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It’s not deep enough.
Megumi wishes it was deeper, ever so deeper until he could see the fibres of his muscle rip apart with ease. The only sense of control he has nowadays. It would never compensate for Itadori— god his stupid face, the same face had fallen for so easily and so quickly loomed over him in his rest. Every waking hour and every sleeping hour, he saw that same face collapse and be stolen of life. Repetitious fights with Sukuna and watching the boy he loved collapse onto the floor. Selflessly giving his own life to Megumi without hesitation even though Megumi was nothing short from a selfish prick.
Itadori was so much more. So much more than he could ever be. Itadori had held a literal demon in him just to save others, just because he could, no matter if an execution had been set. He didn’t let it impact him. Not that much anyway. He had fallen in love and he was so ready to fall harder. But now, he had fallen into nothing more than a pool of the innocent boy’s blood. ‘Live a long life’? What a joke… Megumi didn’t know how to live without Itadori, he had only started to live when he was blessed to be near his presence. It hurt every time he caught himself using past-tense Itadori. Megumi was prepared for it, ready to conquer the reality that the boy he loved was going to die, the one he fell so hopelessly for, but he didn’t think it would be so soon.
The razor wouldn’t go deeper no matter how much deeper he would press into his skin, breaking every layer as if it was nothing short of paper. Around his dissections was only nothing more than bruises from the mere pressure he was pressing down on his skin. But god, it wasn’t even close to the agony that Itadori must’ve felt and that made him so agitated. So enraged that he would never be able to match to the burdening pain that he was going through, Itadori would move— as long as it was just pain, the boy would persist even if it killed him and that’s exactly what he did even when it costed him his own life.
He left Megumi.
He left Megumi just to repeat his death every night and stain his own bedsheets with crimson and salty tears. It was laughable how attached he had gotten to someone who was so much better than him. Fallen so quickly in love with… ever since he had first even glimpsed at the boy, he was caught like a fly. Entranced in that bubbly personality that seemed to make his heart ache. Masochistic? Perhaps. It was a rush for him. He was selfish and constantly indulged with Itadori, maybe it would make Megumi feel less bad about being so cold compared to Itadori — if he could associate with Itadori, maybe it would rub off on him and oh boy, did it rub off. Even though he was always asking so aloof to the boy, he found himself always observing his expressions and changes in moods. It was rottenly sweet, fixating on Itadori was going to make his teeth rot.
Megumi was angry, he was enraged and engulfed with nothing more than frustration — ‘You’re such an asshole Yuji.’ Would spiral around in his head until he would get sucked into the thought. Resenting someone as pure and loving as Itadori. That was the real joke here— that Megumi had the balls to resent and despise Itadori even though he had saved his life in exchange for his. That was another reason he would constantly slice into his pale and fragile skin. Someone so selfless was doing something so selfish to Megumi, dying and leaving him alone to cope.
The blood clotted his arms, refraining from dipping into the wood floors and leaving a mark as it dried so slowly. It was ugly… too ugly. It was inexpressible with how pathetic he felt. Yet he slices the clots in half and it leaves for bigger puddles of blood to just pool and interwine with the cracks of his skin, soon dropping onto the wood floor to stain. Every crevice being flooded with crimson. It stings when he moves, that is even if he can muster up enough energy to move. The only energy he can dedicate now is to moving his arms to hurting himself. Everytime he does attempt to move, the sheets cling onto him, as if he’s atomically bonded to them by the dried blood on his arms which hurt when they flake off. A big mass weighing down on him, leeching onto his energy like a parasite. He won’t let himself sleep. He continues to slice, it’s sloppy and no work of a proper chef— but nonetheless, he can’t stop.
