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That day, Megumi washed his hair five times and managed to start the laundry. On any other day that would be an okay achievement, for the laundry at least. Normally, he’d finish whatever he started and maybe lag behind in folding everything.
Not today.
Waking up this morning, he took a shower, as is his routine everyday. You see, it’s much easier to have hot water for yourself when your housemates have different schedules. Since Itadori takes showers at night after dinner.
He claims it’s his way of capping off the day, though Kugisaki teases him that he’d just rather brush his teeth in the shower. Honestly, who’s to say if he really does.
Kugisaki, on the other hand, takes a shower two hours before everyone gets up every other day. On the off days she takes one after class or missions. It’s sometimes a pain listening to Itadori whine in the hallway needing to use the toilet since she takes at least an hour in there. Honestly, who's to say if it’s really a schedule or because she was sick of Itadori stealing all the heated water at night.
She leaves the whole room fogged up with how hot she must crank it without the fan. How anyone is able to see anything in there for the first five to ten minutes afterwards is a mystery. This doesn’t seem to bother or really stop Gojo from fixing his hair when she’s done in the morning, but then again… It’s Gojo.
Though tomorrow she’ll start taking solely night showers instead. Which makes it easier to have warm water, after all Megumi washes his hair in the morning.
Just like he had today.
It had been a normal day, truly. Classes were canceled since Gojo had left on his little overseas mission. Trip or not, the whole lack of classes was the norm anyway. Training filled the time in between missions and on off days without either it was Kugisaki dragging him and Itadori out into the city.
That’s what today was supposed to be.
“Do you think Gojo-sensei would like this? It looks up his alley right?” Itadori questioned, holding up a Cinnamoroll parfait and stroking his chin.
“That man literally is a step away from diabetes.” Megumi looked at the little white fluffy blue eyed dessert dog before rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t need extra help.”
“Doesn’t his technique stop stuff like that?”
Megumi gave his fellow first year a pained look of disbelief at such a question. Taking his phone out and actively denying such a query a response. Moving on to check his notifications for messages briefly instead.
“Oh!” Nobara clapped her hands together excitedly, twirling around to walk backwards momentarily. Looking at the guys as she asked, “Do you think he’ll bring us some kind of specialty food as a souvenir?”
“It’s Gojo.” Megumi leaned on the handlebar of the shopping cart with a sigh. “I wouldn’t expect anything.”
Itadori turned to Nobara with a look of confusion. “How is food a souvenir?” He questioned despite having the Sanrio specialty dessert still in hand.
“Aren’t they supposed to be keepsakes? Stuff you keep forever?”
“It is a keepsake for my camera roll and taste buds!” The hammer-user scolded, jabbing a finger in his face. A short huff as she put a hand on her hip.
“God you’re hopeless, Itadori.”
“Sheesh, okay.” Itadori throws his hands up and rolls his eyes before looking back to the desserts. Going over to Fushiguro’s miniature cart and putting the parfait in. The same cart Nobara and Itadori demanded they use since it was absolutely adorable. A miniature trolley the size of a regular grocery handbasket just on the same spindly wheels regular carts have. The true must-have for a fun snack-stocking shopping experience.
“Hey! You!” Nobara called out to Itadori as he began to peruse the aisle again. “Grab another one of those parfaits for me.”
“What?” Itadori lifted his head up swiftly. Having been looking down at a bunch of Pompompurin maple melon pans this time. “Why me?” He indignantly asked, furrowing his brow. This felt targeted.
“You’re closer to it dumbass.”
“You’re the one who wants it though!” He objected, walking a bit down the aisle away from his female classmate.
Gesturing to the parfaits with a bag of limited edition sweet potato caramel flavored chips, as she demanded,“Just grab another one, it’s not that hard!”
A minute later, Fushiguro’s cart held two Cinnamoroll parfaits.
