Chapter Text
There has been a total of three instances wherein Megumi Fushiguro has felt a surge of emotions overwhelm him so much.
One—when he was six years old, little hands slightly shaking and sweating as he clutched his bicycle’s handles, took a deep breath, and let his legs paddle forward, refusing to look back at the white-haired man who kept hollering, cheering him on.
Second—when he found out a few months back that his sister, Tsumiki Fushiguro, has been one of the few people who went to that forsaken bridge, has gotten cursed and has fallen into a coma ever since the unfortunate incident.
Third—when Yuuji Itadori, his light brown eyes no longer bright and exuberant, but rather dim and blank, the corners of lips twisting into an ironic smile as blood continuously gushed out of his chest when Sukuna ripped out his heart and threw it away, his knees giving up on him when The King of Curses switched him back after chasing him and trying to kill him for fun, finally collapsing right in front of Megumi—and died.
It would have been four instances if only that one time Megumi saw him right in the flesh at the Goodwill Event with Kyoto Tech; Megumi was beyond stunned to form coherent words.
For the first time in a year since his sister has fallen into a coma, Megumi wept.
Megumi wasn’t even expecting it, honestly. He thought he was already used to have people he cared about somehow slip through his fingers, always reaching out but never being able grasp them by the hand completely.
But then again, who was he to think that he was strong enough to save people and make sure they stay alive? He wasn’t Gojo-sensei, nor was he even close to making a decent Domain Expansion. How dare he think for a second—no, how dare he have the audacity to delude himself into thinking that he would have the strength to save them.
He was a fool—a naïve child who was stupid enough make himself believe that he was capable.
Becoming a jujutsu sorcerer meant having people saved—but not all of them are fortunate enough. As much as possible, Megumi wanted to minimize casualties—hell, if he were to choose, he’d always choose having no casualties at all whenever a cursed spirit wrecked havoc and destruction.
He was already used to hearing reports of several people’s deaths, was used to seeing innocent bystanders turn into curses themselves—there’d been numerous instances wherein he was the one who made reports of other people’s demise.
Becoming a jujutsu sorcerer meant being aware of the possible deaths of civilians and curses alike; not to mention his own possible death as well.
But nothing prepared him for seeing Yuuji Itadori, with his flashy pink hair and a splatter of feather-light freckles on his cheeks, look at him one last time before his eyes completely rolled back and his knees gave out, falling face first into the muddy ground, his naked chest torn open and bloodied, his nonbeating heart a few inches away from where Megumi stood.
Megumi couldn’t even remember what happened next.
He blacked out right after seeing Yuuji transform from a possessed vessel of Sukuna’s, with his challenging smirks and mischievous eyes, into a pale, lifeless body in a span of a few seconds. He still couldn’t refer to Yuuji as someone who has been turned into a corpse; still couldn’t make himself say it in broad daylight—that Yuuji was…dead.
This is his…corpse in front of me.
No.
No no no no no
NO—
As far as Megumi could remember, he was back in his room at the dorms, with his eyes looking up at the ceiling, tears flowing freely down his face. How he got back was something he still, to this day, has no knowledge of.
The next thing he knew, the yearly event with Kyoto Tech was almost here. It was Panda-senpai who reminded them one sunny afternoon during their daily sparring sessions; Kugisaki wasn’t particularly happy when she found out that they weren’t going to travel to Kyoto.
“I know it’s shitty,” Kugisaki said on a Wednesday night right before they entered their respective rooms. She furrowed her eyebrows and kept glaring at the floor, like she was making sure whatever she saw there was already dead because of her laser eyes. “And I know the pain won’t be going away soon,” she continued.
Ah, so we’re having that conversation.
Megumi didn’t think they were going to talk about it this early.
Kugisaki heaved a sigh, then finally looked up at him, her brown eyes fierce but there was a hint of sadness in them, too. “But I need to let you know that whatever it is you’re keeping inside that thick head of yours, you can always—and I mean always tell me anything, okay?” She paused for a moment and pursed her lips as she stared at the floor again, blinking her eyes furiously with gritted teeth.
It took a fraction of a second for Megumi to realize that she was trying really hard not to cry. Just like him. “I know it’s shitty,” Kugisaki reiterated, “and I know it still feels unreal—hell, I don’t even know how I’ll recover from this, honestly.” Slowly, Kugisaki looked up at him and held his gaze, her brown eyes wistful.
“Fushiguro-kun,” she said softly as she placed a firm yet reassuring hand on his arm. A sad smile formed on her lips. “I loved him, too.”
And that’s all it took for Megumi to bury his face into Kugisaki’s neck and let out a shaky sigh. He still had a shred of dignity left to keep himself from having a breakdown in the middle of the night. He’ll save that little thing for himself later on, when no one is looking and when he’s finally free to cry himself to sleep again. But for now, he’s holding on to whatever type of existence that was left shaking in Kugisaki’s arms.
Megumi did not expect Kugisaki to say those words, really, but in a way, he was relieved that she did. Because he was still scared and hurt and still too in denial to ever admit out loud that he, in fact, harbored some kind of unfamiliar warmth for Itadori; a tiny flare that slowly evolved into this stupidly overwhelming blaze without him even knowing.
Unlike him, Kugisaki was strong and fearless; she was much braver than he ever will be.
He was grateful for Kugisaki keeping herself calm and quiet as she gasped and hiccupped and sniffled and repeatedly told him that they were going to be fine, that they were going to get through it somehow, because, hell, they had no fucking choice in the matter anyway, right? A jujutsu sorcerer dies because of a curse. It’s just another day, just another name to be added in the list of casualties for when they build another goddamn memorial.
But Yuuji Itadori was far from being just another person.
He never was.
-
Kugisaki did not say a word the next day, not even when they were all preparing for the Kyoto sister event—she only looked at him with worried eyes whenever he got a little too quiet, a little too drowned in his thoughts. One quick, gentle squeeze on his shoulder and he’d be back with her, and then she’d ask him about what he was thinking of later that night, when the dorm was quiet and everyone else but them were fast asleep.
After that talk, Megumi and Kugisaki fell into a routine; they took turns sneaking into the other’s room every night since they both had difficulties in sleeping, especially him. Most of the time, it was Kugisaki who would sneak into his room. For someone who could be brash at best, Kugisaki had a soft spot for indulging Megumi whenever he asked to be held tightly.
Back when they were still a trio, and after all the countless stories Itadori had told them about his spotless record as an athlete in his previous school, he had been the big spoon for both of him and Kugisaki.
And now that Itadori was…he was…well, not alive, (Megumi still had a hard time saying the word dead, let alone think about it and let it linger in his mind) Kugisaki was more than happy to be there for him, to shake him awake when the nightmares got the best of him.
Witnessing Itadori’s demise getting played in his head over and over again, seeing the same selfless smile spread across his bloodied lips for so many nights—Megumi always wondered when it would be his turn, really.
But of course, the deities—or whatever it was out there—just loved to toy with his fate, so no matter how hard Megumi had hoped to die in battle, it never fucking happened. He would get serious injuries, sure, but it was never enough to damage him so badly.
(He’d never tell this to anyone, not even Kugisaki; ever since that incident happened, all Megumi wanted was to disappear into a puff of smoke permanently, despite his common sense yelling at him to fucking stay alive. He was just so tired.)