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Part 1: Blue Morning
Your morning eyes, I could stare like watching stars
I could walk you by, and I'll tell without a thought
You'd be mine, would you mind if I took your hand tonight?— Blue, Yungkai
Megumi wasn’t planning to wake up until the next century, probably.
The mission last night, which was supposed to be just grade 2, turned Special grade last minute, had wrung him dry…limbs heavy with exhaustion, brain buzzing with afterimages of blood, shadow, and the sharp snap of cursed energy. Kirito, the new first-year, had survived, barely , and Megumi had dragged him out of the rubble with the last of his cursed energy clinging to his skin like ash.
So when something warm and loud pressed itself into his bed at 6:54 in the morning, Megumi reacted the way any reasonable human being would.
He groaned. Loudly. Pulled the blanket over his head like a corpse shroud.
“Me~gu~miiii~,” a voice sang in a way no voice that early in the morning should ever sing. “It’s a beautiful day! Birds are chirping! The world is waiting!”
“The world can wait,” Megumi mumbled into the pillow. “I’m tired. dead tired.”
“Aw, don’t say that. You’re too cute to be dead.”
Megumi groaned again, rolled tighter into himself, and shoved his head under the pillow. “No.”
There was a shift. A creak. A terrible premonition.
And then, Gojo’s full weight collapsed on top of him like a human starfish.
Megumi swore he saw stars behind his eyelids.
“Ugh—--get off!”
“Nope,” Gojo said, nuzzling into his shoulder like a very large, very persistent koala. “This is your punishment for ignoring me. You didn’t reply to any of my 27 messages last night. Or the 11 voicemails. One of them had me doing an opera of Maria Callas, but male version.”
“I was fighting for my life,” Megumi hissed, trying to roll away, only for Gojo to tighten his grip like a python. “And I’m skipping class. I deserve at least a coma.”
Gojo made a wounded noise. “You’re skipping my class? The best class in Tokyo Jujutsu High's history? With the most handsome, brilliant, emotionally available teacher ever?”
Megumi didn’t respond. He simply tightened the blanket around his head like it might suffocate him fast enough to escape this conversation.
Which is how, twenty minutes later, Megumi found himself slumped in a chair at their usual café, the one tucked beside the bakery with the too-loud radio and the crooked sign that always reminded him of Tsumiki's doodles.
His eyes were half-closed, hair a disaster, hoodie pulled up like a warning sign that read “Approach and die.”
Across from him, Gojo Satoru was inhaling a sandwich roughly the size of Megumi’s torso. There was a tower of hash browns on one plate, an untouched slice of strawberry cake on another, and the world’s most obnoxiously sweet latte in his hand.
“You’re impossible,” Megumi muttered, stabbing a sausage with a bit of force and begrudgingly.
Gojo beamed. “That’s the spirit.”
“And this is definitely harassment.”
“Oh come on, you love our morning breakfasts with me.”
“I love sleeping,” Megumi corrected. “This was not consensual.”
“You didn’t say ‘no,’” Gojo said around a bite of sandwich.
“I said I was dead.”
“Which I interpreted as, ‘Please resurrect me with affection and pancakes.’ And look–we’re here!”
Megumi kicked him under the table. Limitless blocked it. Of course.
“Stop talking please,” he sighed.
Gojo didn’t. “Remember when you were eight and I tried to feed you natto with minced bell peppers and you cried like I’d betrayed you?”
Megumi set his fork down and stared at him with all the blank fury of a cat that had just been sprayed with water.
“You swore you’d never bring that up again.”
“I lied,” Gojo said brightly. “Because it was adorable.”
Megumi covered his face with one hand.
Gojo, undeterred, sipped his latte like he was sipping sunlight. “You used to make that exact same face when I picked you up from middle school. The ‘I’d rather be hit by a truck than be seen with you’ face. Brings back memories.”
And maybe it was just the lighting, morning blue creeping through the café windows, washing everything in that soft, cinematic haze, but for a moment, something flickered behind Megumi’s tired glare. Something quieter. Older. Like the ghost of a smile.
“You’re really unbelievable,” he muttered.
Gojo grinned, eyes creasing, like he’d won something. “Unbelievably devoted to my favourite student.”
Megumi sighed again, but this time it sounded more like surrender.
“...Do I at least get a nap after this?”
“No promises,” Gojo said, already sliding another hash brown onto his plate. “I have a whole day planned.”
Megumi buried his head in his arms.
