel the heat from Megumi’s cheek slithering around his fingertip.  

There’s something breathtaking about Megumi. Itadori knows this, he’s experienced the thought before. In the middle of the woods with snow scattering over their heads, in the midst of a mission when Megumi swings his blade across a curse’s body; in a regular day with sun bathing down on them, while he’s focused on his reading or his eating, or whatever Megumi does at any time during the slow passing of hours. He doesn’t know when he’s first noticed it, or when was the first moment when he let himself acknowledge this discovery, but it deepens by day and night. Itadori can look at him while he’s preparing hot chocolate and say he’s never seen someone more beautiful than him. He could look at him now, caught into the tales of his dreams with wild hair sprawled on his pillow and a frown decorating his face, and he’ll say he’s as perfect as ever—taking his breath away the same way he does when he smiles or slays a curse in battle.  

He’s so transfixed into watching him that when he realizes Megumi is starting to blink awake, Itadori panics, his heart thudding against his stern as he flings the blanket from his frame and stammers to his feet. He skims the distance towards their bathroom and then pushes his back on the door, breathing out shakily through his mouth. His hand runs over his hair, pulling it back from his eyes as he closes them shut, and as he lets it linger on his forehead, he realizes the heat of Megumi’s own hand is still curled underneath his skin.  

He feels his cheek stretching, skin creasing and sucking inwards. His teeth cling together before he speaks, and Itadori can feel the tip of his tongue licking accidently the bridge of his cheekbone. “This wasn’t one of your moments either?” Sukuna asks, and he’s grateful for the way it ends up sounding, more hushed than shouted.  

His hand falls down without slapping it over his mouth, sighing as he drags his feet towards the sink. “Shut up,” he mutters, and when his eyes flicker to his reflection, he sees the smirk of his mouth, his teeth digging into his lower lip. 

He shoves his toothbrush in his mouth and tries, albeit failing, to erase the image of fleeting and gentle eyelashes blinking against Megumi’s cheek as the ray of sunlight washed over his skin, dripping its trail down over the side of his bare throat.  

❅

Itadori groans as Gojo shoves his bags in his hands, pinning his chin on the box on top to balance the weight in his arms. He watches as Gojo takes a few more steps forward, his arms widely spreading as he waves enthusiastically.  

It's almost ironic how none of his excitement is mirrored on Nanami’s face. He's seen him immediately after they’ve taken the curb towards the entrance of the fair, his blonde hair tucked underneath a large beanie and his blue jacket crawling its hem over his nose, the fur enveloping him into a secluded and protective warmth. He was leaning against the wall of a bakery with his phone in hand, the light coming from the screen illuminating his features and making it unmistakable to recognize him. He looked up the moment he heard Gojo shouting, his eyebrows frowning and deepening over his forehead as he averted his eyes over all of them before he eventually narrowed them down as he fixed his attention back on him.  

“Take your useless things from Itadori’s arms or else you’ll pick them up from the ground.” he says as a greeting when they’re close enough, slipping his phone back into his pocket.  

Gojo waves a hand in front of his face, his hair flopping to the side as he shakes his head. “They’re my and Nobara’s things. And Yuuji has strong arms.” he laughs, patting the side of his forearm as if to demonstrate their strength.  

Nanami hums, his voice dragging audibly on the walls of his throat before he speaks again. “If I told him to drop them, he will.” 

“That’s a preposterous assumption.” 

“Is it? Let's see. Itadori—” 

“Okay!” Gojo cuts him off, one palm outstretched in front of the other’s face while the other curls its fingers around the straps of the bag on top. Itadori grins, his chin lifting from the box inside of it as he passes the weight over to Gojo’s own arms. He's sulking, almost, his lip pushing out into a make-shift pout and his eyes are narrowed under the frame of his glasses, and it’s all the more entertaining to see it as he leaves the heavy shopping bags in Gojo’s hands and pulls away to run up to Nanami’s side.  

They enter the Christmas fair together after they take their bags to Gojo’s car, paying up the tickets at the entrance and then pulling into the heavy crowd of people that are already swirling inside. His eyes start to wander around even from before they could get in, stealing glances at the tall and looming clock tower he could see from the street. Now that they’re inside, Itadori stares at it as they walk, watching the large black tongue of the clock ticking down the seconds of the night. It's the beginning of the evening, darkness settling in along with its chill wisps of wind, but the clutter around them makes it impossible to feel any of it biting at their skin.  

There are colors hanging all around—from poles, street lights, trees. They are some illuminated strings attached in between buildings, connecting cafes and restaurants together, bathing the square into golden. As they push deeper into the square, he hears people laughing and screaming to his side, and when he turns around, he sees a large patch of ground glistening, hears the sound of blades skidding over ice as the people move around the ring in their ice skates. The air smells of cinnamon and vanilla, the lights flickering all around him, and Itadori has a hard time picking where to bring his attention to, until, eventually, he gets a glimpse of the large Christmas tree situated into the middle of the open street.  

He barely sees it as they take the corner, the branches sneaking out from behind a large restaurant, with windows blinded by the yellow lights pooling from inside. Megumi flicks his finger over his arm when they fully take the turn, tilting his chin towards the front of the building, and Itadori spots the tree soon after, his breath sighed out into a gasp after he’s seen the huge star on its top, painted in pure white and dominating the whole square, looking down on every person who crosses its winding roads.  

It looks exactly how he’d imagined the center attraction would look: heavy with tinsel and glimmering with lights, huge globes hanging from its branches and weighting them down, angel figurines poking up from beneath the rich green of its spikes. Itadori has to crane his neck back to see all of it when they get closer to the base of tree, and the star on top looks like a regular one beneath all the others in the sky, shinning and looming over their heads.  

“Now we’re talking,” Nobara laughs near him, her voice latched with minimal teasing undertones. He feels her hand circling around his forearm, and Itadori breaks his gaze away to look at her as she enthusiastically waves her hand at what lays behind him. “Fair games! I bet all my money I can beat you at all of them.” 

Itadori turns his head over his shoulder, looking at all the stands opened for the people to play at. There are rows of them already waiting in line, some with plushies or bags hanging from their arms as they carry their rewards with them. He snatches his arm back, looking over at her with a cutting grin and then swiftly steps aside. “I’d love to see that confidence wash from your face.” he says. Nobara flicks the pads of her fingers against his forearm, and as they push their way through, his hand slips around Megumi’s arm, pulling him on through the crowd.  

He hears him clearing his throat, muttering a weak protest under his breath that gets lost on its way out of his mouth. He turns around slowly, his grin shaping over his cheeks as he locks his eyes with his. “We’ll crush her, Fushiguro.” he promises and watches, slightly transfixed, as Megumi’s lip edges into a half-smile lifted on one side.  

When their turn is up, Itadori lets her go first. He watches as she fits the fake rifle on her shoulder, her finger pressing in on the trigger as she lowers her head. She breathes slowly, keeping one eye open and set on her target, then flicks a coin on the table to signal that she’s ready. Her mouth is set into a straight line, and she chews on the inner side of her cheek as she fixes her pointer, her shoulder snapping back when she fires the shot. It passes the target, but only barely, the tip of the dart scratching the side of the wooden soldier.  

She groans as she lets the rifle slip from her shoulder, frowning as she turns it over in her hand and offers its end to Itadori, pushing it firmly on his chest.  

“You said you’ll beat me?” he asks, letting the tease curl over his tongue. Nobara groans again, her arm pushing the back of the rifle deeper into the front of his jacket. Itadori huffs, cupping its sides with his hand as he looks down at her, her eyes firing light beneath the green lights coming from above their heads and hanging by the two poles of the stand.  

“Mock me after you win.” she hushes, her nails dragging over the weapon as she lets it go. Itadori turns, lifting his eyebrows at Megumi who sits with his arms braced over his chest, head tilted as he watches them with a ghost of a smile grazing his lips.  

He grins, then leans further back until their shoulders are almost touching. “Watch this, Fushiguro.”  

He grabs the rifle with both hands and turns it on its head, pinning the end of it to his shoulder. He walks to the stand and prompts his elbows on it, lifting the weapon to his face and levelling it up to his eye. His hand holds it up while the other traces its finger over the trigger, lightly nudging it to his side to test the flexibility. His eyes narrow as he fixes his gaze on the soldier standing in the middle of the row, then squints one eye closed as he has the target on lock. His fingertip presses over the cold metal, and his lips part to let out a long and dragged breath, his shoulders relaxing along with it as he pulls all his focus into his position and objective.  

When he pulls the trigger, he feels the end of the rifle thudding against his shoulder, and it pushes him back a bit as he tries to steady himself on his feet. His eyes lifts from the sight, blinking quickly to clear out his vision, and he watches the dart fly, stabbing its pointed blade right into its chest. It sounds like a thud, banging loudly in the air, and then the soldier falls back with a cling, a red dot appearing and glittering over its head.  

The man behind the counter turns to him and smiles, bringing his hands together to clap, and Itadori finally lets out a breathy laugh, dropping the rifle from his hands and shouting as he pushes his arms up, reaching for the sky. His fists are curled tight as he punches the air, his eyes closed shut and creased into crescents as he laughs, then he turns on his heels to face them. His mouth is already forming the first words of his sentence when he halts, his eyes widening as he looks into the camera of Megumi’s phone that’s being pointed towards his face. He blinks, staring back at the camera with his mouth pried open and cheeks starting to flare up, his attention snatched away when he hears Megumi clearing his throat, starting to lower his phone from his eyes. His cheeks are fully hidden under his red scarf, and Itadori can’t know for sure if they hide his normal shade of pale skin or whether it has a darker tint, similar to the color of his scarf.  

Itadori clamps his mouth shut and lets a smile form on his lips, taking quick steps to reach him. He pulls on the hand that holds the phone and turns it around, switching back to the icon and tapping on the inversing camera. Megumi blinks on the screen when he sees himself, his head pushing back to escape its frame, though he doesn’t get to scoot away too much as Itadori closes an arm around his waist, keeping him pressed against his side. He hears him taking in a sharp breath, feels the muscles in his arms and stomach straining even underneath the layers of his clothing, but Itadori doesn’t let go—instead, he slides himself into his space, standing almost on his toes to fit his head into the picture next to Megumi’s own. Their cheeks are nearly touching, and the ends of his hair are brushing against Megumi’s forehead, but Itadori takes the picture nevertheless, pulling his lips into a wide and stretched smile that brings out the whiteness of his teeth shaping out from under his upper lip.  

Megumi doesn’t smile, still caught into a moment of startled confusion. He looks at Itadori more than at the camera, his eyes full of color and lights that pool over them, with his scarf hiked up over his nose which hides a good part of his face. Itadori looks down at the picture and keeps a small smile on his face, his head tilting as he admires it. Megumi's hand is still caged in between his fingers that linger over the edge of his sleeve and press tentatively over his pulse point. He can feel, if he struggles to, how the blood runs through his veins and how his heartbeat rattles against his skin.  

“I think it’s Fushiguro’s turn now.” Nobara says behind them, her arms dropping off on each other’s shoulders. Itadori flicks his gaze back to her and nods, but then his fingers quickly swipe over the screen to go back on the camera, lifting his and Megumi’s hand further up in the air to catch all three of them.  

Nobara sticks her tongue out when he takes the picture, winking back at the camera with a grin visibly arching on the side of her lips, and Itadori laughs, pressing the button with slightly trembling fingers. When he looks at the picture, he notices the upturn of Megumi’s eyes, his cheeks slightly lifting from under his scarf as he shapes a hidden smile.  

When he lets go of his hand, Megumi shoves his phone in his pocket. Before he can go over to the stand however, someone sneaks their hand besides his cheek, holding a roll of bread to his nose.  

“Milk bread,” Gojo says, waiting for Megumi to clutch the food in his hands before he steps aside and gives Itadori and Nobara each another heavy roll. Nanami sits behind him, half of his milk bread eaten already as he watches their interaction, his other hand holding up a to-go cup of coffee. His lips twitch barely when their eyes meet, his eyes creasing into the corners in what Itadori suspects to be his display of a soft smile. He grins back and bites into the food, feeling the heat of the bread rolling and melting on his tongue.  

They each take turns on the other games—all besides Nanami and Megumi who select their choices almost dismissively and let all the others switch roles at the stands. Nanami buys more food to keep their spirits up as they play, nudging their sides with various pies and cakes whenever they finish another round, and Gojo always leans over his shoulder when he takes his own piece, sighing heavily as if he’s just won the fight against an upper-class curse, snatching the food from his hands as if his life depends on it.  

