Chapter Text
Megumi stares, unable to process what's unfolding in front of him.
"It's your departed friend, Itadori Yuuji!" Gojo beams, and God fucking damn it—Megumi thinks about killing Gojo on a daily basis but this, this is actually reaching new heights. It’s never been fully serious before.
This isn’t the first time he's been in a situation that has completely knocked the air out of his lungs, but nothing can compare to the nauseating cocktail of emotions that swirls inside of him upon seeing Yuuji pop out of that cart, not a scratch on him, pink-cheeked and excited. The spike in his cursed energy makes Nobara take a surprised step to the side, even in all the commotion.
He wants to scream, mostly. Cry, scream, brutally murder Gojo in a horribly graphic and gory way, and cry some more.
But he doesn't do any of those things, like he never does. Instead, he finds himself feeling exhausted suddenly, down to the bone, like the dam that's been building inside of him for the last weeks finally bursts, and the flood leaves nothing but devastation and ruins in its wake. The countless sleepless nights suddenly catch up to him all at once.
When Yuuji tries to make eye contact with him several times as the Tokyo team meets up afterward, planning their attack, Megumi can't quite bring himself to meet his eyes. He probably wants to make sure they’re okay, but how could they be? Megumi can’t pretend, not yet. He needs to collect the scattered pieces of himself first.
He wasn't even remotely close to being done mourning Yuuji’s death.
<—
A week after Yuuji's passing, Megumi still can't force himself to walk down the hall where their rooms are. It's irrational and out of character, but the thought of seeing the door to Yuuji's room, right next to his, and thinking about all of his stuff in there: his manga, all his dumb posters, the hoodies strewn about— The thought of all that sitting idly, collecting dust like some sick shrine, makes him want to burn the whole school to the ground. There's a twisted irony somewhere in that Gojo decided to place them in the rooms right next to each other, when he could have easily chosen a room far away for Yuuji.
Back then, after the initial shock, he'd been grateful for it. Now it seems needlessly cruel.
He does his best to avoid it altogether, only going to his room when the lights in the hall are completely turned off and the night outside makes it impossible to see anything.
Still, he can't sleep, knowing Yuuji isn't there on the other side of the wall anymore, snoring, kicking the blankets, mumbling in his sleep.
He's not, because he's dead.
Nothing remains, as far as Megumi knows.
The couch in the common area isn't very comfortable but it's his only option. The fridge hums in soothing white noise and anything is better than the suffocating silence in his room. Sometimes, he can hear Nobara crying softly from her room down the other hall.
That is, until she pads into the common room one night, and gives Megumi on the couch a tired look, eyes red and swollen.
"Come on," she mumbles, nodding her head towards her room.
And Megumi doesn't have it in him to protest. Maybe he'll actually get some sleep, for once. So they cram into Nobara's bed sort of uncomfortably and neither of them says a word, because there isn't much to say. Nobara's too proud, Megumi feels too fragile. He doesn't want to reveal how broken he is because of all of this, even though she clearly knows, and feels the same way.
It hits him that Nobara probably made him sleep in there for his sake, not for hers.
Friends like this are underrated.
"G’night, Meg," she mumbles, knowing full well that he hates it when she calls him that, and he hums, looking at the stars in the sky outside her window, blinking sadly.
"Night, Nobara."
They immerse themselves completely in training. It helps to have a concrete goal to work towards- the exchange event with Kyoto is a welcome distraction. Gojo is even more absent than usual, and Megumi doesn’t think. He doesn’t. He shuts his brain off and pushes himself so hard his body hurts every day, aching from the strain, hoping that it’ll be enough to knock him out cold in the evening.
It never is.
“Live a long life.”
The stars are brighter on Nobara’s side of the building, and it’s become his nightly routine to blink back at them, stare slowly, count and trace lines between them until his eyes are swimming. Nobara’s bedding is silky and pink and smells like her soap, and he’s sure he could draw her entire room from memory by now, down to the last hair tie on the desk-turned-vanity. Her breathing soothes him somewhat, even if it’s too hot and too cramped for two uncomfortable people in her bed, and he still can’t sleep.