With that peace was restored to the trio’s snack mission and Itadori was quickly once again distracted by the variety of colorful unique desserts present. Lured to the side by a cute little tower display of cake pops, all decorated as different Sanrio characters and tied with matching little ribbon bows.
Plucking a cake pop from the display shelf with great enthusiasm he exclaimed, “Look! This one looks just like you Fushiguro!”
Pointing at said dessert in dramatic fashion as the two others halted in their shopping. Megumi quickly stopped the cart, a slow turn with a deadpan expression while Nobara’s mood shifted from confused to ecstatic.
The small dessert in question had little black spikes sticking up from the head of the cake pop. Paired together with rather deadpan eyes it made for a very convincing Fushiguro if he’d been born a penguin.
“You’re totally right it does!” Nobara began cackling while Itadori held up the Badtz-Maru cake pop.
Bringing the cake pop over to Megumi’s mildly unamused face for comparison, Itadori tilted his head. Letting out a short hum as he realized, “Though you’re kinda missing your iconic hair today Fushiguro. What’s up with that?”
“I took a shower.” He replied rather monotone, while Nobara blanched at his plain response.
Walking over to the cart, she threw her bag of chips in. “Dude, you take one every day and your hair still looks like that thing normally.”
“I just didn’t dry my hair all the way today.” Megumi gave the two a weird look. You’d think with the way they were acting, his hair was a crime that he was actively committing. Like tax evasion or something. If Gojo wasn’t rich, he’d probably be a tax evader.
Nobara crossed her arms with a scoff, “Haven’t you heard you’ll get a cold if you don’t dry your hair before you go outside? And the tangles alone, ugh.”
“I thought that was for winter days?” Itadori piped up. Which Nobara promptly ignored.
Running a hand through his slightly damp hair, Megumi lets out a short sigh. “Yeah, well you didn’t give me enough time. Besides, it’s hot enough outside, it’ll dry just fine when we head back out.”
“You boys are lucky, you can just brush and go.” Nobara complains, leaning on the aisle shelf with her elbow. Wistfully looking off into the distance, as she mockingly continues, “Without a care in the world if your hair looks like ass.”
A breath of pause. “Couldn’t be me.”
“Hey! My hair looks great!” Itadori retorted, a bit peeved. “Back me up here Fushiguro!”
Megumi rolls his eyes.
“Itadori you look like a pink minecraft grass block!” Nobara declared before changing targets and turning to Megumi.
“And normally Fushiguro looks like some edgy weirdo who slept between two pillows and got freaky with hairspray.” To which the shikigami owner thought about it for a moment and shrugged. She could’ve said worse. Itadori on the other hand was left devastated in the aisle. This did not stop Nobara one bit as she continued to drill Fushiguro.
“Seriously man, the frizz? Not even static? Are you like immune or something?” She questioned, twirling her hand in the air for emphasis.
“Your hair pisses me off,” she spat jokingly with a flick of her fingers.
“It defies logic.”
Megumi gave her a side eye, “It’s just gel and like- I run it through my hair? I forgot it today though.”
“What brand? Or do you have some expensive crap?”
“I don’t know, Gojo just fricking threw it at me one day after a shower.” He shrugged as he began pushing the cart towards check out. "Ask him about it”
“My hair is strawberry blonde! Blonde, not pink!” Itadori insisted albeit a bit late. Taking the time to clumsily pull his wallet out and show off his ID card. “It even says it on my number card!” He whined.
“And my lashes are naturally this long!” She quipped in a false cheery tone while batting her eyelashes before quickly dropping the smile for effect. “We all have dreams, Itadori.”
On the ride home, Itadori attempted to eat the extra parfait Nobara had bought for her to take pictures of. Claiming it was perfect for Instagram. Which led to her fist-fighting him for the half opened package before he could stick a spork in it. Why Itadori keeps a plastic spork in his wallet, we all question. Total damage from the altercation was the fallen parfait, (may it rest in peace) a bent and broken spork and fingerprints all over the windows as Itadori tried to escape Nobara’s reach.
