Work Text:
Yuuji wakes up, as he always does, when the sky outside is still dim.
The sun's up, technically. Yuuji can see a faint lightness around the edges of their drawn blinds. Next to him, Megumi is a big lump under the blankets, his back facing Yuuji and his hair a feathery, spiky mess that looks bigger than it really is in the fuzzy blue darkness. Yuuji carefully braces a hand on the mattress, bracketing Megumi's body without actually touching him, and leans down to press a barely-there kiss to the curve of his cheek. Megumi's eyelids flicker, but he doesn't wake. Perfect.
Usually, when Yuuji wakes up, he'll either go back to sleep, entertain himself by looking at Megumi, or—if he's really restless—go for a run. Today, though, he extracts himself from the bed with the kind of caution that he usually only brings out when he's on high-stakes missions. Getting out without waking Megumi is an extreme sport at this point, and he's got it down to an art; he has to go slow, so the mattress doesn't bounce back from his weight, and he has to make sure he avoids that one spot on the floor that creaks. He gets out successfully, keeping an eye on Megumi to make sure he's really sleeping, then tiptoes to the door.
Today's going to be a quiet day.
Kon unfurls from the shadow of the door as he opens it, rising from the floor to brush against the backs of Yuuji's legs. It doesn't worry him—Kon usually lies dormant in shadows around the house even when Megumi's still sleeping, and by now it's so attuned to Yuuji that it will instinctively get up to follow him when he passes by. He gives it a habitual scratch behind the ears, keeping his hand buried in its thick fur as he makes his way to the kitchen.
Breakfast, he decides, will be a bit more traditional today. No toast, no jam, no yogurt—none of the easy foods that they would eat on school mornings to save time. Not today, of all days.
Kon sticks to him like glue as he goes about preparing breakfast. Rice goes in the cooker, fish goes on the grill, eggs get beaten and poured in the pan. He debates between corn and miso soup before finally settling on miso, and he takes the natto and pickled vegetables out of the fridge to let them rest on the counter. He gets Megumi's favourite tea to start steeping, too—properly, with the leaves and strainer and everything, not just the teabags that Megumi will resort to when he's feeling lazy. Kon flops down in the middle of the kitchen floor like a giant rug, and Yuuji blows raspberries at it as he steps over its tail or puts a foot on its belly to give it absentminded belly rubs.
By the time he's done, the sun has fully risen. He sets out their empty bowls—without filling them, because he's pretty sure Megumi will want to do that himself—then reaches out to nudge Kon.
"Oi," he says. "Wanna go wake him up?"
Kon perks up immediately. Together, the two of them creep back to the bedroom, where they find Megumi still sleeping.
Yuuji cracks the blinds open, just enough to let the light bleed in without staging an attack on Megumi's eyes. He kneels down by the bed and strokes a hand over the sleep-soft skin of Megumi's nape, watching as Megumi stirs awake at the motion.
"Morning," Yuuji murmurs, keeping his voice low. "Happy birthday."
Megumi scrunches up his nose. He's always a little slow to process words right after he wakes up—his brain needs a little bit of time to reboot before it starts working at full power. Yuuji leans in and drops a series of little kisses all over his cheeks and nose bridge, peppering them like freckles until Megumi groans and half-heartedly pushes him off with a hand to the face.
"What time is it?"
"None of your business," Yuuji says. His voice comes out muffled, thanks to Megumi's palm being pushed into his cheek. "We've got nothing to do today, remember?"
Megumi goes still. Yuuji waits, being careful not to move, as he sees the pieces click together in Megumi's head.
"...Right," Megumi says, so calmly that it has to be an act. Yuuji reaches up and wraps his fingers around Megumi's wrist, squeezing once, before leaning in to give him one last kiss on the tip of his nose.
"Breakfast is ready," he says. "You wanna eat now?"
Megumi shrugs, which is as good as a yes. He pushes himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and doesn't complain when Yuuji takes his hands and pulls him to his feet. Kon weaves between their legs, and Yuuji laughs when the shikigami bumps into Megumi and makes him stumble forward into Yuuji's chest.