Part 2: Places We’ve Been
'll imagine we fell in love
I'll nap under moonlight skies with you
I think I'll picture us, you with the waves
The ocean's colors on your face— Blue, Yungkai
Megumi’s first mistake was letting Gojo pay the bill. His second was letting him lead the way out of the café.
The moment they stepped into the crisp morning air, Gojo slung an arm around Megumi’s shoulders like it belonged there, like it always had.
“You’re not dragging me around all day,” Megumi warned, eyes narrowed. “I need to rest. I’m still sore.”
Gojo made a dramatic gasp. “You sound like Nanami.”
“That’s not an insult.”
“You’re no fun,” Gojo pouted. “C’mon, you didn’t die. That means today’s a bonus level.”
“Bonus level of what? Suffering?”
Gojo just grinned and kept walking, practically dragging Megumi behind him.
They ended up at the mall.
Megumi didn’t know how. One minute he was silently regretting his life choices, the next, he was inside a luxury boutique with Gojo holding up a ridiculous neon shirt that said Daddy Issues Made Me Hot.
“Absolutely not,” Megumi said.
“Okay, okay,” Gojo snorted. “But what about this one? It's got little kittens on it. That’s very you.”
Megumi stared at him, unimpressed. “Do I look like a kitten to you?”
Gojo grinned. “Like a very angry one.”
The attendant, bless her soul, came over and smiled politely. “Looking for something special today?”
Before Megumi could shut it down, Gojo slung an arm around his shoulders and said with way too much enthusiasm, “Oh, yes. I’m shopping for someone very important.”
The attendant’s eyes gleamed. “Boyfriend?”
Gojo gave her a dazzling grin. “Future husband.”
Megumi stiffened. His soul attempted to exit his body through sheer force of will. He struggled to free himself, but Gojo’s grip only tightened.
The attendant clapped her hands together. “Oh my, how sweet!”
“Right?” Gojo beamed, like this was a completely normal thing to say.
Megumi finally managed to wriggle out of Gojo’s hold. His face was burning. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked–no, fled–out of the store.
Gojo followed, laughing like a man with nothing to lose. “Aw, don’t be shy, Megumi~! You didn’t say no!”
Megumi didn’t slow down. “You’re lucky I didn’t exorcise you on the spot.”
They didn’t buy anything.
Instead, Gojo insisted they stop at the arcade, “for old times’ sake,” he claimed, dragging Megumi toward the shooting games before he could protest.
It was the same one they used to play years ago, when Megumi was still small enough to sit on stacked milk crates just to reach the controls. Gojo would laugh behind him, coaching loudly, annoying every other player in the building.
Now, Megumi didn’t need a crate.
He beat Gojo three rounds in a row.
“You’ve become a monster,” Gojo sighed, collapsing dramatically against the machine. “A tiny, violent urchin with no mercy.”
Megumi crossed his arms, smug. “Skill issue.”
Gojo let out a scandalised wheeze. “You’ve been hanging out with Yuuji too much.”
They played until Gojo pretended to cry. Then they left.
Lunch was Megumi’s favorite sushi place, tucked in a quiet side street. It hadn’t changed in years, the same bamboo curtains, the same faint scent of grilled eel and soy. Gojo didn’t even need to ask his order. It came, exactly how he liked it.
“You remembered,” Megumi muttered.
Gojo blinked at him, mock insulted. “Of course I did. You always chew the tamago last because you like to end sweet with it.”
Megumi looked down at his food. His heart did something strange.
They ate mostly in silence. The good kind. Between sips of tea and soft clinks of chopsticks, the air began to slow. The world outside the window blurred–cars, people, clouds drifting.
Time softened.
Gojo broke the silence first.
“We used to run here after training,” he said, voice light, tapping his chopsticks on the edge of his bowl. “Every time I made you do handstands through the cursed field, you'd ask me to treat you and order udon.”
Megumi snorted into his tea. “I was ten and your training isn’t exactly child-friendly.”
“What do you mean not child-friendly!! That's scandalous, Gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “I’ll have you know I was tossed off a cliff at six. Builds character.”
“You dropped me from the sky because you were only holding my shirt,” Megumi deadpanned.
“Okay, true. An accident. But I caught you! I always do...”
“I almost had a heart attack” Megumi deadpanned
Gojo huffed. “I nearly had a heart attack too.”
Megumi kicked him under the table. Limitless. Again.
He narrowed his eyes. “Sensei. Turn it off so I can hit you properly.”
Gojo just smiled, soft and infuriating. “Alright, alright. It’s off now.”
Megumi raised his leg again.
“No, wait–it’s not!” Gojo yelped, laughing as Megumi huffed and pulled his foot back.