After they walk away from a clawing machine, the clock tower moving its tongue over 11pm, Itadori tips his head back and rolls it close enough to nudge against Megumi’s own, his breath spilling from his throat into a tired sigh. “I’m beat,” he says, faintly hearing the chuckles Megumi lets out in the cocoon of his scarf.  

“Here,” he says, lifting his hand to his face and dangling a cup of coffee to his nose.  

Itadori accepts it with a huff, licking his dry lips as he swirls the liquid around. “I won’t sleep tonight if I drink this,” he mutters, pressing the edge of his bottom lip to the brim of the cup as he gulps it down in one go.  

Megumi nods, his hum low and vibrant in his throat. It's almost relaxing to hear it, ringing nicely over Itadori’s eardrums as he blinks his eyes slightly shut and slows the pace of his walking.  

“Speaking of which, what were you doing this morning?” Megumi asks, unprompted, his question breaking off the solace in which Itadori was currently sinking into.  

His eyes snap open and his head turns to the side like it’s been whipped. His lips press against each other and part away, voiceless and meaningless as he watches the way Megumi looks at him from the corner of his eye. His eyebrow raises in inquiry, and Itadori can’t push away the thought that the other is slightly mocking him.  

He clears his throat and swallows, crumpling the cup in his hand and throwing it out into the closest bin. “Sukuna’s mouth appeared on my face. I had to rush to the bathroom to make him go away.” 

“Oh, did he? I couldn’t hear him for a long while after you walked inside.” 

“You heard him?” 

Megumi shrugs, his head tilting to the side as if he’s thinking, turning his memory back to the moment of today’s first few hours of sunlight. “Well, not the words he said, no. But I can distinguish between the two of you.” 

Itadori feels his breath pushing out into a sigh again, rolling out a broken “Ah,” as he looks to the side and narrows his gaze on the tips of his shoes.  

Megumi stops suddenly, his feet dragging on the pavement. When Itadori looks up, he finds his face bathed in light and multicolored lights, switching from blue to yellow or green, all tracing down over Megumi’s features. His eyelashes seem longer against the rays of golden, curled upwards in delicate loops over his eyes. His hand reaches to his nose and his finger hooks underneath the edge of his scarf, pulling it down to his chin.  

“The first time I saw this tree,” he starts to say, his lips gradually pulling into a smile, “I thought I was dreaming.” 

Itadori pries his gaze away from him, looking up at the Christmas tree a second time. It's brighter now, the lights multiplying in their colors and bracing around its branches to glow above the other people. His head pushes back to look at the star again, and he lets out a short gasp when he sees that its colors have also changed, now shading down a soft tone of emerald green.  

Megumi flicks his gaze to him and hums. “It changes its colors every two hours. During the New Year's Eve, they keep it golden however.” he says. Itadori nods, his gaze transfixed on the pointy tips of the star.  

“I know what you mean,” he says then, his mouth coming down into an easy smile. He takes his eyes away reluctantly from the tree, though when he meets his own, he doesn’t lift them up again—between the green of the star and the blue of Megumi’s eyes, it’s the latter that Itadori likes to gaze into more, either way. Not that he’d let this knowledge be known or shown over his face, in the line of his smile or the barely tremble of his voice. “It’s beautiful.” 

He might’ve had to look away after saying that instead of keeping their gazes locked. And maybe the tone of his voice gave too much away as well, dulling it down to a soft and quiet tilt, hushing his words over his tongue in such a way that it seemed nearly like a whisper, safely kept only between the two of them. Megumi blinks, his eyes slowly averting from his gaze down to his lips, though it only lasts for a short second, a fleeting beat of a time, before he looks back up again. His tongue slides over his bottom lip and he swipes it along its skin, his teeth nipping down in its wake as he keeps his attention on him. It's dizzying, almost, and Itadori doesn’t want to know whether the blush on his face or the needy twitching his fingers are making as he tries not to reach out to the other’s hand are easily observable.  

But then, Megumi looks to the side, his lips curling into a smile. Wind blows over their heads, and it makes Megumi’s hair ruffle against his forehead, lifting it aside to let his pale skin glow in the green light. “Yeah, it is.” he says, eyes drifting back to his face afterwards with the same tilt of a breathtaking smile.  

Itadori wants to do something, feels it pulling and spasming within his chest, feels the overbearing need to have it. Though he doesn’t know what it is or what he may want—his thoughts are astray, levitating and tangling within his brain. He feels the need to reach out, though he doesn’t know where to hold onto him and whether it’s the right thing to do in this moment. He thinks he has to say something, though the words burn in his throat and none of them even reach the crown of his tongue. All he can do is look back, letting the feverish pink spread over his cheeks hoping the green of the star would make it less visible in its light.  

It’s harder to ignore what he’s feeling, however, when Megumi keeps looking at him as if he, too, has the same thoughts and conflicts churning within his own mind; with a slight frown over his face as his eyes shift from his to the back of Itadori’s palm that’s holding onto the hem of his jacket.  

The spell is broken when they hear Nobara’s voice, shouting from where they’ve came from. They turn around and see her waving, her arms holding onto more than five plushies as she smiles proudly at them. Over her shoulders, he can see the other two approaching, Nanami with another cup of beverage in his hand, looking up at the star, and Gojo dangling his phone in his hand, his eyes set on them with an edging and tilted grin on his face.  

He lets it spread by the time the three of them reach them, his tone of voice almost dripping with honey when he looks over Itadori’s shoulder at Megumi. “Why’d you two ran off like that? Is sleeping in the same bed not enough? You're already spending the nights together.”  

Megumi rolls his eyes, stomping his foot on the ground as he turns slightly on his heels and pulls his scarf up over his face again. “Just didn’t want to hear your voice anymore.” he says, voice muffled. His hand reaches down and clutches around Itadori’s wrist, fingertips digging into his skin with electric spikes trailing across his veins, pulling him along as they continue their walk towards Gojo’s car.  

He lets go quickly, though he doesn’t put his hand back into his pocket, letting it swing absently against the back of his own hand as they walk, nudging their knuckles together. Itadori bites the inside of his cheek, tightening his other hand in a fist within the safety of his pocket, his nails biting in his skin. He lets his rapid heartbeat thud against his stern as he thinks repeatedly how easy it would be to interlock their fingers; how sweet it would’ve tasted if he had decided to kiss that lifted grin whilst they were still alone.  

❅

The second time, Itadori starts to think it’s never been an accident to begin with.  

He wakes up to pillows falling over his head this time, covering up the side of his face with a dull chilliness that cut his dream short. His head pushes away from their weight, lifting his hand above to roll them over, and as he done so, his shoulder blade pressed against the tips of Megumi’s fingers. He lowered his arm, turning his head around to look at his side over his shoulder, and he could see the way his fingers were curling around the back of his shirt, almost searching for him, gripping lightly to the hem and letting cold slither in the newly formed gap. Itadori set his hand down, feeling a shiver involuntarily creeping up his spine, and pressed his cheek back on the pillow with a huff.  

He backed away on the mattress, pushing himself closer to the safety line, all the while feeling as Megumi’s fingers start to line up against his skin. When he stopped, reaching as close as he could’ve to the other’s side, he hears Megumi sighing, a slow and faint noise that passed through his lips and knocked against the pillows. He can’t tell whether he’s awake or not, and the fear of having woken him up is nested in his chest for a while, clinging to his lungs with sharp claws. And yet, Megumi doesn’t unclench his grip from his shirt, doesn’t try to pull his arm down from the tilted pile standing in between them.  

Itadori squints his eyes, staring blankly at the door as he listens to the other’s breathing gradually getting weaker and shorter, his conscience drifting deeper and deeper into his sleep. It's late into the night; they’ve came back to the cabin a little after midnight, and still dragged themselves around the living room for a few minutes to set all their new toys under the Christmas tree—for proper aesthetic values, as Nobara has mentioned. He doesn’t know how late it is, just that it’s too late for either of them to be awake by now. Too late for overthinking.  

He curls up on his side and touches his lips over his knuckles. The tingling feeling that Megumi’s fingertips leave on his skin is slightly insistent, and he tries to push it aside from his senses as he bites into his flesh, clenching the grip enough to send shivers on his arm and pull all of his sensory attention upon the teeth around his finger. And yet, even with this it’s hard to push aside everything. Even though the pricking under his skin is subdued as a result, his thoughts are still swirling, wild and uncontrolled, pulling sharply at his indecisiveness. He doesn’t know whether to take this as a double coincidence, and that fact claws deeply through his brain—and if it’s not a coincidence, then what could  it be considered as?  

He has the impulse to push himself up, look over his shoulder and lean against Megumi’s lips to be sure that he’s dreaming, not faking being asleep to slung his arm over the pillows and grip at his shirt. Through the thought of doing so quickly washes away from his mind, and instead he pushes his head deeper into his pillow, unclenching his jaw from his finger and pulling it out slowly. It comes away with a small click of his tongue, its sides wet and tracing down lines of saliva. He brushes his thumb over it, feeling the deep marks his teeth have left around the bone, and his eyes blink intensely as he sinks into the softness under his head, trying to force the sleep onto him.  

And yet, all he manages to force out is the sharp pounding in his head, drilling its painful claws across his brain, and he knows Sukuna is about to talk even before he hears him clearing his throat in his mind. It takes him shortly to be able to talk, the tired state he is in pulling Sukuna more to the surface of his conscience, and Itadori slumps back into the bed and presses his eyelids tightly closed as he feels the first vibrations of his voice, a grimace already shaping out onto his lips.  

“Are you switching to eating your own fingers, now?” he asks, his voice breaking over his eardrums in a heavy and bored tone.  

Itadori turns his head around with a groan and pushes his nose down far enough that he can barely take in any ounces of air, his arm slipping under to lift the corner and pull it over his ear. “I was thinking.” he says to him, the words formed in his mind, huffing out an annoyed sigh when Sukuna responds with a rattling laugh.  

This is good, though. At least like this, with Sukuna barging in over his thoughts and taking up all of his ability to think, Itadori won’t have to put up with it anymore. He can shut down his inner string of words and turn off the irritating, repetitive skips of his heartbeat, pulsing loud and heavy in his chest, crawling their vibrations across his throat. Even though the flip side of the coin is catching up with Sukuna in the mid time until he falls asleep— if he’s able to, considering Sukuna has taken over his mind and Itadori is too tired to try and push him back in his place.  

He sighs, lifting his head over the pillow. As he taps his fingers over his chest and tries to even out beating heart, he hears him letting out a long sigh, almost edging on disappointing, and Itadori pinches his eyebrows into a heavy and annoyed frown. There's a sound of something falling reverberated on the walls of his brain, possibly from Sukuna having slapped his hand across the side of his throne, and then he hears his voice again. This time however, he doesn’t sound annoyed or teasing—not fully, at the very least. Itadori listens to his words and drifts down in the warmth of his blanket, and it almost feels as if Sukuna is trying to pass on a piece of advice rather than an edge of an insult.  

“Why don’t you just tell him?” he asks. It’s not fully innocent; there’s impatience in his question too, and confusion, though it’s so faint he could barely hear it.  

Itadori raises his head from the safety of his pillow and takes a long and welcoming breath. He turns on his back, feeling the other’s hand tracing along his skin as he shifts, his fingers ending up on the line of his collarbone instead. Itadori stills his breathing, feeling his chest raising with every breath and Megumi’s fingertips ghosting over the patch of his skin, nearly slipping underneath the hem of his shirt. He blinks up at the ceiling and shrugs, lightly enough not to nudge the other’s hand off. “Tell him what?” he asks, keeping his frown in place. 

He imagines Sukuna in front of him sometimes. It's not an occurring situation, because most of the time he doesn’t wish to picture the curse either way, especially not when he’s actively talking with him, which mostly sums up only to them arguing or pushing at each other’s buttons. It's trippy, because he knows Sukuna looks like him, and the imagery of him shaping out those cunning and sharp grins, spilling out obscenities and vulgar banters on his tongue, it’s something that claws at his heart and makes him feel repulsive.  

However sometimes, he does. It happens mostly when he’s bored, and usually he modifies the way in which Sukuna would look like, shaping him out with a silly smile on his face or hair pulled so far on his scalp it makes him look bald. Tonight, he doesn’t improvise on his look though. He stares at the dark wood of their ceiling and forms Sukuna’s face in his imagination, his sharp teeth nipping at his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed and rolling back in their sockets before he imagines him moving his mouth while answering.  

“Are you really that dense?” Sukuna asks, a genuine tone of curiosity in his voice. In his imagination, he sees his eyes widening slightly, reflecting something akin to pity that glints in the dark.  

“I don’t see why I should listen to you out of all people when it comes to my personality.” 