Megumi takes charge of breakfast after that. When they get to the kitchen, he directs Yuuji to go sit at the table, and Kon promptly lays its head on his lap to keep him pinned there. Megumi's the one who sets the kettle to boil for Yuuji's coffee, and he's the one who pours his own tea, and he's the one who spoons rice into both of their bowls from the rice cooker. He puts three pieces of grilled fish in Yuuji's bowl and two pieces in his own, but he gives himself extra tofu and seaweed in his miso soup. Yuuji sits there, scratching Kon behind the ears, and murmurs a quiet thank you when Megumi sets his bowl down in front of him.
"And your coffee," Megumi says, passing Yuuji his mug. It's the one he uses everyday, a matching cat mug to Megumi's well-loved dog one, and Megumi's made Yuuji's coffee just the way he likes: with heart-stopping amounts of sugar. "You're gross for drinking that with rice, by the way. It doesn't go together at all."
He says that nearly every morning. Yuuji just beams at him and blows him an air kiss; Megumi, as always, reluctantly pretends to catch it. Yuuji loves him so much he thinks he'll explode.
They eat together in peaceful silence. Sometimes Yuuji will turn on the TV for background noise, but today he decides to keep things quiet. The sun slants through the window, and Yuuji subtly angles his body to block it from getting in Megumi's eyes. Megumi quirks an eyebrow at him like he knows exactly what Yuuji's doing, but he doesn't say anything.
Yuuji takes his time eating. It's true, what he said earlier: they have nothing planned for today. Yuuji had very purposefully made sure that they had nothing planned for today.
Megumi's birthdays are usually quiet affairs anyway, since he doesn't like being the centre of attention, but today he'd specifically requested to have no celebration at all. No surprises, no parties, no gifts; he'd even asked Nobara to stay away, telling her to visit tomorrow instead if she really wanted to. He'd said that Yuuji could get him a cake—a small one—just for the sake of it, but other than that, he wanted nothing.
Just you, he'd said months ago, when Yuuji had tentatively asked him about it. I just want to be with you.
There's a good reason for it, of course. Yuuji props his chin up on his hand, watching Megumi for any signs of distress. He's adorably disheveled in the way he always is right after waking up, like a disgruntled cat, but he doesn't seem to be having another one of his bad days. His eyes are clear, not glazed over. His breathing is slow but even. His shoulders are relaxed, not hunched up and tense, and he moves with a steadiness that loosens a knot in Yuuji's chest.
Today, Megumi is thirty years old, which makes him older than Gojo ever was.
He seems to be handling it well so far. Last night had been worse. Last night, Yuuji had known, from the distant look in Megumi's eye and the way he leaned his weight on Yuuji while they were brushing their teeth together, that Megumi had wanted to be held but not seen. When they got into bed and Megumi turned his back to him, Yuuji hadn't gone through the usual song and dance of poking and prodding and teasing to get him to show his face. Instead, he'd quietly slid into place behind Megumi, wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him in, and waited until Megumi brought his own hand up to intertwine his five fingers with Yuuji's three.
Last night, he'd heard Megumi cry. Not for long, and not a lot, but he'd heard it.
He lays his hand out on the table, a silent invitation. Megumi glances at it. Yuuji waits.
Megumi reaches out and takes it.
Yuuji breathes a sigh of relief. He wraps his fingers around Megumi's, their hands fitting together perfectly. In the trashy romcoms that Yuuji indulges in with Nobara, they always say it's like they were made for each other, but Yuuji doesn't think that's quite right. He thinks it's more accurate to say that he and Megumi have moulded themselves for each other, softening both their edges so they can slot together seamlessly. In his opinion, that's more romantic. Isn't it better to say that they did this on purpose? That they love each other, and learned to get better at loving each other, entirely on purpose?
Ha. That's a thought that he'd expect Megumi to have. Yuuji bites back a smile, shakes his head when Megumi throws him a questioning look, and finishes his breakfast.