Poorly, one might add.
The overall scuffle ended after two stop lights. By the time they reached the second stop light there was nothing left to fight for, it was a lost cause. One resulting in Megumi wearing half of the parfait, even in his hair.
With profuse apologies to Mr. Ijichi for the mess and the necessary cleanup to restore the backseat to its usual look of wear and tear, the trio then headed back inside the compound.
That was the second shower Megumi took that day, to fix the damage done. To be honest it wasn’t the worst since it was just a parfait.
Smelling like yogurt and berries wasn’t technically a crime or awful. Though on a hot summer day leaving it would just be a sticky affair with the bonus of smelling like curdling milk. Which is simply a bad idea for everyone involved.
Taking his time washing his hair and reapplying gel now that he’d been given adequate time to dry his hair- finally. After all, the minute he’d finished, an emergency mission had been called in by Mr. Ijichi.
—
As the car pulled up to the building, stuck in the middle, Itadori looked between Fushiguro and Kugisaki. “What’s a curse womb?”
“Woooow, really showing you’re a noob aren’t you.” Nobara joked a bit to help lighten the mood, though it didn’t really help much. With Ijichi’s brief heads up on the emergency during the car ride there, the tension in the vehicle was brewing. Though, the full debrief was yet to come.
Looking out the window with his arms crossed Megumi spoke up, sounding a bit annoyed. “It’s the fetal stage for a more powerful curse.”
The other two look over to him curiously, waiting for him to continue.
“So if it really is a womb, we’re looking at greater than Grade 4 and 3 for sure.” Megumi tiredly capped off.
Glancing up at the rearview mirror to see the three kids, Ijichi confirms. “Fushiguro is correct. And while our windows have passed over information on the situation to us, you three are here to simply scout and confirm their knowledge. Do not engage with whatever you find on site, unless it’s a survivor.”
As the building comes into view, Ijichi looks ahead to see a few windows and a fellow auxiliary manager in the road by the gate ahead of him.
“Please do not disregard your fears. Should you face a high level curse you run or you risk death.”
The three nod from the backseat as Ijichi parks outside the premises.
Stepping out of the car, the group is met with a grey dreary welcome to the Eishuu Juvenile Detention Center.
Ijichi took a moment to speak with some of his staff on the scene already, before nodding and heading back towards the first years. The three which had been gawking and looking around at their surroundings.
“Definitely a curse womb, one of our windows verified that about three hours ago.” Ijichi informed them. Looking off to the entrance of the building before continuing.
“Once ninety percent were evacuated, a decision was made to seal off the center. All citizens within a five hundred meter radius have been evacuated as well.”
As Ijichi carried on with the debrief while answering more of Itadori’s basic questions along the way, it came to the trio’s attention just how much of an emergency this was. The potential to have a run in with a Special Grade?
The question crossed their minds on why scouting out this potential powerhouse was left to three first years, but with sorcerers to spare being rare they shrugged it off for now.
“This current case is an urgent one and most abnormal. As I stated on the way here, if you encounter a Special Grade you are to either run or die. Do not forget you’re here solely to verify and rescue survivors.”
Ijichi looked as if he was about to continue, a final little cap off to the debrief, but he is interrupted by the mother of a detention inmate who is currently unaccounted for. Her pleading and cries while held back by a pair of auxiliary managers strikes a chord with Itadori and Nobara, while Megumi watches on.
With that three head towards the entrance as Ijichi put up his veil. Filled with determination to complete their first mission without their mentor present. Though their priorities varied amongst the trio.
—
In total, Megumi scrubbed his scalp five times today.
If just to get the sickening feeling of warm blood drying in the summer night air out of his head. The weight in his arms brought an ache in his chest that didn’t match the strain in his limbs. His body was warm, so why was the one in his arms growing cold.