Frankly, he doesn't want to sleep, because he knows exactly what will happen. He'll see Yuuji's face all splattered with blood and smiling gently as he says those damned words, crashing to the ground, painting his surroundings red. He'll feel his own hands wet and warm, he'll feel that bottomless pit inside of him growing more at the sight of Yuuji's open, vacant eyes, void of light. He'll feel like throwing up, again, and he'll think about the weight of Yuuji in his arms as he carried his lifeless body out to wait for Ijichi.
Is there something crueler than sitting on a curb, waiting for a ride, next to your newly murdered friend? To have to see a tan chest losing its color, with a horrible crater in it in your peripheral vision, cracked, white ribs motionless in the moonlight?
Megumi had seen people die before, plenty of times. Too many to count. This time was different, it had never been someone he himself felt so responsible for. Yuuji was only a sorcerer in the first place because he ate that finger to save Megumi back at his school—a guy he'd only just met and didn't know anything about. He was just that kind of person.
Megumi sighs, shifting on the bed, forcing himself to focus on the stars again and how they seem to shrink and swell a little, rhythmically, almost like a pulse, like the tide ebbs and flows, like someone's chest should rise and fall.
Should.
This whole situation is exactly why Megumi, as a rule, doesn’t get attached to people.
—>
“Megumi,” Yuuji says, in his soft, uncertain voice, and hearing his name spoken by him again makes something dislodge painfully inside of Megumi.
He’s in the infirmary, still not fully healed from the buds that Hanami made sprout in his abdomen. Moving around hurts, so Yuuji and Nobara have been visiting him the last two days, munching pizza on his bed, leaving crumbs everywhere, messing up his sheets, and knocking over the books he brought.
And he’s never been so happy.
It’s confusing though, because so much is unresolved. Yuuji still looks at him all nervous, overcompensating, trying extra hard to make sure everyone is happy. Gojo hasn’t had the balls to face him yet, which is probably smart on his part, because Megumi keeps fantasizing about driving him through a mincer, chopping him up into little pieces and feeding them to his remaining Divine Dog. Or, maybe roast him slowly, like a rotisserie chicken.
He looks at Yuuji, who gingerly sits down on the edge of the bed. He hasn’t come alone before, and Megumi understands why. He wants to say that—that he understands. He’s angry, but not with Yuuji first and foremost, because he knows that Yuuji just wanted to do good by Gojo, wanted to show that he can do what he has to, get stronger and stay in control.
Even so, he’s a little mad at Yuuji, selfishly. Perhaps some part of him wanted Yuuji to disobey Gojo’s orders, break the rules, for him.
Yuuji really seems to bring out his emotional and irrational side.
He has a lot he wants to say, but instead he just meets Yuuji’s gentle brown eyes, lit with poorly concealed worry, and waits for him to speak.
“I, uh. I know you’re mad at me.” Yuuji says, and pauses, like he has a slight hope that Megumi might protest that statement. When he doesn’t, Yuuji smiles a little sadly, and continues.
“I’m really sorry, Megumi. I didn’t think... It seemed like Gojo had a plan, and I trusted him and didn’t consider how hurt you guys were. I’m really, really sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
Megumi’s chest swells painfully.
“You made Kugisaki cry,” he mumbles, blinking hard, shifting the focus away from himself and his emotions. Keeping everything on the inside, where it ought to be.
Yuuji sniffles. “I know. I’ll apologize to her later as well, though I know she’ll just hit me and deny it.”
Megumi nods. “True.”
The silence grows, and Megumi doesn’t look at Yuuji anymore, can’t bear to, just watches his own fingers flex and un-flex on the bed.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Yuuji tries.
Megumi sighs. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.”
I missed you. I missed you. I missed you. Now you’re here, I don’t know what to do.
Since he was watching his hand he doesn’t immediately understand what’s happening when soft pink hair suddenly fills his vision, and Yuuji carefully wraps his arms around his shoulders on the bed, leaning into the crook of his neck. He hugs him gently to make sure Megumi’s chest doesn’t hurt more from his injuries—not knowing how much it hurts in other, unspeakable ways.