Megumi insists on doing the dishes, since Yuuji was the one to cook. He shoos Yuuji off to brush his teeth, and when Yuuji makes his way to the bathroom, stumbling again over Kon's ginormous butt, he stops for a moment to look at his reflection.
Yuuji doesn't really make it a habit to look at himself too often. To be honest, he doesn't care that much. He's already got a husband and he doesn't want any other, so it's not like he has to try to attract people. There's also the fact that, well—even if he doesn't care, he still doesn't really like how he looks. He doesn't like the scars or the blueish-white dead-fish look of his blind right eye. He doesn't like how his face makes people cross the street to avoid him, or how sometimes little kids will get startled by his scars and cry. He's had fourteen years to get used to it, but it's still not a good feeling. It helps that every day he comes home and Megumi kisses his face just the same, but—still. These days, he wears a face mask when he goes out shopping.
Now, as he spits out his toothpaste and rinses his mouth out, he glances up at the mirror.
It's hard to really pinpoint how your face changes when you see it every day, but if Yuuji tries to conjure up a picture of his fifteen-year-old self, he knows they'd be incredibly different. Megumi says he's filled out over the years; they both have. His jaw's broadened, and his shoulders too. He's taller, obviously. Older.
He's older than Nanami.
It's a thought that makes him falter a little. It's not the same as Megumi and Gojo, obviously, but it's the same concept. He hadn't actually known that Nanami was only twenty-eight until he visited his grave for the first time. When Yuuji turned twenty-nine, it had felt a little bit too much like he was cheating somehow—like he was pulling ahead of Nanami in a race that he wasn't supposed to win.
That's probably the same thing Megumi's feeling right now, but dialled up to the max. Yuuji takes a deep breath, nudges Kon out of the way, and heads back to the kitchen.
Megumi is still standing at the sink. The water's running. It usually takes him less time than this to wash up, but Yuuji doesn't comment. He just comes up behind Megumi instead, Kon trailing behind with its nails clicking against the floor, and slides his arms around Megumi's waist.
Megumi leans back into him, but doesn't stop his methodical dish-scrubbing. Yuuji can feel his breathing like this, and it's pretty steady, so hopefully that means Megumi's doing okay so far. Yuuji doesn't say anything, just rests his chin on Megumi's shoulder and stares aimlessly out the window.
"Garden's coming in well," he murmurs. Megumi turns his head a little, just enough for the bone of his jaw to bump against Yuuji's nose.
"It is," he says back. "You're doing a good job with it."
Yuuji hums, looking back out the window at their backyard. Getting a house in Tokyo with a yard had been no small feat, but they live on the outskirts of the city, so they'd managed to do it with their combined salaries and Megumi's inheritance from Gojo. They hadn't even been looking for a yard at first—not until Megumi saw how Yuuji unconsciously lingered outside houses with nice gardens and colourful flowers.
His family house in Sendai used to have a yard. His grandpa had taken care of it until he couldn't anymore; Yuuji has fond memories of eating dirt as he watched his grandpa pull up weeds in the early morning sun. By the time Yuuji left Sendai, the weeds had taken over.
Here, now, in his house with Megumi, Yuuji's been taking care of the garden.
There's no real logic to the flowers that he's planted. He just kind of got everything he thought looked nice: white lilies and yellow roses and stuff like that. Hydrangeas are the newest addition. None of them are in season right now, so the garden's looking a bit dull, but Yuuji's pleased to see that at the very least everything looks healthy, though there are a few weeds popping up that he'll have to take care of.
"The hydrangeas might bloom next season," Yuuji says, peering at the row of new bushes that line the fence. "Wonder what colour they'll be."
Megumi rinses a bowl and sets it aside. "Probably blue."
"Not pink?" Yuuji says, offended. Megumi glances over at him, his eyes lingering on Yuuji's hair; a tiny smile quirks the corner of his mouth.
"Maybe pink," he murmurs. There's a certain weight to his words, like he's talking about something more important than just flowers. "But it depends on the soil, right?"
"Do you want them to be pink?"
"Does it matter?"
"Just tell me," Yuuji insists. "If you had to pick, blue or pink—which one?"