Why won’t it just go deeper? Why does it keep skimming against him when it should be slicing into him? Megumi doesn’t know. He’s been starving, he’s been thirsty, he has been locked into the shadows for days. His own stomach acid bubbling away, threatening to consume him from the inside out but Megumi is okay with that. He should be in the shadows, the darkening depths of shadows, he should be and what he’s used to. It trickles off of his skin despite how numb sensation feels for him. Pain feels overwhelmingly underwhelming. It felt so addictive. It’s just not fair.
As soon as Itadori’s heart was ripped out, at the same time, it felt like his heart had been treated in the same way. Every artery gushing out of him. Except now, Itadori was idle, still and monotonous — and Megumi was struggling to pump another beat, Itadori had made it feel so easy— making his heart flutter and pound inside his ribs, to the point Megumi started to beg himself to stop having heart palpitations but now he was wishing he was beating too much rather than not at all. The boy was too oblivious to notice how bad Megumi was pining but he had preferred it that way. He acted a fool for him.
God, it stung. He didn’t know what stung this time, his heart, his mind, his eyes, his body or his wrist and legs. It all hurt, agonisingly so. Throbbing with every weak heartbeat, he felt his own heart through the cuts. He was so weak. He wouldn’t even get up to clean the dried layers of blood.
“Megumi,” His door has been unlocked, most likely by a teacher who had the key. He didn’t turn around and look at who it was, he was trembling with a razor blade in his fingertips, stopping his next slice. “Have you ate yet?” It was Gojo. That obnoxious voice was unmistakable yet it was so painfully comforting, so much softer than the deafening silence that infiltrated through his room. Gojo flicked the lights on, the light searing onto his pupils. “Megs’, stop ignorin’ me, I haven’t seen you in days. I haven’t been that busy? And I know you don’t get up to much. You can’t be avoid me forever! Even Kugisaki is getting pretty worried, y’know? And that’s saying something considering how brutal she is.” Megumi quickly shifted his sleeves and pulled off the sheets, covering every bit of himself.
Satoru looked into the younger sorcerer’s eyes, not mistaking a single thing. Oh that look was all too similar— /overwhelmingly so/ reminding him Suguru— one depleted and fully drained. Skinny and all too exhausted from it all. It was a difference type of exhaustion that he was used to seeing in Megumi. Eyeballs that threatened to make him drown if he starred too long. Puffy pink eyes and hair that was all too messy and reeked of lack of self-care. The first time he had missed it and this time, he wouldn’t miss it again. It wasn’t like Satoru was clueless about the whole situation. He was well aware of it. He also watched his bestfriend slowly die, his passion and morals rotting away from their bond. As well with killing Suguru. Perhaps Megumi felt the same feeling, feeling at fault for killing Itadori.
“Let’s try get some sunlight, okay?” Gojo grabbed Megumi’s arm, trying to encourage the boy to move. Feeling something wet taint on his skin. It hurt, the boy had winced away, pulling away like regular moments. Gojo looked at his hand, seeing red in between his fingerprints. “Megumi—“
“Shut up.” Megumi croaked out, interrupting Gojo before he could say anything that would just make him feel worse. His throat shaking, eyes spilling with water. Water that should’ve been in his throat rather than his eyes. “Just leave me alone.” A whisper. He avoided eye-contact, even if it didn’t matter because nonetheless, those six-eyes were piercing through him. Megumi hated that Gojo had watched him grow up, it would’ve been easier to play it off and lie. Gojo didn’t listen to his request, of course he didn’t. His grip on Megumi’s arm and pulling back his sleeves, there met a bloody mess, one that was full of segments and reflective of a messy dissection.
“Megumi, god— why didn’t you tell me?” It was met by no answer, Gojo only sighed, rubbing at his nose-bridge, a new stress added onto him, it had been more stressful lately ever since Itadori had died.
It burnt to see that expression on Gojo, scorching into his skin with shame — he had never seen Gojo so confused by one thing. But to him, it was pretty simple. Megumi was weak. And he was struggling too much by the boy he loved’s death.
“I don’t know.”
“Some of these looks new.”
“I know.”