“Kid, I live inside you. In your brain. I know more about your personality than you know yourself.” Itadori huffs, his legs pushing at the blanket uncomfortably as he looks to the side again. Sukuna sighs in his mind, his breath feeling like a cold bust of wind through his body. “Just think about it. Having Fushiguro Megumi under your command, yielding to all of your requests. Lending out all of his power for you, sucking your—” 

“Okay, stop.” Itadori cuts in, his eyes closing tightly, the tips of his ears dusted with a soft and hot tint of pink. “And I actually thought you’re trying to help me out.”  

“I am helping you out.” Sukuna sighs irritated. “You like the boy, don’t you?” 

Itadori sucks in a breath and holds it caged in his chest. His lips purse, pressed together firmly, but then he nods, puffing out his breath languidly.  

Sukuna claps his hands, the sound loud and booming within his brain. “And I like the boy too. Win-win situation. If only you could actually say something about it to him.” He grunts, frowning up at the image of his face above his head as Sukuna’s lips turn downwards into a deep scowl, his eyes rolling again.  

Itadori pushes his head further up on the pillow, lifting his chin even though he has no one in front of him to act though against. “You can’t like him too.” he says in his mind, and this time his thought also thuds against his eardrums, reverberating loud and clear above Sukuna’s uneven breathing.  

“Why not? I'm inside you, I think it would be fair for you to be with someone I'd like too.” 

“When I'm going to be with someone, that someone is going to date me, not you. And especially I won’t allow you to touch or talk to Megumi again.” he fits the tone of his thought to be as sharp and cutting as it would’ve sounded spoken throughout his gritted teeth. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to feel the skin threatening to tear, and waits as Sukuna falls quiet, his mind clearing out with nothing to fill it up, until he finally feels Sukuna’s voice clawing at the walls of his skull, dragging his headache all around the sides of his head.  

“Don’t even try this game with me, kid.” it’s the last thing he hears him saying before he feels a shuddering pain pulsing in the back of his head. He hisses, bringing his hand over and gripping across his scalp, his eyes kept tightly shut as he senses what seems to feel like fists ruthlessly punching him over the head. His fingers curl enough to let the blunt edges of his nails scrap over his scalp and his vision turns white even as he keeps his eyelids locked; and then the pain lifts away as soon and sudden as it has formed, seeping back into dullness and leaving him on the edge of breathlessness.  

He blinks his eyes open and tentatively looks around, his head lifting slightly from the pillow to be sure Megumi hasn’t woken up during the few seconds the headache had lasted. After he sees that he’s still peacefully sleeping, half of his face covered up by his extended forearm, Itadori slumps back into bed and turns on his side. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and switches it on, squinting his eyes against the blaring light to read 4:25am.  

He sighs, slapping the screen of his phone against the mattress and pushing his back on the safety line behind him. Megumi's hand drifts from his shoulder, lightly bumping against the base of his neck, and he sighs shakily as he lets it linger there, carefully swallowing the bile of air down his throat. 

❅

He wakes up with lingering repercussions from the headache he’s had during the night. Though ‘waking up’ might be stretching it to call as such, given the fact that he could only close his eyes for seconds at a time to drift into a calm sense of quiet that immediately was obliterated by the tiniest of sounds—the wind banging over the window, the breaths Megumi softly let out through his teeth, the nagging, dull but annoying boasts of laughter Sukuna seemed to keep muttering in his head.  

He woke up before Megumi again, only two hours since he’s last checked his phone into the night, and he languidly pushed himself off from the bed, tip-toing on his way to the bathroom whilst holding his hand firmly pressed against the back of his skull.  

His feet drag over the wood of the staircase as he goes down, trailing his hand on the railing for support. His eyes blink slowly and hard, the eyelids heavily hovering over his eyes, and by the time he reaches the first floor, he feels the dull pain in the back of his head expanding, curling its claws across his forehead and digging them deep into his flesh.  

The sound of running water makes his head turn towards the kitchen, where he can see Gojo’s back facing him, the hem of his shirt hanging loosely from his wide shoulders and letting the ends of his hair dip over the skin of his nape. His arm hikes up as he lets the liquid pour down into the pot, and Itadori puts his hand over his mouth to muffle his yawn as he passes the distance towards the kitchen counter.  

Gojo turns around to face him even with his attempts on being quiet. His usually vibrant and glossy eyes are now faded and crossed over by a foggy haze, still having the lingering sleep written over their unusually dimmed glimmer. He averts his eyes on impulse, looking down at the pot he holds over the stove that has heated water in it, waiting to hit the boiling temperature. Gojo takes his hand away from the handle, turning up the intensity of the stove.  

“You’re up early.” he says, letting his voice rain down in guttural tones. He licks his lips, craning his neck to the side to pop a strained muscle.  

Itadori hums, his fingers tattering over the edge of the counter. He leans forward and grabs a piece of bread from the basket, opening a drawer to search for a plate on which to place it. When he talks, he feels his voice scratching at his throat, leaving down an itchy feeling that travels all the way to the center of his chest. “Sukuna paid me a visit last night. I don’t think I was able to fully get rid of him yet.” 

“Just tell him to buzz off. It's the holidays.” 

“I don’t think he takes that into consideration.” 

Gojo clicks his tongue, pushing his hip into the counter. “Want me to do something about it?” he asks, his lip lifting into a teasing smile yet his eyes fixing on his with an unwavering gaze, spelling out the seriousness hidden behind his question.  

Itadori shakes his head though, because the last thing he’d want it’s to push this issue further up into the light. He flicks the butter on the knife over the bread, moving his wrist lazily to cover up the whole loaf.  

Gojo moves to put down his mug, the ceramic clinging on the table. He inhales on his nose, and Itadori feels the tingling of his breath on the side of his neck. “Why did he? I thought he only did that when he was provoked.” 

He groans, slipping the knife into the sink. “Or bored. Always to get on my nerves.” 

“Well, yeah,” Gojo breathes, his laughter subdued. “But he always has a motif for bothering you. Was there nothing for him this time?” 

Itadori purses his lips, pressing them together into a tight line. He tilts his head and squints his eyes, looking up at the window before them and trying to focus on the sun pulling its lights over the edges of the mountains instead of on the slowly travelling sound of a hum slithering deeper and deeper in his eardrum. “Nothing in particular,” he mutters under his breath, hissing barely as he steps towards the fridge to look for the cheese. 

Gojo turns the stove off, the water splashing when he lets it fall into the mug. His fingers tap on the table, and his nail clings rhythmically on the surface. “That’s not good,” he says. And Itadori can understand where he’s coming from, why he would like to know for sure the meaning behind it. They both know he doesn’t bother to make his appearance unless the situation tilts slightly to his advantage, either it being because Itadori is caught into a vulnerable position during a fight or he’s just tired and miserable and Sukuna knows how that would yank on his nerves.  

But it’s because of this too, that Itadori keeps quiet now. He knows the reason why Sukuna chose to speak to him, and he knows it relates to the lingering headache he’s battling right now, but adding Gojo into the mix of people (or curses, if he’s literal about it) who know, would suffice only into an even heavier headache. So instead, Itadori decides to fake cluelessness; his voice cracks as he hums, letting out an airy sort of sigh. “It’s alright, no reason for concern.” 

Gojo looks at him from the corner of his eye, his eyebrow lifting over his forehead. He scoops a spoon of sugar and drops it into his tea, swirling it around and letting it cling on the edges as he pushes his hip more firmly into the counter and clutches his hand over his hipbone. “Or maybe,” he starts, and Itadori sneaks up a glance at him, watching as Gojo’s tongue sticks to the edge of his bottom lip and drags it slowly in the corner, as if thinking over the idea that has popped into his brain. The flicker is back into his eyes, shiny and silvery, and Itadori isn’t sure that he wants to know  what  Gojo is about to say, considering that his eyes suddenly lock onto his own as if he’s seizing down its pray. “It has something to do with Megumi.” he says, confidence slipping out and coloring his words. It's said with such certainty that Itadori doesn’t even think Gojo is doubting himself. 

His fingers lose for a moment the weight of his knife, and Itadori turns back to frown down at his bread as he focuses intensely on cutting a slice of cheese. “Why would it concern him?” he asks, keeping his tone light to snip at the illusion of amusement. 

Gojo doesn’t let the seconds to drag, taking out his spoon and flicking the last drops back into the mug as he speaks. “You’re sleeping together, for one thing. That should be enough to make Sukuna comment on it. I'm surprised it hasn’t happened on the first night. And then of course, there’s the worrisome infatuation he has over him.” 

“Infatuation?” 

“More like infatuated with Megumi’s power and title. Typical for a curse like him.” Gojo says. He brings the tea to his lips and blows, then puts his hand over his head, ruffling away strands of hair from his forehead. “Don’t let it get to you. Unless, of course, this is a matter of jealousy. In which case, you should remember anyway that Megumi would choose you.”  

His throat closes up and he feels his air being pushed back into his lungs. When he swallows, it all goes down on a dry and sore neck, and Itadori can feel the thumps of his heartbeat against his stern loud and clear into his ears. “What are you talking about?” 

Gojo grins, his fingers pressing lightly on the side of his head and trailing down as he pulls away. “I think after tonight you might have an idea.” he says, sipping from his tea, and Itadori feels his cheeks slightly heating up with a rush of blood as he turns on his heels again, watching the tremble of his fingers while he attempts to make the last touches to his sandwich.  

Megumi and Nobara both come down relatively at the same time. It's nearly 9am when they’re all up from their beds, yet it still feels to him like he’s just been woken up, pulled into the reality by brutal force, knocked into the hard wood of a wall by both Sukuna and Gojo’s hands pushing down on the back of his skull. His thoughts have wavered during the last few hours, more so after his slightly more one-sided conversation with Gojo; and at the moment, Itadori doesn’t even know what to think, how to act or how to hide the fact that he’s in the middle of an emotional crisis.  

He's sucking on a piece of candy when Megumi sits down next to him on the couch, the plate with his own breakfast clinging on the table as he sets it down. Itadori looks up from his blank stare over the fireplace, his teeth crushing into the hard candy, and he holds his breath as Megumi runs a hand over his hair and flips it away from his forehead, blinking the lingering tiredness from his eyes with fluttering eyelashes. His eyes drift down to him, almost as if sensing he’s being watched, and Itadori quickly averts his gaze, biting straight into the crust and feeling his teeth itch at the cold sensation.  

Megumi shifts, turning to fully face him. “Are you alright?” he asks, and Itadori closes his eyes, thinks “Maybe” and hopes Sukuna isn’t paying too much attention to hear him.  

“He’s had a long night,” Gojo says, lifting his head from the book he’s been reading for the past few minutes to look at them. He tilts his head and turns his attention back on Megumi. Itadori’s heart stills for a second, beating dully and sinking to the depth of his gutter. His fingers curl and tighten around the material of his pants, ready to put down any claim Gojo is about to make, and yet— “There’s no wood left, Megumi. Would you be so kind to go after some more?” it’s what he asks in the end. Itadori loosens his hold on his clothes and breathes out through his teeth.  

Megumi grunts, his eyes dropping down to his untouched plate with a sorrowful look in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but Itadori is quicker, pushing his words out in a breath. “I can go,” he says, then straightens up from the couch, his feet skidding over the floor as he balances out his weight on them, grabbing his empty plate from the table to rush towards the sink.  

Megumi's voice is slightly muttered behind him, given the distance and the still-wakening phase the other is caught into. “We’ll go together after I eat,” Megumi says. He almost turns around to dismiss the idea, making up a fact about needed time to be alone with his thoughts in order to layer them out and sort out his oncoming actions. In retrospect, it’s really what Itadori thinks he needs—a walk in the forest alone, staring blindly at the snow-filled ground and trees that spread out into the wildness, taking up the advantage of silence to clear his head.  

But he knows, too, that if he were to admit to that, both Megumi and Nobara would have a hard time letting him go on his way by himself. And so, he keeps quiet, biting on his tongue as he washes his dishes into the cold water, and waits patiently for Megumi to finish his breakfast and get up on his feet as well.  

He's sitting by the front door some twenty minutes later, his arms bracing over his chest and foot nudging aside the corner of the carpet as he waits for Megumi to come down from their room. He watches absently as Nobara and Gojo lean against each other while they’re watching something on her laptop, a movie Itadori might recognize as one from the multitude of other Christmas-romance movies he knows, if he puts his mind to it. However, at the moment, he only skims his gaze over each character, letting their voices fly by his ears as he presses his head into the wall.  