Megumi hesitates for a moment. "Pink. I guess."
"Then I'll make them pink," Yuuji declares, despite the fact that he has no idea if that's actually possible. "I'll go out later and check on them. You wanna come?"
Megumi gives a sort of half-committal shrug, neither a yes or a no. Yuuji gets what he means. He squeezes his arms around Megumi's waist, hard enough for Megumi to swat at him in warning, before dropping a kiss on Megumi's shoulder.
"Take your time," he says. "It's an open offer."
Megumi doesn't respond—not verbally, at least. But Yuuji feels him relax a little, his shoulders dropping just the tiniest bit, and that's worth every word in the world.
At Megumi's behest, they do the laundry.
It's a high-priority chore, because they don't have a dryer, so they need to hang up the clothes as soon as possible to make sure they dry in the sun. Yuuji spends a solid five minutes looking for a vanished sock before Megumi snorts out a laugh and leans down to pluck it off the floor, where it'd fallen in plain sight as Yuuji was putting the rest of the clothes into the basket. Then they both head outside to hang their clothes on the line, though not before Megumi shoves a hat on Yuuji's head and swipes a line of sunscreen across his nape.
"I don't care how superhuman you are, I'm not letting you get cancer."
"It's ten minutes in the sun—"
"You already spend enough time outdoors without sunscreen as it is," Megumi says threateningly, and Yuuji can't really argue that. He settles for tackling Megumi in the morning sunlight instead, wrestling him under the clothesline until they get tangled in their own damp clothes and Megumi starts squirming because he hates the feeling of them sticking to his skin. Then he bonks Yuuji on the head. Yuuji's pretty sure that, by now, there's a part of his skull that's thickened to accommodate Megumi's hits.
When they finally get back to actually hanging up the laundry, Yuuji sneaks a glance at Megumi. They're standing on opposite sides of the clothesline, and Yuuji can only really catch glimpses of Megumi in-between the clothes as the line rotates. The sun is at his back—Yuuji had made sure of it—so the edges of his hair have turned golden-brown with the light, like a little glowing outline all around him. Yuuji loves him completely.
And he thinks: if we retired, it would be like this.
It would be this, every day. The two of them in their home, built from the ground-up, washing their dishes and doing their chores and standing outside in their own backyard with the wind in their hair and the sun warming their skin. And it would be good—god, it would be so fucking good—but it's impossible.
They've talked about retirement before. A lot of times, actually. It was Megumi who brought it up first, early in their third year of high school. He'd avoided looking Yuuji in the eyes when he said it. He'd asked if Yuuji had ever thought of going back to Sendai. If Yuuji wanted to go back.
You could do it, you know, he'd said, while Yuuji was still gaping at him, stunned. Sukuna's gone now.
Looking back on it now, it makes Yuuji want to laugh. Megumi had said it like Sukuna had been the only reason Yuuji became a sorcerer. Didn't he understand? Yuuji only ever became a sorcerer because he wanted to save Megumi. Did Megumi really expect him to be okay with just up and leaving now that Sukuna was no longer a threat?
It was the first time they'd talked about it, but it wasn't the last. After graduation, they'd brought it up again. And again, years later, on a random night out in Tokyo. At some point, the conversation had shifted from do you want to leave to what if we left?
They'd discussed it in detail after their wedding. And they could. They could, technically. They have enough money to do it. Their friends would probably shoo them out. But—they can't.
Or, to be more accurate: Yuuji can't.
It's just—he doesn't think he could do it. Not when there are people's lives at stake. There are already so few professional sorcerers, and Yuuji is one of just two Special Grades left in the world. If he leaves...
Nanami said that he'd left, once. Then he said he'd come back. Yuuji thinks it would be the same for him.
It's not like he's got anything left for him outside sorcery these days. He has no living family. All of his friends are sorcerers. There is one reason, and one reason only, for Yuuji to leave—one single person who he would throw everything out the window for. If he left, he might never be able to sleep peacefully at night again, but he wouldn't care if it meant he'd be sleeping with Megumi at his side.