“Yuuji,” Megumi croaks, trying to keep his voice steady, squeezing his eyes shut.
It feels unreal, even though he’s been spending time with that idiot for days, it still didn’t fully seem like he was back until now, not until he could feel his very noticeable warmth, and smell his strawberry shampoo. It’s like opening a time capsule.
“You’re really here,” Megumi mumbles, surprising himself by saying it out loud.
“I’m here,” Yuuji confirms, speaking into the shoulder of his shirt.
Megumi clumsily raises a hand to pat him on the back. “Good.”
Stay.
Gojo at least has the decency to visibly flinch when Megumi enters the training room. He’s still not fully healed, clutching his bandaged side over the t-shirt, and glaring darkly at Gojo as he steps into the room. His shadow vibrates around him.
“Here to chat?” Gojo asks, voice giving nothing away, and Megumi feels the anger rise in him, acidic and consuming and awful.
“You obviously already know what I’m gonna say, so I’ll keep it brief,” Megumi says, through gritted teeth. “There was no reason to keep that from us. I don’t care about your bullshit excuse of hiding it from higher-ups, you know we would have never told a soul if you let us know he was alive. You know it. It would have been so easy for you to keep us in the loop, even if just barely, so we didn’t have to go around for ages believing our friend was dead. But you didn’t. You use people for your own gains and don’t give a shit about anyone’s feelings as long as the outcome is what you want.”
Gojo slumps somewhat, and thankfully doesn’t say anything, eyes hidden behind his dark glasses.
Megumi turns to leave, and starts sliding the door shut when Gojo speaks.
“I did it for his safety, you know.”
Megumi slams the door back open so hard the frame cracks, making a loud bang that echoes down the hallway, feeling how cursed energy rages through his body.
“You did it for your fucking self!” He yells, and Gojo’s face is unreadable. “That’s shitty, even for you. Lying to my face.”
He gives the older man one last icy look before he turns once more, and his voice is low and dangerous when he speaks. “If you ever pull something like this again, I’ll kill you. I mean it. I’ll find a way, even if it’s the last thing I do.”
The weight of his own words sinks into him, heavy from the impossible truth they carry. It's not pleasant. But it's the most sincere and honest he's ever allowed himself to be.
It's late when he gets back, and it feels so strange to walk through the dorm entrance and see Yuuji's red shoes haphazardly standing there on the floor, as if nothing ever happened. Like they were never missing. Megumi hasn't really been back there since the fight with Hanami because he was being kept under watch in the infirmary, and it really feels like walking through a strange rift in time.
The whole place smells like homemade food, meat and spices, and it makes him realize both how hungry he is, and how long it's been since somebody actually cooked at the dorms.
He finds Yuuji standing with his back turned in the kitchen, humming to himself with his dumb apron tied crookedly, and seeing that, even before Yuuji notices that he's arrived, makes Megumi's heart ache tenfold. He looks so at home, so at peace, like there's nowhere else he'd fit better.
"Megumi," Yuuji exhales, almost in a content sigh, like he's been waiting for him.
Megumi can't find the words, he can only feel his anger from talking to Gojo melt away from him like the wax of a candle.
He doesn't even see Nobara on the couch before she coughs loudly, and rolls her eyes in a badly concealed fond way when he stares at her with wide eyes.
"Blatant favoritism," she remarks, and it makes Yuuji laugh in his usual unabashed, unrestrained fashion, that Megumi has missed so much. He sounds so happy. When Megumi looks back at him, Yuuji is beaming, eyes closed, as if he was smiling at the sun.
Megumi doesn't really know how to sleep in his own bed anymore. It feels weirdly big now, after lying sleepless on the very edge of Nobara's bed for what feels like hundreds of nights, trying not to be in any contact with her, lest it get too hot.
He keeps tossing and turning, listening to the little noises from Yuuji's room with such attentiveness that it makes his head hurt. At first, it was just little chuckles and snorts, probably from Yuuji looking at memes on his phone or reading manga. Now it's just the occasional snore or the sound of blankets rustling when he turns.
Then he finds himself standing in front of the very door he avoided for so long, in the middle of the night, feeling like the world's biggest moron.