He looks up when he hears his feet stomping on the stairs, and when Megumi raises his head towards the door and sees him waiting, his eyebrows pinch down into a frown and his coordination flatters. His fingers grip around the railing and he lets his foot down hesitantly as he keeps their gazes locked, then he blinks and looks down at the stairs, lightly dragging his feet to where he’s standing. He grabs on his coat and Itadori pulls his red scarf from the hook, folding it nicely in his hands and brushing his thumb on the curved edge.  

After Megumi zips his coat fully to the top of its hem, Itadori brings his arms over his head and pushes the scarf to his nape, bringing the ends together in front of his face. Megumi watches his fingers working on the knot as he nuzzles his nose underneath his jacket. He pulls on the knot and lets it dangle down on the front of his clothing, before he turns around and unlocks the door with one sharp twist of his wrist.  

Megumi starts talking immediately after the front door of the cabin is locked back.  

“Why are you in such a hurry? They're not going to freeze to death.” he says, his voice shaking as he lets a weak shiver slither its way over his shoulders, both caught into a strong and sudden blow of wind.  

Itadori coughs into his scarf and raises it slightly higher over his nose, his frown kept on his face as he squints his eyes to see through the rapid dance of snowflakes forming a deep and white blanket across the air. He can’t be honest in this situation, he thinks; not when the person who’s asking is the exact same that stirs his thoughts into interlocked strings of conflicts—between himself, his own mind and Sukuna, on top of everything else. He can still hear the muttering of his voice haunting his conscience, persistently keeping the headache to an irritating notch, not dull enough to ignore but not harsh enough to perturb his function either.  

If he’d say that he wanted to get a breather from Gojo’s presence, he knows that Megumi would doubt him. For as much as Megumi wishes to get away from the clutches of Gojo’s hands and the booming tone of his voice, it would be suspicious if Itadori were to side with him on his desire to leave the cabin. It's always been like that—Megumi putting on an irritated face when they have to indulge in one of Gojo’s lessons and Itadori stretching out an excited smile in anticipation of hearing their teacher talk, or walking in his tow as they move to a new mission. He's never been the one to pout or wish for escaping before, and spelling out this exact thing now, on the Christmas holiday whilst even Megumi seems like he eases up in Gojo’s presence, would surely pull out more questions than answers. 

He presses up his fingers to his forehead and digs his blunt nails against the crease of his frown. He forgot to put on his gloves, and his fingertips are cold like frost bite when they touch his skin. “It’s nothing. I just wanted fresh air.” he mutters, not sure whether his weak and strangled tone of voice reached the other’s ears.  

He hears the snow crunching under their boots, Megumi’s footsteps reaching closer and faster behind him. “There’s not much fresh air you could get from here. Your nose would freeze if you push it out from your scarf.”  

He shrugs, letting his hand fall to his side and curl into a fist. “Worth trying.” 

Megumi huffs behind him, his arms moving about which makes a rustling noise coming from his clothes. He can see him walking closer from his peripheral vision, his hair a wild mess as the wind blows and rattles it all around, the edges fired in all places. He pushes his head slightly back and their eyes meet, and it’s enough only for him to see the brimming sort of light in the other’s eyes to feel something pop and crack along his skull.  

He turns his head around with a snap, gritting his teeth as he brings his hand back up again and feels over his forehead. His legs buckle and stumble in the snow, and Itadori catches himself with his hand pinned against a tree trunk, feeling his knees shaking for a few short seconds before he can push his control back throughout his system. His eyes move underneath his eyelids, and his lips part with a dry click, rolling his words out with a harsh and clenching undertone. “Stop it,” he groans, though as he waits for a response that doesn’t seem to come soon enough, he starts to doubt that this headache is the product of Sukuna’s doing alone.  

Megumi is talking besides him, though his tone is too soft to discern the words—or maybe it’s just he who doesn’t understand him, his ears pooling with the sharp ringing that clings against his brain. He blinks, cracking his eyes open gradually and averting them towards the source of the sound, which bit by bit starts to be layered out into letters, shaping shakily the form of his name. Megumi has his scarf pulled low under his chin, and Itadori notices the purple in the color of his lips whilst he moves them. His frown deepens and he groans, reaching his hand out to clutch over the rim of the scarf and pull it uselessly over the other’s mouth, feeling how it weights down loose in his hands. Its knot is undone, and Itadori sighs as he sees the ends falling and dangling over his shoulders.  

Before he can get on knotting it back together though, Megumi grabs his wrist with a firm grip. He pulls him towards his chest, and as he feels his body lifting, Itadori realizes he’s been heavily leaning against the tree instead of keeping his ground, steady on his feet.  

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, and this time there’s no hesitation in the way he voices out his question. His eyes narrow as he looks at him up and down, his fingers pressing in and dragging on the skin of his wrist, feeling up against the rapid beating of his heart pulsing through his veins. Itadori feels his throat drying up.  

He snatches his hand away, nearly banging his fist over his chest. He blows out a breath and then pushes past him. “I told you, it’s nothing. Just a damn headache.” 

“If it hurts too much, we can ask Gojo to help you get rid of it.” Megumi says immediately after, as if expecting his answer. His feet trail into the snow to get to his side, breath leaving him in scattering pauses as he sucks in air through his mouth after each step climbing on the hill.  

“He suggested it, I already rejected his idea. I can deal with it, it’s nothing.” 

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing. If you’re not careful, you’re going to fall— ”  

“Stop worrying, Fushiguro.” he shouts, his ears ringing as he nearly misses his step on a patch of hidden ice. He hears Megumi halting behind him, the crunching of the snow reduced only to the force of his two feet. It’s a slippery way up, his boots constantly drifting off the patches of snow and ice, and Itadori has to push his hands over the tree trunks at his sides to help him climbing up over the hill. He doesn’t know how long he’s been struggling to step up until he hears Megumi’s feet starting to walk again in his wake, slow and carefully treading on the ground. 

They're silent, and their breaths are pushed out and caged in the material of their scarfs. Itadori steps over a large stone of ice, his back straightening and eyes pressing against each other tightly, running his hand over his hair and scratching his nails on his scalp as he turns. It's not a full-body roll to face him, his head barely pushing over his shoulder. His eyes are still closed shut, in pain and embarrassment combined. “Sorry.” he says, pushing out his chin and attempting to lift the edge of his mouth into a grin that flatters too much on the way and ends up falling altogether.  

He hears his steps coming closer a while later, hesitant and slow. It takes a while for Megumi to get closer, but by the time he does, he can feel the heat coming out through the layers of his clothing over his own covered skin. He starts to blink his eyes open, though he doesn’t have the impulse to look at him just yet, sneaking a glance up at him through his eyelashes and watching as Megumi frowns down at his feet. He clears his throat, and his voice is slightly insistent, trying to push out the words through his scarf and into Itadori’s eardrums with ease. “It’s okay,” Megumi says. His hand reaches up then, hovering over him.  

Megumi touches the crown of his head with his fingers, slipping his cold fingertips through his hair to get to his scalp. It takes only a fraction of a second, a spark as quick and sudden as lightening, to nudge at Itadori’s nerves and force out the uncontrolled coordination of his limbs. He doesn’t know what’s happening, can’t even register something is happening, that he is doing something with sheer blinded power; the only thing he can focus on is the striking and sharp pain that claws at the middle of his brain and drags its blades excruciatingly fast and hard over the walls of his skull. 

He's had this reaction only once before. It happened one night after a stressfully induced mission, his head pulsing with the lingering effects of his headache which he’d barely managed to clear out before their car pulled up next to their dorm. His brain felt like it would pop at any given moment then too, though the muttering and mumbling of Sukuna’s laughter and voice were more persistent and sharply-edged, filling up his thoughts alarmingly fast.  

Throughout the night, he’d tried to sleep it away—it usually does the trick every other time, forcing himself to sleep in order to give Sukuna no satisfaction of paying attention to him or indulging in a string of useless banters. That night, it didn’t work however. Itadori had turned and twisted in his bed for hours and hours, yet his eyes were still brimming red with exhaustion and the sounds banging across his mind still had not gone away. He'd tried then, irritated, to knock his fist against the back of his head, where the pain pooled and tugged the sharpest—and then, everything went white.  

He still doesn’t know what had happened that night after, but the following day, Itadori woke up with a cut over the side of his face, dried blood curled across the edges of his wound. It took only a glance to his hand to notice the blood painted over his nails to know that he’s done it to himself unknowingly; but he was alone at that time.  

No one was near him to help, or otherwise suffer the harsh snip of his nails over their skin. Itadori had thought, then, that considering the circumstances of the alternative, he was lucky to be alone.  

Now though, he’s not. And like before, nearly three months ago by now, complete whiteness covers up his vision as he shouts, pulling air sharply from his lungs, and Itadori’s mind is wiped blank as he flings his arm across the air. He feels something colliding with the side of his forearm, the back of his hand whipping against something cold and soft. His knuckles dig into skin, and the air rings with a slap as the contact is made, forced out loud and clear by the force of his blow. There’s a sharp and sudden sound pulled out from a strangled throat as Megumi gasps, and there’s a ghosting sensation on the side of his wrist as he feels his fingertips brushing on his skin, trying to grab on but slipping off as soon as Itadori pulls away his arm without thinking. 

“Itadori!” Megumi shouts, loud enough to nudge at the core of his pain, and when Itadori blinks his eyes open to look at his side. Megumi’s face is a blur in his vision, the sides hazy and faded, pixelated in light and transparent colors. His eyes are two barely-dark dots that flicker as he blinks, and it takes only a few short seconds since he’s started to map out their shape for Megumi to slip away, all his blurry edges disappearing from his sight.  

His eyelids press together firmly and his hand rubs over them, feeling his eyes pounding and twitching under his fingertips. When he cracks them open, his vision is still brimmed with the blinding white, but the colors around him take shadows and shades again. He blinks quickly to break through the layer of haziness and his eyes shift in search for him, drifting down at his feet where ice trails down over the abrupt and steep downhill.  

Megumi is there; he sees his jacket being pushed down over the ground, his fingers curling around a stone of ice to stop him from falling. And it’s not as scary as the cliff further up on their way, not as deadly in comparison; but the snow is slippery and thin, leaving out the danger of the ice beneath it that expands and stretches wide like a natural slide. The path is nearly vertical, with stones picking out from the snow with pointed blades as edges, and at the very base there are trees—rows of them, large and sturdy, growing barely meters away from each other.  

If Megumi hits one of them, given the speed of his fall and the awkward arch of his body as he tries to safe himself, Itadori is positively sure he might fracture one or several of his bones.  

His chest tightens and his eyes widen, feeling the surge of adrenaline spiking like a rush through his veins and nibbling at the tips of his fingers. He starts running down after him, his boots slipping and threatening to lose his weight and balance as he steps over the glossy ice. His hand curls around his scarf and he pulls the hem of it down under his chin, letting out a shaky breath and squeaking as he feels his foot twisting after pushing his ankle into the side of a covered stone. His eyes are trained on Megumi’s head, kept only barely above the ground as the other tries to avoid all the oncoming stones and slashed fractions of tree trunks, and when they slide over Megumi’s reach, his heart squeezes and thumps harshly into the pit of his gut.  

He lets his feet slide down a flat patch of ice, the adrenaline stammering and tugging on his heartstrings. “Behind you!” he shouts, and Megumi lifts his head to look at him, lost and confused. He pushes his shoulder blade into the snow and rolls over his back, his hand outstretching on the ground as he looks down and sees the tree on his way, standing firmly in the trajectory of his body. It's cut half-way, the trunk still raised high over the ground, but so are its roots, pushing out from the snow and curved with pointy ends. Their edges are blunt and thin like the edges of a sword, directly facing the line of Megumi’s head.  

Megumi twists his body forth, the back of his hand digging and tracing down into the snow as he tries and brings his feet towards the truck. If he fails to avoid it, his hip would collide directly and painfully with the side of it, steeping pain over his spine and pushing him further and closer to the line of the forest. Itadori can only think about that, his heart pushing and climbing all the way to his throat, his lips parted as he considers shouting again, Megumi’s name sitting on the very tip of his tongue.  

Megumi flings his leg out once he’s close enough, the heel of his boot coming in contact with the tree. He flexes his thigh, pushing his body down over it and using his hand to help repositioning the way his body is sliding down. And it works, his back sliding and passing by the heavy trunk, though it’s not fully a clean and safe turn; his other leg bangs against the side of the nearest root, gliding rough and sharp on the blade of its wood. It slashes right over and through his pants, the sound of clothing ripping reaching Itadori’s ears, and it scratches so loud in his brain that he feels the way it’s spasming, pushing low the twitch of his nerves to crawl and dig at the tissue of his lungs.   