“How recent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Megs—“
“I don’t know, okay?” Harsh and cold. It was a lie, he knew Gojo knew that but he didn’t care. Gojo was getting all soft on him and he hated it, who was Gojo to underestimate him? He never did and that was saying something since Gojo underestimated everyone. Before he knew it, he was transported to Ieiri’s room— god Gojo’s cursed technique was such a fucking brainfuck to him. That was the last thing he needs right now. He felt so raw in front of someone he has pretty much spent most of his life with and it was too awkward.
“Ieiri!” Gojo says, letting go of Megumi. “Miss me? Don’t even answer that! I already know the answer, save your breath!”
Ieiri groans, sighing, “not really..” Not even looking at Gojo for a solid minute, she turns around and sees Megumi beside him, “ah… hello Fushiguro.” She greets him, but he doesn’t muster up the courage to say anything back. She had saw him a few days ago after he had gotten pretty much effortlessly demolished by Sukuna. “Did he get hurt again?” It stings to hear but it’s a correct assumption; Megumi doesn’t think he has the right to /feel/ upset over it. Except this time it’s not a cursed spirit that’s hurting him or cursed user — it’s himself. The most pathetic answer he can give to Ieiri.
“Yeah,” Gojo’s tone is much more serious, “Megs hurt himself, I know you’re not a psychiatrist or anything like that but I’m sure you would learn about all that junk right? Mental health plans.. errr, you’d have more information, right?”
“Oh.” Ieiri said, looking at Megumi, “yeah, I’d know. Gojo, scram out of here. Patient and doctor confidentiality.” She says, quickly pushing him out of the room, whispering something into his ear. Gojo only pouts, nodding and sighing, his energy seemingly normal compared to before. Before Ieiri looks at him with tired eyes, ones that have accumulated overtime rather than rapidly like him. “This might be rather invasive, but it’s necessary… he really is horrible with all that mental health stuff, sorry about that. He always has been.” She mutters, rubbing the back of her neck. Putting her cold hands onto his wrist, except this time, he expects it to burn in contrast to the scorching throbbing in his wrist, but it doesn’t hurt. It surprises him. Cursed energy flows around him, the wounds that he had recklessly made closing in, almost like invisible stitches was pulling his skin back together. It made his skin crawl that all of his effort was healed without any strain.
She stands up, grabbing a water bottle and a sandwich, “it’s not much.. I forget to eat and drink a lot.” She gives a weak sigh, handing it to Megumi. The boy stares at the items, his mind foggy and cloudy. Barely even registering the items in front of him. He’s trembling. The water feels weird on his throat, covering it in moisture that he doesn’t think he deserves to feel. The food feels like mush and tastes too much of every ingredient. He doesn’t know if that’s because of his senses and them nullifying from being isolated for nearly a weak. It is too overwhelming for him and he holds back the urge to throw it all up, but he doesn’t in respect for Ieiri. He feels every sense in his body jumpstart from the sudden nutrient and energy and it clings onto it because it knows he won’t care for it. It’s likely he won’t eat again on his accord. It overloads him and he suppresses the disgust he feels in his own body. He keeps it down because he doesn’t want her putting IV’s into him because he’s too careless with his own body. He should’ve just summoned Mahoraga… kill all of them so he wouldn’t suffer so much and be such a pitiful soul to those who watch him walk on this earth without Itadori. He put him into this Jujutsu world and he was the reason he was taken out. He could do it now but he’s sure that it’s the intention of dying that’s blurring the lines of logic for him.
She clicks a few buttons on her laptop before it starts to print out a sheet, “could you fill this out? It’ll help with the mental health treatment plan. I’m sorry but you’ll most likely need to be constantly monitored. I’m not really a mental health specialist.. but you’ll most likely have to have check-ups with me. Specifically since those cuts are no joke.. they could definitely get infected or get too close to a vein. You haven’t eaten and drank in a while…“
Megumi looks down at the sheet, filling it out, he doesn’t know how honest he’s being when he writes it out. It all feels blurry and the answers he places down don’t feel like him. They feel so impersonal. Like someone else is possessing him. He finishes it and he just takes a shaky breath, he feels like he’s being interrogated.