People aren’t supposed to feel this cold.
You’re not supposed to feel this cold, Yuuji.
Is it your shirt? Your hoodie. You’re missing your hoodie. Is that why there’s such a chill to you?
He already knew that wasn’t the problem here.
You’re supposed to be warm. Your stupid grin bright even as we’re fighting in the craziest of scenarios. The belief in doing good, the stubbornness despite life hanging in the balance. That stupid smile, even when you’re dying.
He bit his lip, his eyes wide as the teen stared off into the distance. His cheeks burned from held back tears and the nausea welled up in his throat. Quaking as he held Yuuji up. Watering eyes as he sucked in a deep shaky breath.
“Idiot.”
Night setting in further still the stars hadn’t begun to peek out from the sky. Watching as the minutes tick by before Ijichi and a few higher grade sorcerers come running towards him.
To the adults, it appeared as if the two students were merely hugging. Exhausted after a fight, an embrace of comrades. The awkwardness of the pose upon closer inspection, the limp nature of Sukuna’s vessel and the profuse amount of blood- both fresh and dried covering the two and the ground said otherwise. Megumi’s hand on the back of Yuuji’s head and his bloodied hand on his back keeping him close even in his tired state.
Itadori’s gaping hole in the chest was another shock to the sorcerers as they came in range.
It’s stupid. How a boy he met two weeks ago could affect him like this. It’s not the first dead body he’s seen. Especially in the field.
Though the first he’s held. The first he’s caught, but still he’s seen the dead up close before.
So why does this death feel so wrong?
Would Yuuji really consider this a proper death?
Separating from Itadori and returning to the Tokyo Jujutsu High compound was a haze. Megumi can’t entirely recall when the weight that had been pressing into his shoulder and leaning on his frame disappeared. He couldn’t be entirely certain it was even gone. Perhaps it was simply the bruises from combat that tricked him into replaying the stumble taken as a limp body fell onto him.
The struggle to stay standing, despite nothing in his grasp.
Tonight truly had been a fight with no winners. Just survivors and the dead.
Megumi found himself standing in the first year hallway by himself. Silence that would’ve been deafening interrupted by the slight shuffling sounds of his slippers against the wooden floorboards. With Kugisaki in the infirmary, Gojo not quite back yet and everyone else steering clear of him, it was the return of an old familiar kind of loneliness.
Now with an added burn building up in his lungs.
Stepping into the bathroom he stared into the mirror. Only to find himself covered in blood, with the worst having dripped down from his forehead and the rest coating his hair and uniform. A quiet testimony of the last few hours.
The world was moving slow, a janky animation of five frames a second with little inbetweening. Movement felt stilted. If he’d been put in slow-mo then at least he’d feel more fluid as he twisted the knob of the shower.
Shedding his uniform and watching blankly in the mirror as it dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Flakes and drops of blood dusting and spreading across bathroom tile to seep into the divets in the grout.
Water dyed red trickled down him to disappear into the drain. Cold water succeeding in sending a shock to his system. An attempt to cool the burn in his throat and the strain in his chest. Drenching his overworked hair as he began scrubbing his scalp. Dirtied chipped nails scratching and ruffling locks till the water ran clear from them. Frothing up shampoo for the third time that day at a quarter till ten.
Yet, his hair still felt sticky. Clumped together with blood that wasn’t his.
Rinsing everything out he poured out more shampoo onto his head. Rubbing it in as bubbles rained down in wet foamy clusters. The harder he scrubbed it in, the more his hair knotted and twisted together. A self-made mat of ebony.
Maybe, now his hair would be clean.
When he was finished with his shower and began drying his hair Megumi noticed something odd. Each strand felt congealed to the next. Thick waxen clumps that coated his hand in a sticky residue as he ran his fingers through them. He hadn’t even made it halfway down the hallway in pajamas before turning back.
And so, he washed his hair a fourth time that day.