"What the fuck am I doing," he mumbles, the ridiculousness of the situation making him crack a smile, despite everything. He chuckles to himself as he leans against the wall next to the doorway.
This is absurd.
But it is kind of nice to hear Yuuji's soft and steady breathing coming through the tiny sliver at the bottom of the door, and soon Megumi finds himself sliding down into a sitting position, head leaned back against the wall.
"...Gumi?"
Megumi blinks once, twice, and Yuuji comes into focus in the dark. He's crouching in front of him and at first, Megumi's confused, but then it dawns on him that he's sitting on the floor outside of Yuuji's room like an absolute mindless idiot. He must have fallen asleep, but by the looks of the sky outside, it's still nighttime.
"Uh..." Megumi starts, rubbing his neck, aching from the position. But a continuation to that sentence doesn't come, and his voice fades out. He really doesn't know how to explain himself. Yuuji looks at him in a way that feels undeserving, his eyes warm and sleepy and amused.
"I was just getting some water," Yuuji smiles, getting up after giving Megumi's knee a pat. "I almost didn't see you."
Megumi still doesn't say anything, and then Yuuji turns and goes back into his room. After a beat he pokes his head back out, giving Megumi an expectant look.
"Well? You coming?"
Megumi must look like his eyes are about to fall out of his head, judging by the way Yuuji snickers before he disappears through the door once more.
It's dark in Yuuji's room but it feels lived-in and cozy and smells good, like his detergent. It's a relief to see it with his own eyes. And Yuuji just wordlessly scoots over in his bed, making room, which is already a lot.
As he climbs in, Megumi wonders why he seems to end up sleeping in his friend's beds—like the situations are comparable in any way, except both involving a bed. He knows they aren't, but it's way easier to pretend.
Yuuji's arms around him make that a little harder.
"This okay?" Yuuji mumbles, and Megumi has to collect himself for a second, completely overwhelmed by both feeling slightly embarrassed, and at the same time like he has everything he ever wanted.
"Mm," he hums, feeling himself blush, suddenly blinking back tears at the feeling of Yuuji's steady pulse and warmth.
In a moment of bravery he turns, so that they're face to face, and to his surprise Yuuji looks a little flustered. It's hard to say why, though. It may just be guilt from the whole not dead after all situation.
So they lie like that, two guilty people, and Megumi's hand is on Yuuji's waist now, on it's own accord.
His words sit heavy in his stomach like rocks, warmed by the sun, slowly burning everything around them.
It's Yuuji who opens his mouth first, it always is, but Megumi doesn't want another apology, it's not necessary. It shouldn't have to be said again, especially when he feels more guilty than Yuuji could ever know from not being able to stop Sukuna that day, and save him.
So he moves his hand slow but deliberate, under the hem of Yuuji's shirt, making him gasp quietly at the contact.
"Wha-" Yuuji starts, but quiets when Megumi reaches his destination.
His hand rests flat over the beating heart in Yuuji's chest, knocking like well-oiled machinery, the sounds of it loud in the quiet room.
"Oh," Yuuji breathes, eyes all sad now, glistening in the dark. Megumi can't look, he doesn't trust himself not to cry, so he looks at where they're connected and tries not to make it something it isn't.
"Sorry," he mumbles, counting beats, feeling the gentle rise and fall under his fingers. "I just wanted to... uh. Needed to... It's dumb-"
"It's not," Yuuji says, with all the certainty in the world. "It's not. C'mere."
So, just as Megumi is about to remove his hand, he's pulled in against Yuuji, strong arms wrapped around him again and holding him in place, with his hand still on Yuuji's chest.
It's a lot of things exploding and happening at once in Megumi's brain, stomach fluttering in a foreign and slightly concerning way, but the biggest thing is that he feels that bone-deep tiredness again. For the first time since Yuuji's "death", he feels like he could actually fall asleep, right away, with Yuuji's pulse under his fingers and faintly audible in the best lullaby he could imagine.
So he does just that, he falls asleep, as Yuuji threads his fingers through the small hairs at the nape of his neck, over and over and over.