“Hey, it’s alright. Don’t worry, I’ll try make this less stressful on you.” Ieiri tries to comfort to him but it frankly makes him restless. Rubbing his shoulder as she overviewed on papers, “Fushiguro… how prevalent are your self-harm and suicidal thoughts?” The question almost sounds unreal when it’s uttered vocally that it cuts into him. It hurts and it makes him wrench in pain because he’s not sure how to answer because he doesn’t know how to express it.
“I’m not sure.” The answer is avoidant and meek, she’s a doctor who deals with many patients who lies, he knows that.
“Fushiguro, you’re safe here.”
“Every minute or so.” He weakly answers, the pressure is shattering him and even though he knows she wouldn’t hurt him, he hates how exposed he feels. Another sob threatens to attack at his lungs and throat, he barely holds himself together. Clinging at his bloody clothes that haven’t been cleaned in days.
“It’s a rather severe case… if it’s alright with you, you should go on antidepressants. I can prescribe you fluoxetine. You’ll most likely need to stay in Kugisaki’s room to sleep, Gojo will most likely have to give you the antidepressants because he is your guardian and the risk involved with medication right now. The second years can even get involved if it makes you feel like it’ll be less burdening on Kugisaki and Gojo.” He feels like she’s reading his thoughts, every single one and it’s provoking a reaction inside of him that makes him feel sick. How does she /know/ he was thinking of overdosing and he hates being cared for and knowing one person will constantly need to monitor him would make him go insane with guilt which he already had enough of. What is worse? Making more people involved or involving two people more than they should be with his pitiful act.
He doesn’t know. That’s a feeling he’s been feeling too much of recently and it makes him scared because all he does know is that he wants Itadori and he wants to be gone— not dead but away.
“Every second day, I’ll check in with you, alright? Please don’t stress too much… I know it’s a lot to process.” The plan is set and he can’t escape from it unless he dies and even then, they want to postpone that. He doesn’t want to postpone it. Megumi wants it to stop so bad, he wants to see Itadori. He wants to beg for forgiveness and witness that stupid smile. Kugisaki will most likely need to watch the boy suffer and weep, he feels bad because she’s grieving in her own way. Except she’s stronger than he is because she didn’t fall in love with someone so quickly. weakening by the mere second — Megumi is almost surprised that his body hasn’t crumbled by the amount of pain he’s in. He feels like he’s deteriorating and everyone can see it and he can’t do anything about it. “I know this is a lot Fushiguro but we’re here for you.” And that’s the issue… they’re here for him and he feels himself peel ever so slowly knowing people can perceive him when he’s so weak.
Gojo escorts him out, he talks but Megumi doesn’t listen like usual. He barely is processing the world around him and it feels like the world is spinning the more he stands. Gojo wraps his arm around Megumi’s shoulder, “do you want to go out to eat? My treat!” It’s always his treat though. They’re walking towards Megumi’s dorm.
Megumi frankly feels too tired, everything today was too much for him either way. “Not today.” He mutters, he doesn’t know if Gojo can hear him.
“Ahh, I guess that’s fine… such a shame since I’m free all day today.” Gojo is not pestering him about it and it makes Megumi uncomfortable. He’s pampering him too much and he doesn’t like it. “Takeaway then? I can’t cook.. but I’m sure I could get something super fancy for ya!” Gojo offers and it makes Megumi too uncomfortable. He doesn’t know if this is his attempts of being nice but it doesn’t suit him.
“You can pick.”