If his hair wasn’t worn out from the continuous cleaning, then his hands were. Already his body could've been compared to a ragged doll the way he walked around the compound earlier. Still despite a wish to drop to the ground like a failed skipping stone as he showered, he continued.
A river stone in the Seine would be cleaner than his hair at the moment according to Megumi.
No matter how hard he kneaded the shampoo into his head and how much he poured on, his hair kept that waxen texture to it while his scalp burned. It was affecting his body, the disgust as residuals found by his roots left his face oily to the touch and grease covered. Despite getting out of the shower and putting back on his pajamas, the stickiness of where his uniform had once clung to his body remained. Sweat, grime and blood building up on his skin in only a matter of hours.
Scrubbing his body a bright red didn’t help one bit. Merely irritating his arms as little darker red dots showed at the edges where he scrubbed the hardest. The cold water, a temporary solution to the angry reddened skin.
Standing before the mirror once more to see if finally, he’d fixed his hair’s cleanliness and texture problem. Pulling at his hair to separate the mats he’d caused with a wince, before giving up. Going for a brush instead to forcefully solve the issue.
Again when he brushed his hair as it dried and ran his hand over it, his palm came away sticky. As if his head had been covered in oily plastic that was repelling every effort he’d made in the past hour. With a frustrated huff, he chewed on his bottom lip. Glaring into the mirror as he gripped the sink bowl.
Letting out a breathy and irate, “Are you serious?”
A knock on the bathroom door let him know of a curious presence in the hallway, as their footsteps had fallen upon deaf ears. “Megumi? Heard you haven’t let Shoko take a look at you yet.” An all too familiar annoying voice rang out from behind the door. “Gotta get checked out kiddo, you can brush your teeth later.”
Ignoring his guardian's request Megumi turned the cold knob of the sink as far as he could and shoved his head under the water. Check-ins could wait, he had to fix this now.
Scrubbing aggressively this time with just water, Megumi washed his hair for the fifth time.
The sink water must draw from a different tank than the shower or something because the frigid water coming out from the spout now makes everything before it lukewarm at best.
He watched clear little bubbles trickle from his roots, down his hair and into the sink drain. Though he wasn’t quite certain the bubbles were from his hair or the sink’s water pressure. He scrubbed even harder with the hopes of clearing away the grime gunking up his hair.
“Why won’t you just go away?” He hissed through gritted teeth at his own locks.
Outside the door, Gojo quirked a brow. “Hm? What was that?”
Megumi scrubbed even harder, nails digging in as he kept seeing bubbles spill from his hair. The strands still felt waxen under his fingers, this wasn’t enough to clean it.
He wasn’t enough. It’s not fair.
The only equal to all is an unfair reality after all. And Megumi hated how true that fact was.
His breathing got deeper as he started taking big gulps of air. Staring down at the sink drain and the wet mess of black hair. His scalp felt fiery every time he tilted his head to get a different section of hair under the spout. Each part left open to the air brought attention to the scratches he’s already left.
His face burned with frustration and embarrassment as he dropped his hands from his head and held onto the counter. Letting his hair continue to hang under the water.
“Megs? Kiddo? Little dude? My guyyy?” Gojo drug out the last nickname as he paused for a moment. Waiting for a response that never came unless you count the sound of rushing sink water as a reply.
The next sound was a loud slap. Followed by Gojo opening the door rather quickly, a brief visible glimpse of concern on his face had anyone been watching carefully.
Lifting his head up and slamming his hands down on the counter, Megumi came away from the act with red stinging palms. The teen was already breathing hard and with the addition of his rather sporadic guardian it only made him curl his fingers around the counter. Jerking his head over to look at Gojo through a black matted mop of dripping wet hair. His teeth digging into his bottom lip as he tried to calm his breathing down through his nose.
While Gojo had mistaken Megumi for his biological father in the past with his hair down, it’d been years since and the kid had grown out his hair longer than the Sorcerer Killer of the past.