But Megumi would never ask him to do that, not when he knows that the guilt would eat Yuuji alive. If he asked, really asked, then Yuuji would do it. Megumi's worth the trade. But Megumi loves Yuuji too much to do that to him, so they've reached an impasse: Yuuji can't do it, and Megumi won't do it unless Yuuji does it, so they're locked into this career until curses stop being a problem or one of them dies.
At the very least, they've made it so that they always end up on missions together. They forced it, actually—they told the higher-ups that they would either take missions together or not at all. It was a rule that they'd agreed on after they got engaged. These days, the higher-ups still send requests for them to go on solo missions, but everyone knows it's a lost cause. Wherever one of them goes, the other follows.
On the other side of the clothesline, Megumi picks up the empty laundry basket. "I'm heading back in," he says. "Are you staying to work on the garden?"
Yuuji tilts his head, thinking about it. "Mm, I think so. What're you going to do?"
Megumi shrugs. "Clean," he says, which strikes an odd little chord in Yuuji's head. "Mop, probably. So be careful when you come back in. Don't slip like last time."
Yuuji gives him a little nod, watching as Megumi turns his back and heads back into the house. He chews on his lip, a tiny ball of anxiety forming in his stomach.
It hasn't escaped Yuuji's notice that, since Megumi woke up, he hasn't really taken a moment to just sit and relax. He had breakfast straight away, then cleaned up, then insisted on doing the laundry even though they didn't have nearly enough dirty clothes to justify a full cycle, and now he's going back in to mop even though Yuuji mopped, like, two days ago. Yuuji thinks he knows what's going on. Megumi's killing time—keeping himself occupied, making himself do something, so that he doesn't have to think about the fact that it's his birthday.
Yuuji's going to have to do something to get him to chill out a bit. He'd specifically set this day aside for them so Megumi could relax—he had made it very, very clear that anything the higher-ups needed from them could wait until the twenty-third—but, of course, Megumi's working himself to the bone anyway. He's not usually the type to need to keep himself moving, which means that today's...well.
He's probably not doing great.
Yuuji muses on it as he does his rounds around the garden. Everything's coming along well, and he feels a little spark of pride in his chest when he sees nothing wrong. He pays special attention to the hydrangeas—he makes a mental note to search up how to predict what colour they'll be.Then he pulls up the weeds until he feels himself starting to sweat under the sun, and he hears a little phantom Megumi in his ear yelling at him to rest for a few minutes.
These days, Yuuji finds that he gravitates to shadowy places. Under leafy trees, on streets beside tall buildings, under ledges and awnings and balconies—if there's a shadow, Yuuji will unconsciously head towards it. It's one of the reasons why he'd loved this place when he and Megumi first viewed it, because the yard has trees all around it and a good amount of shade.
Shadows, after all, are where Megumi likes to hide. So, by extension, they're where Yuuji likes to hang out.
Right now is no different. Yuuji wipes a thin sheen of sweat from his brow, then heads over to one of the bigger trees. He feels the shadow of it pass over his skin like a cool hug as he plops down on the grass, watching the clothesline turn slowly in the light breeze.
Something cold touches the back of his neck.
"Don't forget to reapply your sunscreen," Megumi says, right in his ear, and a laugh bubbles up in Yuuji's chest. He twists around, finding Megumi already starting to slip back into his shadow, and lunges forward to wrap his arms around him. Megumi lets it happen, allowing Yuuji to reel him back into the solid world like a prize fish. Yuuji mentally fist-pumps. This is a perfect opportunity to trap Megumi with relaxation. If he can just get Megumi to sit here with him for a little while...
"You're not allowed to just hit-and-run me like that, dude," Yuuji says, then laughs again when Megumi makes a face at the word 'dude'. He pushes out his lips in a stupid kissy face. "C'mon, stay here with me for a bit."
Megumi looks up at him. He could easily escape Yuuji's arms right now, but he's pliant instead, willingly letting Yuuji hold him in place. Yuuji doesn't know how to describe the look on his face, but it's something along the lines of unbearably fond. Megumi looks at him like that a lot. Yuuji searches his face for anything amiss, the same way he'd searched the garden, but Megumi seems...okay. For now.