Megumi soon gets to his room, Gojo pays his back, “make sure to get all the stuff you need for Kugisaki!” Gojo hands Megumi a pill, seemingly the antidepressant before leaving him alone once more. All of this makes him want to relapse, even if it’s been less than 10 minutes since he’s gotten healed. Megumi looks at his room, it’s cleaner. He can tell someone went through it, because even if it was a mess, it was /his/ mess. He rummages through the room yet there’s no razor blade in sight and that makes him panic. He looks in his desks, sheets, everything— it’s making him unable to breathe as the seconds pass. His arms are itching and he wants to slice into them so he can scratch at that agonising pain. But nothing is there to relieve him. He is on the floor and he’s struggling. He wants to end it all but he has nothing to carry out the act. Gojo— god, he— he did this— how did he know? He had even taken away his sheets since they were all bloody and wiped it all away. He ran to the bathroom, he hated throwing up, he hated feeling as if something was coming out of him yet he did it. Small bits of sandwich and saliva-like water spilling into his toilet. His whole bathroom was closing in and he felt his chest concave and squeeze. Megumi is dying. He feels like he is dying. And it’s ironic and laughable to him because he’s dying because he’s unable to hurt himself. His skin is constricting on him as if it was a snake trying to consume him. He was a snake that was eating its own tail.
A hand touches his shoulder, his shaky eyes set on its face, his vision is blurry. “Fushiguro, pull yourself together!” The ginger says bluntly, even though Kugisaki is putting a brave face, even he can tell she’s panicking. She didn’t think she would see the boy struggling already. “Take deep breaths, alright?” She’s stern, a pillar that he can hold onto, it almost freaks him out but nonetheless he can barely afford to focus on one thing when his mind is whirling. “Just— okay.” She tries to rephrase her words, she’s not used to being sentimental and he knows that. Megumi doesn’t even know if the girl knows how to comfort someone when they feel like their insides are being pulled from the inside out. She wets her hands and slaps him onto the face, the water coldly piercing into his skin. It distracts him for a second. “Give me 5 things you see.”
“I— I— don’t know—“ He croaks, shaky and confused.
“Fushiguro, just try… it’s alright.” Her voice is oddly comforting.
“I don’t know— you— the tap, the tiles.. the doors and um— my hands.” He is stammering, finding his examples pathetic but Kugisaki does not care.
“That’s good, okay? Just inhale..” He lets the air flood his nose even though it burns, “exhale.” He lets it out while choking on the air, the air flowing in and out of him even though it’s hard to breathe. “What’s four things you can feel?”
“The cold floor, the cold water on my face— your hand on my shoulder,” his voice is cracking the more he becomes stressed from not knowing what he can feel, she realises this and makes him look at her face. “I don’t know Kugisaki—“ He’s sinking and he’s scared.
“It’s okay, the air works fine as well!”
“The air—?”
“Yes, just breathe in.. and out. It’s okay.” He follows her instructions because god knows he can not follow himself because he would be leading himself into trouble. “What’s three things you can hear?”
“The tap.. my breaths and your voice.” He’s becoming more confident in his answers and that makes her smile softly.
“Good, inhale and exhale.” It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. It feels weird but he can breathe again. “What’s two things you can smell?”
“Your shampoo and the bathroom.” The answer seems to get a laugh from Kugisaki which he can laugh along with even if it’s weak.
“Good one.. I’ll let you know it smells good. Maki likes it.” She states before he continues to take a deep breather, “what’s one thing you can taste?”
The question is weird, “vomit.” He bluntly states, his body isn’t shaking anymore. He takes a deep breath in and out and he looks at Kugisaki. Embarrassed.
“You alright?”
“I guess so.” He mutters, he’s better than a few moments ago so it’s not exactly a lie.
“Well, time for a sleepover! Get your ass up and let’s go. I’ll even help you but you’re picking up your own bags!” She states, standing back up with a more eccentric smile. One much brighter than the previous one he had seen before.
“Alright.”
