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Every night following their final fight was spent either staring up at the ceiling or repeatedly jolting awake drenched in cold sweat. Images reeled behind Megumi’s eyelids, keeping him awake. Even if he managed to fall into a troubled sleep, the sound of cleave slicing clean through his closest mentor’s torso had him gasping for breath all over again.
In the day, his thoughts were at least subdued by his friends’ outlandish statements and over-the-top energy. He wasn’t plagued by the nightmares around them, still somehow allowed to laugh, alive despite it all.
He didn’t know how to feel about it. Sometimes, he swore he was once again standing in rubble, hands stained with the blood of those close to him.
He wished not to remember. He wished that the feeling would disappear, but life wasn’t so kind to him. Only the sun was, with its bright rays of golden warmth. With it came the loud voices of Kugisaki and Itadori, and by extension, comfort.
Kugisaki’s stubborn insistence of visits to their most frequented shopping district. Itadori’s smiley aura and obvious care for his friends.
Even then, the nights only grew colder, the nightmares more vivid. Megumi swore he’d lose his mind if he was continuously pushed through this guilty cycle. He wasn’t strong like Satoru, and he wasn’t resilient like Itadori.
Of course, there came a night when he snapped.
Waking up from yet another dream, hair tousled and green eyes blown wide with horror, he glanced around desperately, his mouth dry. My dorm, he repeated to himself. It’s just another dream.
After managing to calm his erratic heartbeat, Megumi swallowed anxiously. Somehow, even after he was completely coherent, his blood still felt like ice flowing through his veins, sending an unpleasant chill down his spine.
He wouldn’t settle for going back to bed this time. Every night he did so previously ended in the same result. Either way, he wasn’t about to get sleep here. Not alone, no matter how much it hurt his pride to need somebody else, even now.
Reluctantly, the sorcerer slipped out of bed, kicking off the suffocating blanket. His feet silently touched the wooden floors of Jujutsu High’s dorms, and he made an effort to stand up quietly without keeling over from dizziness.
The hallway seemed so much longer now that the tall, white-haired man wasn’t walking around there in the dead of night. Megumi recalled catching him doing so once or twice. The Strongest had claimed he needed to take his mind off of things. Maybe Megumi would try it himself.
He wasn’t one to pace, though. After a while of mindless walking and only reminiscing of his days with Satoru, Megumi gave up. All he felt like doing now was slumping on the ground outside his room, back to the windowed wall as he simmered in his mind.
A small noise echoed from across him before he could slide down and mope. The sliding of another door, making a strange clunk sound as it opened. It was familiar, enough to tell him whose door it was, but he looked up regardless.
“Woah, Fushiguro? What are you doing?”
Itadori’s questioning voice, rough from sleep, almost made Megumi’s brows furrow automatically. He fought it off.
“Pacing,” he replied simply, not wishing to elaborate at the moment.
“Isn’t it really late?”
“Is it?” Megumi deadpans sarcastically. Itadori huffs at that, a smile creeping across his face. Megumi found himself envious that the other could still be so carefree.
“What are you doing up anyway?”
Itadori grinned, “What if I said I was going to pace too?”
Megumi didn’t know how to respond to that. “Are you lying or being serious?”
“Of course I’m serious, why would I lie?” Itadori waves his hand dismissively. “Let’s chat!”
Megumi automatically wants to refuse. What would he gain from that? It was deep into the evening, and he didn’t even feel like speaking at all.
————
Megumi found himself sitting on Itadori’s carpet, legs crossed and hands lying limply in his lap.
He didn’t know how he got here. Naturally, he was someone who didn’t favor pouring his heart out to someone in the middle of the night, regardless of who they were to him.
Still, it seemed as if everything was different when it came to Itadori. The boy in question had some sort of undeniable effect on Megumi, and it disturbed him.
He never took himself for a person who let their feelings get the better of them. Not now, not ever. So why was he perched on the carpet of a dorm that wasn’t his own?
He only stared blankly as Itadori rambled on as always. It was something irrelevant, like how both his legs were going to fall off after accompanying Kugisaki to a shopping mall, or how he wouldn’t even try studying for the upcoming history test in favor of training his endurance, or how he was strong enough to actually have almost beat Satoru in a hand wrestle match before…
Satoru.
The reminder of just how strong his old mentor was felt like a bucket of ice-cold water doused upon his head. The Strongest, right? So why did he lose? Why did he-
“Fushiguro?” The familiar voice shattered his glass prison of thoughts. “You alright?”
Itadori tilted his head to the side questioningly. Megumi almost choked on his own saliva, all his thoughts restricting cold hands around his throat.
“Yeah.” It was a dull, empty reply——all he could trust himself to say at the moment without scrambling his words.
“…”
It was unlike Itadori to keep quiet. Megumi raised his eyes from the floor, about to ask what he was pondering so hard about when he spoke again.
“Is it about a nightmare? Did I say something to remind you?”
Megumi was almost stunned. There were numerous things wrong with that question: the way Itadori spoke so sincerely, voice tinged with genuine concern…and the fact that he was aware of his nightmares.