"Fine," Megumi says, leaning forward. He pecks Yuuji lightly on the lips, barely there. "Happy now?"
Is he?
Yuuji runs a hand up and down Megumi's back. He can feel a smile breaking out across his face, impossible to stop; he leans in, bumping his nose against Megumi's, and tilts his head to steal a second kiss.
"Yeah," he says, grinning against Megumi's lips. "I think I am. Stay? The chores can wait for a little bit."
Megumi hesitates.
"Please?" Yuuji adds.
Megumi glances at him, then quickly looks away. "Alright," he says, and Yuuji does another mental fist-pump. Hell yeah. He's killing this husband thing. "But only a few minutes, okay?"
"Of course." Yuuji pecks his cheek. "Just a few minutes."
Megumi falls asleep, right there in the yard. Yuuji holds a hand over his eyes to make sure the sun doesn't wake him up.
After dinner, Megumi goes to their room.
Yuuji wasn't expecting it, but he wasn't not expecting it, either. Megumi had been doing such a good job of acting like today was a day like any other, and Yuuji's sure that it all just caught up to him. He goes to the fridge, pulls out the single cupcake he'd prepared, grabs a candle and matches, then heads to their room.
The door is cracked open, just barely. Yuuji knocks twice, a sharp rap-rap, before poking his head in.
Megumi's lying on their bed in the dark, curled on his side. For a second, Yuuji's heartrate skyrockets in his chest at the sight of him in such a familiar position—but then he shakes his head, and the old fear goes back to sleep. As he steps into the room, he can see that Megumi's black dog is sprawled across him too. Just his black dog—not Kon. It's been a long time since Yuuji last saw him use the black dog on its own. It looks so much smaller like this, so much younger, like an actual housepet instead of the unmistakable shikigami that Kon is. It lifts its head a little as Yuuji enters, whining low in its throat, before turning around to push its nose into Megumi's waiting palm.
Yuuji hesitantly sets the cupcake and candle down on the bedside table before sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Hey," he says, reaching out to tug lightly at Megumi's sleeve. "How're you feeling?"
Megumi inhales, deep enough that Yuuji can hear how it shakes, and reaches out to take Yuuji's hand. He threads their fingers together, but says nothing. Yuuji slides off the bed to kneel on the floor, putting him nose-to-nose with Megumi; like this, he can look him in the eyes.
Megumi looks—bad.
He hasn't been crying. His eyes aren't red or puffy, and he's more pale than anything else. But there's a horrible dazed look on his face, like he's gone somewhere distant and far-away, and Yuuji leans in until their foreheads are pressing against each other so hard it's almost painful.
"Megumi," he says quietly, reaching up with his other hand to cup Megumi's jaw in his palm. "Is this about Gojo-sensei?"
Megumi closes his eyes for a moment. A yes, then.
Yuuji shuffles his knees uncomfortably on the floor. He—he's not quite sure what to do, here. Megumi and Gojo's relationship is something that he's never fully understood. He'd asked, once, if Gojo was more than a teacher; Megumi had hesitated, then nodded, then backtracked and shook his head. From what Yuuji can gather, it was something like this: Gojo was far from being Megumi's father, but he was still the closest thing Megumi had. He was Megumi's teacher, but he was his teacher for far longer than he was Yuuji or Nobara's. Guardian, perhaps, might be the easiest way to describe it—it was what Gojo was to Megumi, legally. His guardian. Protector. Benefactor, Megumi once called him.
"Can you talk to me, please?" Yuuji whispers, watching as Megumi's eyelids flutter for a moment under his breath. "Just tell me what you're thinking."
Fourteen years ago, this kind of request from Yuuji would be near-impossible. Even back then, when Yuuji knew without a doubt that he was Megumi's most important person, asking him to just spill his thoughts like this would've been slightly insane. Now, though, Megumi simply turns his face into Yuuji's hand. He swallows; Yuuji watches the pale line of his throat move in the dark. Then he opens his mouth.