Kugisaki helps the boy pack up, even choosing a pair of clothing for him to change into since he reeks of sweat and metal. It was soft and finally smelt good. He has a bag in another hand and she gestured for him to follow him but what stops him in his tracks is the all too empty and lifeless room next to his — one that belonged to Itadori. He’s spent 2 nights there, he’s made it way too messy… there’s blood smeared on the floor. That’s where one razor blade is, and it prickles at him once more. “I’ll be there in a moment.” Megumi states and the girl shrugs, before he goes into Itadori’s room. It’s stark even though there’s still decor in it. He grabs the razor blade that fits all too well in his hand. He grabs a few hoodies and takes them, some of them are gross— they have previous stains from Itadori along with Megumi’s tears on them and sweat but he’s afraid if he cleans them, then it’ll vanish with Itadori’s mark on it. So, he takes the ones that are unused. He hugs it and it feels too warming yet so cold. Megumi knows he’s too desperate.
He walks out, hiding the razor blade in his pocket. He feels bad for lying in front of the girl who’s trying to help him but he’s desperate to get away. When they reach Kugisaki’s room, she orders him on the bed, grabbing a brush and placing various products into it. He’s sure she’s brewing a poisonous concoction. She stays silent and focused on his hair that is too tangled for comfort. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thinks, she untangles it and trims it a bit, it scares him to trust her with scissors but she would be doing better things with it than he would be. She fiddles around in her mini-fridge and grabs a face-mask along with other products that he doesn’t think he can name without stuttering and struggling. She looks him directly in the face and puts creams under his eyes, his nose and cheeks before putting a mask on and she lets him just lay there. This is the quietest he has seen Kugisaki and he doesn’t know if he’s scared.
Gojo visits and gives them both food before quickly departing. Gojo actually selected something actually healthy for Megumi this time and he didn’t even know that Gojo would pay attention to something that small.. or how many people he contacted to figure out what he liked to eat. Kugisaki seemed happy enough, glancing a few times to check if Megumi would eat — so he did, even if he wanted to throw it up immediately. His body almost surprised that he ate another time when he had barely been eating at all. He doesn’t take the antidepressant because he simply feels too weak if he needs to. She doesn’t remind him. Soon enough, Kugisaki is asleep and he’s alone in her bedroom, his fingers twitching for his razor-blade but he refrains.
His mind finally rests after an hour of arguing with himself, his exhaustion winning. But even if he’s tired, his mind won’t let him rest. It is painfully evident when he once again appears in front of Sukuna who has Itadori’s heart again. No matter what combination he does, no matter how many times he summons various shikigami — it always ends the same. He feels his heart rush.
“Entertain me, Fushiguro Megumi!” Sukuna yells at him, Megumi has given up on trying to summon Mahoraga because he knows Itadori’s fate. Though Sukuna’s presence is wiped away almost immediately, Itadori stands in front of him.
“Ah.. sorry. It’s almost time for me… You, Kugisaki and Gojo-sensei, I won’t need to worry about you guys, right?” Itadori is smiling and Megumi doesn’t understand how. Though before Itadori can collapse, Megumi steps forward and catches him before his corpse collapses onto the floor. “Live long… knowing you killed me.” Megumi is trembling, this is not a part of the script that he goes through every night and he lets go of Itadori. His corpse is bleeding, colours of red spreading and reaching his feet before engulfing him and he’s in a new setting. “Why couldn’t you save me? Why weren’t you strong enough?” Itadori says, a wound in his chest that he can see in and out from.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not enough. I’m dead.“
“I know.”
“And you think it’ll just get better because you’re hurting yourself? Don’t make me laugh, Fushiguro. You were never the funny one.” Itadori’s words are venomous to him. He knows this isn’t real but it feels awfully real. “That won’t account for anything.”
“I know, Itadori.”
“Good.”
Megumi wakes up. He’s crying and sobbing and Kugisaki wakes up, he doesn’t know what time it is. “Sorry— sorry. Sorry.” He is crying to her, he has never felt so wrecked. The unexpected change of dialogue was making him fall apart. She climbs down onto the floor with him on his futon, holding him.