It was as if Itadori could deduce his thoughts solely by the expression on his face. Or maybe it was because he didn’t respond, too stunned to cough out a vehement denial.
“I can hear you sometimes. You gasp, and then it goes quiet…but you don’t go back to sleep. Right?”
He spoke cautiously, as if Megumi was a skittish animal that would dash the moment Itadori prodded too much.
The plain concern written so obviously across his face gave Megumi pause. For once, he let himself be honest.
“I don’t,” he confirmed, tugging his knees slightly closer to his chest in a subconscious motion.
Itadori gave a small noise of acknowledgement.
“Is that why you were outside earlier?”
“Yeah,” he said simply, now feeling himself settle like a rattled pebble in water. “If I know I can't fall back asleep, I won’t waste time trying.”
“That’s fair,” the other replied, a hand closing around his chin in thought. “It would be uncomfortable.”
Once again, Megumi didn't know how to respond other than a subtle shrug.
"Can I ask? What they're usually like, I mean."
Megumi, again, wanted to refuse. Recalling everything that tormented him almost every night didn't seem like a particularly fun pastime. Even so, he sighed quietly through his nose.
"It's disorienting. One moment, I'm sitting in another void, and the next, I'm facing Gojo-sensei's…his…"
Thankfully, Itadori cuts him off, noting the way his brows crease exponentially. "That's twisted."
Megumi nods quietly. The memory was never pleasant.
For another quiet moment, Itadori didn't know what to say either. He thought hard about their situation, perhaps trying to place himself in Megumi's shoes.
"Maybe it's because we sleep alone."
The idea seemed so random Megumi wanted to scoff. "What?"
"You're scared of isolation. Don't lie."
"…"
"Maybe," he smiled. "If you stayed in my room sometimes, you could sleep well?"
"That's ridiculous. And our dorm beds are singles."
"So?"
The implication that accompanied Itadori's straightforward tone made Megumi bristle, somewhat flustered.
"It isn't that easy," he argued.
Itadori shot back, "You don't know that."
The two fell into silence yet again. The dark-haired boy looked him in the eyes when he spoke again.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want to help you, Fushiguro."
The answer was so fast, so sure. Itadori hadn't missed a beat. It was as if he had thought about this before—maybe he really did, unbeknownst to Megumi. He had always cared about his friends and the people around him.
It couldn't hurt to let him help, or at the very least, try to help.
"…Then-…if you're okay with it," Megumi started awkwardly, somewhat uncomfortable yet willing to try, for some godforsaken reason. "Can I stay here tonight?"
"Yeah," the other smiled, his reply weightless and easy.
For once, Megumi didn't feel like retreating.
————
Itadori's dorm was warmer than his own—the same applied to his bed.
The two had chatted about more mundane topics for another short while after Megumi's acceptance. Itadori didn't want to agitate him further. A nightmare so graphic would rattle anyone.
When he saw the other's green eyes starting to droop wearily, Itadori ushered him up to his bed, encouraging him to sleep.
Initially, Megumi had refused, feeling as though his decision was impromptu, and that he should revoke it. Itadori, on the other hand, clung on and insisted that he keep his word. So he did.
Now, he was crumpled in bed next to a pink-haired pest, eyes wide open. He wouldn't fall asleep like this; the warmth radiating from one side of the small bed seeped into his side, only making him more hyper-aware about their proximity.
He was questioning his own inclination to make hasty decisions when Itadori broke the silence.
"Can I touch you?"
He almost sputtered aloud. "What?"
"I mean—you're so rigid, Fushiguro."
Sighing, Itadori draped a casual yet comforting arm over Megumi, tugging him further in by his shoulders.
"…Look. We've been through a lot. It's understandable to be scared. But we're here…so don't run. Please."
Itadori was quiet, sincere. He spoke without looking into Megumi's eyes, instead settling to bury his face close to his nape, but not touching it. His voice didn't waver even once this time.
In a rare display of quiet compliance, Megumi didn't shove him off. He didn't sit up, he didn't argue, he didn't deny his fear.
The boy let himself be tugged closer, even turning onto his side.
Itadori seemed to know what to say and when, tearing through Megumi's defenses in the gentlest of ways. He was a wall impenetrable by the toughest of blows, but would come crumbling down with a concerned touch and genuine care.
For the first time in a long time, Megumi slept well; in the bed of his best friend, arms around his shoulders.
He hoped that morning would come slower, hoped that the sun would drag its feet, because the warmth that surrounded him suddenly didn't seem like a bad thing anymore.
He had thought that the daytime was what gave him comfort. The brightness of the sun, the productivity and liveliness that only came with the day. Now, the sun seemed cold compared to the one next to him, the one holding him.
His comfort was here. His comfort came in the form of late-night talks and considerate touches.
Even with everything they had been through, the two could run from it by running towards each other. In there, they found a place uninfected by their own plagues, and they treasured and cherished it more than anything.
Solace, it was called.