He laughed again, gentler this time. Not the exaggerated wheeze he did around Yuuji and the others. Not the mocking cackle that usually came before a sarcastic comment. This one was real. Low and warm and…..
Beautiful.
Megumi glanced up before he could stop himself. Something twisted in his chest. It was so rare, seeing Gojo like this…unguarded.
“Okay,” Gojo said, leaning back, eyes still bright. “Now it’s really off.”
Megumi looked away, cheeks warming. “Never mind.”
A beat passed.
Then another.
It was quiet again. Calmer. The noise of the restaurant faded beneath the hum of memory.
Gojo’s smile lingered, even as his gaze drifted to the street outside the window—where the sky had started to blur into cloudless blue.
“You’ve grown so much, Megumi,” he murmured.
No teasing this time. Just that simple, steady truth.
Megumi lowered his gaze. The heat under his hoodie wasn’t from the tea.
“…Don’t get sentimental.”
Gojo rested his chin in his palm, looking at him like he was seeing something far away..
“Too late.”
After lunch, they walked.
The park wasn’t much—just a stretch of cracked stone paths and old trees that clung to autumn longer than they should. A shallow koi pond mirrored the sky in ripples, and the wind carried that dry, quiet hush that only exists in places where time slows down.
To anyone else, it was forgettable.
But to Megumi, it felt like walking into a memory.
They had trained here a long time ago. Week after week, Gojo would push him to exhaustion and then buy him ice cream or dango when he didn’t complain. Sometimes Tsumiki came too, sitting on the bench with a juice box, laughing whenever Gojo exaggerated his falls during sparring.
“It feels smaller,” Megumi said, glancing at the stone path under his shoes.
“You got taller,” Gojo replied. “Or maybe you just see things clearer now.”
They stopped by the koi pond. The water rippled in quiet waves, leaves floating like lazy memories.
A sudden noise, rustle, sharp, wrong.
A low curse crawled out from the bushes, ugly and fast.
Megumi didn’t hesitate. His shadow twitched.
It was over in three moves.
Gojo clapped, slow and obnoxiously loud. “Flawless form. Incredible flair. You’ve really grown into your technique.”
“I'm gonna punch you if you make fun of me.”
But Gojo was already pretending to sob, wiping imaginary tears with the edge of his sleeve. “My baby boy is all grown up!”
Megumi rolled his eyes. “You never change sensei”
“Why would I?” Gojo said, with a lopsided smile. “I already have everything I need.”
There was something in the way he said it that made Megumi’s throat tighten. He looked away, down at the water.
“…You’re like a mother duck sometimes.”
“And you’re my favourite duckling.”
And before Megumi could make sense and escape, Gojo pulled him into a tight hug.
“You’re so special to me,” he whispered, for once not laughing.
Megumi stilled. His breath caught in his throat.
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“It is,” Gojo said. “It’s the easiest thing in the world.”
Megumi hesitated, then muttered, “Don’t say stuff you don’t mean.”
“But I mean it,” Gojo replied, resting his forehead gently against Megumi’s temple. “I love you the most, Gumi.”
And Megumi, bright red, overwhelmed, chest aching, shoved at him weakly.
“Stop Joking.”
“I’m not,” Gojo replied, pulling him in even tighter. “And you’re my favorite person in the world.”
There was nothing Megumi could say to that.
So he looked away, throat tight, chest heavier than it had been all day.
“If we’re wasting time,” he muttered, voice rough, “we might as well go to the zoo.”
Gojo only smiled at him, the usual fond smile he gives Megumi.
“He never changes,” Megumi thought again, walking side by side with his sensei. And for the first time all day, he agrees with him. He hoped he would stay that way.
Part 3: The Zoo at the Edge of Memory
My love will always stay by you
I'll keep it safe, so don't you worry a thing
I'll tell you I love you more
It’s stuck with you forever, so promise you won’t let it go— Blue, Yungkai
The zoo was quieter than usual.
Maybe it was the time, late afternoon, the hour when light thins and shadows stretch long over the pavement. Or maybe it was the way Megumi walked beside Gojo, half a step behind like he used to when he was a kid, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, eyes unreadable.
They strolled through the usual paths. Past the lazy lions, past the flamingos with their quiet elegance, past the sleeping panda that Gojo tried to imitate until Megumi elbowed him in the ribs.
It felt… familiar.
“Do you remember,” Gojo said, tapping the glass of the reptile house, “how you used to drag me and Tsumiki here every summer?”
“No,” Megumi lied.