"I'm thinking," Megumi starts, his voice rough and raw at the edges, "that the only thing he ever wanted of me was for me to surpass him."
Something tightens in Yuuji's chest.
It's like he expected: it's the same as when he thinks about Nanami. It's the same feeling, that I shouldn't have beaten you feeling, except a thousand times worse because it's Megumi and Gojo. Yuuji doesn't know the details of it, but he knows there's some heavy history there to do with their techniques. To be in Megumi's position—to know that he's outstripped Gojo's age because Gojo's was cut short at Megumi's own hands, by the very same technique that Gojo wanted to nurture until it could beat him—
It's enough to drive anyone crazy. Yuuji moves his hand up so he can stroke his thumb over the bone of Megumi's cheek, just barely brushing the edge of the scar beneath his eye.
"Do you really think that?" he murmurs.
Megumi's brow creases. "Think what?"
"That you surpassing him was all he wanted for you."
Megumi purses his lips, something like annoyance flashing over his face. "He might as well have said it, Yuuji. Multiple times."
Yuuji swallows. He doesn't want to overstep—fuck, he really hopes he's not overstepping—but he doesn't like this idea Megumi's got, that Gojo only ever saw him for his power. Yuuji hadn't known Gojo for very long, only six months to Megumi's ten years, but...
"You don't think he wanted you to be happy?"
Beneath his hands, Megumi goes very, very still.
"Because I think he did," Yuuji continues. "And I think—I hope—that you are. Happy, I mean."
Megumi twitches, his hand suddenly reaching up to clamp down on Yuuji's with so much force that Yuuji hisses. "I am," he says, almost frantic. "I—Yuuji, I am, don't—"
Yuuji presses his thumb into Megumi's cheek—not hard enough to hurt, but enough for the pressure to cut Megumi off. "I'm really glad to hear that," he says softly, and he means it with his entire heart. "And—I think Gojo-sensei would be, too."
He lifts his thumb. There's an impression left there on Megumi's cheek, a little red oval that's already starting to fade. Megumi's staring at him with an unreadable expression, something so open and soft that it makes Yuuji's heart ache to look at him.
Megumi swallows. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuji sees the black dog silently dissolve back into his shadow.
"Thank you," Megumi whispers, so quiet that Yuuji can barely hear him. His eyes shift, going over Yuuji's shoulder to land on the cupcake that Yuuji left on the bedside table. His brows lift.
"You got a cake."
Yuuji gives him a sheepish look. "Just a little one. I mean, it is your birthday."
Megumi's mouth twitches up at one corner, the ghost of a smile. He pushes himself upright; Yuuji pulls back to give him space. He sits back on his heels, hands on his knees as he watches Megumi takes the matches in hand.
The match catches on the first try. The fire creates a tiny little bubble of light in their dark bedroom, just enough to illuminate both of their faces. Megumi lights the candle, then blows out the match and places it delicately on the bedside table. He glances at Yuuji, then back at the candle, then back to Yuuji.
He clears his throat. "Yuuji," he says. "Do you want to blow it out?"
Yuuji blinks at him. "Me?"
Megumi nods. The firelight reflects off his eyes, like two dark marbles; for a moment, Yuuji wonders what Megumi sees of him right now. Is Yuuji's right eye like a white beacon in his face?
"I want you to do it," Megumi says, pushing the cupcake over so it's closer to Yuuji. Yuuji looks at it, then back at Megumi. A flicker of movement in the corner of his vision draws his eye down.
Megumi's hand is shaking.
Ah. So it's like that.
Instinctively, Yuuji reaches out to cover Megumi's hand with his own. The trembling calms down almost immediately, Megumi's hand twitching for a few seconds before going still. Yuuji can feel the ridge of Megumi's wedding band beneath his fingers, worn smooth from years of touch.
"You're sure you want me to do it?" Yuuji checks. Megumi breathes in a shaky breath, then nods. Yuuji reaches out to take the cupcake in his other hand.
He holds up the cupcake in front of him so he can see it, watching how Megumi's eyes follow the flame, before he leans in and blows it out.
In June, the hydrangeas bloom pink.