He slides down, his ankles twisting and straining to keep him steady on his feet. When he’s close enough to reach him, within only a jump away, Itadori pushes himself down on the ground, his knee scratching and sliding dry on the ice, hand bracing and fisting around Megumi’s jacket. His knuckles press over the side of his zipper and he pulls, bringing his body slightly towards him. His other hand curls over Megumi’s waist, caging him up closer to his chest as he tries to roll themselves over, his elbow digging into the snow to help him fling his body across Megumi’s own and take the pain of the oncoming contact on his own spine.  

Their legs knock and slide against each other, limbs tangling in the mess of snow being imprinted on their pants. He feels their bodies crushing with each other, hears the grunt Megumi lets out from his squeezed throat being pushed over his own eardrum. His heart is racing, blindingly thudding against his chest and matching the beating hidden in Megumi’s own ribcage. His fingers latch over Itadori’s sleeve, trying to push him back down as Itadori dives his knee further and twists his body over Megumi’s own; though even in trying to make a quick turn of their limbs in their fall, Itadori is not fast enough.  

He feels Megumi’s body pushing hard against his ribs, his nails digging over the skin around his wrist as he curls his fingers around it and tightens his muscles at the impact. The branches ruffle wildly overhead, scattering snow over their faces that Itadori quickly whips away with the brisk shake of his head. There's a deafening sound breaking the ringing of his ears as Megumi’s head bangs on the tree, emitting the song of a skull crushing, and suddenly everything stills, his breath caught and trapped in the depths of his throat, his ears clearing out and pulsing uselessly and soundlessly with nothing. Megumi breathes over him, his voice shaky and raspy, and that’s the only thing Itadori can hear and focus on—the beat of his heart, the twitch of his fingers as he lets his hand unclench and fall from his wrist are only background senses, amplified by the churning and alarming fear that seeps over his mind.  

His hand reaches out, shooting up from between their chests to touch over Megumi’s head. He cups the back of his skull, pressing in his fingertips over the ends of his hair where the scalp is swollen, and feels the wetness drip over his skin, icy and melting down his hand. He knows it’s only the snow fallen from above, still lingering on Megumi’s hairline, but Itadori can’t be satisfied with only the assumption that it is what he thinks and hopes it is.  

His head pushes back and his eyes search over his face. There's no whiteness or haziness brimming over his sight, the vision of the other’s face flickering clear as day in his eyes. It's the shock and adrenaline that cleared it so fast, making it possible to asset the situation at hand as quickly and safely as he can manage.  

There's no blood trailing on Megumi’s face, no slash cut across the sides of his face that threatens to ooze and spill blood from the wound. There is, however, a bruise over his cheek, curling and fading into his skin, tracing down from the corner of his eye to the upper side of his lip. It's double-edged, colored by two darkening lines against his cheekbone, and Itadori knows where they’re coming from, knows to distinguish the shape of his own bare fingers against the soft skin. He hovers his hand over it, his fingertips brushing and lightly tracing down on their shape. He feels Megumi’s jaw clenching under the press of his fingers, the muscles straining underneath as he tilts his head and lets the crown of it hit the side of the tree.  

He's frowning, his eyelashes fluttering in repetitive twitches as he tries to blink his eyes awake, and Itadori brings the back of his hand over them, his knuckles lightly tracing over his eyelids and cupping the side of his face, thumb skimming over the lobe of his ear.  

“Shit,” he says breathlessly, his heart hammering. “Shit, shit, shit,” he repeats, over and over until the chant of his curses dulls and tangles on his tongue, pushing out only uncoherent sounds more than real words. Megumi groans under him, weakly and shortly, eyebrows pinching low and heavy.  

His hand pushes up from the back of his head to his forehead where he flings away the strands of his bangs. His voice drips slower than before, caging in the tone of spiking worry as he looks at him, at the creases under his eyes and the twisted, painful turn of his lips into a scowl. “Megumi,” he says, his name slipping over his tongue as if he’s never used it before; rushed and fearful and breathless, all at the same time. “Megumi, are you alright? Are you hurt? Tell me where you’re hurt.” he says, his fingers starting to shake over the other’s skin. He loses the train of his questions after a while, jumping from one to the next unthinkingly and without minding whether he repeats the same questions one after the other.  

His heart squeezes tight and his heartbeat begins to pound over his stern in an unrhythmical beat, shuddering through his ribs. The adrenaline starts to pick up again, slightly blinding his vision to white and transparent layers as he averts his gaze constantly over his fading features. It's blurry and bleak, and it’s only after he hears himself sniffing that he realizes part of his dazed vision comes from the heavy gathering of tears in the corners of his eyes.  

He hears Megumi parting his lips, the click of his tongue pressing against the tip of his teeth. He blinks away the wetness from his eyelashes, looking down at him as Megumi pushes his head up and frowns at him, with his eyes narrowed sharply and warningly. “I’m fine ,” he mutters, pressing his teeth together on the last word which he forces out into a hiss. His eyelids press against each other then, teeth biting into his bottom lip as he tries to push himself up on the tree. His head tilts to the side, thudding against the hard wood, and Itadori quickly scoops the back of his head in the safety of his palm, pushing his forehead into his shoulder.  

“You’re not. I—I don’t even know why I...” he swallows down the rest of his words, because spelling them out, saying he’s struck Megumi hard enough to make him fall back down on the steep hill they’ve been carefully treading on, would feel more like a punch to his gut. He licks his lips and turns his fingers around the locks of his hair in circular motions, tugging loosely and fitting his hand through. “Sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to—it's all my fault. You're hurt and it’s all my fault.” 

“I told you I'm fine,” Megumi breathes, letting a bit of irritation slipping in. His hand shoots up from where he has it lingering over the snow at their sides, and it curls frostiness under his skin as he touches his fingertips over the underside of his jaw. “Your skin is split here,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes as he moves his finger over the patch of skin, trailing lightly over the small cut.  

Itadori huffs and pushes his head back from his reach, guiding both of his hands to Megumi’s shoulders to gently push him against the tree. When the contact is made, Megumi breathes out a quiet exhale, his eyelids locking and chest raising into a half-arch. Itadori gets back up on his feet, patting away the scattering snow that sticks to his clothes. He puts his fists on his hips, head tilting as he looks down at him, and slowly, with every calm and collected breath Megumi lets out through his still warm and pink lips, Itadori feels his tension slipping and melting away. He crouches down in front of him and his finger flicks over Megumi’s cheek. The other grunts, his eyebrows pinching slightly as he cracks his eyes open in thin lines.  

Itadori shapes up a smile, pulled tight by the strain of his concern still hovering on his mind. “I’ll carry you back.” he says.  

Megumi blinks his eyes widely awake, his lips parting wordlessly as he sputters out a few uncontrolled and confused breathes. “We haven’t got the wood yet,” he says then, pressing his lips back together. Itadori huffs, his head shaking firmly. He lets his hand fall down on the cold ground again and lifts the side of his mouth into a grin.  

“Gojo can collect some himself. I'm taking you to the cabin now to treat you.” 

“There’s nothing to treat!” 

“Megumi, let me worry about you.” he pouts, his head tilting to the side as he blinks and shapes his eyes into half-moons, letting the glow in them brim its usual convincing tactic on warming up the other person. He's never actually tried it on Megumi, though he sees the way his gaze slightly widens and his lips tremble off from their tightened press, smoothed out into a softer and more pliant line.  

He clears his throat and looks away through his eyelashes, his fingers curling in the snow. “You didn’t let me worry about you.”  he says, and Itadori momentarily squints his eyes at him until he eventually remembers.  

His knuckles knock against the side of his head and he chuckles, almost absently, the sound of it dragging. “I think this scared the headache away.” 

Megumi shifts, his body pushing slightly upward. “Got scared?” he drawls, and even though his voice is still deep with his bottled strain, making an effort to take all the words out, he can still discern the tease that latches around his question. And Itadori hates that he doesn’t mind that much the way Megumi still finds the strength to tease him whilst he’s in the middle of refreshing his mind from getting dazed and rattled against the wall of a tree.  

He sighs and brings his arm around Megumi’s back, pulling him forth. His head nudges forward, and it’s only due to him quickly craning his head to the side that they’re able to avoid knocking their foreheads together. He hushes him, the air wisping through his teeth. “Let’s get you home.” he says, securing his other hand on Megumi’s hip once the other is steady on his feet. He feels his arm reaching over his shoulders as he turns them around, Megumi’s body leaning and pressing on his side, fitting the coordination of his steps to match his own. They still slip on the ice as they go down, and Megumi curls his fingers firmly around branches and over the trees to stop their descent to the ground once again.  

“You’re going to cut your hand,” Itadori warns him the third time Megumi snaps his arm up and pushes hard against the nearest tree. His fingers tighten on his waist as he pulls him away, feeling the hot breath of air that Megumi lets out as he turns his head to face him.  

“I thought you said you’re going to treat me.” 

Itadori rolls his eyes, rolling his shoulders and using his arm to slightly lift the other off his feet as he jumps over a thin line of ice. “That doesn’t mean you have to add more to the number of your wounds.”  

Megumi mumbles something under his breath, his head hunching over as he sighs. His thumb swipes across the jacket, not hard or close enough for the motion to be felt against Megumi’s own skin, but enough to give the illusion to himself, clenching his jaw as they continue their walking.  

It's when they’re steps away from the cabin that Megumi starts to talk again, his voice slurred and drifting into a breathless state. Itadori turns his head to him quickly, watching from the corner of his eyes as his lips move and lightly press against each other. “I’ll knock Sukuna out cold for this next time I'll see him,” he says, gritting his teeth. 

Itadori hums, his mind snipping back to their last conversation over the previous night, something uneasy clawing across his chest. “Maybe it’ll be better if you don’t see him. Not too soon at least.” 

Megumi lifts his head, his eyes squinting. Hair falls over his face, and it makes it nearly impossible to see the blue shades of their color. “Do you know something I don’t?” he asks. 

Itadori hums, looking ahead with his voice trailing off. “Depends.” it’s all he says, his teeth biting on the inner side of his cheek.  

He feels Megumi stilling next to his side, his breath pushing out slightly slower. Their feet crunch against the snow, and the sound is overlapped by the harsh beating of his heart against his chest and drumming in his ears.  

“Itadori—” Megumi starts, his name ending up being said with a strangled and guttural tilt.  

He swallows, his eyes averting quickly between the front door and Megumi’s parting lips that edge on the beginning of his other words. “Come on, we’re here.” he smiles, leaving his side for a moment to knock on the door.  

Megumi leans against the wall at his side, his hand pressing on the side of his hip. He looks at him through the strands of his hair, and Itadori has never felt quite as transparent before.  

He folds blankets around Megumi’s body as he pushes him into his side of the bed, ruffling his hair gently with a warm towel as he hovers over him and cleans away all the wet and melted snow from his strands. Gojo had prepared a bowl of warm water which he’s brought to their room minutes before, along with a tray full of hot chocolate and plates of food arranged by Nobara on the sides. They're not nearly as shaken and concerned as Itadori is—after stepping in and being swarmed by their surveying gazes, they’ve noticed that Megumi is nowhere close to critical danger or forthcoming harsh recovery. He has only one significant wound, a deep and long slash over his calf from brushing his leg along the tree’s root. It’s dripping blood, but it doesn’t pool out from it, only sliding and trailing down his skin. Gojo has already patched it up, and Itadori is careful not to nudge his outstretched leg off of the pillow on which it’s currently supported on as he tabs the towel over his forehead.  

Still, Itadori can’t shed away the image of him reaching closer and closer to the line of the trees, can’t unhear the slap his hand has made against the soft and delicate side of his face.  

His fingers were constantly kept at close range as they walked up the stairs, even when Megumi uselessly swung his arm behind his back to sway his hands away. He's not willing to push aside now either, hiking up the blankets to Megumi’s nose and tattering his face with slow strokes, almost nipping the end of the towel on his bruise. His eyes are narrowed and somewhere in the corners he feels the ghost of tears starting to well up, not too much to overspill but enough to make it irritating to keep his eyes open for too long.  

Megumi watches him, his eyes looking up as he nuzzles his nose into the safety of his blankets. His shoulders sink through a sigh and he lifts his head, causing Itadori to move his hand away, sniffing and blinking quickly. “Please don’t start crying over this,” he mutters. It doesn’t sound like he’s irritated the way Itadori thought he would be; Megumi looks up at him and lets his eyes shape into soft edges, and when he brings his lips together, his smile is nearly shaky, soft and subtle.  