Gojo grinned. “You had this notebook. With facts. You made Tsumiki quiz you.”
Megumi’s ears turned red.
“You named a giraffe after me,” Gojo continued. “Called it ‘Mr. Gojo the Loud.’”
“Regrettable decision,” Megumi muttered.
“I still have the drawing you made. It had sunglasses and a stick of dango in its mouth.”
Megumi stared at the penguins, trying not to smile.
Gojo leaned in, voice low. “You were really cute back then.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re cute now, too.”
“Please shut up.”
They reached the tiger enclosure just as the sky started turning the color of late peaches. Orange bled into soft blue and violet, the kind of light that made everything feel like an old photograph.
There, sprawled like a king across sun-warmed stone, was a white tiger.
It blinked at them slowly, eyes impossibly blue.
“That one looks like you,” Megumi said before he could stop himself.
Gojo turned to him, brows lifted in surprise.
“Huh. You’re right.” Then he pointed toward the edge of the enclosure, where a sleek black cat lounged on a higher rock, tail curling like smoke.
“And that’s you.”
Megumi raised an eyebrow. “You really think I look like a cat?”
“A very judgmental one,” Gojo said, stepping close. “Mysterious. Intense. Secretly soft.”
He tilted his head, smiling.
“That’s us, Megumi.”
Megumi let out a breath of laughter. Not forced. Not guarded. Just a quiet little sound that escaped like light through a crack.
Gojo’s face softened.
“Do it again,” he whispered. “I didn’t catch that one on my phone.”
Megumi shook his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.”
Gojo looked at him with something like awe.
And then he raised his hands, slowly, gently, and cupped Megumi’s face, his thumbs brushing just under his lips.
“Stay like this,” he murmured. “Just for a while.”
Megumi’s heart stuttered.
The sun slipped lower, soft golden hues started to paint it like a sepia painting.
They bought ice cream and walked back through the winding paths, not talking much. Not needing to. Every step felt too quiet, too heavy. Like walking through the last pages of a dream you didn’t want to wake from.
Part 4: Pastlives
“Past lives couldn't ever hold me down
Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found
I've got the strangest feelin'
This isn't our first time around” — Pastlives, Sapientdreams
They left the zoo beneath an orange-pink sky, ice cream in hand.
Megumi didn’t remember getting one. He didn’t remember choosing a flavor. Maybe Gojo had handed it to him with that usual grin and a too-cheerful, “You looked like you needed something sweet.”
He’d taken it, wordlessly. Their fingers had brushed.
They walked in step, holding hands.
Gojo’s was warm, large…wrapped protectively around Megumi’s like it had always belonged there, like it always would.
They walked in silence through streets the same way they had when he was younger.
It felt… weightless. The kind of calm that settled after the storm, when the wreckage has been cleared and all that’s left is the hush of breath and fading light.
Then…
A turn. A familiar bend in the road.
Megumi paused.
The world shifted…not dramatically, not jarringly. Just… tilted. The light caught differently. The shadows lengthened.
He looked up.
That corner.
That rusty street sign leaning at a strange angle.
That crumbling balcony, paint flaking off in layers—
Where Tsumiki used to sit, swinging her legs and waiting for him to come home.
His feet stopped moving.
The street in front of him… he knew it.
He blinked, slow. His breath hitched.
“This is where I met you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Where you found me .”
The words hung in the air like a thread between timelines.
Gojo didn’t respond. He just watched him with something unreadable in his face…soft, fond, fragile .
The warmth of Gojo's hand slipped from his fingers.
Megumi stepped forward slowly, past the warped lamppost that had always leaned too far east. The sunlight hit his face like memory. Like déjà vu soaked in amber.
He turned.
Gojo stood there.
No more sunglasses.
No teasing smile.
Just his eyes. So blue they hurt to look at. Like a piece of the sky had been caught and kept behind lashes.
Megumi felt his chest crack open..
...And everything made sense.
He ran.
Ran into his arms like gravity pulled him there, burying himself in the fabric of his shirt like he could fold time, like he could stop the inevitable.
Gojo caught him, as always.
“Don’t leave,” Megumi whispered. His voice broke in the middle. “Please. Don’t leave again.”
Gojo held him like the answer to a prayer. One arm tight around his back, the other threading through his hair like he used to when Megumi was younger and had nightmares and wouldn’t say a word about them.
“It’s okay,” Gojo whispered, voice hushed and heavy. “I’ve got you.”
Megumi clung tighter, fingers fisting into his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” Gojo said then, and something in the way he said it felt like a door closing. “But I can’t stay.”