“It’s alright, don’t worry about it. You don’t need to talk about it.” Her voice is soft again, he doesn’t know why she’s doing this with him. It feels abnormal and he knows she’s panicking every time he freaks out. He calms down after she rubs his back, offering to sleep nearer to him but he denies.
This treatment has never felt so invasive. If he’s in the shower or bathroom for more than 5 to 10 minutes, they have to check on him. They’ve removed all dangerous things in Kugisaki’s dormitory. It’s been like that for a few days. Megumi hates not being able to take care of himself and he feels like he’s being coddled and treated like a baby, especially by Gojo. Over the few days, he hasn’t been taking the antidepressants, he’s relapsed very minimally and he wears Itadori’s hoodies so it’s not evident.
Over the past few days, he has accumulated 6 pills. He looks at them and he is convincing himself that if he takes them all now, either it’ll get all better or he’ll die which he’s okay with any result. He’s in the bathroom, staring at the pills before he ingests them. He pleads that he will die. He hates feeling like a wreck. For a few minute, he sits there, hoping he’ll die immediately. Yet he doesn’t. His drowsiness is clouding his brain. He grabs the razor blade and pierces it through his skin, yet this time, the blood is warm. It’s not cold or shallow, it’s deep and burning. The blood itself is warm, pulsing and boiling onto his skin. It makes him panic as he watches his arm gush. He is crying again, on the floor of the bathroom. He feels dizzy, confused and he’s trembling.
“Fushiguro?” The ginger is calling out for him, concerned.
“Help—“ He is crying, but he doesn’t even know if he wants help. She walks in, the door is unlocked and she watches a gruesome sight. Where she finds a trembling head with a blade and Megumi’s tears are mixing with blood. She’s terrified and she doesn’t know what to do so she freezes and it makes Megumi panic even more. “I took 6 of the pills— I think I’m going,, to throw up.” He is choking on his own tears. He’s not even sure how that’s possible. He’s sweaty and he’s bleeding. Kugisaki grabs her phone and contacts Gojo and Ieiri. The rest of it is a blur. He was crying and simply too disoriented to pay attention. His wound does not bleed anymore but the medication is another story. Megumi is in Ieiri’s office, she’s worried and he can tell that. The aftermath of all of this just makes him want to die even more and she can see that. She can’t find the right words. No one can. Kugisaki was sent back to her dorm. Gojo seems to be troubled more than any other issue he’s dealt through, he knows he can’t use his power on Megumi.
“Megumi, why would you do that?! Are you being an idiot?!” Gojo seems to panic, which is reasonable, but to Megumi it seems like nothing more than an attack.
“Just leave me alone, Gojo—“
“Oh and that was a good idea when I did? You tried to kill yourself! You could’ve caused permanent nerve damage!” Gojo is yelling and it hurts Megumi’s ears. It is blaring and he feels overwhelmed.
“Okay and?! I wish I fucking succeeded because obviously I couldn’t do that with Itadori! He deserves to live way more than me.” Megumi is yelling back, he’s sobbing. He’s struggling with his words. “Why is it that those closest to you— you can’t save?” Megumi covers his face in his hands. He’s shaking.
“Megs—“ The question is all too relatable.
“I don’t know.” He didn’t know because that was a reality he had to confront everyday and it was all too dwelling on Megumi. “You need to save yourself first. Save me by saving yourself, please.”
“I don’t know anymore, Gojo.” Megumi’s answer was meek, because he couldn’t answer in confidence. IV tangled around him so they could detoxify the medication.
“I know, it’s okay.” Megumi never argues back, it mostly disinterested banter or arguments but this is different. He drops it despite how much his body wants to lecture him about how stupid it was of him to do that — like the many times Megumi attempted to summon Mahoraga when it wasn’t needed. But this was different. “Just try to rest, alright?”
“Okay.”