Itadori shakes his head, sniffing once again. The back of his hand wipes across his eyes, rapidly blinking the fogginess away as Megumi pushes himself further up on the bed. “I’m not crying.” he says, sticking his bottom lip slightly out as he looks at him. Megumi raises his eyebrow and tilts his head, the corner of his mouth stubbornly sticking into a scowl. He sighs, the air pushed out warm and long from his chest. “I just...” he starts, though there’s nothing in his mind that tells him with what to go on.  

His heart thuds against his stern and he feels the prickling of a headache forming. Though he knows the difference between this type of headache and the one that anticipates the sound of the curse laughing. It's the type that rolls on his mind and clogs on his nerves, the type that gets pushed forth by the sheer will of his own thinking and the combination of his raising blood pressure and heartbeat. He feels himself cracking in places, his chest squeezing and the back of his nape dripping lazily and hotly with slow trails of sweat. His lips move and his tongue licks at them, teeth biting indecisively in their flesh as he tightens his fists around the cloth in his hands.  

He can see Megumi leaning in closer, his mouth shaping out his name, though no sound comes out. It's a voiceless call, one that still makes Itadori look up and expands the heavy swell of his chest, the flush on his face and neck. Megumi looks back at him with his eyes widely opened, waiting almost patiently for him to say something; and the flickering in his eyes is telling and obvious—Megumi anticipates to hear something, and Itadori doesn’t fully know whether what he wants to say is also what Megumi wants to hear.  

He tries at least. He forces the words out. There’s no Sukuna to tell him to do it and no Gojo to imply the quick understanding of his thoughts. There's only him, his mind running free yet wildly, and the memory of Megumi throughout all of the time he’s known him for: all his little smiles or the cute way in which he frowns when Itadori widens the small gap to his room after he’s gratefully awakened by his pounding on the door, or how his skin glistens and his eyes turn brimmed with shifting colors under the lights of the Christmas tree—and it’s all utterly, completely, breathtaking. 

“I just want to know that you’re okay, that you’re not hurt. Ever.” he says, his eyes determinately looking back into Megumi’s own even as his fingers fidget over the towel and pick at the loose ends that stick through. He licks his lips and Megumi’s eyes glide down to the slide of his tongue, blinking them back up with a flicker quickly starting to glim over his vision. It's hopeful, almost, or fearful. Itadori is too heavily weighted down by his indecisiveness to speak to try and read out what Megumi’s eyes are trying to tell him. He clears his throat and pushes himself a little bit further back. “It pains me seeing any of you in danger, but when it’s you, it hurts way more. I’m worried sick thinking what Sukuna might do to you if it takes control and it forces out nightmares from my dreams whenever I imagine you getting hurt or worse. And now I hurt you, not Sukuna or a curse or anything else between the two. I pushed you off the hill and let you fall, and it hurts knowing that I did, because—” his tongue licks at his lips again, struggling to seep wetness over the dryness and push out a breathless sigh as he bites into the confidence to finish his sentence; to lay it out on display and let his feelings storming overhead.  

“I like you. I like you so much.” he says, his mouth’s corner lifting slightly into a crooked smile. His fingers dig into the towel, and he lowers it into his lap as he waits, his fidgeting stilling for the moment, leaving only the pounding of his heart to spell out his worry and anxiety.  

Megumi blinks and lets his mouth open wordlessly. His eyes are glimmering, shaking as he stares back at him and lets his irises widen. When he clumps his mouth shut, a strangled sound spills from his lips, swallowing the rest of his breath down on his throat.  

He suddenly pushes himself upwards, a fiery look shading across his eyes, and Itadori gasps as he flings his hand up to catch on his shoulder, trying to push him back down but halting as their gazes lock on each other, seeing the glimmer in his eyes, the wide and hopeful look that raptures his breath away. When Megumi averts his eyes over his face, he feels the edges of his cheeks heating up, the corners of his lips easing out as Megumi’s gaze lingers for several seconds over the soft shape of his mouth. 

“Do you mean it?” he asks. His hand travels up to the side of his face, thumb brushing on the line of his jaw, his eyes searching into the depths of his own. 

Itadori cranes his neck to let out more space for his fingers to lay out onto, his words coming out with breathless beats as he feels his lungs crumpling and emptying out. “Did you make a tradition out of doubting me?”  

Megumi huffs, his head shaking absently as he averts his eyes back down. His thumb swipes over his skin and the curl of his other fingers push him in closer by his neck. He's only a breath away from the other’s lips, and his air gets sucked in again as he watches the distance between them shortening. His throat is squeezed and it’s getting harder to breathe, his ears filling up with dull ringing and skin tingling underneath the press of Megumi’s fingertips.  

When their lips touch, it’s a fleeting feeling. His eyes blink closed and his lips ease out their temporal tightness, letting the softness of Megumi’s own lips swipe and press over his own. It's a slightly weird sensation too; his own lips still clinging to the wetness of his tongue whilst Megumi’s are yet to warm up from their temporal cold, particles of frostbite still lingering on the edge. But it’s delicate, soft and soothing, and it ends too fast.  

Megumi pulls away with the clicking sound of their lips parting aside. Itadori feels his chest squeezing and heaving, his heart pulsing a rush of blood through his veins that colors in crimson the sides of his cheeks. He opens his eyes and Megumi is already watching, his head tilted and his bottom lip caught into the nip of his teeth, nibbling onto it as he waits for him to say—or do—something. His tongue pushes out to taste the edge of his lips, running slow and careful. When he reaches out, his hand touches on the side of Megumi’s hip, and he hears him hissing in the back of his throat, pushing his body slightly away though not fully, still keeping merely centimeters in between their noses.  

Itadori grins, his finger tapping down on his shirt. “Is this okay?” 

Megumi blows out a short breath, his fingers trailing up over Itadori’s cheek and tracing the smooth line of his cheekbone. “I kissed you first. You tell me.” he says, the corner of his lips raising in a grin.  

He huffs through his chuckle, eyelids almost shutting down as he leans into his space and pries his lips open to meet his. And this time it’s firmer on both sides—Itadori doesn’t feel the raising panic swirling in his chest as strongly as before, and Megumi doesn’t tetter around the action thinking it’s a wrong interpretation of Itadori’s words. Their lips meet in the middle and clash with a muffled cling, his tongue pushing back into his mouth as he closes his lips and feels the drag of Megumi’s own against his skin.  

His hand presses over his side, thumb circling over the dip of his hipbone. He feels Megumi jerking under him, his hips shifting slightly on the bed to slide lower on the mattress as he slowly guides Itadori down with him until his head hits the pillow from behind, the back of his head thudding against the bedframe. He breaks the kiss with a groan, his hand trailing over Itadori’s cheek and clawing at the base of his neck.  

Itadori huffs as he brings his hand up from his hip and pushes it in between his head and the wood, fingers lightly massaging the back of his scalp with slow circling waves. “Stop hitting your head,” he says, pulling aside enough to watch the pinch forming on Megumi’s forehead. 

“It’s your fault.” Megumi pouts, his back arching as he tries to scoot further down without risking to slam against the headboard again.  

His fingers tighten around the loose locks of hair, and Megumi blinks up at him, his eyes flickering and widened. He tilts his head to press further into the fist of his hand, and Itadori leans over him, his other hand supporting him up as he lets it grip around the top edge of the headboard.  

“I thought you were implying that it’s not.” he whispers, and then he catches the flesh of his bottom lip with his teeth when Megumi opens his mouth again, feeling more than hearing the shudder that runs over the other’s body as he sinks down in the bed and runs his fingers through his hair.  

His eyes close and his teeth break free from his lip. His in the process of blinking his eyes open when his body is pushed back, thighs straining as he keeps himself in his kneeling position when Megumi’s lips crush against his again insistently, chasing out the shape of his lips and the heat of his tongue. He breathes through his nose, hand tracing and lowering the hem of his shirt off his collarbones, and Itadori sighs into his mouth, his breath drawled and humming, running down into Megumi’s chest.  

His tongue gently and tentatively swipes over the line where Megumi’s lips are glued together, pressing slightly harder once he feels the tremble that shakes over the thin gap of his mouth. His head tilts to the side, rushing out a warm breath as he lets Megumi to part his lips away, sliding his tongue lightly across their open-mouthed kisses. His face heats up more, colored by the rush of their adrenaline, and under him Megumi pulls him closer, his fingers tattering over his hair and face, the brush of his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks whenever they pull aside to gaze at each other. He finds the same look of wander every time, the same flicker of light in his eyes and the same feverish red paint across his cheeks to match his own.  

As Itadori leans down for another kiss, Megumi’s hand traces down and stops to press over his chest where his heart beats harshly against, and he feels the rhythm nudging persistently over his stern, enough to pound on the back of his palm. Megumi sighs into the kiss, his teeth nipping at his lip, and Itadori flutters his eyes closed, letting himself fall and sink into the warmth and security of Megumi’s arms.  

❅

He holds onto Megumi’s waist as they brush their teeth. His toothbrush slips and sticks to the inner side of his cheek as he keeps looking sideways at him into the mirror, his eyes shaping upwards into soft creases whenever Megumi catches his stare and narrows his eyes back. His fingers trail and tap lightly over his hipbone, occasionally feeling the shivers that itch down his spine, and Megumi heaves out a sigh before eventually pressing their sides against each other, hip to hip and shoulders brushing.  

After he washes his mouth, Megumi turns to him, his arm slipping off his waist yet not detaching entirely from his back. He leans slightly into his face, his head tilting. “Are you always going to be clingy from now on?” he asks, eyes drifting from his own down to his face in the middle of his question. 

Itadori flexes his fingers over where they’re still lingering, his thumb pushing and slipping under his shirt. He shrugs, his grin lifting “Well, right now, you might fall. Later, I don’t know. We'll see then.”  

Megumi hums, his pinch gradually vanishing from his forehead. His lips smooth out into a natural line, and his voice rolls on his tongue nicely and unhurried. “Okay,” he breathes, the sweet taste of their toothpaste slipping on his own tongue as Megumi’s lips open his.  

His back turns stiff as he hears the lock of their door being pushed. “I brought you two some pies. Gojo came back from Shiroki and we’ve already—oh my god!”   

Their lips break away with a click and a wet, tingling pop, and Itadori whips his head around over his shoulder to look at their bedroom door. Megumi pulls away quickly, his hand reaching out to grip on his forearm as his leg buckles under the weight of his step.  

Nobara holds the tray of pies with one hand as she covers her eyes with the other. Her lips are pursed and trembling, half-way into a grin and the other into a startled grimace that twitches the corners of her lips as she tries to let it fall and form. There's a deep line over her eyebrows where her finger is pressed against her forehead, a harsh crease from her frown, and under the shadow of her hovering arm, her cheeks are flushed with a visible red.  

Her shoulders tense up and they both can hear her clearing her throat as she prepares to talk. Her voice wavers, uncertain, and even though she turns her head slightly towards them, she makes no attempt to slip her hand off her eyes. “How long has this been going on?” she asks, something incriminating slipping withing her tone of voice, as if the thought of them keeping this secret angers her, makes her irritated enough to let the bite of her voice nip at their heads.  

Itadori turns to Megumi, their eyes locking with each other. He shrugs, and Itadori lets out a short laugh. “Only a few hours.” he tells her, grunting when he feels Megumi’s fingers flicking the back of his head. His hand pats over the scalp and he turns to look at him from the corner of his eyes, smiling when he sees the tint of pink over his cheeks. “So far,” he suffices additionally, watching enthralled as the blush spreads and deepens on Megumi’s skin.  

Nobara groans, placing the tray on Itadori’s nightstand with rushed moves, taking a few steps back towards the door. Itadori walks over the threshold of the bathroom, his hand curling around the doorknob. Nobara had pulled her hand from her face, watching the floor at her feet as she nibbles on his bottom lip, her shoulders still tensed and hiked to her ears. Then she breathes out, her head tilting over her shoulder and her eyebrows frowning low ever her eyes, pushing both her hands over her hips. “It better be only a few hours and that’s why you haven’t thought to let me know about this progressive, important and crucial turn of events in your relationship.” 

Itadori breathes through his laugh, hearing as Megumi steps up to his side and feels the edges of his fingers tugging on the back of his shirt. “We swear we were about to tell you as soon as we could.” he promises, watching as Nobara huffs, the air of her breath flipping her bangs to the side of her face. She nods, then smiles broadly, her hands brought up together into a quiet clap.  

“I’m happy for you two, I really am. But please, keep it down if you decide to do anything whilst we’re staying here. And  lock your doors  when you want to be intimate. I’m not into exhibitionism and I think—hope—you’re not either.” 