“No—” Megumi gasped. “No, please… I don’t want to wake up. If this is a dream, I don’t want it to end...don’t make it end.”
Silence, then. Not cruel. Not cold. Just full.
And then, Gojo spoke softly, like the echo of something nostalgic and familiar.
“You found me,” he said, pressing a hand to Megumi’s back. “You always do.”
Like it was a promise.
Like it was goodbye. Again.
“Gojo-sensei…” Megumi’s voice cracked as he buried himself deeper in that vanishing warmth, tears slipping freely now, soundless and sharp.
“I’ll come back,” Gojo murmured, brushing his temple against Megumi’s. “Like always. From time to time. Whenever you need me.”
“It’s my fault,” Megumi choked. “I wasn’t strong enough. I let him—Sukuna—take me. If I’d just.....”
“No.” Gojo tilted his chin up, wiping at a tear with his thumb. “No, Megumi. You are stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. What happened wasn’t your fault. I made my choice.”
His voice broke just a little, but his smile stayed soft.
“I made it because I love you.”
Megumi stopped breathing for a second. His entire body went still.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I’m not,” Gojo said. “Not with you. Never with you.”
He leaned in and kissed Megumi’s forehead, slow and careful, like a blessing carved in light.
“You’re my greatest pride, Gumi. You always have been.”
Megumi shook his head, desperate. “Please don’t say goodbye.”
But Gojo only pulled him close one last time, his voice fading like the sky into twilight.
“I love you, Gumi. Remember that.”
Megumi broke.
He cried, not the quiet kind. But the aching, trembling kind that shakes your whole body. And Gojo held him through it, whispering words Megumi would never remember, only feel.
Then Gojo smiled, soft and small, like he was afraid it might break.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispered, voice gentler than the fading light. “Now keep going.”
He leaned in.
And kissed him.
Not rushed. Not desperate. Just a quiet, reverent press of lips that said everything words never could. A goodbye folded into a promise. A memory sealed in touch.
Megumi’s lips trembled.
His eyes stung, vision blurring as warmth bloomed and broke across his chest. He kept them open, barely, trying to hold onto every second, to memorize the lines of Gojo’s face at this distance.
Gojo’s eyes were closed.
And when Gojo finally pulled away, Megumi watched through tears as those pale lashes fluttered, and those impossible eyes…bluer than the dusk behind him…opened one last time.
Their gazes locked.
One last tether.
One last breath.
Then Gojo stepped back.
“I’ll see you again.”
“W-Wait—”” Megumi gasped, reaching, stumbling forward—--
But the world was already slipping.
The street. The sunset. The blue.
Everything blurred, like a watercolor left out in the rain…as if memory itself couldn’t bear to hold it all.
Part 5: Don’t Wake Me
Past lives couldn't ever come between us
Sometimes the dreamers finally wake up
Don't wake me, I'm not dreamin'
Don't wake me, I'm not dreamin— Pastlives, Sapientdreams
When Megumi opened his eyes, he was back in the school clinic.
Too quiet. Too still.
The sterile scent of the clinic air replaced the zoo’s earthy breeze.
No soft chatter beside him. No warm hand in his.
Just the low hum of fluorescent lights, and the dying glow of a sunset filtering through the pale curtains…
a fading echo of something gentler.
He blinked slowly.
His lashes were damp.
His throat burned.
The taste of coffee lingered like an afterimage. So did the laugh. The embrace.
And Gojo’s voice, bright, infuriating, beloved…calling him Gumi like it meant everything.
He sat up, mechanical. Hollow.
The blanket slid from his shoulders like a dream slipping through his fingers.
Gone.
His fingers curled against the sheets.
He hadn’t imagined the weight of Gojo’s arms. The scent of his cologne. The way his thumb brushed under his eye when Megumi cried.
He hadn’t imagined that kiss .
He hadn't imagined blue .
Tears welled again, hot and soundless.
He covered his face with one hand, trembling, the sob rising in his throat like a wave too wide to hold back.
“I knew it,” he choked out, voice breaking. “I knew it wasn’t real.”
His chest twisted, torn between grief and longing.
And yet…
His lips formed the words before his heart could stop them.
Soft. Cracked. True.
“I love you too.”
He swallowed the silence like glass.
Then whispered, not to the room but to the fading imprint of a voice now lost to the air…
“See you again.”
The light behind the curtain dimmed to dusk.
And still, Megumi sat there, eyes closed, wishing with everything he had that sleep would take him back.
Back to him .
—