All his Six Eyes saw right now was just his Megumi.
And he was in pain. Familiar pain. The kind he’d seen before in the mirror on his own face. The kind he’d let go unchecked in the eyes of another.
Twisting the water off, Gojo looked down at Megumi and attempted to push his wet hair out of his eyes. “Hey kiddo-”
Reflexively, the teen smacked his teacher’s hand away. Placing it back down on the counter afterwards as he tried to breathe from his mouth now. Deep dizzying ragged breaths in and out, the nausea returning to say hello as he leaned over the sink. He felt ill, the tingling in his throat matched the uneasiness in his stomach. The bathroom felt suffocating and warm, though the cool countertop helped slightly in calming the waves of nausea.
His hair wasn’t clean. He wasn’t clean. Why won’t the blood go away? Why?
Why didn’t he try harder to get Sukuna to put Yuuji’s heart back?
Why did he say those things, he knew would strike a chord with that idiotic strawberry blonde?
“Megumi!” Gojo pulled him away from the sink by the shoulder. “You gotta breathe sometime today!” In the moment, he’d frozen still in front of the mirror as if someone had paused him like they would a film. Holding his breath as he spiraled into his thoughts, putting everything else on a back burner. With Gojo’s intervention reminding him to breathe again.
“Slowly, slowly Megumi. Not so heavy, kid. You’re not trying to inhale the sky.” Gojo joked, though not much of a smile was on his face. With Megumi focused on slowing and relaxing his breathing, Gojo finally was able to take the opportunity and push the wet hair out of his face.
“Now, what’s with the emergency sink shower? Not the brightest idea you’ve had, though nothing I haven’t done in a pinch before.” He said reassuringly at the end, trying to keep it light.
Forcing down tears as his frustration reached a high, he balled his fists tight. Even with short nails he felt the little itty bitty pricks into his palm. “It won’t go away.”
“What won’t?”
Hesitating for a moment, Megumi looked to Gojo with reluctance to admit it. “I can feel it, it’s all still in my hair. I can’t get it out- it doesn’t feel the same.”
Gojo waited patiently for Megumi as he struggled to convey his thoughts.
“My hair is easy to work with. It’s supposed to be easy to work with- It’s, it’s supposed to not be sticky. Or oily. Or wrong.” Megumi huffs, as tears prick at the corner of his eyes.
“It feels wrong. This is all wrong. It’s not logical. Why is it wrong?”
Gojo looked down to the floor for a moment. Lucky he had his blindfold on at this time if not to let Megumi see his own hesitation before he spoke. “Because it wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Megumi’s eyes widened, as he stared at Gojo. “But-”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen, Megs. You did your best with the situation at hand.” Gojo paused, “If not reckless mid-way.”
At that Megumi unclenched his hands and tsked, clutching his elbow and glancing off to the side. Seeing the young shikigami user start to calm down more or at least a calmer contemplative state than before, Gojo lets his shoulder go.
Pulling open a cabinet drawer and plucking the closest clean towel from it. Dropping it promptly atop Megumi’s head.
“Let’s get you squared away with Ieiri before I’m convicted of child abuse, alright?”
A low hum from Megumi as he pulls the towel off his head. Letting it rest around his neck instead, as Gojo helps him out of the bathroom. The pain and exhaustion of the day catching up fully now that his body was without adrenaline or panic to put it off.
He’ll try washing his hair again tomorrow.
Maybe by then, the stickiness he felt would be gone.
As the two walked down the hallway, the previous silence wasn’t so loud. Broken up by another pair of footsteps and the sounds of cicadas on the trees outside.
“Live a long life.”
Passing by the doors, he saw a glimpse into Itadori’s room as they headed to the infirmary. His main pair of indoor slippers hastily thrown at the ground in front of his bed.
You should’ve taken your own advice, Yuuji.