“It’ll be a problem with Sukuna seeing everything anyway.” Megumi says over his shoulder, forcing a groan out of both of their mouths as they turn to frown at him.  

Nobara tips down the doorknob, her shoulder pushing into the wood before she twists it open. “I’m not telling Gojo about this. You'll do it yourselves.” she says, her smile shaping out higher, more teasing, then she tells them good night as she opens the door and quickly slithers her way out.  

Megumi sighs, his head falling down until his chin touches the crock of his shoulder. “I feared it would come down to that,” he mutters, his nose ghosting over his skin and breath tingling underneath his jaw, causing him to shiver. He turns, his arm slipping back over him to pull Megumi closer as they drag their feet to their bed.  

“It’s fine, I think he already knows.” Itadori says, stepping aside from him to walk to his side.  

Megumi stills, his hands freezing over his blanket as he looks at him. “Does he?” he asks, his voice rushing out with a slight panic.  

He waves his hand absently, fluffing out his pillow as he sits down on the bed. “It’s just something he’s told me this morning. I think he saw the way I looked at you lately and he just read me through like an open book.” 

Megumi is quiet for a short while, his hands hovering over the corner of his blanket. He then groans, loud enough to make Itadori look up with his eyebrows raised over his forehead. “That damned asshole,” he grits through his teeth, and Itadori frowns, one eyebrow lifting. “He kept on harassing me because I have a crush on you, and it wasn’t enough to stick just to that, he had to stick his nose into your own business.”  

Itadori blinks quickly in confusion as he watches Megumi fumbling with his hands over his side of the bed, his lips pushed and pressed together into a shape of a pout while he huffs through his nostrils. His cheeks are heating up hearing the off-hand confession, but he pushes it aside for now to focus on the thing that itches slightly deeper on his brain. “He harassed you?” 

Megumi shrugged one of his shoulders, slightly tilting his head and letting out a long breath that broke the tense pout of his lips. “He put us together to sleep in the same bed because he knew I'd be freaking out about it.” he says as means of explaining, his eyes narrowing as he paws at his pillow.  

Itadori huffs through a laugh, his knees pressing into the mattress as he looks at him over the safety line. “I’d thank him for that. Otherwise I'd still be thinking that my interest in you is purely, entirely and innocently friendly in nature.” He grins as Megumi clears his throat, craning his neck to the side and letting the blush rise and settle over his cheeks. His legs slip underneath the blanket, and his shoulder leans against the mountain of pillows, pinning the side of his head on the top to try and catch the line of his sight. “For how long?” he asks, and judging by the way Megumi swallows and looks back at him tentatively, he knows the other understood the meaning behind his question.  

“To be honest, I think since the first day I saw you.”  

“Oh,” he breathes, his head snapping back up as he blinks and stares at the flickering light within Megumi’s eyes. He feels his heart knocking against his stern and filling up the silence in his ears. “I ate a finger that day, Megumi. You really do have weird taste.” 

“You’re still eating fingers. And I never said you’re quintessentially the definition of a good taste in a partner either.” 

Itadori hums, his eyelashes fluttering. He pushes on the pillows and feels them tipping forward to the other side, dangling on the verge of falling. “Am I good partner for you, though?” he asks, his voice dripping with honey as he grins and flicks his finger underneath the edge of Megumi’s chin.  

The other blinks down at him, his features unchanged. His feet stomp back on the floor suddenly, and Itadori pulls away from the safety line as he sees Megumi’s hand reaching on top of the pile and pushing, tugging sharply on the edges of the pillows. He flings them over his side, littering all of them over the floor blindly, and Itadori tilts his head and feels his lips pulling into an amused grin as he watches him demolishing the mountain.  

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice shaking due to his subdued laughter.  

Megumi flickers his gaze at him, one side of his mouth lifting. He sets the knee of his good leg on the bed, then drags the last pillow to the edge and throws it down along with the other. “We don’t need the safety line anymore, I think.” he says, his hands trailing over the warm side of the bed that’s been covered all throughout the last few nights.  

Itadori laughs, his chuckles pushing lightly and clear from his throat. His hand slides on the mattress and his fingers curl around Megumi’s own, pulling on them softly and supporting his body on his elbow as he looks up at Megumi through the fall of his bangs. “No, I don’t think so, either.” he says, grinning silly as Megumi blows a short wave of breath over his nose and links their lips together with a firm and languid kiss.  

His hand pushes on his shoulder once Megumi tries to crawl his arms around him, tipping his head slightly further on the pillow to look him in the eye. Megumi has his head on Itadori’s pillow, taking the corner while both are struggling not to let their heads fall down the surface. He's so close that Itadori can count the dense number of his eyelashes and notice the changing blues in his irises, the colors that fade into darker or lighter, the undertones that he’s never even perceived before.  

He licks his lips and clears his throat. “Maybe we should wait to snuggle up against each other after your leg is healed.” 

It's dark in the room, the moonlight raining through the glass and filling up the space only barely as it sticks out temporarily at times from beneath the heavy clouds. And still, he can see the way Megumi squints his eyes at him and how his eyebrows pinch and lower over his forehead. He sighs, the air curling across his nose and swiping over his eyelashes, blinking the breath away from his eyes. “Just shut up and hold me, Itadori.” he says slowly, and Itadori feels his throat closing up as he swallows. 

“Whatever you want,” he says, pushing himself slightly from the bed. Megumi’s head tilts on the pillow to watch him hovering from above, and then he hears him grunting in the back of his throat as Itadori puts his weight over him, their chests pressing against each other and arms circling tight and secured around his waist. His leg pushes slightly over his thigh, enough to fit his knee in between, letting Megumi’s leg to slide up slowly over his thigh and catch their ankles together into a loose interlocking. His arms sneak up over his shoulders, and Itadori’s voice rattles lazily over his vocal cords as Megumi plays with the ends of his hair and tugs lightly at them with careful fingers.  

His face nuzzles up against Megumi’s shoulder, lips pressing swiftly over his collarbone. “Good night,” he says, his voice muttering against his skin and breath leaving out tender touches as it trails down on Megumi’s chest.  

His hands pull him closer and his fingers tighten around his hair. Itadori closes his eyes and shapes out his lips into a dreamy and drunken smile, and he drifts to sleep with Megumi’s “Good night, Yuuji,” as a lullaby to his ears.  

❅

The next morning, Itadori wakes up first. He prides himself on that, his heart swelling with giddiness as he feels the slow and dragged breathes Megumi lets against his shoulder, still raptured away by the shifting of his dreams. His arms are circled around Itadori’s waist, fingers latching and curling around the back of his shirt, and he moves lightly to push himself up, his right hand running up over Megumi’s hair and sensing the tightening of his fingers around his clothing as he tugs at the ends.  

The sun is over the line of the mountains, higher in its climbing over the sky to signal the end of morning already. The rays slip and drift from the glass, raining down over their bed and shading up on Megumi’s skin, carving the dips and shadows of his cheekbone and sharp line of his jaw. His thumb traces down from his hair, gingerly pressing over his face and running his nail bluntly over the line of his neck. Megumi’s lips press against each other, the sound of them touching clicking in the silence, and his hum is muffled inside of his mouth, filling his cavity and vibrating down on his vocal cords. He feels it against his fingertip, pulsing slow and languid over his skin. Megumi’s nose is pushed into his side as he nuzzles back, his head tilting on the pillow to touch the bridge of his nose over Itadori’s throat, his lips ghosting over his skin and blowing out cold and short breaths.  

His head turns as he hears the doorknob turning, pushing his head up to see who comes through. White hair sneaks out from the doorframe, and Gojo turns his head towards their side, his sunglasses pulled over his nose so that his eyes are fully uncovered. They switch in between their bodies when he finds them lying on the bed, eyelashes blinking and fluttering over his cheeks. His gaze turns back on his, and Itadori tightens his hold over Megumi’s head, his heart dully pounding on his stern.  

Gojo notices it, his eyes flickering down to the back of his hand. He grins, his lips pulling into a sharp and cutting smile, and his head shakes, the bangs of his hair swiping over his forehead. He steps inside, lightly pushing the door shut, and extends the tray of food towards the side of his bed. “You two should start coming down for your food. This is the last time I'm going to bring it to your noses. One drip of coffee on the bed and you’ll be sleeping on the couch downstairs.” 

His voice is hushed, lowered as he keeps from waking the other up. Itadori huffs and rolls his eyes, his body pushing slightly upwards on the mattress to raise his hand at him and place the tray on his lap. “He’s wounded, give him a break.” he says, patting sympathetically over Megumi’s head and ruffling the back of his hair with the pads of his fingers. 

“I am,” Gojo says. “That’s why I brought you breakfast to your bed. But I will remind you that tonight is the New Year’s Eve dinner, and you should do something about your reluctance to leave the room, because we’re all going to gather at the dinner table.” 

“Are Maki and the others here yet?” he asks, his spine pushing on the headboard as he lifts his head up excitedly. He remembers Nobara’s giddy laugh whilst she told them about the other’s plans to crush on their cabin during the New Year’s Eve, her phone held into her hand with Maki still on the other line, her voice slipping and running from the speakers as she laughed and answered Nobara’s additional questions—at what hour they’ll be coming, with whose car, if Panda could even fit into the backseat of Inumaki’s jeep.  

Gojo shakes his head, his grin lifting slightly on his lips. “They’re on their way. Maybe around 5pm; Nanami is here though. He's eating down in the kitchen—like any regular person.” 

“Oh,” Itadori breathes, his smile widening and stretching on his cheeks. He blinks up at him and pushes his hips lower in the bed, his hand curling over Megumi’s head until his fingers come down to part the few bangs from his forehead and tuck them neatly behind his ear. “Tell him we say good morning.” 

Gojo scoffs, his eyes closing shut as his eyebrows pinch together lightly. When he looks at Megumi, his smile slightly drifts off and freezes into a half-frown, thin and strained on his mouth. He reaches out and his fingers touch softly on the side of his leg where the white patch is fitted around his calf, supported through the night by the pillow under his thigh. “How is he?” he asks him, tracing his fingers off the bandage and averting his eyes to Itadori. 

He smiles, his hand falling to Megumi’s shoulder. “He’s alright. Kind of limping but it’s not too deep or infected. He insists on it being nothing.” 

“Yeah, he always does.” Gojo mutters under his breath, his lips tugging into a soft smile. When he brings back his hand, he curls his fingers and flexes their articulations, letting his knuckles crack and ease out their strain. “How are you?” he asks then, his eyes drifting back to him.  

Itadori blinks away the particles of lingering tiredness from his eyelids, his tongue poking the inner side of his cheek. His fingers twitch and itch over Megumi’s skin, pulsing little spasms throughout his veins as he trails them over the edge of his hairline. Megumi sighs, his lips parting to mouth something at his shirt, the muttering lost and dragged by his voice, and his smile widens, eyes brimming with a flickering glim as he fixes his gaze on Gojo’s lingering stare.  

“I’m so lucky,” he breathes, his heart stuttering and swelling with warmth. 

Gojo chuckles, his hand coming down on his head and flicking his fingers over his scalp. Itadori blinks his eyes closed, his head tilting towards him and pushing out a sigh, barely rolled out from his tongue.  

He pulls his hand away after slipping a few hairs over his forehead, turning around towards the door. His head turns over his shoulder as he pulls the gap wider, and his tilted and cutting grin is back on its place again when Gojo locks his gaze with his again. “Come down after you’re done,” he says, and Itadori nods, his smile frozen on his face and side heated up by Megumi’s chest, pressed and raising against him with languid and calm breaths. 

They came down for lunch time, Itadori gripping the back of his shirt as they climbed down the stairs and Megumi pressing his spine on his fingertips, lightly keeping the contact on his skin while he faked nonchalance with his eyes absently blinking towards the living room. Nanami is sitting in the armchair, his back straight and lined with the pillow behind him as he frowns at Gojo’s hand outstretched to his face, dangling a loose pocket watch from his fingers.  

“I’m just saying,” they hear him say as they step behind the couch, Itadori’s hand slowly and reluctantly slipping off from his shirt. “You like watches! Why is this different?” 

“It’s red. Blindingly red.” 

Gojo shrugs, his finger hooking around the string and flinging it to the side, creating a wide loop in the air and catching the round watch in the center of his palm. “Does the color really matter? You can put it up as a red flag for when your working program is finished.” 

“You’re a red flag.” Nanami grunts, his voice rolling out into a groan, but he extends his hand to accept the watch either way, his thumb swiping over the glass and bringing it closer to his face. He pulls off his glasses, squinting his eyes as he turns the object in his hand and flicks his fingertip over the trap on top, opening the hatch to look at the clock fully.  

Gojo groans, his hands curling into fists and pushing into the sides of his hips. “And after I bothered to collect a present for you.” 

“I still don’t see any presents for us.” Nobara says from her place on the couch, leaning her head against the resting back as she sips from her hot drink, the steam raising over her head. She snatches her head back when she hears Itadori huffing, his fingers tapping on the spread-out locks of her hair over the furniture to grab her attention. Her gaze snips back from Itadori to Megumi, her eyes shaping slightly into curved lines as he smiles, her teeth digging into the edges of her straw. She tilts her head down, and Itadori lightly flicks the strands of her hair on his finger before he steps aside around the couch.  

“Your Christmas presents were enough, I think.” Gojo says. His eyes shift up to them, and Itadori catches the teasing tilt of his grin as he slumps back into the pillows. “Look who finally decided to join us,” he says in a languid voice, his tone light and quiet.  

Nanami raises his head to look at them, his lips pulling barely into a show of a smile, though it’s still tensed and tight on the corners of his lips, and only the soft dimples formed by small cresses in his skin signal the arch of his grin. “Boys,” he says in greeting, his head slightly nodding towards them. 

Megumi hums, one side of his mouth lifting. His hand presses into the couch and he grunts softly under his breath as he tries to extend his leg and set it on the table at their feet. Itadori braces his hand under the upper side of his knee, pulling it towards his waist gradually and carefully as he turns around and leans over the floor, using his other hand to curl around a stray pillow and easily slip it underneath his ankle. Megumi clicks his tongue, his fingers flicking his shoulder weakly as he presses back against him, though when he looks up at his face, there’s a faded red expanding over his cheeks, and Itadori grins stupidly as he watches the shy sideway glance Megumi spares to his side.  

He pulls up and tilts his head, bumping his nose on the blade of Megumi’s cheekbone and tracing its tip down on his skin, and Megumi shivers under him, his stiff shoulders easing out as he feels Itadori’s breath over his ear. When he sighs, collected and short, Itadori feels it in his own chest, fueling him up and warming the corners of his ribcage, slithering up all the way over his throat.  

He pulls away and lets his head bump lightly with the side of Megumi’s own, craning his neck as Megumi slides down further and fits his head into the crock of his shoulder. Nobara chuckles next to him, her breath caught into her mouth as she grins while watching, sipping until she reaches the bottom of her mug and tracing the end of her straw over the remaining few drops.  

Nanami however, isn’t as amused by the show of affection—he blinks, his eyebrows raising, and then he turns to Gojo, his eyes shaping into thin and accusatory lines. “What did you do?” he asks. 

Gojo pries his eyes away from them and blinks down at him, his eyebrows frowning. He runs his hand over his mouth as if saying that there’s something hidden which he wants to keep for himself even before he actually opens his mouth to speak. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he grins, his fingers flicking through the air and then pushing his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. As he walks by, he tilts his head to wink, and Itadori hears the groan Megumi forms in his throat loud and unobscured.  

It's nearly 6pm when the others eventually come barging through the door. They can hear Maki talking even before she knocks on the door, their attention lifted away from the ordering of their plates on the table as they heard the few first snips of words. Nobara flings from her side as she set down the glasses for each person and strides the way to the front door, her feet skipping over the floor. She wears a dress, fitting slightly over the line of her knees, and it swings to the side as she pulls the handle, the cold from the outside seeping in and crawling at the bare skin of her arms, making her shiver.  

Maki turns around from the others, her eyes blinking down at her through the fogginess of her glasses. She grins, as usual, pulling her lips widely over her cheeks and shaping out her teeth, then her arms outstretch towards her, fingers pressing and pushing on her shoulder blades as soon as reaches over her.  

“I’m surprised you’re all still alive.” she says, trailing her gaze from the top of Nobara’s head to Itadori’s eyes, though there’s not much he could see under the layers of frozen steam painted over her glasses. “I know Fushiguro has adjusted to it. But how did you  get roped into this?” 

Inumaki closes the door, pulling the scarf off of his neck and scanning the room attentively. He leans back after he places the scarf into the hanger, and his body slumps into Panda’s fur, his hands sticking into the pockets of his jacket as he watches them breaking their hug. Nobara sighs and her lips turn down into a dramatic pout, her bottom lip trembling. She narrows her eyes and looks over her shoulder. “You could very well call it kidnapping. I hadn’t even known we’ll be staying in the middle of nowhere.” 

“It wasn’t kidnapping for me,” Itadori says quickly. He sets down the bottle of wine in the center of the table, unclenching his fingers from the neck of the bottle and then bringing his arm back to sneak around Megumi’s waist. He feels his muscles tensing under his grip, stumbling slightly into his side as he loses his balance, gripping over the back of the closest chair to keep himself up on his feet. “I came here to sort things out with my now-boyfriend.” he grins, his fingers lightly dancing over Megumi’s side. He can see all of them frowning and parting their lips in confusion, and it pulls more into his grin, the giddiness bubbling underneath his skin, caged between his ribs.  

Megumi pushes his shoulder into his own, their hips bumping and the force of it making himself unsteady on his feet. “I don’t think that was your initial thought.” 

Itadori blinks up at him and squints his eyes, head tilting as he stares back at the flickering and dazed blue in Megumi’s eyes, watching him through the loops of his eyelashes. “Doesn’t matter if it was or not. It matters that my newest thought was to call you my boyfriend.” 

“I don’t recall us putting a label to this yet.” 

“Oh? Would sweetheart work for you better? Honey?  Babe?”   

Megumi presses his palm over his lips, muffling the rest of his words from his throat. Itadori mumbles against his palm, his cheeks puffing out irritated, and then he parts his lips against his skin to draw his tongue out, licking the hand that traps his mouth shut. Megumi hisses, his hand pulling away from him immediately as he shakes off the lingering wetness from his skin, and Itadori clicks his tongue dully on the roof of his teeth, his chuckle spilling out through the thin gap of his lips as he grins. 

Maki turns to Nobara, her scarf halfway pulled off. “What did I miss?” 

She turns her gaze to hers, her shoulders raising and dragging out the low sigh of faked irritation through her teeth. “Honestly, I don’t think I'm sure either.” 

Their dinner is dominated by laughter and running words, leaving no prolonged time to slither by in silence. Their food is quickly wiped off from their plates and their drinks are chugged down their throats, passing the wine bottle from one to the other and then trimming their fingers on the table in anticipation and excitement as Gojo raises the champagne over his head and lifts his hand to hover over it, the loud pop that follows ringing throughout the whole cabin.  

His throat is dry from talking and laughing, and the hours fly by unnoticed, snowballing against each other until they reach the few minutes before midnight—before the new year’s beginning. His eyes pull aside from Nobara as she’s interrupted from her story by Nanami, who dangles his red pocket watch over the table and announces the fifteen minutes remaining from their current year. They push their chairs back and Gojo guides them up the stairs, his feet stepping over two steps at the time.  

“Can we really see fireworks from here?” Nobara hushes her voice as she leans in between their shoulders, her eyes sliding to Megumi’s profile as they walk.  

He nods, turning around to smile at her reassuringly and leaves no further explanation as they reach the second floor and Gojo pulls the sliding glass-doors of the balcony.  

They push their hips against the railing, looking up at the night sky, the expanse of it flickering with the sharp glow of the stars. He's never seen the sky clearer than now before—not since they’ve come here and definitely not within the days spent in Tokyo. The darkness is only in fractions blinking back at them, covered up by the glowing rays of moonlight and the thin, fragile beams that snipe through the atmosphere from the infinite stars. The mountains’ picks are painted in black against the lights, their sharpness evident and outlined. From between two of the mountains shoots out a shaky and dark-blue line, crossing the sky overhead and passing over the roof of their cabin, the sides of it painted in light blue and white, shaping out the heavy multitude of stars that draw out the milky way.  

Megumi sets his elbows on the railing and leans his chest down, his hair gently wiping from his forehead as he looks up. Their pinkies are interlocked, have been ever since they’ve stepped away from the table and gone up the stairs till here—Itadori locking their fingers together playfully and Megumi tugging back on it as he tried to slip away. He brings his arm over the side, their hands hovering over the ground below, and Megumi squeezes lightly, bringing his pinkie into the cup of his palm.  

“Thank you,” he says, whispering the words out softly only for Itadori’s ears.  

The others aren’t paying much attention to them. They're all bundled up together, their glasses raised to their lips and mouths constantly moving as they talk and avert their eyes towards the sky with glimmers in their corners, turning to Nanami whenever he parts his lips to count down another minute. His eyes pry away from them, and he focuses his attention back on him. “For what?” he asks, leaning his head down to catch the sight of his hovering eyelashes. 

Megumi moves his eyes to his, the blue in them so transparent and wild it nearly steals his breath away. There's no hardness left in between, no fogginess left to linger on the glassy layer of his eyes to mask away the hidden truth of his expression. Before, Itadori had learned how to read his emotions through the barriers put up by Megumi’s own will—now however, there’s no need to drill his focus into unlocking the meaning. He can just look at him and see, clearly and unmistakably, the softness that lightens the flicker in his eyes and that mirrors the warm smile tugged along his lips.  

“For agreeing to come here with me. For this Christmas,” he shrugs, his eyes pulling away from his and blinking up at the sky. “For everything else.” he smiles, his cheeks stretching until a small shape of a dimple digs into the flesh of his darkly bruised skin.  

Itadori cranes his head to the side, feeling his cheeks heating up and seeping down their heat to the inner side of his chest. His hand comes up between them and his finger presses lightly into the hole of his dimple, making Megumi huff and puff his cheeks whole again. “There’s no need to thank me for that, silly.” he says, closing his eyes as he dips his head down and presses his lips to his cheek, lingering as he feels the warmth of his skin increasing under his touch.  

He breaks away as he hears the others loudly counting down the seconds, their glasses raised to the sky. There's a loud pop that rings through the air and drags its whooshing noise on end, and Itadori straightens up as he averts his eyes on the horizon, squinting as he tries to determine where the noise is coming from.  

Megumi pushes himself up from the railing and steps behind him. His hand unclenches its hold around his finger, and then he brings both of his on his cheeks, pressing into them to squish his face and tilting it up. Itadori blinks as his gaze focuses on the sky, then widens as he spots the raising line that leaves in its wake particles of sparkles. It reaches high over the peaks of the mountains, and then it breaks and extends, the firework spilling out shades of golden as it finally explodes into the sky, its bang resonating loudly in their eardrums.  

The first is followed by a second, then by other two, and then some more. Lines shooting up and sniping through the air, pulsing light, sparkles and sound as they break out into the atmosphere. His breath leaves through his lips slowly, transfixed into the breathtaking view, and his back slumps into Megumi’s chest, feeling the heat coming from him seeping in throughout his veins, the other’s breath blowing warm and tingling over his neck.  

Megumi's arms drop and settle over the sides of his waist, circling around him loosely as he lowers his head on Itadori’s shoulder and pushes his chin down, bringing the sides of their foreheads together.  

“A new year together?” Megumi says, his voice hushed over Itadori’s ear and warming the side of his face.  

He presses his shoulder blades into his chest, head tilting and turning away from the sky. When he looks at him, Megumi’s eyes are filled with golden, the lights from above reflected into his gaze and shifting, turning and pulsing with every new explosion breaking through the air.  

His head thuds against his shoulder and his hands come up to grip around his wrists, fingertips pressing and finding the pulse of his heartbeat, quickening as Itadori blows an exhale on the soft shape of his mouth. Megumi is like a rain of snowflakes; he’s like the touch of moonlight against someone’s skin, like the slow and soothing pull of the ocean’s waves into the dead of the night. He’s like a fire burning and licking at everything that it touches, and Itadori is willing to turn his bones into ashes.  

“You know,” he starts, his eyes searching through the expanse of Megumi’s own, watching the fireworks through the lenses of his vision. His thumb digs over his skin, tracing down on the bone of his wrist and brushing along his hand until his finger hooks and tightens at the base of Megumi’s own thumb. “You really leave me breathless sometimes” 

Megumi grins, the light in his eyes burning. His head tilts to the side and he leans down until his lips hover over his own, the touch ghosting over his skin. “Good,” he says, mouthing the word on Itadori’s mouth and licking his lips, the tip of his tongue brushing past Itadori’s bottom lip. “I’m about to do that again.” 

As Itadori tips his head back and lets the heat of his mouth swirl down his throat, he thinks he’s already gotten used to the shape of his lips, the tenderness of his skin, the sweet taste lingering on Megumi’s tongue. They could make a tradition out of this, their kissing—every day and night, for the rest of their remaining years. And it’ll be better than any other.